“Admit it, Darius. She roused you just as thoroughly as she did me.”
“It was the Catalyst I responded to,” he muttered. “Nothing more.”
Corwin sighed. Darius had never come to terms with the ... breadth of his own affections, and Corwin did not have the energy to revisit that old argument now. He was tired. It had been a long night and there was absolutely no prospect of bed until they reported to their captain.
If Darius wants to deny his own feelings for another day, fine. Let him.
“There’s a carriage house in the King’s Road,” Corwin said, looking up and down the street to get his bearings. “We can get a bite and hire a hack to take us to the captain.”
Darius drew in a deep breath. “Very well,” he said and they walked on in strained silence.
The carriage house was a clean, well-run affair. The man and wife who kept it were already up and bustling about when Corwin and Darius arrived. While the hack was readied, they were able to dine on bread fresh from the oven spread thickly with butter and marmalade, as well as cold ham and boiled eggs washed down with pots of good beer. The driver was pleased to see their ready money and took them into the city without complaint, weaving the carriage expertly through the morning traffic of rattling carts, vans and wagons. They got out at the mouth of a nameless, narrow street overshadowed by the gleaming dome of St. Paul’s.
Corwin paid the man off, and he and Darius entered an unmarked door halfway down the dim street. It might have been anything from a counting house to a solicitor’s to a tailor. They removed their hats and walked into the neatly appointed sitting room. A fresh fire blazed in the hearth, for the morning had turned chilly.
“Come through, gentlemen, come through.”
Darius glanced at Corwin, and Corwin smiled. They were expected, and neither was surprised.
Down a short corridor, they came to a room that was more a library than anything else. Bookshelves stuffed with fat, leather-bound tomes lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Only one in three was actually in English and more than one were written in a language that had died out a thousand years ago. In the middle of this literary wealth sprawled a broad desk, crowded with stacks of paper, inkwells and pens, as well as scrolls rolled up tightly and tied with ribbons of various colors.
Behind the desk sat their captain, a man Corwin and Darius knew only as Captain Smith.
Smith was a small man with a ring of grizzled gray hair around a bronzed and mottled scalp. He wore a long, unfashionable black coat over white breeches and stockings, and Corwin had the feeling he was older—perhaps far older—than he appeared.
The cognomen “captain” was purely a formality. Smith had no connection with the military that Corwin knew of. But then, Corwin knew next to nothing about the man himself, and that was as it was supposed to be.
“Sit down, gentlemen, sit down.” Smith waved them to the two chairs waiting in front of the desk. “You have eaten? Good,” he said when they nodded. “Now, tell me about your night.”
Smith listened silently while Corwin and Darius recounted the events of the previous evening. Naturally, they left out the details of exactly what had passed between them and Miranda Prosper. Darius’s face remained stony and his voice almost monotone when he described being lured away from the protective circle by a series of strange noises and the movement of light that could have been a lantern.
Corwin had not heard the full story and held his peace as he listened. Clearly, whoever had distracted Darius had done everything but shout his name.
At last, they finished, and Smith sat back in his wide chair.
“Your priorities were correct,” their captain said. “The most important thing was to remove Miss Prosper from the Thayers’ house to a place of relative safety.”
Darius folded his arms and looked away.
“To a place of relative safety,” repeated Smith firmly. “You were there not just to protect any Catalyst at the gathering, but to let the traitor know you were aware of their presence and activities. You have clearly accomplished both.”
“At what cost?” muttered Darius. “We almost got killed.”
Smith smiled thinly. “ ‘Almost’ can be a very large margin, especially in the realms in which we move. What interests me more is the method of the deception.” Smith fingered the chain holding his quizzing glass. “They knew where you’d be. They could have simply lain in wait and attacked physically at an ... inconvenient moment and stood a much better chance of killing all three of you.” He spoke calmly, as if their deaths were no more than an obscure intellectual exercise. “Your wards would have done nothing against a pistol shot or knife. So, why did they not avail themselves of that opportunity?”
“They didn’t want us dead?” suggested Corwin. The quip earned him a long and hard look through Smith’s quizzing glass.
“They wanted to make our deaths look like an accident, or to throw suspicion for them onto Miss Prosper,” put in Darius.
Smith nodded. “Just so. One or the other. We sent you there to smoke out the traitor, but we must consider the possibility that the traitor brought Miss Prosper to the party to lure us there.”
“Miranda had nothing to do with this,” snapped Corwin.
Smith’s shaggy brows lifted. “I did not suggest she did, Mr. Rathe. A Judas goat does not need to understand its job in order to do it.”
Corwin found he did not much care to hear Miranda characterized as a Judas goat, but held his tongue.
“An elegant plan all around,” Smith mused, tapping his glass against his weathered palm. “If it had worked, our two finest men would be drained and dead, and all our suspicions would be pointed toward the unprotected Miss Prosper. Were she to disappear shortly thereafter, we would only think that her masters had spirited her out of reach. Very elegant indeed.”
“Three birds with one stone,” whispered Corwin.
