Veiled in Moonlight (The Ministry of Curiosities Book 8) Page 10

  "Alice is not 'that girl,'" Seth snapped before I could. "And don't bring her into this. She's far too good for this sordid discussion."

  "She's too good for you, then." Buchanan's chuckle came out strangled. "When it comes to sordid, you're the king of the heap."

  Seth punched him. He must have pulled back, however, or Buchanan would have lost some teeth. As it was, he stumbled to the floor, clutching his jaw. Nobody went to his aid.

  "You ought to keep your dogs on a leash, Fitzroy," Buchanan said as he picked himself up.

  "You're a glutton for punishment," Gus said with a shake of his head.

  And therein lay the problem. Buchanan hated himself. He hated what he'd become, and he hated that he was in love with a woman he couldn't have and who didn't love him back. He hated his desperation and possibly the erosion of any good qualities he may have once possessed. But even more so, he hated that he didn't know how to—or didn't want to—change.

  I'd met men like him when I lived on the streets. Society fretted about "fallen women" and yet, in my experience, there were more men than women falling from their perches. Men like Andrew Buchanan, who'd been given so much in life but failed to fulfill the expectations of others, as well as their own. Instead of picking themselves out of the gutter and taking steps to correct their failures, they'd chosen to wallow there and blame others for their misfortune. Some drank themselves to an early grave. Some froze to death in winter. Some took their hatred of themselves and the world out on others. Those were the ones I learned to avoid. Those men could be dangerous.

  Andrew Buchanan fitted into that category.

  "Want to swipe at me again, eh?" Buchanan goaded Seth. "Want to be the hero in front of the ladies?"

  Seth let out a long, measured breath, and I relaxed. His temper had cooled and he wouldn't be tempted to hit Buchanan again.

  Buchanan must have realized his goading wouldn't work anymore. "God, how I hate you, Vickers," he blurted out. "I should hate him for the hold he had over Julia for so long." He angled his bruised jaw at Lincoln. "But you…you are everything I loathe in a man."

  Seth looked taken aback by the viciousness, but I wasn't. Buchanan saw Seth as the man he could have been, and he felt like a failure in comparison. Both men were handsome, from gentry stock, with the world and women at their feet. They had grown up with everything before both men had fallen low. Yet Seth had pulled himself out of the quagmire, while Buchanan remained there. Seth was the master of his own life again, whereas Buchanan was at the mercy of Lady Harcourt's whims. He wished he were Seth and yet he wasn't prepared to emulate his hard work.

  "Get out!" Lady Harcourt screamed at Buchanan. "Get out of my house!"

  "You can't throw me out," he said with a slick smile. "My father's will stipulated that I have a home here."

  Her chest rose and fell with her deep breaths and her hands fisted at her sides. I worried that she might attack him again. Lincoln would stop her, though, perhaps after a hesitation in which she had enough time to inflict more damage.

  "Leave us, Buchanan," Lincoln ordered. "We have ministry business with Julia."

  "I should hear it," Buchanan said. "I am going to replace her, one day, after all."

  "If you outlive her," Seth said. "That's not looking likely at this moment."

  Buchanan snorted. "Is that a threat, Vickers?"

  One corner of Seth's mouth flicked up into a wicked smile.

  "Seth, Gus," Lincoln ordered. "Remove him."

  "Gladly." Seth grasped Buchanan's arm and Gus took the other. They dragged him from the room and tossed him out.

  Buchanan landed in a heap on the entrance hall tiles. Seth shut the door and dusted his hands.

  "This will get out, Julia," he warned her. "Your servants will talk."

  She inclined her head then sat regally on the sofa. If it weren't for the slight flush lingering on her cheeks, it would be impossible to reconcile this woman with the wildcat of earlier.

  I went to sit too, but noticed a piece of paper on the floor. No, not paper, a card. It had fallen out of Lady Harcourt's pocket when she flew into a rage. I picked it up and, unable to control the compulsion to glance at it, read the names the anonymous writer called Lady Harcourt. It was difficult not to see the words "vile," "immoral" and "debauched" since they were underlined and written in a large hand. It would seem associating with Lord Underwood hadn’t polished away the tarnish marring Lady Harcourt's reputation. Perhaps because Lord Underwood had no intention of marrying her.

