Banished Read online

  "Lady Alwyn and I are delighted to have been invited to this fine house," he said with a thrust of his considerable girth. The man was very tall and broadly built. In his youth, he probably cut a fine, strong figure, but in middle age, the muscle had run to fat, his hair was thinning, and the skin on his face had slackened and sagged. "I must say you're looking somewhat prettier than the last time we met."

  Considering the last time we'd met I'd been dressed as a boy, it wasn't much of a compliment. Byron Mordant-Turpin, the eighth earl of Alwyn, had forced Quin to fight in an illegal boxing match before he would tell us who had bought many of the books from his library, including the book of spells that would cure me. He was a notorious gambler, liar, cheat, and a generally unpleasant fellow who'd backed us into a difficult corner, getting us in trouble with the organizer of the bare knuckle fights, a nasty ruffian by the name of Bains.

  "Shall we dance, Miss Moreau?" he asked as the music changed again.

  Dancing with him meant touching him. Ugh. "I regret that my card is full."

  "Come now, there's no need to lie." He chomped down on his cigar, dropping ash onto his jacket. "I've been watching you, Miss Moreau, and I know your card is empty. Fellows prefer English roses to African exotics. You need to make your connection to Beaufort better known if you want to make 'em flock."

  "Do you usually insult the ladies you ask to dance?"

  He held out his hand. "I only want to waltz with a pretty young lady. There's nothing sinister in that, eh?"

  I glanced around, but saw nobody I knew. Rescue would not be forthcoming. "Put out your cigar first. I don't want ash in my hair."

  He chuckled and did as I asked, stabbing the butt on the back of a nearby chair and flinging it into the corner. I pulled a face at his back and steeled myself for a horrid few minutes.

  He led me onto the dance floor and we took up our positions. I stood as far from him as I could while still performing the waltz, but his stomach was so large that I kept bumping against it.

  "Suppose you're wondering why I'm here," he said.

  "Not particularly."

  "You are, you just don't want to admit it." Even without the cigar in his mouth, he still mumbled his words. "I made some enquiries about you and your friend, St. Clair."

  I held my breath and hazarded a glance up at him. "And what did you learn?"

  "I learned that St. Clair has returned to Melbourne, and I already knew more about him than anyone else I spoke with. He's quite the mystery man."

  I blew out the breath and relaxed a little. It would seem Alwyn wasn't aware of Quin's supernatural existence. Hopefully he wasn't aware of the supernatural at all.

  "I also learned that you're friendly with the Langley girl. My wife mentioned this ball and we took the liberty of turning up tonight, since Miss Langley's invitation must have been mislaid." The grin he gave me was wolfish.

  "Is there a point you're trying to make, my lord?"

  "Well, well, aren't you the inquisitive one? I should have guessed, considering the circumstances in which we first met." His grip tightened on my hand and waist, trapping me. "You're a fortunate woman, Miss Moreau. I don't dance with just anyone these days." He leaned down until his mouth was near my ear. His hot breath fanned my hair. "I also don't like being lied to."

  I would not be intimidated by this man, particularly in a room full of people. He couldn't do anything to me here. "Are you referring to me being dressed as a boy at The Brickmaker's Arms? Because I assure you, that had nothing to do with duping you and everything to do with me wanting an adventure. When did you realize I was a girl?"

  "Almost immediately. I thought it safer to keep your secret. Not sure what all those brutes would have done to a pretty chit like you if they'd sniffed out some sport."

  "Thank you. I think." His words didn't particularly worry me. I'd had Quin to keep me safe at the time. I certainly wouldn't have entered into such a place without him there to protect me.

  "What is it you want, sir? I doubt you came all this way just to dance, and there's little sport to be had here in sleepy Hertfordshire."

  "I'm not here for sport, I'm here for answers. I want to know why my book was so important to you and St. Clair."

  "Quin is a historian and the book was one he needed for his research."

  He swung me about a little more violently than the dance necessitated. "Don't lie to me, girl," he snarled, baring large teeth. "You'll find I make a very unpleasant enemy."

