Not waiting for his carriage to stop, Robert hopped out of the vehicle, landing perfectly on his feet. He had dropped Howard off some minutes ago and couldn't wait to get his evening started. It was time to try out something he had thought of for a while. He was sure that after this lady witnessed it, nothing would make her not to do what he wishes.

Mr Griffiths, his butler, was standing at the entrance of Robert's townhouse, his black tailcoat gleaming with opulence.

"How was the meeting, My Lord?" he asked, his aquiline nose, his most prominent feature.

"Spiffing, Griffiths." He tapped the elderly man by the shoulder. "Later in the evening, you shall go to Gerrard's estate to pick up a maid. I'll give you her descriptions. It has to be done discreetly."

He had faith that this lady would agree to meet with him. Based on his statistics, most British women loved doing the wrong thing. If they were given the opportunity to do it without getting caught, they would accept gladly. They were just restricted by society and wouldn't want to ruin the reputation of their family -- thereby losing any chances of getting a good suitor.

His butler smiled, already used to his master's bedding lifestyle. He didn't criticise Robert and the young man loved him more for it. Though Griffiths was a bit hesitant to work with him after he learnt of what he did with women, "Am I to ready your special chambers for this young lady?"

Robert removed his tophat, locks of golden hair falling over his face. "No. We shall prepare the restaurant."

"The time has come?" The was a hint of surprise in his voice.

Robert did a curt nod. "It came sooner than any of us expected."

"I shall have the hall ready for your evening, Your Lordship," Griffiths bowed.

"I trust you shall."

With that, Robert slipped into his townhouse.

Ella, chaperoned by her mother walked through the streets of London, weaving through the bustling crowd of ladies and gentlemen. She couldn't hide her excitement as her warm brown eyes flitted from left to right, drinking in every detail. Carriages rolled past, townhouses with elaborate alabaster designs flying past her as they walked on. This part of the city was reserved for the wealthy. It was where one of the best tailors in the city, Madame Renoir, had her shop based. Ella's mother insisted that on her first day of being brought into society, her daughter must look the grandest.

"Mama, I didn't know London was this beautiful," Ella said excitedly, still observing the richness around her, her white gown flowing behind her.

"Indeed it is my dear." Her mother's dark eyes calmly looked around. Ella's mother rarely let her leave the house. And if she did, she hadn't reached these parts before. Though she sneaked outside once in a while with Juliet.

They kept on walking till Ella noticed a peculiar flash of gold across the street, at the entrance of a townhouse. The blonde man's height was imposing and his broad shoulders were impressive. She remembered Juliet telling her that men like that were impressive in bed.

What was wrong with her? She couldn't believe she was fantasizing about a man she had just seen seconds ago. It wasn't her fault for having such a naughty friend. Most girls her age only knew they used that part to urinate. However, Juliet had let Ella know that there were a million things to do with it. Especially controlling a man. She claimed that thing made men go weak to their knees.

But Ella couldn't imagine herself using her body to control a man. She didn't even like the idea of using her nature's gift against a man. Right now, all she wanted was to become the first woman to create some sort of scientific innovation and Lord Robert Stark was her key to that dream. All she had to do was attend the ball.

The tall man slipped into the townhouse, his blue tailcoat flapping behind him, defined jaw threatening to cut through the air. Glancing at his door one last time, she continued down the road with her mother. After twenty minutes, they arrived at Madame Renoirs' shop. It had a wide window overlooking the street and various gowns with flawless designs. Ella's mouth seemed to water at the sight and her mother noticed it.

"Don't worry," Mrs Featherignton smiled one of those motherly smiles, "I've saved up enough money to get you any dress you want."

Butterflies danced in the pit of her stomach. Maybe if Ella dressed in her best, she would get the attention of Lord Robert and she would then ask to work for him. She didn't know what his reaction would be to that request. But she could only pray for a positive reply. She had read enough books about Isaac Newton, Antoine Lavoisier, and Robert Hook, to know that the impossible was possible. If Jane Austen could finally be an accepted author despite critics from Britain because of her gender, she too could be the first woman in history to bring about one of the greatest inventions ever; a moon lamp.