  I handed it to her and she scrunched it in her fist. "What do you want?" she said without the hint of a quiver in her voice.

  "Do you know Lord Ballantine?" Lincoln asked.

  She nodded. "He attends parties with Lord Underwood sometimes."

  "As part of the Prince of Wales's set?"

  "Yes. Has he done something wrong?"

  "His daughter was the lover of a man mauled to death, most likely by a human in his other form of a wolf-like creature."

  Her brows lifted. "You think Lord Ballantine is involved in the death?"

  "He is also a shape shifter, as is his wife and the daughter."

  She considered this a moment as if it were no more newsworthy than idle gossip. "I didn't realize."

  "Why would you?" Seth said. "They would hardly go about telling people."

  "Tell us what you know about him," Lincoln said. "And about Lady Ballantine."

  "I've met them both." She touched her hair and tucked away a strand that had worked loose from the complex arrangement. "He is a sycophant. She seems a little unsophisticated and out of place among the prince's friends. I don't think she's used to such illustrious company."

  "Do you think him capable of murder?"

  Her gaze slid to the closed door. "Anyone is capable of murder if pushed too far."

  "Do you think anyone else from that set is a shape shifter?" Lincoln asked.

  "I didn't know Lord Ballantine was one until you told me."

  "And what of a young gentleman by the name of Eddy? Does that name mean anything to you?"

  She thought for a moment. "There is Edward De Greer, but he's over forty. Indeed, there are few young gentlemen at the prince's parties. He prefers more mature company. Who is Eddy?"

  "A rival suitor for Lord Ballantine's daughter's hand."

  "Ah." She nodded knowingly. "A love triangle. We all know how dangerous those can be."

  Whether she meant the love triangle involving herself, Lincoln and me, or herself Buchanan and Lord Harcourt, I couldn't tell. Her glassy eyes and calm manner gave nothing away.

  "If you find this Eddy fellow, you will find your killer, Lincoln," she said. "Do be careful. Lovesick puppies can be sinister." She glanced again at the closed door. So she was referring to that love triangle.

  "Grown men are hardly puppies," I said. "Even lovesick ones."

  She looked surprised that I'd spoken. Surprise turned to distain with a curl of her top lip.

  Lincoln didn't fill the silence that followed so I filled it instead. "Thank you, Lady Harcourt." I was about to rise when I had an idea. "When will you see Lord Underwood and his friends again?"

  "He's holding a…a dance tomorrow night."

  "Can you secure Lincoln and I an invitation?"

  Lincoln didn't move, so I suspected he approved of my suggestion.

  "And me," Seth said.

  Lady Harcourt shook her head. "That's impossible."

  "Nothing is impossible," Lincoln said. "Secure us an invitation."

  She bristled. "No."

  "I have some sway with the Prince of Wales now," Lincoln told her. "I could put in a good word for you."

  She twisted a large gold and sapphire ring on her finger and met his gaze. He didn't blink. After a moment of taut silence, she sighed. "Very well. I'll have an invitation for you and Seth by the end of the day. But not for Charlie."

  It was my turn to bristle. "Why not?"

  "You're too…pure."

  I lau
ghed. "You do remember where I spent five years of my life."

  "Ah," Seth said with a nod. "One of those sorts of dances. She's right, Charlie. You shouldn't go."

  "I am definitely going now," I told them both, and Lincoln too before he could agree with them. "It sounds intriguing."

  Seth rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "I should have kept my mouth shut."

  "Aye," Gus nodded darkly. "Charlie, if Seth thinks you shouldn't go, you shouldn't go."

  "They will find her of great interest, Lincoln," Lady Harcourt warned with a silky smile. "She's young and pretty and not everyone knows you well enough to fear you."

  "They will quickly learn if they try to touch her," he said simply.

  "If the prince is there, I'm sure I'll be safe from any roving hands," I said. "He may like his women and wine, but he's still a gentleman. As is Lord Underwood."

