A Devilish Slumber

by Shereen Vedam

  She seemed full of cowardly ideas tonight. But she realized that if she experienced one more kiss like this afternoon’s, she might spill all her secrets. What if she told Phillip about the Rue Alliance? That information was not hers to share. Since they had revealed their presence to her, however much she might deny it, they were hers to guard. Even the surly ones like Daniel Trenton.

  She busied herself lighting a few more candles. “Would you care for a drink, Daniel?”

  “No.” He indicated the hearth. “Shall I light that?”

  She shook her head. “I plan to retire soon and it would take effort to put those flames out.” She lifted and dropped her sore shoulder muscles. “So, you have your audience. What is it you wish to say?”

  He blew out his thumb. “May I speak to the lady of the house?”

  “You will have to settle for the gentleman before you.” She had no intention of showing him her female side while still garbed as a man. As it was, he could see her lower limbs clearly delineated in the too-tight breeches.

  Rose’s breath stuck in her throat as he leisurely studied her from her boots on up. He paused at her unnatural bulge.

  “A rolled handkerchief,” she said through gritted teeth.

  He gave a barked laugh and continued his survey with raised eyebrows and quirked lips before he settled on her flat chest. “What I would like to know, my lady,”—the rogue finally made eye contact—“is what in blazes are you doing out alone at this time of night? Did you think to carry a pistol, or a knife? Or even a walking stick? Or do you scoff at the idea of footpads lurking in shadows waiting to bludgeon the unwary in hopes of snagging a rich purse?”

  Rose blushed at his scolding and took a much-needed breath. She had expected him to berate her for her immodest shifting to look like a man. Instead, Daniel showed he was more concerned with her welfare than her physical shape. That was unexpectedly endearing. And she could hardly be angry at his uninhibited survey of parts of her she had put so clearly on display. “I admit I was foolish to walk home tonight. I promise not to do that again. Will that satisfy?”

  “Why are you dressed like this? What are you and that topping man up to?”

  Did he mean Phillip? Daniel was such a mystery. One moment he spoke like the lowest commoner, using cant phrases she had never heard, and the next he spoke like a polished nobleman. Who was this “cinder fella,” as Stony called him?

  “If you were dressed as a lady while with him, I would understand.” A downward curl of his lips said he comprehended that idea even as he disparaged it. “It means you want him.”

  Rose’s cheeks heated at his common speech.

  “What I do not understand is why you followed him to the docks dressed as a man.”

  She circled around him to reach a window and then pushed back the curtain to look out into the moonlit misty garden. If she told Daniel of her investigation, then she would be involving the alliance in her activities. Putting their lives in danger.

  “I will not leave until I have an answer.” He came over to stand directly behind her.

  Rose hugged her arms and bent until her forehead touched the cool windowpane. The familiar embrace of despair returned. “I could not bear it if anyone else was hurt because of me.”

  Daniel’s hand settled on her shoulder and he turned her about. His features had softened, leaving him seeming remarkably kind and gentle, not at all the rough cutthroat he pretended to be. “Allow me to worry about who gets hurt. Trust me and this business will go smoother.”

  Trust me. It was what she wanted Phillip to do, even though she was unwilling to extend that courtesy to him. But trust was fragile, and once shattered, it was devilish hard to regain. Phillip was attempting to learn how to trust by befriending Ben Turner. Perhaps she could learn how to trust again with the alliance.

  After all, whether it had been Eve or not, a shifter was obviously involved in Helen’s murder. Someone who could impersonate Rose so well, the act fooled even Phillip. Who better to track such an elusive and talented murderess than the alliance? And if the killer was one of them, they needed to be warned.

  Her mind made up, she nodded. “I would like to speak to Mrs. Weatheringham. What I have to say concerns the entire Rue Alliance. Would you please arrange another meeting for me?”

  “Now you are thinking straight. Come by at eleven tomorrow.” Obtaining her promise, he left without protest.

  She blew out all but one candle, locked the front door and with her light held high, she trudged upstairs. She hid her new clothes back in her father’s room.

