by Lisa Maxwell
Her brows drew together. “We wouldn’t be having it without you if you’d been here when I got back.”
Maybe she was telling the truth. Maybe he could trust her—after all, Dolph was there too. But the way she’d managed to edge him out little by little had already been bothering him. And now to find her with Nibs . . . “You haven’t been home this early in over a week. What am I supposed to do, sit around waiting? I had things to attend to at the theater,” he said, his jaw tight.
She gave a derisive huff. “I’m sure you did.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, stepping toward her.
“Nothing.” She glared at him. “But you’re not the one fending off Jack’s constant pawing. I swear he’s part octopus.”
“You wouldn’t have to fend him off if you’d let me come along.” But for the last two nights, she’d insisted that Jack wanted to see her alone.
Esta thought they could get further if Jack believed he was getting the best of Harte by stealing his girl. Harte had agreed, reluctantly, but he couldn’t help worrying that Esta had the advantage while he wasn’t there. Whatever truce they might have come to, he had to remember that he couldn’t fully trust her. No matter how much he might want to.
He smirked. “How far did he manage to get with you tonight?”
“You ass—” Her cheeks flushed.
“If you two are finished?” Dolph asked, impatience simmering behind his words.
“I’m not even close to finished,” Harte told him, his eyes still steady on Esta. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“I came to check up on you,” Dolph said, and there was a note of something in his voice that Harte had never heard before. That usual thread of confidence seemed to be worn away, near to breaking.
He looked at Dolph. “You don’t need to check up on me,” he said as he removed his coat and slung it on the back of a chair. “I’m keeping my word, like I said I would.” He purposely ignored Nibs. There was no way he’d be able to keep up the ruse if he acknowledged the boy.
Dolph’s icy gaze met his. “Are you?”
“Yes.” Harte yanked his cravat loose and pulled at the collar of his starched shirt.
“Jianyu tells me that Paul Kelly was seen having drinks with Jack Grew. You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, would you?”
Nibs shifted, as though listening more intently to his answer.
Panic laced its fingers around Harte’s throat, but he fought through it. “I’m not going back on my word,” he said, answering the implied question rather than the stated one. But when Dolph didn’t respond, only continued to pin him with that all-knowing stare of his, Harte added, “Kelly managed to get to Jack without my help.”
“When was this?”
“The night of the Haymarket fiasco. I came to the Strega to tell you, but you were out.”
“Yes,” Dolph said. “I saw that you’d talked to Nibs.”
“I didn’t do anything he didn’t have coming to him.”
“There’s no hard feelings, Darrigan. I shouldn’t have goaded you when you were all worked up over Esta being arrested.” Nibs gave Esta a small, almost-embarrassed smile that had Harte wanting to punch him again.
“You were worked up over me?” Esta asked, puzzled.
“Gave me quite the shiner,” Nibs told her, the challenge clear in his tone.
“You punched him?”
“No one mentioned a meeting with Kelly,” Dolph said with a low growl.
Harte ignored the other two and focused on Dolph. “The meeting with Kelly must have slipped my mind,” he drawled. “Had to get your girl here out of jail since this one wasn’t any help.”
It was a gamble to throw that fact out there. . . . He probably shouldn’t be poking at Nibs. If only he’d had more luck finding his mother. Once she was safe, it would be easy enough to tell Dolph everything he’d seen that night when his fist met Nibsy’s face. But until he knew Nibs couldn’t hurt her, he was basically muzzled.
“And after?” Dolph asked, his expression grim. “You had plenty of time to tell me.”
“I’ve been a little busy since then,” he said, gesturing to the evidence on the table between them. “Besides, didn’t you tell me you’d taken care of Paul Kelly? I didn’t think he was a problem anymore.”
Dolph’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t respond. Not a good sign.
Harte took the momentary reprieve to change the course of the conversation. “What haven’t you told me?” he asked Esta.
“Except for what I learned tonight, I’ve told you everything,” she snapped.
“And when were you planning to tell me that?”
“As soon as I saw you, of course. But you got your knickers all in a twist over Dolph and Nibs being here and—”
“What was I supposed to think?” Seeing her with Dolph, not being included in whatever their conversation was—it had emphasized even more starkly how precarious his position was. He was playing them against each other, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d end up trapped in the middle.
Esta glared at him. “You were supposed to shut up for a minute and put away that fragile male ego of yours so I could tell you what happened tonight.”
“Fine.” She was right, not that he’d admit it to her, especially not in front of Dolph, who seemed far too amused with the whole exchange. “So talk.”
“As I was about to tell them—and would have told you, if you’d given me a second—remember how the Order is having something of a soiree to celebrate the spring equinox? It’s in a week, and it seems their usual entertainment has become suddenly unavailable.”
“A pity,” Dolph said dramatically.
She glanced at Dolph. “Isn’t it? But they’ve found themselves in need of someone at rather short notice. I suggested you, of course,” she told Harte, pausing for dramatic effect and enjoying the anticipation in the boy’s eyes.
“And?”