Madame Renoir's store carried the sweet scent of lavender and Ella felt goosebumps creep up her arms. Dresses on mannequins flanked both sides of the store and at the end was the owner, her brown hair falling in endless curls. She was sitting behind a black desk and sprang to her feet when she saw her visitors.

"Ah, Mademoiselle, welcome to my store." She grinned cheekily. "What can I do for you?"

"I would like to get my daughter measured for a ball gown," Mrs Featherington said.

"Sat is wonderful! What's you're name, Jeune femme?"

Ella smiled at the woman's lovely reception. "Ella."

"Sat is a beautiful name." Madame Renoir pointed at a stool at the corner. "Please seat sere. Let me go get my measuring tape."

Ella complied, her stomach bubbling with pre-ball jitters. She knew her life was about to change soon. Her guts never failed her. She would work alongside Lord Robert Stark and accomplish her life-long dream. But for now, she would have to give her mother the impression that she's excited because of the noble gentlemen who would be available at the ball.

If there was one thing Robert was good at, it would be female psychology. He knew the maid would come. All he had to do was to make himself known to her, ensure other maids were around and then, those maids, would encourage her to come. Who wouldn't want to have a tete-a-tete with Lord Robert Stark? Peer pressure worked the most with women.

The door of his house was opened by Griffiths and the maid walked in dressed in a green gown adorned with a sophisticated flowery design. The green of her gown matched her endearing eyes, her olive skin glistening under the flickering gas lamps. Her dark hair had been hidden under a green kerchief that had the design of intertwining white flowers. For a maid, she did have a lovely dress.

Robert, outfitted in a white linen shirt and black trousers, was across the foyer, a strong veined hand resting on the golden railing of his winding stairs. The maid curtsied and glanced left and right, a tint of nervousness in her eyes.

"I dismissed all my servants," He eased her tension.

He could visibly see her shoulders relax.

"Thank you, My Lord."

"Ah, ah," he smirked, dimples puncturing his cheek, "for this night, call me Robert."

The maid looked at him as if the queen of England had just asked to lick her feet. "I-I can't... It's not proper."

"You've already broken societal rules when you came in here." He inclined his head. "There's no need to act proper."

"I suppose you're right, R-Robert." His name sounded so foreign as it rolled off her tongue.

"Indeed." He gestured a hand to her. "Come, I have a wonderful evening planned for you."

She was hesitant, glancing at Griffiths. The butler did an encouraging nod and she moved forward, soft hand resting on Robert's strong own. He could feel her tremble under his touch and the lights flickered against his desirable blue orifices.

"Ladies first." He let her climb the stairs first and led her up the winding structure.

They arrived at a corridor panelled with oak wood and the walls coated in pristine white. His mother was marching along this hallway earlier this morning. The thought made him smile. Those were memories he cherished since he didn't have much with her except fancy balls his parents always hosted. He was shocked that they sent invitation cards to even to the middle class. They usually partied with their fellow aristocrats. The Duke and Duchess must've been desperate to get him married even if it meant his bride coming from a family that wouldn't be able to pay a huge dowry. Though he knew his father would still prefer him to end up marrying a princess or anyone who could make him rise in society. That was all his father cared about; class. Not his son.

At the far end was a golden double door with lion heads as knockers. He pushed the wings of the door to both sides, introducing them to a room shrouded in non-abating darkness. The maid took a step back in fear, her breath catching in her throat. She must've been thinking;

Alone in the dark with a man? What would the people think if they found us?

Robert knew of this and extended his hand, warmth churning in his blue depths. "Trust me."

She needed to for his plan to work.

"What if–"

"Not what if. Be optimistic. I promise not to defile you in this room. I'm a gentleman and would never take advantage of any women by tricks."

She may not believe it, but Robert's sex partners always gave him their consent before he did any services to their temple of pleasure. That way, they wouldn't say he tricked them. The two parties needed to have a mutual understanding. And mutual understanding was easy to get when a lot of women claimed you were the most handsome man in London.

