by Amanda Quick
Another thought followed, adding to her discomfort. Good grief, she would have to face the servants and Victoria at breakfast, knowing that they all knew what had occurred out there in the conservatory.
She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. This was the sort of thing one had to learn to deal with when one became a woman of the world. So what if she had lost her virginity tonight? It was about time. She was nearly thirty, after all. Furthermore, she was quite certain that very few women managed the feat in such a glorious fashion. For the rest of her life she would remember this night, a night of passion in a tropical garden.
She reached the safety of her room and hurried inside. After turning up the lamp she sat down on the edge of the bed to compose herself. Fog yawned, made a few circles on the rug and then settled down.
She was suddenly conscious of feeling a little sore, as though certain portions of her anatomy were gently bruised. She got up, undressed and bathed at the washstand.
She put on her nightgown and then, concluding that the room was quite cold, her robe and slippers.
After a while she realized she was not going to be able to sleep, at least not for some time. She went to the trunk that she had brought with her from Vine Street, opened the lid and picked up her mother’s journal.
She needed to take her mind off what had happened between herself and Thaddeus. It was time to do some research on the aurora stone.
20
SHORTLY BEFORE BREAKFAST the following morning, Thaddeus sensed a presence hovering in the doorway of the library. He looked up from the notes he was making. Victoria stood in the opening. She wore a dangerously resolute expression.
Until that moment he had been feeling in remarkably good spirits, considering the fact that he had a missing crystal and a few unsolved murders on his hands. The day appeared to be starting out very fine. The sun was actually shining in the garden. He was beginning to wonder if perhaps there was something to the business of positive thinking.
He had a feeling, however, that Victoria was about to change his newfound sense of optimism.
He got to his feet. “Good morning, Aunt Vicky. You are up early today.”
“I am always up early.” She marched into the room and sat down in front of the desk. “You know I suffer from insomnia and unpleasant dreams.”
“You might want to talk to Miss Hewitt about that problem. She is quite skilled at dealing with such matters.”
“As it happens, it is Miss Hewitt that brings me here this morning.”
He sat down and folded his hands on the surface of the desk. “I was afraid of that. I trust this won’t take long. I don’t wish to appear rude, but I was just about to eat breakfast and afterward I have a number of things to accomplish today.”
“Breakfast,” she said coldly, “is the reason I am here, sir.”
“There is something wrong with breakfast?”
“Miss Hewitt requested the maid to bring hers to her on a tray this morning.”
Victoria clearly expected that news to shatter him. He considered it closely for a moment, searching for the trap. He knew it was there, but damned if he could find it.
“I see,” he said. It was, he had long ago discovered, the most useful statement one could make when one was utterly baffled. “Perhaps Miss Hewitt prefers privacy in the mornings.”
Victoria’s shoulders were rigid. “I’m certain she is seeking privacy.”
A flicker of alarm shot through him. “Are you saying she is not feeling well? She was in the best of health last night. Does she have a fever? I shall send for the doctor immediately.”
“There is no need for a doctor,” Victoria said sharply.
Damnation. It must be one of those female complaints associated with a certain time of the month. But if that was the case, why was Victoria going on about it to him? Women did not discuss that sort of thing with men. Indeed the entire subject was a great mystery to those of his gender. The only reason he had some grasp of the subject was because, at roughly the age of thirteen, he’d developed an insatiable curiosity about the female form. One day his father had found him in his bedroom poring over an ancient medical text and two manuals devoted to the art of lovemaking, all of which he’d found tucked away in the family’s vast library.
The medical book was written in excruciatingly turgid, almost indecipherable Latin. The manuals, written in Chinese, were even more impossible. They had, however, been elegantly illustrated, the detail as fine and exquisite as any of the hundreds of botanical texts that dominated his father’s collection.
“I see that your intellectual interests have broadened recently,” his father said, closing the door. “So much for the new aquarium I bought you last week. I think it’s time we had a talk.”
The Latin medical book and the illustrated manuals were still here in the library. He had planned to give them to his own son someday.
He looked at Victoria. “I don’t quite understand what it is you expect me to do, Aunt Vicky.”
She raised her chin in an ominous manner. “I will be the first to admit that I was somewhat taken aback when you brought Miss Hewitt into this house yesterday.”
He stilled. “Let us be clear on one point. You are my aunt, and you have my affection and deepest respect. I will not, however, allow you to insult Miss Hewitt.”
“Bah, there is no point insulting her now. The damage is done.”
Anger and a chill of icy guilt sliced through him. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“Surely you are not that callous, Thaddeus. I have known you all of your life. I believed better of you.”
“You are insulting me, not Miss Hewitt?”
“Do you think that I and everyone else in this household, from Mrs. Gribbs and Mr. Gribbs, the cook and all the other members of the staff right down to little Mary, the new maid-of-all-work, don’t know what happened out there in the conservatory last night?”
He felt as if he’d been struck by lightning. “Everyone was in bed when we came in last night.”