  I swallowed. My thoughts raced, even as my stomach dove. Telling him about the book risked too much. He might not have an interest in the paranormal now, but if he knew the book's value and power, I suspected he would suddenly develop one. But this man was astute and would know if I lied.

  "It was just a book, my lord," I said in the strongest voice I could muster. "You would need to ask Mr. St. Clair what was in it. I barely glanced at it."

  "No. No, no, no." His grip on my hand became bruising. I winced and tried to pull free, but that only brought more pain shooting into my wrists. "You see, some days after I last saw you, I began to ponder about the book and the vast distance Mr. St. Clair had traveled to find it. It was his nature that first set off alarm bells. You see, he's not the bookish type. Not in the least. So why did he want to read the books in my library? When I could also find out nothing about him, I began to wonder. I spoke to the priest who'd brokered the purchase, and he told me about the bookseller. He in turn told me about yourselves and a certain other gentleman who'd come looking for the book that day. I believe Mr. Faraday is here tonight, but not his employer, Mr. Myer. If Myer had an interest in the particular tome, then I am certainly interested now too." He spoke as quietly as his booming voice allowed. "Because if he wants it, he will pay to get it and not care about the sum. The man is richer than the queen."

  "He is that. But I can assure you, I no longer have the book. Quin hid it."

  "Perhaps. Or perhaps not. Either way, you're going to get it back for me, Miss Moreau."

  He eased his hold and I pulled free and stepped a little away from him, bumping into the couple whirling past. We both stood in the middle of the dance floor as the dancers dipped and swirled around us to the increasing tempo of the music. It was like standing in the eye of a storm, waiting for it to unleash its force upon us. The problem was, I had no anchor, no strong pillar to hold onto. I was alone with an unpredictable and very large man, without any friends or family to keep me safe.

  "Why would I do that, sir?" I asked him. It was easy to sound brave. Much harder to feel it. My heart hammered in my chest and my palms felt cold, clammy. "You sold the book and we acquired it from the gentleman who bought it from you." Acquired it under the most violent circumstances that saw Lord Frakingham's heir, Douglas Malborough, die.

  "You're not hearing me, Miss Moreau. I don't care that the book has been bought and sold. I want it back. It's my family heirloom." He fished in his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a cigar longer than his finger. "The book belongs in the Alwyn library. For sentimental reasons." He shoved the cigar between his lips and chomped down on it. "I'm sure a girl like you understands the importance of family and history."

  If anything sets my blood boiling, it's men like him who think of me as having little more value than an exotic curiosity. "A girl like me?"

  He chuckled, apparently finding my hot temper amusing. "A girl who likes her family. A girl with a lot to lose."

  Just like that my ire dissolved, replaced by uncertainty again and a sickening sense of dread. "What are you implying?" My small voice was almost lost as the band whipped their playing into a crescendo that had the dancers spinning into a frenzy.

  He leaned forward and kept his voice low. "I am a man who gets what he wants. Always. Sometimes I have to use unsavory methods to achieve my ends, but that's only because I find those methods are the currency that get a response. Do not force my hand, Miss Moreau. I don't want to hurt any of your loved ones—but I will." He straightened to his ful
l height and pushed out his barrel chest. He didn't smile, but there was a hard gleam in his eyes that dared me to test him so he could prove what he was capable of. "Do we understand one another, Miss Moreau?"

  I nodded quickly. What else could I do? The man was unscrupulous and greedy. Whether he was the sort to follow through on such a horrible threat, I didn't know. Nor did I want to find out. I felt sick as I watched his thick lips spread into a grin.

  "I'll be generous and give you four days. If you don't have the book by then…" He bowed and walked off the dance floor as the music died away and the dancers came to a stop.

  I ran past them and out of the ballroom, my stomach doing wild flips and my hands shaking. I couldn't think through the dilemma he'd slapped on me, couldn't decide what the best course of action was. All I knew was that I wanted Quin, not simply for his advice and the protection he offered, but to share the burden of the decision that had to be made.

