Wicked

by Shannon Drake

  “Sir John, if you would just give the seating arrangements a final inspection?” Hunter said.

  Sir John took the list. He wasn’t really seeing it, Camille knew.

  “Yes, fine,” he said.

  “I’m leaving,” Hunter told him. “I have to prepare.” He looked over Sir John’s shoulder at Camille, then walked around to her. “You’ll forgive me, Camille. And may I beg a dance from you this evening?” He offered her a rueful, truly apologetic smile.

  “At your own risk,” she assured him, smiling back.

  “I swear, my dear, you will be able to follow me,” he said lightly, then turned, striding out.

  Hearing someone behind her, Camille turned. Alex was there, looking tense and white.

  “What about me, Camille? I haven’t even a ‘sir’ before my name.”

  “Alex! Of course I’ll dance with you,” she said with a sigh.

  “I may never have any kind of title,” he said quietly, “but we are living in a great age, and I could become a very rich and powerful man one day. Stranger things have happened.” His smile seemed a little wistful.

  “Alex, I swear to you, my position here is so very important to me because I don’t ever want to care about someone just because they have wealth or a title. You are my friend, and your finances will never matter to me. I’ll be happy to dance with you at the ball.”

  He nodded. “But—”

  “But what?”

  “You are coming with Lord Stirling.”

  “He asked me.”

  “But his title means nothing to you? You are enduring the dictates of a beast?” he said.

  She sighed, trying to keep her temper. “His title means nothing to me, Alex, nor does his wealth. Nor does his face or the destruction thereof! There is a very decent man beneath the facade.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Alex murmured.

  “I’m telling you—”

  “No! Camille, please, I beg of you! Let me tell you—no! Warn you. You’re falling under some kind of spell with this man. And you really don’t know him. He is vengeful! He is coming here to destroy us all, not to renew his interest in the museum.”

  She looked around. Only the caterers and musicians were moving about, and they were at a distance. But entering the great hall was Shelby.

  “I have to go, Alex. Please believe me, Brian Stirling does not want to destroy us all.”

  “Ah, Brian Stirling. So you are becoming more and more…intimate.”

  Despite herself, her cheeks burned. “I have to go,” she told Alex.

  “Camille, wait, please!” he said.

  “What, Alex?”

  He stood humbly, words forming on his lips but not finding voice. He reached out, touched her hair. “I just care for you so much. I dreamed that one day…that one day I might be the right man for you. We truly find the same things fascinating. We’re of the same social strata. It wasn’t the right time, but I always knew we were perfect for one another. I’ve…oh, dear God, this is so difficult. I’ve been in…in love with you since I first saw you. And I believed that one day I would have what I needed to…to ask for your hand. In marriage. And I thought that you cared about me. But now…” He finished miserably.

  She caught his hand, held it tightly. “Alex, I care about you very much. You are my dear, dear friend!”

  “But you’ll never love me, will you,” he said. “And you might have, if it weren’t for him.”

  “I’m a guest at the castle, Alex.”

  He looked up at her intently. “Not a guest in his bed?”

  “Alex, I will not forgive the rudeness with which you have been speaking to me much longer,” she told him.

  “I apologize for my rudeness, sincerely,” he said. “I can’t help it. I’m so afraid for you. It would be better if you had engaged in a liaison with Hunter! But, Camille, I am the one who will be there. For you. Always. And I swear, I will be a rich man one day. Those I have bowed to will know my name!”

  “Alex—”

  He turned away from her, speaking over his shoulder. “Watch out for your precious ‘beast,’ Camille. The man is cursed. And the curse that haunts him will fall upon you if you stay too close beside him.” He swung back. “He is obsessed. Maimed, bitter, destroyed, ready to sacrifice anyone for his goals. Camille, you are a sacrifice for him, whether you see it or not! Believe me, he’s dangerous! And dear God, Camille, I am so afraid that you will discover the truth of my words!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CAMILLE WAITED restlessly in the entry, feeling at war with herself. Edith and Merry had come to help her dress, which had actually been a tremendous amount of fun. The sisters were so sweet, so encouraging and so…normal!

