by Jane Feather
“Who were her parents?”
“Oh, dear.” Lady Evelyn’s smile dissolved. “You will not like the answer. I cannot emphasize strongly enough that Miss Burke is in no way responsible for the actions of her father. Why, she was just a girl when that unfortunate business took place between Baron Rothwell and your own dear father.”
It took Wyatt a moment to absorb the news. Then he felt as if he had taken a blow to the stomach. “She is Roth-well’s daughter?”
Lady Evelyn retreated a step and slowly nodded.
“Baron Rothwell nearly ruined this family, and now you are telling me that you have invited his daughter into our home?”
“Well, yes,” she stammered, “although I feel certain Miss Burke is unaware that Edward lost most of our fortune to her father. If you will recall, Baron Rothwell won and lost a great many fortunes in his time. It seems unlikely that he would tell tales of his gambling exploits to his young daughter.”
Wyatt made a conscious effort to unclench his jaw. “Is that supposed to comfort me?”
“No, of course not. I simply wanted to reassure you that Miss Burke is nothing like her father. And your father knew the risks when he sat down to play cards with Baron Rothwell. Everyone knew the baron’s reputation for playing deep and playing well. Edward never blamed Rothwell, as you do, and it would be wrong to shift your blame to his daughter.”
“I want her gone.”
“I want her to stay.” Lady Evelyn’s tone suddenly changed. All traces of patience and cajolery disappeared. “I will not insult Miss Burke by asking her to leave. She is a sensitive girl and that would hurt her terribly. You do not have to like her, but I want your promise that you will treat her with the same common courtesy you would show any of my other guests.”
“You ask too much, Mother. It is obvious that the apple did not fall far from the tree. One charlatan begat another.” Wyatt knew he had made a mistake when he saw the flash of fire in his mother’s eyes. Insulting her newfound friend would not sway her opinion. He tried logic instead. “You say that I must attend one of Miss Burke’s readings to judge her fairly, and I am inclined to agree.”
Lady Evelyn brightened. “I knew you would see reason.”
“As it happens, I recently came into possession of an object that would be ideal for one of her readings. The circumstances that led to my ownership are unusual enough that they couldn’t be guessed with any accuracy.”
“I will ask Miss Burke if your reading can be the first tomorrow afternoon.”
“The reading must be tonight,” he said, “and I would prefer that the reading be private. There is another who knows how I came to possess this object. Although there is little possibility that Miss Burke will hear the story, it is a possibility all the same. The reading would have to take place tonight for me to be certain there was no prior knowledge.”
“Very well,” she agreed, “but why a private reading?”
“Consider it a common courtesy.” His lips quirked upward in a humorless smile. “I would spare Miss Burke the embarrassment of airing my skepticism before the other guests. There is also the fact that I want to be certain no one coaches her. Even you.”
“Me? How could I possibly coach Miss Burke?”
“Some people can tell a great deal from the expression of others. You are very good at reading my expressions, yet you are not very good at disguising your own. Miss Burke would know if her guesses were close to the truth by simply looking at your face.”
“I suppose you are right,” she mused. “If a private reading will set your mind at ease, then so be it. When she passes your test, you will set aside your animosity toward Miss Burke?”
“Yes,” he said, “but if she fails, I will ask her to leave Blackburn. Politely, of course.”
Lady Evelyn appeared satisfied. “I have little doubt that Miss Burke will soon convert you into a firm believer.”
Wyatt said nothing. He didn’t have to. The look on his face was clear. Do not hold your breath.
CHAPTER TWO
AND THEN WE found this key.” Mrs. Newel’s eyes glowed like dark jet buttons beneath her mop of snowy curls. She held up a brass key that dangled from a slender ribbon. “There are scads of caves in the cliffs near the abbey, and Mr. Newel thinks this key might belong to a smuggler’s treasure chest. We have no idea who placed the key in the desk’s hidden compartment, but Mr. Newel does have several theories.”