  CHAPTER 2

  There were too many of us to fit into the smaller drawing room the Langleys preferred to use on a daily basis, so we retreated instead to the more formal one. I had already been on a morning walk with Emily and Jacob, to clear my head and tell them what Lord Alwyn had said, and now it was time to tell the others. Despite its cavernous size, the drawing room seemed crowded with Sylvia, Tommy, August Langley, Bollard, Emily and Jacob Beaufort, Jack and Hannah Langley, Samuel Gladstone and Charity, George and Adelaide Culvert, and myself all assembled.

  "How is everyone this morning?" Sylvia said around a yawn. "I do hope you all slept well and enjoyed yourselves last night."

  A round of nods and thanks followed, with assurances from everyone that the ball had been a success. Sylvia glowed at the praise.

  "Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Langley?" Hannah asked. She sat beside Jack, their hands interlinked, every bit the contented newlyweds.

  "Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves," Langley agreed. He signaled Bollard to wheel him a little further into the room. "There were several interesting gentlemen there."

  "And ladies too," Sylvia added.

  Her uncle gave her a flat smile. It was clear that he was referring to eligible gentlemen, the sort he felt were right for his niece. However, if anyone had paid her particular attention, I hadn't noticed. Then again, I was distracted for much of the evening.

  Tommy shifted his stance. We had all insisted he sit, but he'd refused. His bandaged arm was cradled close to his body in a sling, but the other visible signs of the demon attacks had faded on his face and hands. He watched Sylvia from beneath lowered lashes, perhaps to gauge her reaction to her uncle's mention of gentlemen. She gave nothing away. Perhaps she wasn't even aware what Langley had been referring to.

  "Did you enjoy yourself, Sylvia?" Charity asked her.

  "I did." Sylvia chewed on her lower lip and didn't meet anyone's gaze. I raised my eyebrow at Charity, and she lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

  "Did anyone see Lord and Lady Alwyn?" Jacob cut in. He'd been agitated ever since I'd told him about my encounter with the earl. He wanted to leave for London immediately, but Emily and I managed to convince him to stay until the following morning in order to discuss Alwyn's threat with the others.

  "Alwyn!" George screwed up his nose, but I wasn't sure if it was with displeasure at hearing that Alwyn had attended the ball or to keep his glasses in place. "What was he doing here?"

  "That's what I'd like to know," Sylvia said with a sniff. "I didn't invite them, but I couldn't confront them. Or should I have done so?" She returned to chewing her lip. "Did I do the right thing?"

  "You did," Emily assured her. "It was terribly bad form, and I'm surprised at Lady Alwyn. She ought not to have committed such a faux pas."

  "She may not have had a choice," Jacob told his wife. "If her husband ordered her to come, she would have had to do as he bid."

  "But that's the thing," Sylvia whined. "Why would he want to come here? I didn't think he was the sort to care about balls and country parties."

  "He doesn't." Jacob looked to me and nodded at me to go on.

  "Who's Alwyn?" Jack asked before I could.

  "A gentlemen we met recently in London," I told him. "I think he came here to speak to me. Or, rather, threaten me." I launched into the details of my conversation with Alwyn and was met with stunned silence upon completion.

  Tommy finally sat and absently rubbed his injured elbow. "Blimey," he muttered.

  "Do you think him capable of doing such a thing?" Hannah asked Jacob.

  Jacob shrugged. "I don't know the fellow well enough. Cara and I met him briefly while searching for the book. He certainly didn't strike me as a man with many scruples, so it's possible."

  "None of us should take the threat lightly," I warned them. "Everyone in this room is linked to me in one way or another. I want you all to be extra vigilant."

  "But what will you do?" Charity asked. "Give him the book, or call his bluff, if he is indeed bluffing?"

  "We can't give him the book," Langley said. "He'll sell it to Myer and Myer will unleash hell on my doorstep."

  Sylvia and Adelaide both whimpered. George patted his wife's arm and she sidled closer to him on the sofa.

  "Agreed," Jack said. "The book must remain hidden."

  Jacob and Emily exchanged glances and something unspoken passed between them. "None of you have children," he said heavily. "They're the most vulnerable."

  Sylvia covered her mouth with her hand. Tommy half rose to go to her, but quickly sat again and fidgeted with his sling instead.

  "Then what do you propose we do?" Jack asked. "Sit and wait? Give him the book?"

