Steam & Sorcery

by Cindy Spencer Pape

  “Ah, Buckley,” Dorothy said with a small laugh. “Have you met my dear friend Caroline Bristol? Caro, this is the Viscount and Lady Buckley.”

  Caroline dropped her face and curtseyed. “Pleased to meet you, my lady, my lord. Again, I apologize for my clumsy feet.”

  “You!”

  Oh, gracious, he’d recognized her. Caroline straightened and looked her cousin in the eye. “Good evening, Cousin Victor.” Victor Buckman, Viscount Buckley, heir to the Earl of Woodmere. Caroline’s first cousin and the bane of her childhood.

  She felt, rather than saw, Merrick skid to a stop beside her. He must have passed the glasses off to someone else, for his hand settled on the small of her back. “Buckley,” he said through his teeth. “Of course.” He gave the barest hint of a nod at Victor and his wife.

  Lady Buckley sniffed and turned aside to speak with someone else.

  Victor just sneered. “Hadrian. Knew you were a barbarian, but I never thought you’d try to pass off that kind of trash as a lady,” Victor sneered. “Bringing your fancy piece to the ducal residence? How crass.”

  Dorothy stood staunchly on Caroline’s other side and raised one eyebrow. “As crass as causing a scene in someone else’s ballroom? How odd.”

  “The lady is my aunt’s friend and a guest in my home,” Merrick said coldly enough to make Caroline shiver. “And as such, she is under my protection. You will treat her accordingly.”

  Oh, that’s going to happen. Victor would pluck the wings off flies, just for fun. Being remotely civil to Caroline was outside the realm of his abilities.

  “Bet she didn’t even tell you her real name. Bristol, indeed.” Victor sniffed loudly, playing to the gawking crowd that had gathered around them. “Chit’s name is Buckman, to the family’s shame. Nothing but my dear aunt’s shiftless bastard.”

  “I took the name Bristol because your beloved father made it clear I wasn’t allowed to sully the glorious Buckman family name.” Nobody paid a whit of attention to her, though Merrick’s fingers may have tightened a little against her stays. Gideon MacKay and his parents, along with Mr. Gavin, joined the group surrounding her and Merrick, lending her their silent support.

  “Oh, I suspect most of our noble houses have a pillar or two born on the wrong side of the blanket.” The duke had appeared at Dorothy’s elbow, his duchess on his arm. “It’s always seemed to me that there’s no shame to the child in such situations—only to the family for how they treat them.”

  Victor sputtered. “Breeding shows. My cousin is certainly no better than her harlot of a mother.”

  “Yet she isn’t the one misbehaving in my home,” the duchess chimed in gently. “Now gather your wits, Lord Buckley, and cease causing a scene. We’re about to be seated for dinner.”

  “If she’s staying, I certainly am not.” Victor lifted his chin. “I do have some standards regarding my dinner companions.”

  Caroline felt the weight of every stare in the ballroom, some pitying, more censorious. Merrick’s hand at her spine gave her the courage to hold her head high as she turned to the duchess. “Your grace, I’d be happy to leave if you’d prefer it. It was never my intention to disrupt your lovely evening.”

  “Nonsense.” The duchess nodded sharply. “Now come along. I’ve seated you right near me so we can chat. Dorothy tells me you’re a connoisseur of literature. I’d love to hear your thoughts on Mrs. Browning’s latest collection. There are some who argue her husband is the better poet, but you’ll never convince me of that.” She took her husband’s arm and turned toward an open archway that revealed an enormous dining table. “Merrick, bring her along if you please.” The sound of her heels clacking on the inlaid wooden floor galvanized the rest of the room into motion. The others lined up in order of rank, except for Merrick and Caroline, who took their place directly behind their host and hostess at her insistence.

  Several couples did leave, but not many. Footmen hurriedly removed place settings and chairs, creating more elbow room for those remaining. The meal was awkward for everyone. Caroline barely touched her food and many of the diners pointedly ignored her, though their hostess chatted with her and Merrick throughout the six-course repast. When the ladies retired, Merrick went to collect their cloaks, while Caroline took her leave of the duchess.