Faro Burke smiled politely as Mrs. Newel expounded upon her husband’s theories. It took a conscious effort to appear interested in the talkative woman’s story. Mrs. Newel was a very cheerful, friendly lady, but she somehow managed to talk about everything and nothing at all. Caroline Carstairs stood next to the older lady, looking ready to pounce into the conversation again at the next opportunity. As far as Faro could tell, the only person who liked to talk more than Mrs. Newel was Mrs. Carstairs, and the young widow liked nothing more than to talk about herself. Faro scanned the gallery for Lady Evelyn. As soon as their hostess made an appearance, she intended to plead a headache and retire to her room for the night. Given much more of her present company, the excuse would be true.
“Tell me you will do a reading of this key, Miss Burke.” Mrs. Newel reached out to place her hand on Faro’s arm.
Faro heard the small crack of static electricity even as Mrs. Newel snatched her hand away.
“Oh, dear! I haven’t received a shock like that since last winter. The carpets must be very dry here by the fireplace.” Mrs. Newel lifted her chin and her nose twitched as if she might sneeze. “How very strange. The house itself still feels damp from all the rain we’ve had of late.”
“I believe it has something to do with these woolen carpets,” Faro said. She gathered the skirts of her gown and looked at the floor. “What a beautiful rug. Do you think it is an Aubusson?”
“I believe so.” Mrs. Newel gave the rug a dismissive shrug, then dangled the key toward Faro again. “Say you will do a reading for me, Miss Burke. I will not be able to sleep another night without knowing its secrets.”
“She did eight readings this afternoon,” Caroline cut in, casting a smile at Faro that did nothing to disguise the bite of acid in her tone. “We mustn’t exhaust poor Miss Burke by asking her to do too many readings in one day. Perhaps now would be a good time to give my recital.”
Unfortunately, Caroline was the only one who remained oblivious to her lack of musical talent. She played and sang to audiences that winced and flinched at the mere mention of a Caroline Carstairs recital. Mrs. Newel looked at Faro with eyes that silently pleaded for a rescue.
“I would not wish you to lose any sleep,” Faro told Mrs. Newel. She removed one of her gloves, then held out her bared hand. “I would be happy to do the reading.”
Common objects had little effect on Faro and she could usually control the visions, images that appeared as if they were faded memories from her past. The key looked harmless enough, but looks could be deceiving.
Mrs. Newel dropped the key into her palm and Faro breathed a silent sigh of relief. The warm metal tingled against her skin, but just a small tingle that traveled up her arm until the image of a library began to take shape in her mind. She closed her eyes and saw images from long ago.
“This key belonged to your husband’s grandfather,” Faro said when she opened her eyes again. It seemed that only a moment had passed since the vision started, but then she noticed the empty glass of punch in Caroline’s hand, which had been full when Mrs. Newel handed her the key. She dismissed the oddity and continued to relate what she saw in the vision. “He smoked a pipe on occasion, a habit his wife strongly discouraged.”
An odd frisson of awareness distracted Faro and she found her gaze drawn to the balcony, toward a man she hadn’t noticed before. Their eyes met and he stared back at her for what seemed an eternity. At last his gaze moved lower. She could almost feel him touching her wherever he looked.
No man had ever stared at her so boldly, deliberate
ly and insolently undressing her with his eyes. She should be shocked. Deeply insulted. The only thing she felt deeply was a blush that heated her cheeks. Despite her embarrassment, she couldn’t seem to look away from him.
Although his dark hair and clothing blended too well with the shadows to make out many of his features, a narrow shaft of light from one of the chandeliers slanted across his face to reveal eyes the color of molten gold. The image reminded her of a painting she once saw of a moonlit jungle, and almost hidden amidst the lush setting, a deadly Bengal tiger. The eyes that gazed out from the painted jungle’s depths had gleamed with lethal, predatory intelligence. The man who stared at her from the balcony looked no less dangerous. A deep shudder of some unknown emotion passed through her. Fear, she supposed.
“The key has something to do with pipes?”
Faro stared at Mrs. Newel until the meaning of the question penetrated her muddled senses. She handed the key back to its owner. “Yes, the key fits a box that was tucked behind several books in the library, the works of Mr. Shakespeare, I believe. If the box is still in your library, you will find a pipe and pouch of tobacco inside.”
