Moonlight & Mechanicals

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Moonlight & Mechanicals Page 10

by Cindy Spencer Pape


  “Connor’s working tonight, and Nell has rehearsal.” She reached across the desk and patted his hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring along George as a chaperone. I promise your virtue is safe with me.”

  Liam looked down at the bronze dog sitting by her feet. As if he could sense Liam’s regard, George’s head tilted up. He moved closer to Liam and laid his head on Liam’s leg, like a retriever begging for a scratch. Even his rubber tongue lolled like that of a living animal. “Some chaperone.” Liam patted George’s head and the brass eyelids closed as if in bliss. If there was such a thing as a soul, he’d swear Wink had infused one into George. And who knew? She was that gifted. Perhaps she had. “Fine. I’ll pick you up at nine. But you’re not to stick your nose into anything, do you hear? All you do is attend the musicale. Leave the investigating to me.” Even as he said the words, he knew they were pointless. Wink would do exactly what she pleased, however she pleased to do it. All he could do was be there to control the extent of the damage.

  She nodded her head, her manner brisk and businesslike, now that she’d won. “Now, what’s the status of your investigation regarding Eamon Miller?”

  * * *

  Several hours later Liam had wrestled himself into evening wear, a feat that had to be much easier for those who employed a valet. Wanting to appear as if he were trying to impress, he picked Wink up in a hired coach rather than a hack.

  Once they arrived at a pleasant house just outside of Mayfair, he allowed Lady Tregarth’s clockwork footman to take his top hat and walking stick, along with Wink’s velvet wrap. An unwarranted stirring of pride filled him as he watched her glide into the ballroom on his arm. While it wasn’t her usual brisk stride, she didn’t mince or flutter like so many of the silly young things. She held her head up as if daring anyone to point out that she didn’t belong. Of course no one did. The Order’s place in Society was such that no one would risk gainsaying them about the adopted Hadrians being the orphans of Merrick’s old school chums, missionaries who’d been killed in the provinces. The names of the school chums and which provinces were conveniently never mentioned. Even though most of the ton assumed the four were Merrick’s bastards, not a word was ever said. With enough money and an exalted enough position, such things didn’t matter so long as a suitable story could be papered over them.

  “Elizabeth, Emily, have you met Inspector McCullough?” Wink hugged a fair-haired girl in a pink gown, perhaps five or six years younger than herself, then did the same to the other half of the matched set, this one in lilac. “Liam, meet Miss Elizabeth and Miss Emily Tregarth, and their mother, Lady Tregarth.”

  Liam bowed over each extended hand. The second girl was perhaps half an inch shorter than her sister, and her hair held just a hint more gold, her skin a shade darker as if she was fonder of the sun. Their doting mama beamed and held out a hand to Liam after shaking Wink’s. “Delighted, ladies.” Or he might have been, if the widow hadn’t been eyeing him as if he were fresh meat. The girls seemed harmless enough, but their mother… Liam took hold of Wink’s arm again as soon as was remotely polite. Hiding behind her skirts might not be the gentlemanly thing to do, but it seemed the most prudent thing to do.

  They moved into the ballroom, and Liam automatically took note of all possible exits and the occupants of the room. There were a number of familiar faces, most he’d met through the Lake, MacKay or Hadrian families, but a few he’d met through work or at one of his clubs. The ballroom was modest, but pleasant, with gas chandeliers and a cherry parquet floor. Gear-driven fans blew a cooling breeze of filtered air across the space, mitigating the odors of sweat, macassar oil and the heavy perfumes worn by men and women alike. A refreshments table stood on a wall opposite the receiving line, and rows of wooden folding chairs occupied half the room, facing a low platform where a piano and violin waited.

  Wink, slim and lovely in spring green satin that turned her eyes the same shade, chatted easily with a couple other ladies, so Liam took his leave and wound his way through the crowd to the refreshments table. A cluster of young men gathered in a corner. Recognizing a couple younger sons among them Liam took a glass of claret and ambled over.

  “Finally tired of being a bachelor?” Lord Eustace Irons, second son of a marquess and a complete waste of oxygen, elbowed Liam in the ribs, hard enough to have staggered a human. “Not a grand fortune with either of these two fillies, but nothing to sneeze at. Enough for a man to get by on, at least.”

