A Lesson in Chemistry With Inspector Bruce Read Online Free Page B

remember her—stroke of good fortune there. Good God! The last time she’d seen or spoken to him she’d done something—well, wholly improper and she would rather not think any more on the matter. She sucked in a deep breath and willed herself to concentrate. Would the heat on her cheeks never go away?
    “As you may or may not have heard,” their instructor continued, “Mr. Russell was hit by a runaway phaeton, and though a full recovery is expected, his injuries will likely prevent him from teaching this course for the duration.”
    Beyond poor Mr. Russell, Fiona was not quite sure how to react to the news. It would seem she was going to have to face this new teacher, pay his lectures rapt attention, and pass the major. She sighed a big internal sigh. When the gods wished to punish you, they often did so wickedly and with panache.
    She supposed things could be worse. In an odd sort of way, this added pressure would force her to study more rigorously than she would have otherwise. She certainly wasn’t going to let Hortensia or Owen get the better of her—the oral exams being the exception. Admittedly, the orals were her biggest weakness and the part of the major she feared most. A band of tightness across her chest underscored the thought.
    Fiona took a deep breath and willed herself to pay attention. Mr. Bruce seemed to be placing a great deal of emphasis on the mathematics of chemical equations. “The questions will likely range from the rudimentary to the advanced.” He turned to the chalk board. “For instance”—as he scratched N 2 (g) + 3H 2 (g)2NH 3 (g) across the board, he queried the class—“the coefficients in an equation tell you what about the gases involved in that equation?”
    Owen’s hand shot up first. Their new instructor craned his neck to read the seating chart. “Mr. Spencer.”
    “Every gas takes up the same amount of room given a standard temperature pressure.”
    “Perfectly described.” Mr. Bruce nodded. “But let’s say this question was a part of the written exam. What word might your examiners be looking for in your answer?”
    Hortensia could hardly contain herself, waving her hand about in a flighty, flirty way. And the teacher smiled at her. “Yes, Miss . . . Smythe.”
    “It tells us the volume?”
    “Very good, Miss Smythe.”
    “Smythe with a y not an i, and an e at the end . . . sir.” Hortensia batted her eyelashes.
    “Yes. I believe it’s copied down correctly on the seating chart.” Did his eyes roll, or flutter ever so slightly? Fiona bit back a grin. Even so, the fact that Mr. Bruce had fallen for Hortensia’s coquettish hand flapping caused an unexpected sting of—how annoying! She was jealous.

Chapter Three
    A rchie turned back to the blackboard and scrawled off a sentence in Latin. “The dictum, Similia similibus solvuntur  . . .” Placing his hands behind his back, Mr. Bruce moved out into the classroom. “Who would like to translate?” As he approached Fiona, she lowered her head. “Miss Rose?”
    She was prettier than he remembered. And he wondered . . . did she remember him? He drew up alongside the young lady. “Similia similibus solvuntur, Miss Rose?” She noticeably stiffened, which allowed him the opportunity to study his curious female student. One could not say she was the kind of blazing beauty of the stage or painter’s muse, but she was wonderfully pixieish, with a wide mouth that was expressive and—Archie gazed at her over the rim of his spectacles—sensuous.
    Owen Spencer whispered loud enough to be heard across the room. “Fiona gets a bit tongue-tied—” The lad stammered when she raised her head and glared at him. “That is, if she’s put on the spot, sir—”
    “Like dissolves like,” she blurted out, her eyes glistening with—what was it—humiliation mixed with anger? What a little hellion this one was. He bit back a grin.
    “An example please, Miss Rose—something rudimentary.”
    She