His tone seemed to be believable since she took his hand. "I believe you."

"Lovely." He chaperoned her into the room.

The darkness wrapped them like silk and the maid's hand was clammy. "I'm scared."

"Don't be love." He struggled to release his hand. She tried to grab it back but he took a step rearward. She grew frantic heavy breaths challenging the silence of the room. "Take a deep breath."

She did but managed to snort like a bloody pig.

Robert clapped his hands twice, "Illuminare."

The sounds of bolts and gears rolling filled the room and in seconds, there was a click. A bulb in the distance lit up with a silver light that was too bright compared to the glow of a gas lamp. There was another click and another bulb went on. The sequence continued till the room was brimming with silver light and what the darkness was formally shielding, was divulged.

The maid drew in a sharp gasp, almost leaving herself breathless. This lady and gasps! But he couldn't blame her. He had blessed her with his genius. Only Robert, Howard and Griffiths have been in this room. It was his workshop but had transformed it into a heaven for today.

Large metallic Gears were on the wall and his half-finished moon lamps were glowing with Lunar divinity. Petals of rose flowers were peppered on the floor, a red carpet leading to a white draped table and chair. At the corner of the room was a buffet table with foods of all kinds. It was simply, divine.

Robert breathed in, the concentrated scent of the flowers wafting into his nostrils. "What do you think?"

"It's simply marvellous!" Her green eyes gleamed with pure elation. She pointed at the lamps. "What are those?"

He took a step forward, an athletic arm behind his ripped back, "It's my moon lamp in progress. For now, it can only work when there's a full crystal moon. The aim is to create one that can be charged with the moon and be used anytime. For that, we'll need a metal that can trap the moonlight. But you have to keep this a secret."

"Of course." His psychology worked. He revealed a secret to her to make her think he trusted her. So trying to gain her trust would be easier. "When are you going to get the metal?"

"Soon, I hope. I'm still looking into it."

And if Gerrard thought that he could stop him by talking bollocks about him in the media, he had a lot coming for him. Robert would have to keep an eye on his rival. And what was a better way than using the gender that knew how to keep a watchful eye on men?

"My name is Helen," she said. Robert smiled, knowing that if he could get her name, he could get her loyalty too. All it needed to break a woman's protective wall was something that would take them off their balance or sweep them off their feet. And the sight before them was more than enough.

"Helen," he teased the name, his deep voice resonating through his throat, "you have a beautiful name."

She blushed scarlet. "Your words are too nice, Your..." Robert raised a brow, a sly smile at the corner of his lips, "I mean, Robert."

He signalled at the table in the middle of the room. "Do you know the meaning of this?"

She shook her head.

"In France, there's something called a Bouillon restaurant. It's a gathering of people in a room to eat a dish called the Bouillon. They believed that knowledge was obtained by being sensitive to the world around you. And one way to be sensitive was by not eating the coarse food associated with common people. But by eating by eating delicate dishes like the Bouillon," He moved closer to Helen, his height towering over her, "When a man is interested in a lady, they promenade. So, I thought, what if I bring the restaurant to a small scale where two people could dine and have a tete-a-tete? After all, the word Restaurant comes from a French word, restaurer, which means to restore oneself. The main point is to feel at ease and enjoy each other's company. And I believe in the further future, society would adopt this method, though bringing it to light won't be done by me. It would be done by someone else."

Helen stared at the table like it was a foreign object. "You're a genius. No wonder every girl in London is talking about you."

"Are you talking about me?" He raised a brow.

"We'll just have to find out." She pouted. "So would we call this a Bouillon restaurant?"

Robert held his chin. Breaking her out of her shyness bubble seemed easier than he expected. "Since we met on a particular day or date, we could call it a restaurant date."

"A restaurant date?" She shrugged, "Not bad in the least. So, what would make you do all these just to talk to me?"

It was his turn to tease her. "We'll just have to find out."