  Liam still wanted to clock Irons for his remarks about Wink at her presentation, but remembered his role and merely shrugged. “Adequate, I suppose.” As the girls were Order orphans, Liam imagined they were well set-up. That organization took care of its own. If the father hadn’t been wealthy, one of the Lakes would have seen to dowries for his daughters. Liam gazed over at the girls again. “They’re not hard to look at. I only hope they can actually play, as we’ve got to listen to them tonight.”

  “And possibly longer.” Eustace gave a snide chuckle. “Though that Hadrian piece you came in with is a different matter. Even more money there, but is she worth it? Wouldn’t mind getting her on her back, but I think I’d have to gag her first. Far too many opinions on that one. Wind power, indeed.”

  It took a significant effort for Liam not to shove the bastard’s teeth down the back of his throat, but he managed and shrugged again. He was here to play fortune hunter as much as the idea rankled. “Eh. She doesn’t bother me. And yes, she’s well dowered.”

  “Northland has money, true, but there are so many brats,” protested a soft voice from beside Eustace. “Are you sure the bastard—I mean adopted—ones get equal shares? I’d want that in writing before courting a termagant like that one.”

  Eustace laughed and Liam forced himself to grin. The meat pie he’d had for dinner sat like lead in his stomach. “Quite sure. I’ve spoken to the man.” Not a lie. He spoke to Merrick on a regular basis, just not about his daughter’s dowry. He made a mental note to deal with these two personally as soon as this case was over. For the moment, he turned to Eustace’s friend, a short man with heavily oiled black hair and a curled mustache. “Pleased to meet you. The name’s McCullough.”

  “Ah yes, second son of an Irish earl, forced to work for the police.” The dark-haired man cast Liam an assessing look.

  “Well, a man’s got to do something to bring in blunt when the pater won’t give him an allowance.” Liam sighed as dramatically as he could. “A copper has a lot of…opportunities to line his pockets you know.” A faint taste of bile filled his mouth at the implication that he was living off bribes.

  “Can’t argue about that,” the other man said. “Such a shame, though, to have to work at all. My name’s Kersleigh. Grandfather was a damn duke, but since I was his daughter’s get, he didn’t leave me a sou. Castoffs of society, that’s what we are.” His complaint had the sound of a practiced speech, perhaps part of a regular campaign.

  “True enough.” Liam sipped his claret. “Perhaps we ought to band together. Form a younger sons and distaff descendants club.”

  Kersleigh’s eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch, and Eustace nearly dropped his glass. Yes, these two were up to something. Liam mentally filed that away as Lady Tregarth approached the podium and everyone moved to take their seats.

  “Must go do my duty.” Liam lifted his glass. “If you gentlemen would like to meet me at one of my clubs, I’d enjoy speaking to you further.” He picked up a cup of punch from the table and eased his way back to Wink.

  To his surprise, the music wasn’t intolerable. Miss Emily was an accomplished violinist, while her twin played the piano with creditable skill. Of course neither of them was as talented as Nell Hadrian, the only young musician Liam had listened to for years, but they didn’t assault his ears, either. Even Wink, tone-deaf by her own admission, tapped her toes to some of the livelier numbers.

  Somehow, her hand wound its way into his as they listened and Liam, mindful of his ruse, couldn’t see a way to disen
gage it. It would be far too easy to grow accustomed to holding hands with Wink. This case was liable to kill him without the culprits lifting a finger.

  * * *

  “So what did you discuss with Eustace and his oily friend?” Wink leaned forward in Liam’s hired carriage and leaned her elbows on her knees, her elegant mien tossed aside. Oddly, she was even more beautiful like this, bright, eager and interested.

  “The plight of being a younger son,” he replied. Lying to her was pointless—she’d ferret out the truth one way or another.

  Her eyes widened. “Excellent. Do you think they’re involved in the rebellion?”

  He wiggled his hand in a so-so gesture. “Possibly. They’re definitely on the hunt for money, any way they can get it. Stay away from those two, and make sure Nell does as well. I may have given them the notion that you two were well-dowered.”