  "We could try tricking him," Adelaide said. "Give him another old book and tell him it's the one."

  "That might work, but only until he tries to sell it to Myer. He'll know the difference."

  Jacob dragged his hand through his hair and down his face. He looked so tired and I hated that I'd been such trouble to him, to all of them. I knew it wasn't my fault, but I felt the weight of responsibility nevertheless.

  "You've all forgotten one obvious answer," Samuel said. To my surprise, he was smiling. And then I realized why.

  Charity brightened. "Of course!"

  Jack smiled too. "How could we forget?"

  George slapped his knee and immense relief passed over Jacob's face, lifting the shadows in his eyes.

  "What?" Sylvia asked, glancing between us. "What have we forgotten?"

  "I'll hypnotize Alwyn," Samuel said. "Charity and I will return to London on this afternoon's train and I'll seek him out and hypnotize him tonight."

  "Can you do it in such a way that he won't be aware that he has been hypnotized?" Emily asked.

  "I can. While he's under, I'll tell him to forget about the book entirely. By the time I'm finished, he won't even know of its existence anymore."

  It was a huge relief to have the matter resolved, and in such a simple manner. Even Charity seemed at ease with Samuel using his hypnosis to stop Alwyn.

  "Alwyn isn't aware of your ability?" Jack asked.

  Samuel shook his head. "As far as we know, he's not aware of anything about the supernatural."

  "Except that he does know Myer is master of the society," I added.

  "Yes, but he probably thinks Myer and his fellow members are crackpots. I can't see Alwyn being a believer in the paranormal."

  "He does seem to lack imagination," Emily said. "And it does require one to set aside practicalities and look at things differently."

  It was with a sense of relief that we said goodbye to Samuel and Charity that afternoon, instead of the following morning as planned. I, for one, was anxious to have Alwyn's threat defused as quickly as possible.

  After we waved them off, I headed to the library for some peace and quiet. It wasn't until I pulled a particular book from the shelves that I could admit to myself that it wasn't peace and quiet I sought, but information. I settled at the table with the history book and turned to the index first.

  T
he name Quintin St. Clair stared back at me in bold, black lettering. I swallowed. I had been putting off searching through historical texts on the crusades because I wasn't sure I should learn anything more about him. After all, what was the point? It was doubtful if I would see him again, and if I did, nothing could come of it. Besides, researching his life without his knowledge felt wrong, like I was listening to tales behind his back.

  I'd finally decided to dispense with that thinking and just do it. Perhaps it was the constant reminder of him, now that I was back in the place where we'd parted. Or perhaps the weight of missing him for three whole weeks had finally worn me down to a point where I would grasp at anything to feel close to him again. Learning about his life through history books was hardly a satisfying way to accomplish that, but it was better than nothing.

  I flipped to the page and read the short entry. Quintin St. Clair was born in Essex in 1164 and died in Jaffa, in the Holy Land, in 1191 at the age of twenty-seven. His parents' names weren't listed, and only one of his brothers was mentioned, Guy St. Clair, who also died in 1191 in Jaffa. Quin was knighted in 1189 and had been considered a confidant of King Richard I, known as The Lionheart. He married Maria when he was seventeen, but her last name, age and ancestry had been lost to the mists of time and weren't noted.

  That was the total of the known details about Quin's life, summed up in a few pedestrian lines that not even a history student would bother to memorize. It told the reader nothing about the man himself. It didn't mention how he got the scars on his back or how he'd died. It failed to describe his quick temper or his sense of humor, or his insatiable curiosity and fascination with all modern things. It didn't tell me whether his protective streak was all encompassing, or whether it was reserved only for me. It didn't tell me if he'd loved his wife. Maria. Did he think about her, even now? I'd gleaned more answers from the man of mystery himself.

  "There you are," said Sylvia, entering the library. "I've been looking for you."

  I slammed the book closed, not wanting her to think that I was still preoccupied with Quin, but she didn't even glance at it. She sat in a comfortable chair by the unlit fireplace and plucked at her skirt. Her forlorn sigh had me asking her what the matter was, which I suspected was her intention.