  “We’ll see you again soon, dear. Thank you so much for coming.” Then the older woman placed a quick kiss on Caroline’s cheek. The duke himself saw them out the door.

  By the time they reached the carriage, Caroline’s head was spinning.

  “Do you want to go home?” As soon as the carriage rolled away from the ducal gates, Merrick took Caroline’s hand and turned to face her. “Are you all right?”

  Caroline paused to consider, then looked up at him and nodded. The tingle was there, but she was learning to ignore it from time to time and maintain some dignity. “I’m fine. You’re not getting out of taking me to that ball. And now you know my real name is Buckman.”

  “Yes, well, Bristol has a much nicer sound to it. I hope you know how difficult it was not to smash the weasel’s face in.” He sounded for all the world like a sulky ten-year-old, and Caroline laughed for the first time all night.

  “My hero,” she teased. “Would you really have hit him for me?”

  “Can you doubt it?” With that, he tugged her into his arms and kissed her. There was no gentleness this time, just hunger and possession which was even more exciting.

  What happened last night had been the single most glorious, erotic moment of her life, if a little embarrassing in retrospect. She’d lain awake all last night, reliving it over and over again. Never once in her life had she lost control of herself like that. Caroline was very afraid that she’d utterly forfeited her battle against falling in love with her employer. Kissing him now brought back all those sensations, making her crave him all over again, and it was clear that she wouldn’t resist. If Merrick continued trying to seduce her, sooner or later she would be his, and Caroline doubted her heart would ever be whole again.

  When they finally stopped, both were breathing heavily and Caroline’s heart pounded in her chest, and she had to fight just to speak with a semblance of equanimity. “Very well. I promise not to doubt your protective instincts again. Now, we need to get into our dominoes and masks.” She reached for the box that had been stowed beneath the seat.

  “Rather than getting out of the rest of our clothing,” he grumbled.

  “In a carriage? Surely not.” Her heart raced at the idea, but she forced herself to breathe normally while she pulled two black silk masks off the top of the pile and set them aside. Beneath them was a pair of the voluminous black hooded cloaks called dominoes, which would function as disguises for the ball. Merrick helped her fasten the smaller of the two around her shoulders, and then she clasped the other around his, which he took as an opportunity to pull her down for another kiss.

  “You really need to stop doing that.” She only wished she meant what she said. What she wanted to say was closer to, never stop doing that.

  “Right.” Should she be glad he didn’t sound as though he believed it either? Instead they picked up their masks and tied them on, then lifted the hoods of their dominoes.

  When they reached the assembly room where the ball was being held, Merrick handed her down from the carriage and they made a few last minute adjustments. Caroline’s skirts showed, as the lace-trimmed lady’s cloak was cut waist-length, concealing her shoulders, but showing off the quality of her bodice and skirts. Merrick’s domino, though fell to his knees, baring nothing but his dark evening trousers, identical to those of almost every man in society. Conversely, his mask only covered his eyes and nose, revealing his strong chin, while hers had lace veiling suspended down to cover her entire face. Once everything was in place, Merrick took her arm and led her up the stairs to the door, tickets prominently carried in his other hand.

  “Remember,” he murmured in her ear. “Stay close. We’ve no idea what we’re likel
y to find in here.”

  “I will.”

  With a smile and a nod, the doorman took their tickets and motioned them inside where they discovered the ball already in full swing. Costumed ladies and gentlemen whirled about the dimly lit dance floor while others stood on the sidelines sipping champagne and chattering. The orchestra was a human one, playing in a minor key, casting an eerie note over the ballroom, in conjunction with the flickering light of candles. Not a single gas lamp burned, except for those outside the front door.

  “It’s certainly…atmospheric,” Caroline noted as they made their way toward the refreshments table. Since that was located on the opposite side of the room, it gave them an excuse to circle the dancers.

  “Yes, but I’m not feeling any genuine magick.” He leaned down so close she could feel his breath, even through the hood of her domino. “I recognize a few of the men and one or two women, but no one with half the power of a pocket watch.”

  “You can tell?” There was so much about magick, and about Merrick, that she didn’t know.

  He nodded. “It’s one of the gifts inherent to the Knights—also how I knew Tommy had Order potential, and that some of the other children were gifted—and you as well.”