  She then sat before her dresser and raised the hairbrush. In her looking glass, her hair was shoulder length again, without her consciously releasing her shift. Her face, too, had reverted back to norm. And her bosom was full. When had this happened? In Daniel’s presence? Her cheeks heated at the idea and she guessed when she must have transformed. The moment he turned her from the window, and his face softened.

  Why had he said nothing?

  Chapter Seven

  HANNAH HELPED Rose prepare for her meeting with Mrs. Weatheringham. Rose chose a simple emerald gown, one with short sleeves and lace at the bodice that had a timeless beauty.

  As her maid tightened her stays, Rose pulled on the Cimaruta’s cord until the amulet swung out. She wanted to warn the alliance that a shifter might be involved in this mystery, but should she also confide about the amulet’s power? What if the murderess was present?

  Several people had already noticed the amulet because Phillip had plucked it out of her bodice before they went walking. At Mrs. Weatheringham’s home, Miss Wood had even questioned her about the charm before Rose squirreled it away. If anyone found out about the Cimaruta’s ability to reveal a shifter in mid-shift, her one chance of identifying the killer while he or she was in full disguise would be compromised.

  She needed a less conspicuous way to carry it. There was no time to fashion something suitable now, but tonight, after Hannah went home, she could hunt for a longer strap to hold it around her waist where it would be less noticeable but still lie against her skin so she could sense its activation.

  She sent Hannah to prepare her breakfast. Once the girl left, Rose took off the necklace and hid the amulet in her dresser beneath some silk garments.

  She descended the stairs, bereft of the charm. Other thoughts pushed that slight discomfort aside. Chief among her worries was what she would say to Mrs. Weatheringham.

  A knock startled her. Morning visits for the fashionable began at eleven. It was no more than a few minutes past nine and besides, all of society knew that Lady Roselyn Ravenstock was not open to visitors.

  The ormolu timepiece by the door showed the hour as six. She should repair that clock.

  The knock came again. What if it was Phillip?

  Hannah hurried to the entryway, wiping her hands on her apron.

  Rose gave an approving nod and removed to the drawing room. In here, the chairs and furniture were still covered. Yesterday, she had not minded the shut-in feeling. Today, it seemed wrong. Quickly, she removed the covers on the settee and chairs and hid them inside a side wardrobe, then ran to flick open the curtains. Phillip had ridiculed her penchant for darkness and she did not want a repeat of that annoying experience.

  She had barely finished when a tap sounded. Her heart leaped in thrill until she ordered it to remain calm. “Enter.”

  Behind Hannah came two ladies. Not Phillip. Her tense shoulders dropped with profound disappointment, and she released a quiet sigh of regret. She instantly recognized her younger guest. Miss Warwick was the lady in pink from the park. She had on a pale blue gown beautifully hand-embroidered with flowers, just as pretty and up to current fashion as the pink confection she had worn in the park. Phillip’s mother would approve.

  She realized she was biting her bottom lip, giving
away her trepidation. So she relaxed her face into a calm façade, giving these unwelcome visitors less to speculate about. It was bad enough that gossip about her was being bandied about at the London clubs.

  Miss Warwick’s companion was vaguely familiar. Ah yes, she was the woman who had accompanied Miss Warwick to Hyde Park. She wore a smart plaid gown with a short red jacket. Rose put the black-haired woman to be about eight years Miss Warwick’s elder. The older woman gazed at Rose with a mixture of curiosity and pity.

  Rose straightened her spine and smoothed her gown. Both women came forward and curtsied.

  “This is Lady Roselyn Ravenstock,” Miss Warwick said, making the introduction. “Lady Ravenstock, allow me to present Mrs. Lavinia Rochester.”

  “How do you do?” Rose said. “This is a surprise. I had not expected callers.”

  When Hannah would have left, Rose indicated that she should stay. She invited her guests to be seated on chairs while she took the settee. Hannah stayed by the door.