“That doesn’t mean we were all unaware of just when you returned to the house,” Victoria snapped. “Two in the morning.”
“Damn,” he said, very quietly. He had not given the matter of Leona’s reputation a second thought. He’d been too busy savoring the intense satisfaction he had felt.
“Some of your father’s staff have known you from the cradle,” Victoria reminded him in awful tones. “What must they be thinking this morning? Miss Hewitt wasn’t even in this house one night before you took her out into the conservatory and seduced her.”
“Damn,” he said again. Nothing more useful came to mind. To think that only a moment ago he had been reflecting on the fine day and his uncharacteristically good spirits. So much for the power of positive thinking.
“Now that poor young woman is locked up there in her room,” Victoria continued. “Too humiliated to come downstairs for breakfast. She probably believes that she has been ruined. I’ll wager she’s crying her eyes out.”
“I suppose I should be grateful her dog didn’t go for my throat,” he said wearily.
He got to his feet, rounded the desk and started toward the door.
Victoria turned in her chair. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Upstairs to have a few words with Leona.”
“Surely you do not intend to be private with her in her bedroom. Not with me and the servants in the house. Haven’t you done enough?”
He stopped at the door, one hand on the knob. “I’ll assume that is a rhetorical question.”
Victoria made a tut-tutting sound. “One more thing before you go rushing upstairs.”
Another ominous sensation splashed through him. “What?”
“I trust you have not forgotten the first Spring Ball?”
“Aunt Vicky, the damned Spring Ball is, at the moment, the very last thing on my mind. In fact, I do not give a damn about it.”
“You, along with every o
ther high-ranking member of the Society, will be expected to attend.”
“What in blazes does that have to do with my intention to speak to Leona this morning?”
“That depends.”
“On what?” he demanded, the last of his patience vanishing.
Victoria gave a ladylike sniff. “On whether or not you intend to escort Miss Hewitt to the affair.”
“Damn it to hell, that does it. Aunt Vicky, in case you have forgotten, I am currently trying to recover a very dangerous relic from a man who has already poisoned two people in order to obtain it. In addition, I am attempting to discover the identity of a human monster who delights in slicing the throats of women. I do not have time to worry about escorting anyone to the Spring Ball.”
Victoria’s brows rose. “You had time to compromise a woman last night.”
He did not trust himself to respond to that. Instead, he opened the door, strode out of the library and took the stairs two at a time.
When he reached the closed door of Leona’s bedroom, he rapped sharply.
“Come in, Mary,” Leona called.
In spite of his irritation, some of his tension eased. Her voice did not sound choked with tears.
Warily he opened the door. Leona was sitting at the small writing desk near the window. His breath tightened in his chest at the sight of her. She wore a dressing gown of spring green trimmed with yellow ribbons. The gown, with its long sleeves, prim neckline and floor-length hem, was modest in every respect. The style, imported from France, was meant to be worn casually indoors. It did not require tight lacing or a corset. Fashionable women like his mother wore their dressing gowns down to breakfast without a qualm.
But the dressing gown had created a great stir when it had first become popular. Critics railed against the comfortable style, declaring that its loose-fitting design would inevitably lead to even looser morals. For the first time he understood the shock and outrage among the priggish set. There was something undeniably sensual about the easy, flowing manner in which the gown draped a woman’s body, or at least there was something very sensual about the way this particular gown draped this particular woman’s body.
It occurred to him that he would not want any other man to see Leona in her dressing gown, regardless of that high neckline and those long sleeves.
“Just set the tray on my dressing table,” Leona said. She did not look up from the leather-bound journal she was studying. “And please thank cook for me.”
He folded his arms across his chest and propped one shoulder against the doorjamb.
“You can thank her, yourself,” he said.
She started violently and turned in her chair, her eyes huge. “Thaddeus. What on earth are you doing here?”
“An excellent question. I was given to understand that you had ordered breakfast sent to your room because you could not face Aunt Vicky at breakfast, to say nothing of the staff.”
“Good heavens, what nonsense.”
“It was strongly implied that you were sobbing your heart out here in the privacy of your bedroom because you believed yourself to be ruined.”
She frowned. “Who told you that?”
“My aunt.”
Leona winced. “I see. I’m sure she meant well. How very awkward.”
“For both of us.”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You are not the only one whose reputation is at stake here. Evidently my aunt and the servants have all leaped to the conclusion that I took ruthless advantage of you last night.”
“I see.” She closed the journal very carefully. “My apologies, sir. I had no notion that the simple act of requesting a breakfast tray would cause such a commotion. I shall get dressed immediately and come down to breakfast.”
“Thank you. I’m not sure it will salvage my reputation, but at least I will not be obliged to face them all on my own.”
She smiled. “I’m quite sure you could handle the situation, were it to prove necessary.”
“Perhaps. But I can think of other things I would much rather do.”
“Such as?”
“Have a couple of teeth pulled.”
She laughed.
