Free Betina Krahn by The Mermaid

of inventions and discoveries which seem a bit ‘fishy.’ ”
    “How appropriate. Who better to investigate a ‘fishy’ situation than an ichthyologist?” Lady Sophia called for their next course.
    Her grandmother obviously hadn’t heard the veiled threat, but Celeste had. What could possibly be more
fishy
than a “mermaid” … especially one who wrote about her underwater experiences with dolphins? Coupled with what she’d heard from Mr. Cherrybottom about him, hisdeclarations were nothing short of ominous. He was a crusader against shoddy and fraudulent science, a self-appointed arbiter of truth, a one-man justice and jury in the courts of scientific opinion. If there had been any doubt in her mind that he had come here to discredit her, he had just dispelled it.
    “You are a professional skeptic, then,” she said tautly.
    “I am a scientist first and foremost, Miss Ashton. As a scientist, I am devoted to the search for the truth. And as a seeker of truth, it is my duty to unmask falsehood masquerading as scientific progress.” That echoing pronouncement brought dinner conversation to a total halt.
    Celeste had lost her appetite. In contrast, Titus Thorne systematically demolished Maria’s oyster soup and Spanish paella … closing his penetrating, sea-green eyes to concentrate on each bite. By the time he sampled the braised sole with capers and ginger butter, and pronounced it “surprisingly light and delicate,” it was all she could do to keep from launching herself across the table at him.
    The wretched man analyzed and evaluated everything around him … passing judgment as if he had been put in charge of standards for all of humankind. Nothing escaped him. She watched him mentally cataloguing flavors and deciphering ingredients in the food, fingering the worn table linen, scrutinizing the crystal, running his hands over the edges of the plates, as if examining them for chips. She found herself staring raptly at those hands … large, neat hands, long, slender, supple fingers … She finally looked up and found him watching her. Her face heated defensively.
    Judging her now, was he? She could just imagine what he was thinking.
Poor desperate, deluded creature
…
living with an eccentric grandmother in a crumbling house. Small wonder she believes she can talk to dumb animals
.
    It was during the raspberry trifle that Lady Sophia finally resurrected the conversation. “Tell us, Professor, what sorts of ‘fish’ things do you study?”
    He cleared his throat. “I specialize in the feeding habits oflarge fish … the saltwater varieties. Swordfish, sharks, marlin, tuna, sunfish, and the like.”
    Nana beamed. “Then I imagine you must fish a great deal, Professor. How fortunate you are. Not many men manage to combine their vocations and avocations.”
    “Oh, I never fish,” he said, finishing the last bite of his trifle and settling back in his chair. “That would be a deplorable waste of time.”
    An ichthyologist who wouldn’t waste time fishing? “If you don’t fish, how do you get your specimens?” Celeste asked pointedly.
    “I contract with certain parties to secure them for me.”
    “What parties?”
    “I have a standing arrangement with certain fishing-boat captains who operate out of the London docks.” He spoke succinctly, with a hint of annoyance. “I give them a list of the specimens I need and when they haul one in, I go around to the wharf and collect it.”
    She frowned, thinking of some of the large fish she had encountered, trying to imagine how he could handle and study seven- to twelve-foot specimens in captivity. “Then what do you do? I mean … I should think keeping them in a tank would be terribly difficult—not to mention costly and dangerous.”
    “A tank?” He looked briefly puzzled, then gave a short laugh. “Hardly. I put the specimen in the back of an ice wagon and take it to the London School of Medicine. They allow me to use their operating