Free The Adventuress by TASHA ALEXANDER Page B

am struck as well by the difference in temperature when one is in the shade versus the sun.”
    â€œI feel neither heat nor cold,” he said, not looking at me. His attention was focused below us. Flowering shrubs and trees planted along the wall were flourishing, and butterflies flitted from blossom to blossom before coming to rest on the fernlike leaves of a smallish mimosa tree.
    â€œDo you know the name of that one?” I asked, pointing to one of the flying creatures whose wings were a striking shade of blue. “I cannot think when I have seen a butterfly quite that color.”
    â€œIt is the Iolana iolas , in French l’azuré du baguenaudier . I am quite certain you have creatures of a similar shade of blue in England.”
    â€œI do not doubt you, but I cannot remember seeing one. It is such a lovely blue.”
    â€œThe underside of its wings are grey, utterly unremarkable.”
    â€œYet the tops almost shimmer,” I said. “Such beauty.”
    â€œBeauty does not interest me,” Augustus said.
    â€œWhy not?” I asked.
    He shrugged. “I like things that are deeper, that have meaning and truth.”
    â€œThat is a noble position, Mr. Wells. Many young men are easily distracted by exterior trappings.”
    â€œI am not so very young, Lady Emily. I am twenty-three years old.”
    I would have guessed he was no more than seventeen, but now, as I studied his face, I could see it was more mature than it appeared at a casual glance. “Not so very young, then,” I said. “I understand you are something of an expert in the study of butterflies.”
    â€œI prefer burnets. They are a type of moth.”
    â€œWhat color are they?”
    â€œThey are a genus, Zygaena , so their members can be any number of colors.” His tone felt like a reprimand. “I like the red and black ones the best.” An Iolana iolas landed on the wall next to him. He flattened his hand, palm up, near it, as if coaxing the delicate creature to come to him. The butterfly, looking almost as if it were hopping, moved onto his palm, and slowly Augustus lifted it until it was nearly level with his eyes. “They are very fragile, you know.”
    â€œMy nanny told me to never touch a butterfly’s wings,” I said. “That doing so rubs off the scales and leaves him unable to fly.”
    Augustus grunted. “Not quite true, but it is the wicked sort of tale people like to tell children.” He lowered his hand and then, moving with deliberate care, reached out with a single finger from his other hand and gently stroked the butterfly’s wings.
    â€œI don’t think you ought to—”
    â€œAre you squeamish, Lady Emily?” He held up the finger to me, and I could see traces of powdery blue on it. “I shall keep going. Our friend will still be able to fly, he just won’t be such a lovely shade of blue.”
    â€œStop, Augustus!”
    â€œHave you ever seen an old butterfly?” he asked. “Sometimes they have patches on their wings that are almost translucent where the scales have been rubbed away. It can happen over time.” He was petting the wing again.
    â€œPlease stop. Why are you doing this?”
    â€œBecause I like to. I am giving him character, making him appear older and wiser than he is.”
    I clapped my hands loudly, startling the poor creature to fly away. “Butterflies are not meant to show signs of character and wisdom, Augustus. You might have harmed it.”
    â€œI believe, Lady Emily, that I am better acquainted with butterflies than you. You may have harmed it far more than I by scaring it. As you saw, it was still perfectly capable of flight. I caused it no substantial damage.” He held out his hand flat again. “Here. Let us catch another.”
    â€œNo, Augustus, I do not wish to do any such thing. Please leave them be.”
    â€œYou do realize it is necessary to kill