"Might I enquire as to how you only recently became related to Quinn?" Ianthe asked her companion. "Are Quinn and Captain Logan brothers?" There didn't appear to be any familial resemblance, but given Quinn came from a large family, it wasn't impossible.
Aster smiled as her husband cast his sloop out into the water. "No. Quinn adopted me. He has no sister, and I have no family at all. I am honoured to call him both my brother and a friend. Now I have found myself a much larger family with the Highland Wolves, although I often wonder if I have become schoolmistress to a pack of naughty boys."
"Are wolves so different to other men?" Ianthe asked, curious as to how the creatures inside affected them outwardly.
"Yes," Aster whispered. Her violet gaze focused on her husband. "They love fiercely and completely. Their loyalty is unwavering and they would lay down their lives for a pack member. They are also quite furry and you need to watch they don't shed all over your favourite clothes."
Ianthe laughed. She couldn't imagine being part of such a strange family, to be accepted for who you were and to know there were always people at your back. She sighed. Such a life was not for her. "Quinn says you are helping look for Alice. Thank you."
"Yes. The others are pleased to have something to do. They are like terriers after a scent." She smiled at the little dog lounging at her side and ruffled his ears. "Is Alice a good friend of yours?"
Ianthe stared at her hands. Sarah was the only woman she allowed close to her. In her line of work, it didn't pay to expose your vulnerabilities, for that would be akin to baring your neck to a hungry wolf. A pang of guilt assailed her. Even her motivation to find Alice was entirely selfish, to learn more about Hoth. Her concern for the woman's welfare was secondary.
"I was not as good a friend as I should have been. Often we are so wrapped in our own problems, we fail to see when others are struggling. I should have asked when I saw she was unwell, and I did not."
Aster patted the dog and watched the men chasing after their boats. "I am sure we will find her, and then you will be reassured about her fate."
It gnawed at her. What had happened to the young woman, and what of Hoth's other mistresses? The more Ianthe tried to remember, the less detail she could grasp, as though his past deeds were wrapped in a miasma that obscured the true details. What illness took the otherwise healthy and vibrant women, so that Hoth had to retire them all to the country? He could have a secluded estate full of them, locked in a tower, like Bluebeard. Or stacked in a gloomy dungeon.
Was Hoth an Unnatural or mage-blooded? Ianthe cast a glance at Aster. This woman might know, if she dared ask.
"Did you know any other Unnaturals before you met the captain?" Ianthe danced around the topic. There was a reason the vision had shown her this woman's parasol.
"Only academically as names on paper or descriptions in books. I work to establish a register of Unnaturals. I also study the mage-blooded. Did you know that for hundreds of years, whenever a mage is born, a family tree is started? Their bloodlines are traced forward, as there is a pattern of occurrence to the mage-blooded. While I searched the genealogies for one particular name, I found another." Aster turned her gaze to Ianthe and she glimpsed a tentative offer of friendship in the violet depths.
"Ah. I assume you found Ianthe Wynn inscribed as descending from a mage of some sixty years ago." A great-great-uncle had been born one of the dozen mages in England. They maintained a natural balance among their numbers; when one died one would be born at the same instant.
Curiosity crept into Aster's gaze. "Might I enquire as to your particular gift?"
Ianthe watched Quinn cheer on his little boat. "I have never regarded it as a gift. I have a touch of the second sight, but I think of it more as hindsight. My visions are sporadic and fleeting. They only ever seem to make sense after events have unfolded. The glimpses are more taunting than useful."
Meanwhile, the great sea battle progressed. Children clustered around the men, offering up their experience and advice. Quinn's boat caught a breeze and lurched forward beyond the other two, and he cheered and waved his arms in the air.
"He has such a childlike exuberance for life," Ianthe said.
Aster watched her adopted brother stomp through the shallow water, then turned to study Ianthe. The courtesan had the impression of some internal measure being taken by the other woman. "He acts youthful because that is what others expect of him. But don't be fooled; there is an old soul behind his eyes. He hides a wise wolf that no one else can see."