  She waved her hand. “Pfft. Common knowledge. I wouldn’t go near either of them with the proverbial ten-foot pole and neither would Nell, especially after what Eustace said at my presentation. Though if it helps your investigation, I could swallow my pride and dance with them a few times, see if I can learn anything.”

  “No!” The roar of denial exploded from his chest. He reached out and gripped her wrists. “These are not nice men, even if they’re not involved in a possible coup. Stay the hell away from them.”

  “You, Liam McCullough, have no authority over me whatsoever.” Now her eyes narrowed, anger sparking gold flecks from the green depths in the dimly lit carriage. “I offered to help you out of friendship and kindness, but I have as much at stake here as you. Do not dare presume to tell me what to do.”

  His control broke in his rage over the thought of Eustace or Kersleigh pawing at her person. “I’ll presume whatever I damned well please. This is none of your business, Miss Hadrian. Keep out of it.”

  “Why? Because I’m a hen-witted, helpless female, who can’t possibly have a brain in her head? Bugger off, Liam. I’m no simpleton and won’t be treated as such.” She leaned closer until their noses were almost touching. The scent of her skin raised gooseflesh on his own, as well as making his lower body tighten in arousal.

  “No, damn it.” His voice was deep, throaty, and held more than a hint of his wolf. So be it. Perhaps it would frighten her off. “Because if one of them touches you, I’ll probably rip his hand off at the elbow, and to hell with building a case.”

  She licked her lips and heat pulsed in his groin. “Ballocks. You’re perfectly happy to throw me at Connor. You couldn’t care less who I touch.”

  “Wrong.” The word ripped out of him on a growl. He dragged her across onto his lap. His fangs pricked at his gums, desperately trying to emerge as he fastened his lips onto hers.

  Dear God, she tasted like heaven. Rather than pull back and slap him as he’d expected, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on, returning his kiss with a passion that matched his own. Liam found himself drowning in the taste of her mouth, clean, fresh and a little fruity from the punch and lemon squares. She opened for him, welcoming his tongue with a soft moan. Her nails, sheathed by her thin kid gloves, dug into the skin of his neck, urging him on. Her weight settled against him, soft and pliant. Somehow she’d shifted to straddle his lap, leaving her hoops sticking awkwardly out behind her. He couldn’t help running one hand up the side of her thigh, where her skin was guarded only by her silk stockings. How much higher would he have to go to find bare flesh?

  “Liam.” She breathed his name like a prayer, then reached down and brought his other hand to her breast, where it swelled against the confines of her corset.

  His body ached with wanting her. He dipped his fingers into the neckline of her gown, under the stays and shift to find her warm and soft. Her quiet cry when he brushed her nipple broke him out of his passion-induced daze.

  With a curse, he lifted her and dumped her back on the opposite seat. He nicked his tongue on a fang, fully emerged and ready to claim his mate. He forced them to recede, and inhaled deeply. “Damn it, Wink, get a hold of yourself. Please. We can’t do this.”

  Chapter Six

  Wink pulled up her bodice and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at Liam. “I hate to disillusion you, Inspector, but I think we just did. Rather successfully.” She licked her puffy lips and narrowed her eyes. “You’ll need to find another excuse to assuage your overactive conscience.”

  Here was the spark she’d been missing when Connor kissed her. Damn and blast, she couldn’t marry Connor and she couldn’t have Liam. Perhaps she ought to buy a little house of her own and get a couple dozen cats.

  “Wink, please forgive—” Liam gripped the seat of the carriage so hard the leather creaked.

  She held up her hand. “Stow it. I do not want to speak with you right now, you unmitigated coward.” The carriage rolled to a halt and she lifted her chin as he helped her down and escorted her to her front door. “If I hear anything more regarding the rebellion, I shall send you a note. Please remember to keep the Order informed of your progress. And thank you again for helping Mrs. Miller.”

  Mountjoy, the Hadrians’ aging butler, opened the door, and she stepped inside. “Good night, Inspector.” With that, she took great pleasure in slamming the door in his too-handsome face.