  Gifted. Not how she’d ever thought of herself. Cursed would have been more like it.

  They reached the other side of the room without being spoken to by anyone, though a few of the men looked at Merrick as if they recognized him. When they reached the champagne fountain, however, a gentleman approached Merrick and held out his hand.

  “Sir Merrick, I’m so glad to see you could make it.” Dressed as a court jester, the man wore a minimal mask, leaving most of his face visible. He appeared young, thinner and shorter than Merrick, with the refined drawl of an aristocrat.

  “Wouldn’t miss it. Apparently it’s all the ladies are talking about these days.” Merrick shook the other man’s hand, then turned to Caroline. “Miss Bristol is a friend of Aunt Dorothy’s here to help us adjust to having my new wards in the household. Caro, this is Mr. Albert Bingley—youngest son of Baron Rothburn. He arranged for our admissions this evening.”

  Caroline dropped into a minor curtsey—suitable for someone of noble breeding but untitled himself. “My thanks, then, Mr. Bingley. It was I who begged Sir Merrick to obtain tickets. All the ladies I’ve met are atwitter about your Society.” She did her best to sound vapid and excitable.

  “Well, all things occult are in vogue, aren’t they? One of the musicians is a werewolf, if you can believe it. Handles himself like a gentleman, of course, or we wouldn’t let him in. You may even meet an actual vampyre on the dance floor.” He winked suggestively. “I wouldn’t suggest a walk in the moonlight with one of those.”

  She was glad her mask hid her smirk, even while she fluttered her lashes. “Oh, my, how terrifying.” She thought she heard Merrick snort.

  The music stopped, then began again in the opening strains of a Schottische, and Caroline allowed Mr. Bingley to lead her out to the dance floor.

  Merrick watched Caroline with Bingley and had to work to keep his eyes and ears on the gathering as a whole rather than on where the young fop put his hands. He’d told her to stick with him, but he was convinced now there was no need. So far, nothing in this room registered as genuine power. There were fortune tellers in another chamber and he wandered through that, noting the palmists and card readers. One or two might have a trace of genuine talent, but not many, and not much. Nothing here indicated a serious threat, much less any connection to his case. With that in mind, he moved back to Caro and motioned that he was leaving the ballroom.

  The card room was filled with gentleman who didn’t care to dance. Most in here had removed their masks, so Merrick tossed back his hood and stuffed the silk eye mask in his pocket. Smiling negligently, he approached one of the tables, sliding into an empty chair across from an acquaintance.

  “Wouldn’t have expected you here,” said Alexander Saunders, the dilettante grandson of a marquis. “Unless you’ve picked up a mistress or a wife. This place is more for the ladies.” He dealt a hand of piquet and named the stakes.

  Merrick agreed to the stakes absently and picked up his hand. “House guest—a friend of m’aunt’s,” he grunted as they began to play. “Mother went to school with Dorothy, I think. Anyway, she heard about the place from some other chits in the library, of all bloody places. Had to see what it was all about.”

  “Nothing real here, you know.” Saunders took the first trick. “Bunch of silly hocus-pocus to impress the ladies. Couple actors in white face paint with false fangs. Load of horseshit, if you ask me, but the wife likes to come and pretend it’s frightening.”

  Merrick took the second trick and offered the other man a cheroot while he tapped the points into the scoring device. With a gesture, he summoned a waiter who refilled Saunders’s drink, at Merrick’s expense. Several tricks later, Saunders was winning by a hair, and beginning to be well lubricated.

  “Now the real deal is tomorrow night.” He sucked on the cheroot and blew a smoke ring.

  Merrick raised one eyebrow. “Real thing? Bollocks.”

  “No, seriously. Not the kind of place you take your wife, or a family friend, mind you. But if you’ve got a fancy piece tucked away who likes the occult? You wouldn’t believe what goes on at Arcanum.”

  “Arcanum? What an original name for a brothel.” Merrick let Saunders win another trick. “Or is it an opium den?”

  “Neither, I swear. It’s a club, but with real magick. The owners are all men of power, though they guarantee the games are clean. I tell you, there’s nothing like it. No dancing, just gambling and some private rooms, mind you. If you want to hire a wizard, that’s available there too, as well as potions, powders and other business transactions.”