"I have learned that over the past week." Ianthe pondered Aster's words, for it was the truth. Quinn's good nature and zest hid his pain at being dismissed and taken lightly. He bore the burden of being a wolf unable to change form in a regiment of wolves. Underneath the light and bright exterior were a man and a wolf that she yearned to know better. Deeper. A shiver ran down her spine. Oh, there were so many things she would take deeper with him. She could become lost in such fanciful imaginings. Luckily, Aster's voice called her back.
"Quinn thinks we should become better acquainted."
"Oh?" She turned to regard his sister. "And why is that?"
A shy smile flitted over her face. "It would seem that I have my nose in a book too often, with only names on a page for company. I suspect Quinn wants me to acquire a friend for when the men are called to active service and I will be left alone. Now that the true nature of the Highland Wolves is known, the War Office will dispatch them to Europe."
Events were becoming heated out in the pond. Alick had a stick and was using it to try and sink the competition, while Hamish was trying to convince a small boy to wade out and push his boat. Boys and girls gathered around the edge of the pond, picking favourites and egging the larger ‘children’ on.
"And he selected me to be your friend?" Ianthe wondered what man in his right mind would encourage a friendship between his gentle sister and a demimondaine. Or could two oddly matched women be just what the Highland Wolves needed?
"Quinn sees things in people that they themselves do not." A sad note tinged the other woman's words.
Ianthe glanced at her, and saw a kindred soul who struggled with loneliness. Was it time she reached out and allowed someone in? The vision thought so, which is why it had given her a clue with the parasol. There was something gentle about Aster, as natural as Quinn's exuberance. She couldn't imagine the other woman deliberately hurting someone.
"Yes, he does have a knack for seeing people as they are. He certainly took an instant dislike to Viscount Hoth," she murmured, wondering what the other woman's reaction would be on hearing that name. "Was it perhaps his name you sought in the mage genealogies?"
Aster nodded her head. "To no avail, though, and the viscount is not mage-blooded. I believe him to be some form of Unnatural creature. Given what Ewan has told me of his reputation, I believe he might be a soul eater."
Soul eater. The words were ice in Ianthe's veins. If Alice were among the piles of bones in her vision she would never forgive herself. "Oh, Alice, why didn't you seek me out?"
Aster reached out and took Ianthe's hand, her gaze earnest. "If the missing woman is Hoth's former mistress, then it is vital we find her and determine what he does to them so he can be stopped."
The situation was hopeless. The man was a wealthy peer, the missing women nobodies. Society had long ago deemed them all disposable. "Who would care about the fate of a handful of missing courtesans?"
"We care. Hoth has wolves on his scent now and they will discover the truth." Aster gestured to the men; her words held such conviction that they would put the world right.
If only Ianthe could believe it.
"Until we find her, I feel so useless." Were the house deeds worth throwing herself in Hoth's path? Her mind itched. She was so close she could practically feel the papers in her hand. Just a few more days, a week or two at most and she would be free. Surely Hoth could not consume her soul in such a short time frame; Alice had lasted two years. Afterwards
she could seek out Quinn, knowing she had the house to sell to give them a start on a life together.
"There is something you could do, if you are up to a challenge. Quinn tells me you are a skilled equestrienne. Hamish has only just begun to teach me to ride. As cavalrymen, they have certain expectations of their women, and I fear I do not live up to them." The smile crept back over Aster's face.
There was a request Ianthe could meet, and in the giving of lessons they could take the measure of each other. "I would be honoured to take over your instruction."
The smile became somewhat wicked as Aster glanced at her husband, and then back again. Her next words were spoken in a much lower tone, so the dozing Ewan didn't overhear. "Thank you. And perhaps, while my husband is away, there are other skills you could teach me that he might appreciate on his return."
Ianthe froze, not quite sure she had correctly interpreted the innuendo, but the gleam in Aster's gaze told her she had. "Your husband would be scandalised and forbid you from ever talking to me again."