“The question then becomes why Miss Prosper?” Smith went on as if Corwin had not spoken. “A Catalyst who is also a daughter of the haut ton. Was she simply convenient, or did they have some particular reason for choosing her from a list of candidates?” His eyes narrowed. “Our traitor does not seem to do things in a random fashion.”
“Either way, she is going to need protection,” said Corwin.
Smith nodded. “And training. We must make sure she is secure in her abilities and in her loyalties before our traitor has the opportunity to advance whatever designs he, or she, may have on Miss Prosper. So, Mr. Rathe, Mr. Marlowe, your mission remains unchanged. You must secure Miss Prosper to our cause and find our traitor.”
“What if the traitor’s plan is to bring us close to her?” asked Darius.
“That sort of supposition, Mr. Marlowe, leads very quickly to paralysis.” Smith tucked his glass into his waistcoat pocket, only to pull it out again a moment later. “It is not impossible that I am sending two good men further into a trap, and failing to rescue an innocent young woman from it. It would not be the first time I’ve made a hideous mistake.” His blue eyes clouded over for a moment, and Corwin hoped to never know what could cause such sorrow to crease a man’s face. “If it is a trap, you must find the trigger before it springs or die trying.”
It was a cold-blooded statement, and yet Corwin couldn’t fault the old man. This was war, and they were all soldiers.
“Our traitor was probably in attendance at Lady Thayer’s party,” said Corwin, shifting the subject to an area where he could take action.
“That is indeed probable,” agreed Smith. “So, you would do well in beginning your investigations with her guest list. Most of them, unfortunately, will be following tradition and scattering themselves to the four winds over the next week.”
“The better to search their town houses,” said Darius.
Smith looked at him, his brows raised. “Excellent thought, Mr. Marlowe. Mr. Rathe will take charge of Miss Prosper’s training with your assistance, but you will lead the active investigations of Lady Th
ayer’s party guests. If that is satisfactory?” Smith waited for a moment, but they were all aware neither Darius nor Corwin was going to contradict his direct instructions. “Very good. Thank you, gentlemen.”
Dismissed, Corwin and Darius got to their feet and made their bows. Corwin saw that Darius was not pleased, and he was not bothering to hide it. Despite what had passed between them in the arbor and her bedchamber, Darius clearly still did not trust Miranda. He certainly did not welcome her presence. Corwin bit back a sigh.
I’ve got to talk to him.
But as Corwin turned to follow Darius out of the study, Smith spoke.
“Mr. Rathe, a word.”
Darius eyed Corwin, but continued out into the front room. Corwin faced Smith and folded his hands behind his back.
“Sir?”
Smith raised his glass and looked at Corwin through it for a long, silent moment. Beneath that piercing gaze, Corwin had to work to remind himself he was a grown man, not a schoolboy in the headmaster’s office. He was only partly successful.
“Mr. Rathe, you are a talented Sorcerer, and a courageous man,” said Smith at last.
“Thank you, sir.”
“But you have a cavalier streak about you, particularly in matters of human relationships. If you do not guard against this, it will land you in significant trouble one day.”
Corwin felt his brow begin to furrow, but quickly smoothed his expression out. “I will do my best, sir.”
“I am not offering you fatherly advice, Mr. Rathe.” Smith’s voice turned cold. “I am warning you as your superior. I am well aware of your tastes and habits, and of your ongoing liaison with Mr. Marlowe.” Smith waved his glass toward the door. “I do not judge. In fact, I do not particularly care. But if you permit those tastes and habits to jeopardize your mission, I will personally make sure you are never able to jeopardize anything again. Do I make myself clear?”
In those last words Corwin felt the full weight of Smith’s years, intellect and power leveled at him. Corwin had convinced himself that his personal life was not part of the struggle for the existence of the Isle of Britain. Smith clearly did not share this conviction, and he would not tolerate carelessness on the part of his subordinates.
“Yes, sir,” said Corwin
“Very good, Mr. Rathe,” said Smith more softly. “You may go.”
Corwin walked to the door and laid his hand on the knob. “I will not let you down, sir.”
“It is not me, Mr. Rathe. It is nothing less than the human race.”
“Yes, sir.” Corwin opened the door, but as he stepped through, he heard, very softly:
“Good luck, Mr. Rathe.”
Corwin closed the door without looking back.
Darius stood near the hearth and looked up as Corwin emerged from the corridor.
“Well? What did he say?”
Corwin took his hat off the hook where he’d hung it. The encounter had rattled him far more than he cared to admit, even to himself. He took refuge from the fact by making light of it. “He warned me not to make a fool of myself over a pretty face.”
Darius snorted. “I could have given you the same advice. Are you going to listen to him?”
Which is really too much coming from you. He faced Darius and waited until he was sure the other man was looking him fully in the eye.
“Do you trust me, Darius?”
Darius neither blinked nor flinched. “You know that I do.”
“And yourself?”
At that, Darius looked away, and that told Corwin all he needed to know. “I trust you, Darius,” Corwin said.
But Darius had taken himself out onto the street, and gave no sign that he had heard.