She pulled an embossed card from the handbag dangling from her wrist. “We’ve been invited to perform at Khafre Hall.”
THE HISTORY OF NOW
Esta could feel Harte’s eyes on her in the darkness of the carriage.
Outside the window, the rain-drenched city passed by at a slow, steady pace. I’ll miss this, she thought with a sudden pang of longing. This city was so different from hers, but it had become home just the same. She loved how it seemed to know it was on the cusp of greatness, as though it were simply waiting for the years to pass and reveal what it would become. Now that she had spent so many weeks walking those cobbled streets, she would always see this city there, beneath her own. At night, especially, she would never again need the help of Ishtar’s Key to sense this time, this place, sitting just below the present. Just beyond her grasp.
Because there would be no returning. Once she had her stone, she could come back, but she knew already that once she left, she never would. There would be no reason to. She could look back on newspapers and reports like the clipping tucked securely in her bodice, but so many of the people she’d come to respect were invisible and unimportant to the men behind desks who wrote history.
She could not let that distract her, though. Against her skin, the waxen envelope with the news clipping reminded her that she had other responsibilities and another place to be. Whatever fondness Esta might have felt for this time, for this city, the news clipping reminded her that she had a duty to the future. She had to make sure that the past remained just as it should have been, or else who knew what her future might hold?
And the only way to do that was to make sure Harte didn’t take the Book. To betray him—to betray all of them.
“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice soft.
“Of course,” she told him, but she wasn’t sure how much of a lie it was.
Not that it mattered anymore. Before the night was over, the Book and the stone would be hers, and she would be gone.
“It’ll be fine,” he said, his eyes steady. “
Just like we practiced.” He reached over and ran his fingers over her shoulders, rubbing lightly at the stiff muscles in her neck.
For a moment she felt only a strange, sudden wash of relief, as though all the tension between them, all the distrust and anger drained away with the tension in her muscles. And for a moment she allowed herself to feel real regret for what she was about to do. But no sooner did she let herself relax against the warmth of his fingertips than she also felt the heat of his magic.
She jerked away, her heart pounding in her chest. I am such an idiot. “Stay out of my head, Harte.”
He stared at her, his expression unreadable until she turned away, wondering what he’d managed to see that had put that look on his face. Wondering what it meant for her careful plans.
They rode the rest of the way in a dangerous silence. She kept her eyes focused out the window, resolutely ignoring him and using the time to gather her thoughts. She could practically feel him watching her, but she refused to turn and give him anything else. There was too much riding on this night. Too much he could have discovered with that single touch.
The carriage came to a clattering stop. “We’re here,” he said, as though she couldn’t see that for herself.
Harte got out of the carriage first and opened a large black umbrella before handing her down as well. Esta glanced up at the driver, Nibsy, who looked wet and miserable sitting in the drizzling rain. She gave him a nod that she hoped seemed confident. She wished she could apologize. After all, in the next two hours she’d betray him as well.
“It’s time,” Harte said.
She straightened her back and strengthened her resolve. Everything that had happened to her, everything she was, came down to this night. She knew that both Dolph and Harte wanted the Book. Both would try to take it for themselves.
And both would have to lose.
IN THE VIPER PIT
Khafre Hall
“It’s time,” Harte said, sensing that Jack was already watching them from the covered portico, but Esta only stared at him with an unreadable expression. He would have been more comfortable to see rage in her eyes, but she was looking at him now with an emotion he couldn’t place, and that worried him more than fury would have.
Maybe it had been a mistake to use his affinity on her one more time, but he had to know what he was in for. She’d been so reserved ever since Dolph had shown up unannounced at his apartment, doing everything by the book but never once letting him see what she was thinking. He’d hated it, the tiptoeing around each other. There had always been tension between them, a sense that they were both on different sides of the same game, but he felt like the game had been slipping away from him. And now he knew the truth.
He wished . . . He didn’t know what he wished. That he hadn’t seen the intentions behind those honey-colored eyes of hers? That he hadn’t predicted her duplicity so easily? Or maybe, stupid as he was, he wished that he could stop himself from the inevitability of hurting her? But wishes were for children, and he’d grown up a long time ago. Only one of them could win this game, and it had to be him.
“You’re going to have to talk to me eventually,” he said. “Jack’s going to notice if you don’t. He’ll suspect that something is wrong.”
“Don’t worry about me.” Her expression was devoid of emotion. “I’ll do my job. You just make sure to do yours.”
Harte glanced back at Nibsy. The boy looked like a drowned rat sitting up in the driver’s seat, but his eyes were steady and he wore an expression that warned not to cross him. Harte gave him a nod and pulled Esta’s arm through his. She was stiff, clearly not wanting him to touch her. She looked afraid, not like someone who was planning to double-cross him before the night was through.
Looks could be deceiving, he thought to himself, ignoring the pang of regret he felt. Let the games begin.
Jack was waiting, nervous and jittery, with a glass of what was probably his usual whiskey already in his hand. He downed it and came to greet them. “Hell of a night, isn’t it?” he said, sweat beading at his temples.