The spark of excitement in Mrs. Newel’s eyes disappeared. “We had so hoped for smugglers. Newel will be quite crushed when he hears—” She raised her quizzing glass and turned her head. “I don’t believe it!” Faro was accustomed to skepticism, but Mrs. Newel’s remark startled her. “The key opens nothing more mysterious than a tobacco box, I assure you.”
“Oh, I believe what you say about the key, Miss Burke. You mistook my meaning.” She nodded toward the far end of the room. “It is the sight of Lord Wyatt that I find unbelievable. I did not think Lady Evelyn’s son would attend tonight. Everyone knows that Wyatt does not care for parties.”
Caroline raised her own quizzing glasses. “Is he the dark-haired gentleman on the staircase?”
Mrs. Newel nodded.
Faro’s gaze moved across the room and she watched Lady Evelyn and her son descend the staircase that led from the balcony. Both were tall with dark brown hair, Lady Evelyn’s touched with silver at her temples. There was no mistaking the relationship between the two. Only their eyes lacked any similarity. Lady Evelyn’s were deep blue and wide-set. Her son’s were … mesmerizing. She would never forget his eyes, but she found herself equally intrigued by the strong, angular features of his face, the dark shadows along his cheeks that reflected the number of hours since he had shaved. He raked a hand through his dark hair, a gesture that gave the distinct impression of a man resigned to a task he found disagreeable.
Faro’s heart began to beat harder as he and Lady Evelyn made their way toward them.
“Ladies,” Lady Evelyn began, when they reached the group, “it is my very great pleasure to introduce my son, Lord Wyatt.” Lady Evelyn turned her smile in Caroline’s direction. “Wyatt, you know Mrs. Newell already, these are my dear friends Mrs. Caroline Carstairs and Miss Faro Burke.”
Lord Wyatt looked straight at Faro and murmured the usual, “A pleasure to meet you, ladies.”
She felt her mouth go dry. He did not look the least pleased to meet them. His sensual mouth curved into a polite smile, but she had the distinct impression that he took an instant dislike to her.
He was not a man she wished for an enemy.
It was an odd revelation to come upon her. She knew nothing about Lord Wyatt beyond the fact that many in London considered him an enigma, too somber and serious-minded to indulge in the endless rounds of parties and social affairs that filled the hours of many noblemen’s lives. The somber part looked true enough. This was not a man who smiled easily or often. She supposed it had something to do with his manner. He projected an air of quiet authority, the type of power gained by experience rather than birthright. She wondered how a man born to the comforts of a manor like Blackburn could acquire such a hardened edge.
“Miss Burke has the most unusual talent,” Mrs. Newel told him. “She tells fortunes.”
“So I have heard.” Wyatt’s gaze never left her. His voice was deep and resonant, the measured rhythm of his words almost hypnotic. “You have an unusual surname, Miss Burke. However did you come by it?”
“That would be her father’s doing,” Caroline cut in. “Miss Burke told me the whole story. Baron Rothwell named his children after his favorite pursuits: Faro and Hazard. Can you imagine, my lord? Being named after games of chance?”
Wyatt didn’t respond to Caroline’s questions, nor did he so much as glance at her. It was rude to ignore the others so thoroughly. Faro realized they must think her manners equally lacking. His unusual eyes held her captive. “Do you share your father’s fondness for games of chance, Miss Burke?”
“No, my lord. I do not indulge in gambling of any sort.” Her voice sounded far too giddy and girlish for a woman of twenty-three, and she wondered at the ridiculous urge to run. Having met a great many people in London over the past few months, she considered herself an expert at the art of the introduction. Tonight she felt awkward and unsure of herself.
His lashes lowered as his gaze swept the length of her, missing nothing. “Fortune-telling seems something of a gamble.”
“There is an element of the unknown,” she said, trying desperately to keep her tone even and controlled. “I avoid weapons or any objects known to be associated with violent events. Most weapons I cannot read at all, but some have very … unpleasant effects.”