The other woman laughed. "My husband is well aware I make my own mind up about what to do. I find there is so much about life I do not know, and I would remedy that. None of us know how much time we have assigned on this earth. Why waste it?"
"Why indeed?" She turned back to Quinn, his boat victorious over the others. His head shot up as he sought her out. Perhaps Aster could teach her something, like how to grasp the opportunities life presented.
16
Quinn
* * *
Late that afternoon, Quinn was in his favourite spot, sprawled over the armchair by the fire that allowed him to watch Ianthe from over the top of his book. She sat at her desk, going over her accounts for the month. The last rays of sun through the window lit her from behind, and her fiery hair glowed. She was his angel, and he could watch her all day. Years, if he got the chance. He would never tire of the sight. He memorised how her brow was drawn as she did sums, muttered to herself, and then did more sums. He guessed she was trying to decide which of the numerous invoices littering her desk were the most urgent.
It pained his heart to see her struggling, trying to determine where to apply her limited funds. Ideas were birthed in the deep recesses of his mind. It tore at him to consider she might not have him, but he would not walk away from his mate until he figured out a way to make her free. He would see her as happy as the day she had galloped over the fields with the Arabian stallion.
"You're supposed to be reading a book, not staring at me," she said, without looking up from her calculations.
One curl had escaped her bun and coiled down her neck. How he longed to tug on the silky length and kiss her skin as he tucked it behind her ear. "I much prefer the story you present than the one in my hands."
She looked up and met his gaze, clouds of thought swirling in her pale eyes. Her question never emerged, as Perkins rapped on the door and pushed it open.
"Viscount Hoth to see you, miss."
Septimus was hot on the butler's heels, all but pushing the man aside. He stopped upon seeing Quinn lounging in the armchair. His gaze narrowed as he doffed his hat and drew off his gloves, then shoved them at Perkins. The retainer wore a scowl of his own as he took the accessories, and left the parlour. Quinn hoped he found a passing dog to do its business in the expensive hat. If he could change form, he would have offered to do it himself.
"Ianthe," Hoth said, wrenching his attention around. "I had hoped to find you alone, but I see the whelp is still underfoot."
"Wolf, actually, and a fully-grown one, not a whelp," Quinn murmured as he looked from his most favourite view to his least. With each meeting, his distaste for the man grew, and he derived childish satisfaction from blocking his attempts to corner Ianthe. Aster believed the viscount to be a type of Unnatural called a soul eater. Quinn wanted to grab him by the throat and demand to know what he had done to his mistresses, but he wasn't allowed. Aster insisted laws and evidentiary requirements be followed or she would use her newspaper on his snout.
"Septimus." Ianthe rose and approached. Taking the viscount's hand, she leaned up to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. "Quinn is a guest in my house for the week, as you well know."
Quinn's throat went dry at the sight of her lips on that desiccated corpse. He fought an overwhelming urge to snatch her away and snarl at the viscount. His wolf scratched frantically at his skin, trying to dig its way out. Instead, he could only curl his fingers around the edges of the book. He was somewhat placated that the older man didn't return the kiss; otherwise he would have called him out. But as it was, how could she touch him? What went through a courtesan's mind when she played her part? Surely she found no enjoyment in contact with such a person.
"To what do I owe the honour of this visit?" She laced her hands together, and while her attention appeared to be focused on Hoth, Quinn saw the tight lines around her eyes and the stiffness to her posture.
In that moment, he realised how at ease she was around him. There was no pretence or charade when it was just the two of them. For him alone she was simply Ianthe, the woman. Only to him did she reveal her true face and emotions: the worry as she chewed the end of the quill, the sheer joy when he made her laugh, or the heated passion after his kiss.
He also noted Ianthe didn't sit or invite Hoth to stay for drinks. He was given a clear message that he was on a clock. The older man kept his gaze on Quinn and his lips pulled into a snarl. Etiquette dictated Quinn should stand, but it amused him too much to stay prone over the chair and give his opponent an eye-twitch. Let Hoth think him a crass youngster with no manners. He would underestimate Quinn, and that would be how he would uncover the viscount's true nature and win this game.