“One more thing,” he said, straightening.
“Yes.”
“Before we face the jury at breakfast I would like to speak to you in the library.”
She brightened. “You have some news of the crystal?”
“No. I have a few questions for you.”
She turned wary in a heartbeat. “What sort of questions?”
“Shortly before my aunt descended on me to defend your virtue, it dawned on me that you probably know more about the recent history of the aurora stone than most. Certainly more than Caleb Jones or I do. The last verified report we found was dated nearly forty years ago. You last saw the stone when you were sixteen. That would have been about ten or eleven years ago, correct?”
“Eleven.” A closed, shuttered look cut off some of the light in her eyes. “I do not know what I can tell you that will help you find it.”
“Neither do I. But if there is one thing I have learned in my career as an investigator, it is that sometimes even the smallest item of information can occasionally prove useful. You are the only person I know who can work the aurora stone. That gives you special insight. I want to go over every detail of your family history that relates to your career as a crystal reader.”
A horrified stillness came over her. “Every detail? Is that really necessary?”
“I think so, yes. My method of investigation is somewhat primitive. I call it the turn-over-rocks-until-I-find-the-viper approach, but it is remarkably productive. Collecting as much information as possible is the basis of the method.”
“I see.”
“I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
Gently he closed the door and went along the hall to the staircase, wondering why his words had ignited a small flame of panic in Leona.
21
SHE PUT ON HER MOST severely tailored gown, the rust-brown one with the dark gold stripes, and pinned her hair up into a tight chignon. When she contemplated her reflection in the mirror she was not pleased. Pity she could not find an excuse to wear one of her heavily veiled hats as well, she thought. Knowing that Thaddeus could not see her face might have made things easier. Then again, perhaps it would not have helped.
Last night she had known this day might come, she reminded herself. But given her philosophy of positive thinking, she had told herself she would not dwell on the possibility.
She heard a soft whine from somewhere out in the hall. When she opened the door she found Fog waiting for her. He watched her intently with his wolf’s eyes, as if he had sensed her distress and come to offer comfort.
She patted him lightly and rubbed the special spot behind his ears. “No need to worry about me. Mr. Ware will no doubt be somewhat shocked when I tell him who I really am, but that is neither here nor there. The important thing is the search for the crystal. We must get it back. If I possess some information that might assist in the recovery of the stone, then so be it. I will tell him everything I know.”
She went down the hall, Fog pacing at her side. At the top of the staircase she saw Mary. The plump little maid was climbing the stairs with a great deal of enthusiasm, in spite of the heavy tray she carried. There was an air of barely suppressed excitement about her.
She noticed Leona and halted midstep, confused.
“Did ye change yer mind, then, ma’am?” she asked.
“Yes, I did.” Leona summoned up a bright smile. “It is such a lovely morning, far too nice to spend alone in my room reading. I’ve decided I’d rather eat with the others.”
Mary’s face crumpled with undisguised disappointment.
“Yes, ma’am,” she mumbled.
Dejectedly she went back down the stairs and disappeared in the direction of the kitchens.
I’ve just taken the wind out of her sails, Leona thought. So much for
regaling the housekeeper, the cook and the rest of the staff with gossip about the poor houseguest who had been ruined by the master of the house last night. The lady was not a humiliated, shrinking violet hiding from the world in her bedroom. She was a woman of the world.
The small scene did wonders to elevate her spirits. Shoulders back, she went down the stairs and halted briefly in the open doorway of the library.
“I trust this won’t take long, Mr. Ware,” she said in her best stage voice, hoping it would carry as far as the kitchens. “I am very hungry for my breakfast.”
Thaddeus put down a pen and got to his feet. Amusement etched his mouth.
“Not long at all, Miss Hewitt. I am as eager as you to get to the breakfast table. My appetite also seems to be in fine form this morning, probably because I slept so well last night.”
He did not need to raise his voice in order to ensure that it carried. He merely added a little energy. His words rolled through the room and echoed along the hall. Fog tensed, suddenly very alert, and whined softly.
Leona glowered at Thaddeus and lowered her own voice. “Stop showing off.”
“Sorry.” He crossed the library and closed the door behind her. “I was merely following your lead. I have noticed that, on occasion, you have a certain flair for the theatrical.”
She knew she was turning pink, but by the time he had returned to the desk, she had composed herself on a chair, the folds of her skirts meticulously twitched into position. Fog stretched out beside her feet.
Thaddeus angled himself onto a corner of the desk, one foot braced on the floor. The amusement that had briefly lightened his hard features disappeared. A sober, intent expression replaced it.
“Tell me everything you can about the crystal,” he said. “And about your family’s connection to it.”
“I never knew my father,” she said. “He died when I was very young. I was raised by my grandmother and my mother. They supported themselves and me by working crystals. The women in my family have always had a talent for it. Mother and Grandmother managed a comfortable living. As you are no doubt aware, the rage for all things psychical has been quite strong for several years now.”