Harte extended his hand. “It was good of you to have us, Jack.”
Next to him, Harte felt Esta transform. “Jack, darling . . .” She pulled herself away from him and held out both of her hands to greet Jack in her rolling accent. “I am so looking forward to meeting your friends.”
Jack gave her a leering smile that made Harte clench his hands into fists. She isn’t for me, he reminded himself.
“They’re looking forward to meeting you as well,” Jack told her, his voice carrying a note of something like lechery. Esta only smiled up at him.
Harte cleared his throat. “Did the equipment for our demonstration arrive?”
Jack didn’t take his eyes from Esta. “This afternoon. It’s all set up and ready for you.”
“Good, good,” Harte said, clapping Jack on the shoulder and giving him a bit of a shake. “Should we go in?”
Jack looked suddenly less sure, but he nodded and then led them through a short antechamber lit by torchlike sconces mounted to the wall. There, he gave their names to a man sitting in a caged room that reminded Harte of the ticket booth at the theater. After the man checked over his list and was satisfied, the click of a latch echoed and the wall directly in front of them began to part, allowing the golden glow of the room beyond to spill into the small space.
On the other side of the wall, the building was transformed. Gone were the wood-paneled walls and marble floors of the typical gentleman’s club. Instead, walking through the opening in the wall was like stepping into an ancient Egyptian tomb. Gold glinted on the walls, highlighting borders of bright indigo and aquamarine symbols carved into sandstone pillars. Even with the size of the building, Harte hadn’t expected anything like this. It was a room meant to inspire, to overwhelm, and Harte hated to admit that it had worked.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Jack said to Esta, who nodded and looked fairly awed herself.
She smiled at Jack, a secret smile that had Harte’s stomach going sour. “It’s as beautiful as you told me,” she murmured.
“This way. We have your demonstration set up in the amphitheater.”
They followed Jack to another receiving room. With jewel-toned silks capping the high ceiling, the room was reminiscent of Arabia. Palm trees claimed the walls, and a woman in a sparkling veiled dress performed a dance, gyrating her hips and torso as she snaked her way through the room. As they passed, her violet eyes met Harte’s.
Good, he thought. At least that much was in place and going to plan.
The next hour was an interminable parade of the richest men in the city. They each took their turns looking him over as they greeted Esta. As they made their way through the room, Harte was well aware that everyone was watching, expecting him to make a mistake and betray his lack of breeding. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. Tonight was his, and his alone.
“Well, well,” a familiar voice said from just behind him. “Harte Darrigan. You have quite the busy social schedule these days, don’t you?”
He stopped midstep, closing his eyes long enough to gather his wits—and his patience—as he forced his mouth into a smile. “Sam Watson,” he began, turning to greet the reporter with his usual smile, but he stopped short when he saw who was on Sam’s arm. “Evelyn?”
She was draped in black silk and had a satisfied gleam in her eye. “Harte,” she said, her voice smug. “What a lovely surprise.” The way her mouth curled up told him to be on his guard. She wasn’t any more surprised than she was a natural redhead.
“What are you doing here?” Harte asked. The room felt like it was spinning. Evelyn and Esta. Evelyn here with Sam Watson. At Khafre Hall. On the night when nothing could go wrong.
Looking him up and down, she smiled. “I could ask the same of you.”
“I invited her,” Sam said, wrapping an arm around her bare shoulder. “I’m covering the celebration tonight for the Sun.”
“Are
you?” Harte said. “First the Gala at the Met and now this? Why, Watson . . . you’ve turned into a society columnist.”
Fury flashed through the reporter’s eyes, but he managed to keep himself controlled. “I don’t know, Darrigan. I have a feeling that, like the museum debacle, I’ll get a better story than my editors were expecting tonight. Don’t you?”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” Harte said flatly, refusing to react to the clear challenge. “I’m just the floor show. Speaking of which, we should probably go prepare. If you’d excuse us?”
“Of course,” Sam said pleasantly enough. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you can pull off tonight.” He gave Harte a smile that was all teeth. “Until later?”
Harte gave him a noncommittal nod and then escorted Esta away, toward the doors of the amphitheater.
“What is she doing here?” Esta whispered, once they were far enough away.
“I don’t know.” But whatever Evelyn was doing, it was nothing good.
“We need to get out of here.”
“She’s a friend, Esta. She wouldn’t do anything—”
Esta grabbed his arm, the first time she’d willingly touched him since the carriage ride. “She knows, Harte.”
“What?” He shook his head in confusion.
“That day in the theater . . . when you were showing me the glass casket and she came to find you? I’d bet anything she heard you talking about the lost heir, about our plan with Jack.”
His mouth felt suddenly dry. “You can’t know that for sure. And besides, she’s one of us. What would she have to gain by helping Jack?”
Esta pressed her lips together, impatience flashing in her eyes. “I don’t know, but why is she here? Why tonight? You had to see that look of satisfaction in her eyes. She should be nervous being in a room filled with the Order—we are, and we have a team backing us up. No . . . She’s planning something. Who’s the man she’s with?”