She held the bottle out to me. I wanted to tell her that sipping rum straight from a bottle wasn’t exactly showing class, but I’d only earn myself another jab.
I glanced at Adam. I’d never been good at guessing people’s feelings. I had to study their reactions instead. And in this situation, it didn’t take much to conclude I wasn’t what these men wanted, despite Lucy’s insistence.
But maybe I could pretend to be. Hesitantly, I took a sip.
The blond boy tugged Lucy to the sofa next to him. “You must help us end a debate, Miss Radcliffe. Cecil says the human body contains two hundred ten bones, and I say two hundred eleven.”
Lucy batted her pretty lashes. “Well, I’m sure I don’t know.”
I sighed and leaned into the doorframe.
The boy took her chin in his hand. “If you’ll be so good as to hold still, I’ll count, and we can find our answer.” He touched a finger to her skull. “One.” I rolled my eyes as the boy dropped his finger lower, to her shoulder bones. “Two. And three.” His finger ran slowly, seductively, along her clavicle. “Four.” Then his finger traced even lower, to the thin skin covering her breastbone. “Five,” he said, so drawn out that I could smell the rum on his breath.
I cleared my throat. The other boys watched, riveted, as the boy’s finger drifted lower and lower over Lucy’s neckline. Why not just skip the pretense and grab her breast? Lucy was no better, giggling like she was enjoying it. Exasperated, I slapped his pasty hand off her chest.
The whole room went still.
“Wait your turn, darling,” the boy said, and they all laughed. He turned back to Lucy, holding up that ridiculous finger.
“Two hundred six,” I said.
This got their attention. Lucy took the bottle from my hand and fell back against the leather sofa with an exasperated sigh.
“I beg your pardon?” the boy said.
“Two hundred six,” I repeated, feeling my cheeks warm. “There are two hundred six bones in the body. I would think, as a medical student, you would know that.”
Lucy’s head shook at my hopelessness, but her lips cracked in a smile regardless. The blond boy’s mouth went slack.
I continued before he could think. “If you doubt me, tell me how many bones are in the human hand.” The boys took no offense at my remark. On the contrary, they seemed all the more drawn to me for it. Maybe I was the kind of girl they wanted, after all.
Lucy’s only acknowledgment was an approving tip of the rum bottle in my direction.
“I’ll take that wager,” Adam interrupted, leveling his handsome green eyes at me.
Lucy jumped up and wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “Oh, good! And what’s the wager, then? I’ll not have Juliet risk her reputation for less than a kiss.”
I immediately turned red, but Adam only grinned. “My prize, if I am right, shall be a kiss. And if I am wrong—”
“If you are wrong”—I interjected, feeling reckless; I grabbed the rum from Lucy and tipped the bottle back, letting the liquid warmth chase away my insecurity—“you must call on me wearing a lady’s bonnet.”
He walked around the sofa and took the bottle. The confidence in his step told me he didn’t intend to lose. He set the bottle on the side table and skimmed his forefinger tantalizingly along the delicate bones in the back of my hand. I parted my lips, curling my toes to keep from jerking my hand away. This wasn’t Dr. Hastings, I told myself. Adam was hardly shoving his hand down my neckline. It was just an innocent touch.
“Twenty-four,” he said.
I felt a triumphant swell. “Wrong. Twenty-seven.” Lucy gave my leg a pinch and I remembered to smile. This was supposed to be flirtatious. Fun.
Adam’s eyes danced devilishly. “And how would a girl know such things?”
I straightened. “Whether I’m right or wrong has nothing to do with gender.” I paused. “Also, I’m right.”
Adam smirked. “Girls don’t study science.”
My confidence faltered. I knew how many bones there were in the human hand because I was my father’s daughter. When I was a child, Father would give physiology lessons to our servant boy, Montgomery, to spite those who claimed the lower classes were incapable of learning. He considered women naturally deficient, however, so I would hide in the laboratory closet during lessons, and Montgomery would slip me books to study. But I could hardly tell these young men that. Every medical student knew the name Moreau. They would remember the scandal.
Lucy jumped to my defense. “Juliet knows more than the lot of you. She works in the medical building. She’s probably spent more time around cadavers than you lily spirits.”
I gritted my teeth, wishing she hadn’t told them. It was one thing to be a maid, another to clean the laboratory after their botched surgeries. But Adam arched an eyebrow, interested.