  She wished heartily that they had stayed on, that they had promised to be there when she returned from the gala. But though they were giving and focused on their task, willing to have a spot of spiked tea after they had trussed her into their elaborate creation, they were equally anxious to get back to their own little cottage in the woods. Still, they had been there for her. And the gown, she was certain, was magical.

  When she was finally dressed, the sisters had gone for Tristan. And he had made her feel as if she really were a princess for the night. Edith and Merry had looked on like proud mother hens. But then they had gone, leaving her to her own devices. Tristan, after complimenting with all his love and pride, had seemed to weaken, and she had insisted he return to his bed.

  She’d never worn anything so exquisite in her life. And seeing her reflection in the mirror, she actually felt beautiful.

  The only thing that gave her pause was the topaz earrings left on her nightstand for use that evening. They had come with a note: Please wear these tonight.

  Her heart was hammering. She hadn’t seen Brian since…she had fallen asleep at his side. As she had said, she had made her own choices. But now she felt acutely uncomfortable. She had almost decided not to wear the earrings. Their appearance had seemed almost like…a payment. But the note hadn’t indicated that they were a present, only a loan.

  She stood by the great hearth with the fire blazing. She shouldn’t have been cold, but she was. The evening yawned before her like an abyss. Everything in her life was suddenly a charade, a lie, because every movement Brian Stirling made was an effort to draw out a killer.

  And now, another mystery. Why was Alex so certain he was going to be a rich man? She felt ill. Alex had been on the expedition. Alex had free rein of the museum. He wasn’t the keeper of the keys, but, as she had discovered, it was easy enough to get hold of Sir John’s set. And what about Sir John and his oh-so-strange behavior? And the newspaper clipping on his desk? If he hadn’t had it out, then someone had gone into his desk, taken the clipping and stabbed the point of the blade right through his face. And that someone wouldn’t have been noticed in the office. Alex?

  She turned away from the fire, seething over these dilemmas—very real and totally emotional. Then she saw him.

  Despite the mask, he was the epitome of masculine attraction. He wore the swallow-tailed coat, starched white shirt, black vest and tie with both elegance and grandeur, carrying the proper white kid gloves in his hand. His buttons and studs were simple gold, as was the watch fob that seemed to arc at the perfect angle from his pocket. He walked down the stairs as a man who might not usually choose such attire, yet was able to wear it with the nonchalance of one who knew it well.

  On the fourth step he stopped, staring at her.

  “My God!” he breathed.

  She felt a flush come over her, reminding her of everything she had felt the night before. On the one hand she longed to rush forward, but on the other, she wished she could run away.

  “Good evening,” she murmured.

  He continued down the steps after a moment, then came to her, took both her hands, stepped away and surveyed her again. She was sure that she was as red as a lobster, it seemed her flesh was burning so hotly.

  “And the earrings,”
he murmured. “They’re perfect.”

  “I shall see that they’re given back to you the moment we’ve returned,” she said, and winced, for there was a brittleness to her tone that she had not intended.

  He frowned. “I don’t wish to have them back.”

  “As I’ve said before, I’ve no interest in charity.”

  “Their value is not so great.”

  “Nevertheless, I want no such gift.”

  His eyes, which had glittered so brightly with appreciation, took on a hard sheen. “I understand. You see them as something other than a simple gesture for the evening?”

  “I don’t accept gifts,” she said stiffly.

  He pulled her close. “My dear, if I were to give you a gift of appreciation, trust me, it would be of a far higher value.”

  She started to wrench away, but his grip was firm. His voice was soft, as if he was determined they would not be overheard, should anyone be near. “What on earth has gotten into you?”

  “Nothing. I simply know the world for what it is.”

  “And what is that?”

  “It’s a place where…we all have our place!” she said a little desperately.