  Merrick shrugged and had the waiter refill the other man’s drink. “Sounds like it might be interesting. Think you can get me an invitation?”

  Saunders laughed. “A tenner at the door is the usual invitation. Drinks and food aren’t cheap, and the play is deep.”

  “Sounds a hell of a lot better than this place.” Itching to check on Caro, Merrick finished the game, letting Saunders win by a few points. Then he paid the man off and stood. “Thanks for the game, chum. And the information.”

  “See you there, eh, mate?” Saunders settled back to count his winnings, a feat made difficult by his state of inebriation. Merrick went back to the ballroom to look for Caro.

  There she was, in the middle of the dance floor, dancing with a pallid man in a black domino. His lips were painted bright red and large, pointed canine teeth overhung the lower lip. Caro moved gracefully through the steps of the Polonaise, smiling politely up at her partner. Her relative ease told Merrick she knew this was no real undead. As the music wound to an end, he moved to the very edge of the dance floor, catching up with her as her partner led her toward the open French doors to the terrace.

  “I believe this dance belongs to me, my lady?”

  She giggled. “Of course, Sir Merrick.” With a curtsey and a smile, she waved off her previous partner. “Thank you so much for the dance, dread sir.”

  Once they moved onto the dance floor and began to waltz, she muttered under her breath. “He positively stank of rice powder and lip rouge. His eyes were lined with kohl. What utter nonsense.”

  “This is as false as I’d suspected,” Merrick confirmed. “As soon as this dance is over, I’d like to leave, if that’s all right with you.”

  “We can leave now if you like.”

  Her body moved with his as if the two of them were two halves of an intricate machine, designed specifically to fit together in the closest possible way. He couldn’t resist this opportunity to hold her in public. “After the dance.”

  In the carriage on the way home, he deliberately sat across from Caro rather than next to her to reduce the possibility of temptation while he told her what he’d learned. “I’ll go tomorrow night and see what I can lea
rn.”

  “Of course we will.” She calmly folded her domino and laid it back into its box.

  “You will not. This isn’t a place for ladies, Caro. It’s not much better than a brothel from the sound of it.” Merrick laid his domino on top of hers then crossed his arms over his chest, determined not to be swayed.

  “So oy won’t be a loydy then, guv.” She did a dead-on imitation of Jamie’s accent. “There were wigs in the attic trunks—and if I dress the part, no one will know I’m not a ladybird.”

  “Absolutely not.” Even in the dark, he glared at her.

  “I’ll ask Mr. MacKay.” He felt her stare back, heard the toe of her slipper tapping on the floor.

  “I’ll lock you in your bedroom.”

  “I can pick a lock, you knob. I shan’t be left behind.”

  “Be reasonable, Caro. I’m trained for this sort of thing. You’re not.”

  “But you’re not invulnerable, are you? You need someone to watch your back. And you already said you can’t trust anyone in your organization.”

  “No, but I do have friends at Scotland Yard. I can ask one of them to go as well.” He thought immediately of Liam McCullough, the young werewolf constable. His age and family wealth would make him a prime candidate for that kind of establishment.

  “Can either of you go in the women’s retiring room, which is the best place in the world to hear gossip?” Her words were rational, but her tone was pure mulishness.

  “No. I’m not going to discuss it any further.”

  “We’ll see.” He could just about see her toss her head as they lapsed into silence for the remainder of the trip.

  “If you try to send me home, I’ll just follow in a hack.”

  Merrick scowled across the carriage. Caroline had been waiting inside when he entered after dinner the following evening. One look at her showed an entirely different appearance than he’d seen before. Gone was the mousy governess or even the elegant young lady. This Caro was a siren in emerald velvet with her waist corseted to an impossibly tiny span, her breasts pushed up invitingly, and her décolletage showing a disturbing amount of flesh. A mass of red curls hid her golden hair, in a disheveled arrangement that left several long corkscrews trailing across her milky shoulders. Kohl, powder and rouge had been applied expertly, altering the shape of her eyes and cheeks, while a black beauty mark made her mouth look wider. Not even Dorothy would recognize her at a glance.