  An awkward silence ensued. After years away from society, Rose felt ill at ease at being so suddenly plunked into its lap. Should she offer refreshments? No, they might take that as an invitation to linger, or worse, return.

  “We were sure after your sojourn at Hyde Park that you would be inundated with callers this morning,” Mrs. Rochester said. “Which is why Cicely and I decided to be early birds.”

  Rose raised an eyebrow at this unwelcome assumption, and glanced at her closed drawing room door with trepidation. Would callers enter one after another simply because she had gone for a walk with Phillip? If so, she would tell Hannah to turn them away, as she should have with these two.

  Miss Warwick’s wandering gaze was taking in every detail on the room. “What unique decorations you have.”

  Rose followed her glance and her face heated at the bare walls and the few remaining pieces of cloth-covered furniture. “I have not yet officially opened the house to visitors.”

  Miss Warwick nodded though she appeared perplexed.

  “Why is that piano covered?” Mrs. Rochester said.

  The Muzio Clementi grand piano’s distinctive shape stood out under its wrap. She had not set eyes on its mahogany and satin veneer since Eve’s death. Somehow, it had seemed sacrilegious to play something so beloved by her sister. “I had not intended to partake of many social activities this season. I . . . I am not well, you see.”

  “I only saw you in passing at the park,” Mrs. Rochester said, “but your cheeks were rosy. Were they not, Cicely?”

  “I suppose. But then, Sir Phillip has that effect on most ladies.” She gave a trilling laugh. Like piano cords snapping.

  “Yes, he is a charming fellow,” Mrs. Rochester said. “I hope you do not mind me suggesting that a bit of activity will improve your health, Lady Roselyn. And that brings us to why we are here.”

  At last. “Yes?”

  “We have come to invite you to a ball.”

  “Is this an event you are holding?” Rose asked to be polite, fully intending to flatly refuse.

  “No.” Mrs. Rochester waved her hand. “I should explain better. This is a masque put on by the Lockharts. Tonight.”

  “They are very socially active.” Miss Warwick gave a sage nod. “They hope to see their two daughters married off.”

  “We each received an invitation,” Mrs. Rochester said, “and we would like you to come as our guest. When we saw you at the park, I said to Cicely, ‘that young lady needs our friendship’.”

  Miss Warwick nodded, then gave Rose a suspicious glance. “Though you seemed rather intimate with Sir Phillip. How long have you known him?”

  “Some years.”

  “It is such a delight that you have rejoined society, Lady Roselyn,” Mrs. Rochester said. “Even if only partially.”

  “Lavinia assures me that we will be the talk of the town if we appeared at the masque with you as our guest,” Miss Warwick said with naive candor.

  So that was why they were here. Rose’s shoulders tensed with distaste. They wanted to score a social win. She mentally slotted them in the same category as the men at White’s who had written her into that club’s betting books.

  “It cannot be good to stay in this house day in and day out,” Mrs. Rochester said with compassion. “We felt it was our Christian duty to invite you.” The lady held up her hand when Rose would have responded. “I understand. You are thinking that you hardly know us. Why would you wish to attend a party in our company?”

  It was not what she had been thinking, but it was a good point. Nor did she care for Miss Warwick’s self-serving attitude or Mrs. Rochester’s solicitous looks. The longer this interview stretched, the more her breakfast pooled into a cold mess.

  “Miss Warwick is a friend of Sir Phillip Jones,” Mrs. Rochester said, “whom you know. So we are all acquainted.”

  A loud knock on the front door forestalled Rose’s blunt refusal.

  Hannah jumped up and ran out.

  “It is as we surmised.” Mrs. Rochester turned to her friend. “Is it not a good thing we came early, Cicely, before everyone else descended on Lady Roselyn?”

  Rose dearly hoped not. She should have told Hannah not to invite anyone else in.

  Low voices in the hallway suggested the caller was male. By Mrs. Rochester’s raised eyebrow and Miss Warwick’s pinched look, they, too, recognized that deep voice.