  “Our place, at times, can be where we choose to be, Miss Montgomery,” he said. “I have not meant to offend you. I knew the fabric of the gown, of course, and the earrings have been in the family for decades. Forgive me, but I assumed we’d come to a point where it was possible, at the very least, to be friends.”

  She exhaled slowly, wondering if what Alex had said hadn’t gotten to her after all. She had wanted him, yes…so badly. And she had allowed everything that had happened, caused everything that had happened. Alex had been wrong, though. It had nothing to do with title or wealth. And perhaps the earrings had hinted of just such a possibility.

  “I can accept no gifts,” she said again, but gently, wishing that she didn’t like the strength of his hands on hers, or that she didn’t savor just being near him. Or crave the tenderness and flattery his eyes had offered.

  “Did something happen at the museum?” he asked.

  “Today? Nothing worth mentioning,” she said.

  He drew back, as if he were suddenly the one mistrusting her. “Nothing?”

  “They prepared for tonight,” she said. Had anything been worth mentioning? Sir John was acting strangely to her, but what did that mean, and how did she explain it? Lord Wimbly and Sir John had argued about the cobra, but there was no way for her to bring that up without mentioning why the argument had raged.

  “Oh, my!”

  They pulled apart as they heard Evelyn’s voice from the stairway. She, too, was the height of elegance, with her hair piled high atop her head, a tiny diamond at her throat and a gown of cobalt blue over a sea of aqua petticoats. She had stopped halfway down the stairway, much as Brian had done. She clapped her hands together, her smile radiant. “My God! I do hope they’ve arranged for a photographer. You should see yourselves together. You are quite beyond description, really.”

  “Thank you, Evelyn,” Brian said. “I’m afraid that evening wear for men is quite regulated in our society, but you ladies…” He inclined his head toward Camille. “I have never seen a more stunning vision, Miss Montgomery, and Evelyn…”

  “I know. You’ve never seen a more stunning version of a woman my age—is that it, Brian?”

  Evelyn turned to Camille as she came the rest of the way down the stairs. “I’m sorry, you looked a bit shocked. I didn’t mean to intrude upon the evening, to be a third wheel, but Brian insisted.”

  “Evelyn, I believe I’m actually the third wheel this evening.”

  “Oh, my dear! Don’t be silly,” Evelyn protested. “Just forgive my presence. I do know the fellows at the museum quite well, and since I’ve been in the roasting sun and the wretched sand with them all, it seemed only fair that I should attend the ball.”

  “Of course,” Camille said.

  The door opened. Even Shelby had changed for the evening; his livery was perfectly tailored and his top hat seemed to gleam. “Lord Stirling? The carriage is ready at your leisure.”

  “Excellent. Well, ladies, shall we?”

  THE MUSEUM WAS ABLAZE with light, and the most elegant of carriages were aligned before the steps. One by one, they were emptied of their glittering occupants. Women dazzling with jewels alighted, and men, tall and short, lean and squat, all in their black, helped them as they made their grand entrances up the steps.

  Brian Stirling was recognized the minute he stepped out of the carriage, and a number of shocked whispers reached their ears.

  “Good God! It is the Earl of Carlyle!”

  “So the old boy has really come out of it.”

  “Must have been one hell of a saber wound. He’s still wearing the mask.”

  “Ah, but he does wear it exceedingly well!” That came from one of the female guests.

  “Well, he’ll be giving you a run for the money with the rich old darlings’ daughters, eh, Rupert?” That was said in an amused and taunting drawl.

  As Brian acknowledged those who openly called out to him, Camille became an object of wonder for the not-so-discreet whisperers herself.

  “Who on earth is she? Why, she’s glorious!”

  “Evelyn Prior, his mum’s old friend.”

  “Not Evelyn, you dunce! The stunning creature in gold!”

  “Must be foreign nobility, I dare say.”

  “Maybe they’re related, and thus I’d have a chance.”

  “No! I’ve heard tell he was coming with some little commoner. An employee of the museum, can you imagine that?”

  Near the entrance, they came upon the group that had been doing the speaking, Camille quickly became certain.