  “Ouch, sis. A bit harsh, wasn’t that?”

  Wink whirled to see a beloved face smirking at her from the staircase. “Jamie? What the bloody hell are you doing here? The school term isn’t over for a month.”

  Seamus McCann Hadrian, at seventeen, the youngest of the adopted brood, stood and shrugged. “The headmaster and I couldn’t come to an agreement about how I ought to be getting on.”

  Wink scowled, handing her wrap to the servant. It would have offended him if she’d tried to take care of it herself. “Please turn in for the night, Mountjoy. Does my aunt know about this hellion’s return?”

  “Indeed, miss. Both Miss Hadrian and Miss Nell have spoken with Mr. Jamie, and both have already retired.” With that, the elderly retainer bowed and made his way down the hall toward his quarters.

  “Into the study,” Wink told Jamie. She paused in the hallway to give him a fierce hug. “You’re well?”

  “I’m all in one piece.” He hugged her back. “And you?”

  “Ready to murder the lot of you men.” She punched him in the shoulder hard enough to make him reel back against the wall. Then she grabbed his arm and pulled him into their father’s study. “But I don’t want to talk about me. You’ve been sent down again?”

  Jamie helped himself to a snifter of brandy from the hidden liquor cupboard and without asking, poured Wink one as well, before they both sprawled, facing each other in the leather chairs in front of the hearth. “I’m no scholar, Wink. I’m not like Peter, or even you or Nell. I don’t know what more I can do to convince Mum and Papa of that. All I want is a commission.”

  Wink glared at the liquor and sighed. “You couldn’t just finish prep school first? Once you reach your majority, I’m sure Papa would—”

  “Would he? I’ve all but begged, damn it.” He drained his glass and helped himself to hers. “They’ve sent me to six different schools in the last four years, and it’s always the same. The walls feel like they’re closing in on me. I might as well be in prison. The only thing I’m any good at is fighting.”

  For once, Wink didn’t try to play devil’s advocate. She knew how it felt to feel suffocated by her assigned role in society. How much worse would it be if their parents had tried to force her into the full-on social whirl instead of letting her go to university? She took a long deep breath. “Well, it’s too late to start another school now. Perhaps by fall you can have sorted something out.”

  Jamie nodded. He set the glass down on the side table and ran both hands through his strawberry-blond curls. Of all the Hadrians, Jamie was the one who could have passed for a blood relation to Wink, with his freckles and a hint of strawberry in his fair hair. He wasn’t as tall as Tom, but had gro
wn broader since she’d seen him last, a sturdy, fit young man with keen gray eyes. If he wasn’t her annoying younger brother, she’d have called him handsome, with the potential to grow even more so as he matured into adulthood.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, both staring into the flames of the hearth. Finally Jamie said, “So what did Liam do to infuriate you this time? Do I need to call him out?”

  Wink swallowed hard. “What makes you say that?”

  Jamie sighed and gestured at her gown. “Your ruffle is torn and your hair is a mess. I know you’d kill him yourself if he forced you into anything, so I’d guess he merely said something stupid, like apologizing after he kissed you.”

  “Clever, for a lad who can’t get through school.” She dropped her face into her hand. “He has feelings for me. I know it. But he’s determined to grow old alone.”

  “Hmm.” Jamie tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Can’t say as I blame him. Don’t much fancy the idea of being leg-shackled myself. No offense, though. I suppose if one had to get hitched, you’d be a good pick.”

  “None taken, you little wretch.” Wink smiled at the idea of Jamie being settled enough to fall in love. One day. “But he’s thirty, not seventeen. One would think he’d be past that particular aversion.”

  Jamie pursed his lips in thought. “From what I’ve heard of his family, he might have the right idea. He told Tom once that his parents threw crockery at each other at the dinner table. Hard. Worse, I know his old man kicked him around on a regular basis.”

  Wink snorted. “Side with him again, and I’ll throw crockery at you.” Jamie’s words hurt like a kick to the stomach, though. She’d known that Liam’s family life hadn’t been pleasant, but she’d had no idea that his father had beaten him. She could think of a thing or two to teach Lord Bell, preferably at the point of her silver-plated rapier.

 

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