  She sighed, and I knew she couldn't argue my point. "Very well. Beyond securing the invitations, I will not be part of any interrogations. I cannot afford to upset anyone right now, particularly Lord Underwood and his friends."

  Lincoln agreed with a nod.

  We made to leave, but before he opened the door, Lincoln addressed Lady Harcourt. "Do you want me to have a word with Buchanan?"

  "And threaten him? I doubt it will make a difference." She laid a hand on his arm, massaging with her thumb, and tipped her head back to peer up at him. "Thank you, Lincoln. Despite everything, you remain a true friend." She let him go, or perhaps he moved.

  "You courted this, you know," Seth said with a nod at the door through which Buchanan had exited. "You threw fuel onto a fire then wondered why it burned fiercer."

  "Do be quiet," she spat back, proving that her serenity was all for show. "You can hardly talk. The only reason you're not still being beaten up for sport or auctioning yourself off to the highest bidder is because Lincoln saved you." She made a shooing motion with her hands. "Go! All of you, leave me in peace. My head aches."

  Seth opened the door to see Buchanan sitting on the floor, outstretched legs spread wide, a brandy tumbler in hand and another beside him. He lurched to his feet and picked up the glass. He sauntered across the floor on wobbly legs, a drunken smile in place, and held out the tumbler to Lady Harcourt.

  "You look remarkably alluring all riled up like this." He smiled and held the glass out further. "Thought you might need this."

  She hesitated then took it. The liquid rippled with the trembling of her hands. She sniffed it, as if she suspected it might be poisoned, then sipped.

  "There now," Buchanan said. "We're friends again."

  "Where are the servants?" Lady Harcourt asked.

  "Cowering downstairs, afraid to venture up. Ah, here's the indomitable Millard, come to see out our guests."

  The butler had always seemed so fierce and proper, yet even he looked unsure how to treat his master and mistress now. They must have heard the row downstairs. All of London's servants would be made aware of it by the end of the week, and some would pass on the gossip to their employers. Lady Harcourt would be ruined even more. The only thing saving her was Lord Underwood's favor, and that thread was thinning.

  "Good afternoon," Lady Harcourt said with a small, sad smile for Lincoln. "Millard will see you out."

  She turned and headed up the staircase, the glass dangling from her fingertips. She moved smoothly, her hips swaying and loose strands of hair tumbling down her back.

  Buchanan followed but stopped on the bottom step. "Off you go," he said to us. "There's no need to worry."

  We all watched him follow his stepmother up the stairs, her steps slow and seductive, his quick and unsteady.

  "Should we leave them alone together?" Gus asked.

  Nobody answered. Millard opened the front door for us. His eyes had resumed their usual blankness, and his back was as straight as ever.

  "You know where to find me," Lincoln told him as he exited.

  The butler gave a single nod and shut the door.

  Lincoln assisted me into the carriage, and I sat with a deep sigh. "Sometimes I wish we'd left Buchanan in Bedlam," I said.

  Seth settled opposite me. "Only sometimes?"

  I expected Lincoln to try to talk me out of going to the party, but he did not. Not even when we went for an afternoon walk through the orchard. Spring blossoms covered the trees and carpeted the ground, and bees darted merrily between branches, spoiled for choice. The prettiness was a welcome antidote to the sordid visit to Lady Harcourt's house.

  "Do you think they'll be all right?" I asked, unable to forget the topic.

  "Julia and Buchanan?" he said, as if he'd already set thoughts of them aside. "Don't worry about them. They know what they're doing."

  "But they're so destructive and cruel toward one another. Where will it end?"

  He didn't answer that. I suspected he didn't have the answer. I, for one, couldn't see it ending until Lady Harcourt found herself a new husband and moved out of the house. It may have been left to her in Lord Harcourt's will, but she would never be free of Buchanan while he lived there.

  "I wrote to Leisl," Lincoln announced.

  I stopped and took his hands in mine. "That's wonderful. I knew you could express your feelings to her if you just tried."

  "I told her that someone followed us to her house and to be careful of spies."

  "Oh. That's…sensible. Is that why you brought me out here? To tell me?"