  “Brian! Lord God, Brian, I’d heard you were coming! Couldn’t quite believe it was true!” said a fellow stepping forward. Dressed in like fashion, the speaker was a handsome blond fellow.

  “Robert, good to see you,” Brian said, shaking his hand. “Rupert, Lavinia, what a pleasure.” He turned to Camille. “My dear, good old chums. We were all at Oxford together, and Rupert and I saw some service in the Sudan. Count Robert Offenbach, Prince Rupert and his sister, Lady Lavinia Estes. May I present to you Miss Camille Montgomery. And I believe you all know Mrs. Prior.”

  As the greetings went around, Camille forced a smile. The men were staring at her with poorly concealed curiosity, and Lady Lavinia was openly making an assessment, her nose rather high in the air. She was, Camille had to admit, an extraordinary woman, petite, blond, with immense blue eyes and a lovely face. She dazzled in a white gown resplendent with crystals and beads, and a diamond chain about her throat.

  “So, Brian! You’re taking up an interest in the place again,” Robert said, sounding pleased. “That’s wonderful. I really can’t even envision the department without a Stirling having a hand in it.”

  “Right, quite seriously,” Rupert agreed. “I was rather afraid you’d be putting a uniform back on, heading down to India, the Sudan or perhaps South Africa. It’s just wonderful to see you back.”

  “Yes, well, being a great Empire is not easy, is it?” Brian said. “But no, unless I’m specifically asked, I intend to remain in England for some time.”

  “Poor dear!” exclaimed Lavinia. “You were so dreadfully wounded.”

  “What I received is nothing, it’s simply not pretty, Lavinia,” Brian said gravely. “I walked away with all my limbs, and for that I am grateful. Though I dare say, despite our wondrous medical advances, most of my fellow chaps fell prey to typhoid and dysentery. Anyway, it’s really not the subject for this evening. Shall we go in?”

  And so they did. The halls were brilliantly lit. The orchestra was situated between giant Armenian statues. Tables were arrayed by the walls, allowing for a dance floor toward the center of the large west hall, where the exhibits had been moved to allow for the evening’s entertainment. As they walked in, the strains of a Strauss waltz were being played.

 
Before they had even crossed into the gathering, Brian turned to Camille. “Shall we? Evelyn, do you mind?”

  “Of course not, children. Dance away!” Evelyn encouraged.

  “Wait!” Camille cried, but it was too late. She was in his arms and being swept in a rapid tempo across the floor.

  She thanked God for her skirts, and for the fact that she didn’t really need to worry too much about where she put her feet. The way he held her, she was all but carried. And…she couldn’t be happier, couldn’t feel a greater sense of well-being than the second his arms had come around her, holding her so tightly, when she had felt a hint of the fever that had seized her the night before, a sense of closeness, intimacy, electricity and fire.

  “Do relax, my dear Miss Montgomery.”

  “Easy for you to say!” she said, lifting her chin. “I was taught Egyptology. I grew up in a museum. And I am sorry to say that they did not teach dance here!”

  “You’ve never danced?”

  “Well, of course I have, but not on a dance floor,” she murmured, flushing.

  “Where did you dance?”

  “Around our pathetic little rooms, with Tristan and Ralph,” she admitted.

  “But you’re dancing just fine. Those fellows were excellent teachers.”

  “I know only a few steps!”

  “You follow delightfully.”

  “You’re being polite.”

  He laughed softly. “Why would I suddenly start being polite? I’m speaking nothing but the truth.”

  “Ah, the truth. Are we out here now just because you enjoy your friends being so flabbergasted to see you with an employee of the museum?”

  He shrugged, amusement in his eyes. “Partially.”

  “Partially? Then why else?”

  “Because you are the most stunning beauty, and I quite honestly swear to you, Miss Montgomery, that I would far rather dance with you than any woman here.”

  “Now you are being polite.”

  “I wouldn’t ruin a relationship of such honesty by putting courtesy before truth, Miss Montgomery!” he told her.