But even as she spoke, her mind raced. Roger had
not
been hisuncle’s heir. While Lord Tarr (a gouty difficult man) had no sons,he did have daughters with male children of their own—it hadbeen quite clearly and bitterly explained to her by Roger’s mother.Moreover, as if to confirm Roger’s peripheral status, on their solevisit to Tarr Manor, its ever-ailing Lord proved disinclined to seeRoger, much less make the acquaintance of Roger’s provincial fi-ancée. And now Lord Tarr had been murdered, and Roger some-how acclaimed as his heir to lands and title? She could not trust itfor a minute—but what other inheritance could Roger have? Shedid not think Roger Bascombe a murderer—all the more sincehaving herself recently met several of the species—but she knew he was weak and tractable, despite his broad shoulders and his poise,and she suddenly felt cold...the people he had fallen in with, thedemonstration he had willingly witnessed in the operating the-atre...within her vow to ruin him, her utter and complete disdainfor all things Bascombe, it was with a tinge of sorrow that MissTemple felt oddly certain that he was lost. Just as she had won-dered, in the operating theatre at Harschmort, ifRoger had truly understood with whom or what he had become entangled—andin that wondering felt a pang at being unable to protect him fromhis own blindness when it came to the powerful and rich—so MissTemple felt suddenly sure that, one way or another and without itbeing his intention, these events would be his doom.She looked up at Svenson. “Give me the other card. Either I amyour ally or I am not.”“You have not even told me your name.”“Haven’t I?”“No, you have not,” said the Doctor.Miss Temple pursed her lips, then smiled at him graciously andoffered her hand, along with her standard explanation.“I am Miss Temple, Celestial Temple. My father enjoyed
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astronomy—I am fortunate not to be named for one of Jupiter’smoons.” She hesitated, then exhaled. “Though if we are to be trueallies, then—yes—you must call me Celeste. Of course youmust—though I am quite unable to call you, what is it—Abelard? You are older, foreign, and it would in any case be ridiculous.” Shesmiled. “There. I am so very pleased to have made your acquain-tance. I am sure I have never before met an officer of theMacklenburg Navy, nor a captain-surgeon of any kind.”Doctor Svenson took her hand awkwardly. He bent over to kissit. She pulled it away, not unkindly.“You needn’t do that. It is not Germany.”“Of course...as you say.” Miss Temple saw with some smallsatisfaction that Doctor Svenson was blushing.She smiled at him, her gaze pointedly drifting to the pocketthat held the second card. He noted this and hesitated, quite awk- wardly. She did not see the difficulty—she had already seen theother—she would not be disoriented a second time.“Perhaps you would prefer to view it in a more privateroom—”“I would not.”Svenson sighed and fished out the card. He handed it to her with an evident wave of trepidation. “The man—it is notBascombe—is my Prince—also a rake. It is the St. Royale Hotel.Perhaps you will know the woman—I know her as Mrs.Marchmoor...or the...ah...spectators. In this glass card—the,ah, vantage of experience—lies with the lady.” He stood andturned away from her, making a fuss of finding and lighting an-other cigarette, refusing to meet her eye. She glanced at the desk clerks, who were still watching with interest, despite being unableto hear the intense conversation, then to Svenson, who she saw had discreetly stepped away and turned to study the leaves of alarge potted plant. Her curiosity was thoroughly piqued. Shelooked into the card. When she lowered the card some minutes later, Miss Temple’s
the glass books of the dream eaters
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face was flushed and her breathing rapid. She looked nervously around her, met the idly curious eye of the desk clerk and immedi-ately turned away. She was relieved and somewhat touched to seethat Doctor Svenson still had his back to her—for he clearly knew what she had been experiencing, if only by virtue of another woman’s body. She could not believe what had just happened— what had
not
happened, despite the intimacy, the utterly persua-sive intimacy of the equally disquieting and delicious sensations.She had just—she could not believe—in
public,
for the first time, without warning!—and felt ashamed that she had so insisted, thatshe had not taken the Doctor’s strong hint to withdraw—and sohad been—a man she did not know, nor had feelings for—thoughshe had sensed the lady’s feelings for him, or for the experience—could those be separated? She shifted in her seat and straightenedher dress, feeling to her dismay an undeniable, insistent itchingtickle between her legs. If her aunt had at that moment askedagainabout her virtue, how should she answer? Miss Templelooked down at the glass rectangle in her hands, and marveled atthe vast and thoroughly disquieting possibilities residing in such acreation.She cleared her throat. Doctor Svenson turned at once, his gazeflickering across her, refusing for a moment to meet her eyes. Hestepped closer to the settee. She handed him the glass card andsmiled up at him quite shyly.“My goodness...”He returned it to his pocket, touchingly mortified. “I am des-perately sorry—I’m afraid I did not make clear—”“Do not trouble yourself—please, it is I who should apolo-gize—though in truth I should prefer not to speak of it further.”“Of course—forgive me—it is vulgar of me to go on so.”She did not answer—for she could not answer without pro-longing what she herself had just expressed a desire to curtail.
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