  The door opened and Hannah introduced Phillip. He seemed as astonished to find Rose entertaining company, as her guests were to discover him calling on Rose so early.

  “What a pleasant surprise.” Miss Warwick’s face was wreathed in a wide smile that did not reach her eyes. She introduced Mrs. Rochester.

  “Ladies.” Phillip bowed, and then casually rested his left hand on his walking stick as he surveyed the company.

  His very presence brightened the room. No wonder Miss Warwick lusted after him. Rose was ashamed that her response to this gentleman was no better than that of her guest.

  “A pleasant surprise indeed.” He brought forth his handkerchief and delicately dabbed at his forehead.

  Rose could barely contain her smile. Phillip’s imitation of a dandy was priceless.

  “I dare say, it shall be warm today, ladies, do you not think so?” he asked.

  Miss Warwick, apparently unable see past his surface veneer, agreed wholeheartedly.

  Mrs. Rochester, made of sterner stuff, invitingly patted the chair beside her.

  The rogue chose to sit beside Rose on the settee, placing himself so intimately close, his lower limb pressed against hers. Completely aware of Phillip’s touch, his warmth and that violet scent he favored, Rose instantly heated. Monsieur Tessyier was correct; violet water mingled with Phillip’s essence was not in the least bit feminine. It transformed a dandy into a firebrand.

  The two women’s gazes swiveled between Rose and Phillip.

  Rose shifted to put a bit of room between them.

  He took that as invitation to stretch out until he was once more pressing against her. Scoundrel. “So, what brings you both to Lady Roselyn’s home this warm spring morning?”

  Mrs. Rochester found her voice first. “We came to invite her to the Lockhart masque. As it is such short notice, we wished to come early enough to allow her ample time to prepare. You would have received an invitation, sir. Will you be attending?”

  “Say you will come,” Miss Warwick said. “I am going as a shepherdess, so it would be thrilling if you came as a shepherd.”

  “As to that,” he said, “I had intended to invite Lady Roselyn to the Theatre Royal. They have scheduled The Merchant of Venice tonight, and she loves Shakespeare.”

  Rose blinked. She could not recall ever saying she was partial to The Bard. In fact, years ago, she remembered Phillip being annoyed for her
fondness of gothic tales. She had considered giving up the vice until she discovered his true character. Since then, novels by Ann Radcliffe had entertained and supported her lonely existence. Knowing how much he would hate her taste in such books had fueled her absorption in them.

  Mrs. Rochester leaned forward and playfully tapped her fan on his knee. “La, Sir Phillip, if we have not snatched her from you first.” Her gaze pierced Rose. “You were about to accept our invitation, were you not, Lady Roselyn?”

  Rose, about to deny this, remembered Phillip’s plan to seduce her. Did he intend to bring her back here after the play for another kiss? Or perhaps more?

  She must not allow him that chance. If she refused her guests, and Hannah was absent when Phillip brought her home, who knew what liberties he might take? “Miss Warwick, Mrs. Rochester, I should love to accompany you tonight.”

  “Then it is my sad loss,” Phillip said. He sounded genuinely heartbroken. “I shall simply pine away for the loss of your delightful company.”

  “Oh, surely not,” Miss Warwick said. “Pray, come to the masque as well. I shall save you two dances, sir.” Her laughter rang out. In Rose’s mind, the piano’s last strings snapped. “Then I can tell your mother, when she next visits grandpapa, what a delightful pair we made.”

  “With such a prospect to look forward to, be assured Miss Warwick, I shall give the matter the gravest consideration.”

  Rose stood, not in the least interested in Phillip’s mother’s approval of Miss Warwick. “I hope you will all pardon me. I have an appointment I must keep. With my dresser.”

  Phillip stood and the ladies followed suit, saying their goodbyes. When Phillip did not follow them out the door, they turned back.

  “I have one more matter to discuss with Lady Roselyn.” He bowed. “Good day.”

  Hannah hesitated, and then leaving the drawing room door wide open, she followed the ladies out.