“Faro did the most ghastly reading of a silver candlestick at Mrs. Beauchamp’s house party last month.” Caroline’s dark eyes sparkled with an air of excitement that most men found captivating. Lord Wyatt appeared oblivious to her beauty. “Mrs. Beauchamp didn’t tell anyone that the candlestick was involved in a murder, that no one knew the identity of the culprit. Faro thinks Mrs. Beauchamp’s underbutler used the candlestick to bludgeon his poor wife to death. Can you imagine?” Caroline didn’t give anyone time to imagine anything. “Poor Mrs. Beauchamp. The incident caused quite an uproar. Thank goodness my piano recital made everyone forget that dreadful business.”
“Your musical talents must be something remarkable to prove so distracting.”
Caroline perked up at this show of interest from Lord Wyatt. “Actually, I mentioned the possibility of a recital just before you joined us. Perhaps you would like to judge my talents for yourself?”
“Actually, I hoped you might like to take a walk in the gardens.”
The look in Caroline’s eyes reminded Faro of her expression at dinner each night when the dessert arrived. “I am at your disposal, my lord.”
“Excellent.” Wyatt nodded toward Lady Evelyn. “Mother just mentioned that she would enjoy a walk in the gardens. I daresay she will be delighted to have your company.”
“But—”
“I can think of nothing I would like better,” Lady Evelyn said, cutting off Caroline’s protest. She linked her arm through Mrs. Newel’s. “This way, ladies.”
“But—”
“Enjoy the fresh air.” Wyatt motioned for Caroline to follow the older women. “It’s a lovely evening for a walk. Be sure to have Mother show you the arboretum.”
Caroline clamped her mouth shut and turned on her heel to march after Mrs. Newel and Lady Evelyn. Faro found herself smiling until she glanced at Lord Wyatt. The predatory look had returned to his eyes. They glittered with a dangerous light that made her instantly wary.
“There is something I would like to show you as well, Miss Burke.” He moved toward a door wainscoted and painted to match the wall. He pushed against one side and it sprang open. “Shall we retire to the library?”
“Why must we go to the library?” Faro glanced at the other guests. “It isn’t at all proper.”
“It is entirely proper. I am your host, Miss Burkê, and I have yet to insult any guest in my home by behaving in an improper manner. There are simply a few questions I would like to ask you in a place less public.”
He took her arm and led her through the doorway.
Faro let him, mostly because she had little doubt that Lord Wyatt meant to test her. It was nothing unusual. Very few people believed in her bizarre talent without proof. If his hostile demeanor was any measure, Lord Wyatt hoped she would fail his test.
Wyatt closed the door, disguised as bookshelves on this side of the room, then walked toward the center of the library. He came to a halt near an oversized chair and Faro took a seat on a nearby divan upholstered in jewel-green velvet. All the library’s furnishings looked heavy and masculine, the unmistakable domain of a man. Bookshelves covered three walls, while a row of tall windows along the fourth wall reflected the evening stars. There were several books scattered on long tables placed before the bookshelves, and a small stack of papers was piled on the desk. Oil lamps flickered from the tables and desk, but the library’s dark furnishings reflected little light. The lamps glowed like small, golden oases in the large room. Faro’s gaze returned to the door that led to the gallery, almost indistinguishable amidst the bookcases.
“The doors in this house are a little unnerving,” she said, for lack of anything better to end the silence. Actually, it was the house’s owner who unnerved her. The foreboding look in his eyes didn’t frighten her. On the contrary, she found his golden eyes fascinating, but the attraction she felt toward him frightened her plenty. That sort of emotion had no place in her life. She did her best to push it aside and gave him her politest smile. “I never quite know how to make my way from one room to the next.”
“The house is riddled with passageways, some secret, some not so secret. They were one of my ancestor’s poor ideas of a jest.” He didn’t return her smile. Instead, he reached into his pocket to remove something, then held it toward her. “I recently came into possession of this bottle and I am curious about its origins. I’m told it might be valuable if I could prove the bottle’s age and authenticity. For that I will need to contact a previous owner. Perhaps you could tell me how it came to be in my possession, Miss Burke.”