  "No." He looked back at the house. Seeing if anyone watched us? Was he finally going to do more than simply kiss me?

  I reached up and wrapped both arms behind his head. "Go on, Lincoln," I said in a breathy voice.

  His mouth twitched which I took to mean my seductive voice needed practice. "There are three reasons why I brought you out here." He circled his arms around my waist and drew me gently against his body. He kissed the skin beneath my earlobe. "First," he murmured, "where do you want to go on our honeymoon?"

  I giggled as his lips tickled. "I don't know. Not Paris again. Why not surprise me?"

  "I know a nice little place in the Orient where they teach an ancient fighting technique. We could train together."

  I pulled back to study his face. He was smiling. I thumped him lightly on the arm. "Very amusing."

  "A surprise it is," he said. "But the discussion about training leads me to my second point. It's actually a question. Do you think the servants will be shocked if we practice out here on the lawn?"

  We used to train outside in the warmer weather but retreated indoors to the ballroom during winter. We'd kept the doors shut so the servants couldn't see, but I saw no reason why they couldn't watch. "They'll grow used to it. Besides, we can't hide from them forever. They're probably already curious about the sounds coming from the ballroom every day."

  "Lady Vickers won't like it."

  "Lady Vickers is our guest. If she doesn't like it, she can move out."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  I gave him a withering glare before he dared salute me. "Both of those things you could have asked me in the house. So what is the third thing?"

  "Ah." His arms tightened and his hands splayed at my back. "My third point is that I wanted to kiss you in one of my favorites places."

  I smiled. "Beneath the blossoms in the orchard? I didn't know this was a favorite place of yours. You only ever come out here with me."

  His lips brushed mine in a delicate, teasing touch. "That's what makes it one of my favorite places."

  My smile widened. "Lincoln Fitzroy, you are quite the romantic."

  "Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold."

  He kissed me thoroughly until the breath left my body and my knees turned weak.

  Gus and Seth didn't get out of bed until noon the next day. According to Cook, whom I questioned in the parlor mid-morning, they'd returned near dawn after spending all night out.

  "They started at a gambling house but that ain't no fun when you got no spare ready," Cook said, linking his fingers over his
bulging stomach. He sat on the sofa, his legs stretched out and his ankles crossed. He looked like the lord of the manor. His apron spoiled the effect somewhat. "Then they went to an alehouse and then another, and then on to the private residence of a fancy woman."

  "A fancy woman?"

  "Lady this or that." He waved his hand in dismissal. "Prob'ly a widow, knowing Seth."

  "Seth went to a lady's house? But he's—" I was about to say sweet on Alice, but stopped myself. Alice had not encouraged him, and Seth was a free man. He could do as he pleased. Still, I felt some disappointment in him. He may not have betrayed her, yet it felt like a betrayal of his feelings for her.

  "They came home when I be firing up the range this morning." He chuckled. "Got sore heads, the both of 'em. I got a mind to bang the pots outside their rooms."

  "So do I."

  Two hours later, Seth ventured down. After spying his mother sitting with Alice and me in the parlor, he veered off to the library instead. I found him sitting at the desk, his forehead resting on his folded forearms.

  "Did you eat breakfast?" I asked.

  He groaned.

  "Are you ill?"

  "Yes," he mumbled into the desk.

  "Is it self-inflicted?"

  "You need to ask?"

  I leaned my hip against the edge of the desk and waited until he glanced up at me through bloodshot eyes. "You look wretched."

  "I feel wretched," he mumbled.

  "Cook told me what you did."

  He groaned again and lowered his head back down on his arms. "Spare me the lecture, Charlie. You can't possibly berate me more than I've already berated myself."

  Well, that was promising. Perhaps his feelings for Alice ran deeper than I thought. "You drank too much," I said. "And I know the situation between Buchanan and Lady H affected you more than you let on yesterday. It's understandable that you sought…entertainment and…release."

  "Don't excuse it."

  "I'm not, but I don't like seeing you berate yourself either. You are not promised to…to anyone. You can do as you please."

  He sat upright again and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Blond hair flopped into his eyes until he pushed it back. "I've changed my mind. Lecture me, Charlie. I deserve it."