"I'm so sorry to interrupt what I am sure was an intelligent discourse between you and the animal." The snarl turned into a sneer. "I am tidying away Phillip's affairs and I find certain things are missing. That led me to wonder if, by any chance, he happened to leave any papers or effects here? As you know, fate intervened before our last scheduled meeting."
Ianthe frowned and glanced to Quinn, then back again. "He had a few personal items here, but as I'm sure you are aware, he never left his papers."
"Are you sure? It might appear to be nothing to the untrained eye—a mere scrawling even." He leaned closer to Ianthe, expectation coiled in his thin frame.
The animal's interest in the exchange grew. What exactly was Hoth looking for? What scrawled note could be so important? Quinn had become so intent on finding the missing woman and stopping the soul eater that he had almost forgotten his original reason for being under Ianthe's roof: the treacherous plot.
Ianthe shook her head. "I don't recollect anything like that amongst what he left."
"Anything you have might prove valuable. Could you fetch what you have, dear?" He smiled upon her, but it never reached his eyes. Quinn thought him more like a shark he once saw hauled up from the cold depths that had the same dead black eyes. He wondered how one killed a soul eater, and hoped Aster was busily researching the question.
A smile touched her lips. "Of course. I shan't be long."
Quinn placed a marker in his book and dropped it to the floor. Only when Ianthe left did he stand and round the armchair. He hitched one hip on the back and crossed his arms over his chest. Time to needle his opponent and see if he bled, or if his carcass contained only sawdust.
"Septimus is an odd name. Do you by chance have six older brothers?"
Hoth stared at him, as though amazed to be addressed by 'the whelp'. He glanced at the closed door and then back again. "Yes, I once did. Until many of them met with unfortunate accidents, which resulted in the title of viscount settling on my head."
Quinn grunted, not surprised to hear the man's older siblings had succumbed to early deaths. He wondered what triggered the change in the man, or if he had been born unnatural. His unlucky brothers had probably been the first victims as the young Septimus came into his abilities. "I have four older brothers myself
. All in rude good health. I will not inherit any title."
He pushed off the chair to lean closer to Hoth. "And while I may not be overly intelligent, I can still count to ten. I do believe five comes before seven, which means you need to wait your turn. I don't want to see you here again, and if I have things my way, Ianthe will no longer be available."
The older man's lips pulled back in a grimace and he barked in a travesty of a laugh. "You are a deluded dog. Are all the wolves equally short on intelligence? She lost a bet and you won seven days, nothing more. You will be on the street, like the leavings in a chamber pot, in two more days. You are nobody, from nowhere, with nothing. I shall crush you under my boot heel, oblivious as you are ground into dust."
Quinn pointed a finger at the viscount's nose and narrowed his gaze. Inside his wolf went crazy, clawing at his skin. "I know what you are."
The cold smile revealed the viscount's teeth. "Titled? Wealthy? Human, not lupine?"
Quinn snorted and his tongue touched the tip of his canines. "You would call yourself human? I know you're a soul eater, and you'll not touch Ianthe."
A challenge flared deep in Hoth's deep gaze as one unnatural creature taunted another. "Fool. I'll do more than touch her—I shall consume her. Like a fine wine I shall drink her sip by sip."
If Quinn could have shifted, in that instant he would have wrapped his jaws around Hoth's throat and shaken him like a doll. His visions of violence were cut short as the door opened again and Ianthe entered carrying a small wooden box. Instead of mauling the viscount, he laughed and slapped Septimus' shoulder.
She arched an eyebrow and looked between the two men. "Everything all right, gentlemen?"
"Yes, Viscount Hoth just told a joke. He's a very funny man," Quinn said.
Her pale gaze narrowed as she stared at Quinn. He had the impression he would have to answer for that quip once the viscount left. Perhaps attributing a sense of humour to the man was a step too far.
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