Eight
After Corwin and Darius left her, Miranda lay in her bed a full two hours, just staring at the canopy, trying to quell the surging tides of emotion inside her. Fear, excitement, confusion, desire; she felt them all, separately and in infinite combination. At last, she’d sunk into a shallow, restless sleep where dreams both bright and dark chased themselves through her mind.
When she woke, warm sunlight seeped in around the edges of the heavy curtains. She had sat up certain of one thing and one thing only. She was desperately in need of a wash.
Even so, it had taken all her courage to ring for Louise. Miranda felt certain some shimmering trace of Corwin and Darius must linger in the air, or that she somehow had been visibly changed by her encounter. This was foolish and she knew it, and yet the sensation would not leave her. She was not afraid, not exactly. What she had learned, about the nature of the world, about herself—it was so huge that it would have been unnatural not to feel dizzy.
Perhaps I should leave words like “unnatural” alone for a while longer.
If Louise noticed anything was amiss, she gave no sign. Still, Miranda decided to confine herself to her chamber for the day. As little as she liked to admit it, she was not ready to face her mother, who—although she did not know the details—knew all was not as it should be. Elated, exhausted and bewildered by all that had happened, Miranda spent much of her time sleeping, and when she was awake, she tried again and again to come to terms with all that had happened.
It was eleven o’clock the following morning before Miranda could make herself prepare to walk downstairs. To delay any longer seemed like rank cowardice. A new life had begun for her two nights ago. She would have to live it, and live with it, from this day forward. She had Louise help her into a morning gown of pale blue muslin sprigged and sashed with lavender. More lavender ribbons went into her hair, which Louise coiled, curled and braided to a fare-thee-well, and took so long about it that Miranda had to force herself not to squirm. But when it was completed, she had to admit she did look very well indeed.
Why, Mother might even approve.
Chin high, Miranda Prosper descended the stairs to the sun-washed breakfast room.
The sideboard was crowded with covered silver dishes. Mother believed that a real lady did not eat in front of other people if it could be avoided, or, if it could not, she ate as sparingly as possible. This meant that on any given day breakfast at home might be her only full meal, so she made sure it was a generous one.
Miranda’s stomach made several unladylike noises as she helped herself to coddled eggs and fresh trout, some lovely raspberries and cream, and two fresh muffins. Tea did not seem strong enough this morning, so she drew a cup of coffee from the urn. She sat down with her heavily laden plate and began to tuck in. It all tasted delicious.
It must be true what the French say. Hunger is the best sauce. But there was something else to it. Despite her fears and misgivings, Miranda felt alive, and ready to enjoy life. It was as if Corwin and Darius had awakened more than simple desire in her.
Not that there was really anything simple about that desire. Miranda remembered their hands on her, their mouths everywhere. She flushed hot as the thought and memory of hands and mouths led to that of hard cocks, in her pussy and pressing between the halves of her ass ...
Stop that, Miranda ordered herself sternly as she sliced into her fillet of trout. But then she paused. But why should I? Why should I not enjoy this too?
Revelation bloomed slowly. Now that she knew it was not a pointless emotion, that softly simmering desire was enjoyable. Its warmth was teasing, and just the tiniest bit distracting, but it gave her a sense of nothing so much as anticipation.
And Corwin promised they would return.
This made Miranda frown. Certainly Corwin had promised to return, but would he? Perhaps he had just said that so she wouldn’t make a fuss when they left. Perhaps they were planning the conquest of some other young woman right now ...
“Well, Miranda, there you are.”
Miranda froze and her heart thudded hard against her ribs. Mother had entered the dining room, looking like the cat that had drunk the cream, only to find it had gone off. “I must say, I am pleased you had the good sense to stay in bed yesterday. Otherwise, if anyone had com
e calling, they would have ceased to believe the story of your having a fever.”
Miranda sighed. Another morning she would have quailed and shrunk back. But everything was different now, including this. “Mother, everyone at Lady Thayer’s was too busy with their own affairs to worry about mine.”
“If you had been with anyone other than the new and fascinating Mr. Rathe, that might be true.” Now it was Mother’s turn to sigh. “I must say, it never really occurred to me that I might have to hush up a scandal about you, Miranda.”
“Does this mean you are disappointed or the contrary?”
Mother frowned, a perfect and depressingly familiar little moue. Miranda’s spirit flagged, but only for a heartbeat. She boldly met her mother’s gaze, and something inside her loosened, a fetter she had never before been able to undo.
“Did he give any sign of his intentions?” Mother asked sharply. “Or even promise to come calling?”
Miranda set down her fork and blotted her lips, trying to remain calm while her mind raced furiously in search of a suitable reply.
Mother’s eyes narrowed. “Well, Miranda?”
At that moment the doors at the far end of the room opened and the footman, Halloway, entered. Miranda turned toward him and hoped the wash of relief flooding through her did not show in her eyes.
“A gentleman to see you, madame.” Halloway stepped up to Mother and held out a silver tray on which lay a single calling card.
It took all of Miranda’s strength not to lunge for the card. Mother picked it up, read it. Her eyebrows arched. “It seems we are honored with a visit from Mr. Corwin Rathe,” she said. “I trust, Miranda, you are ready to receive him?”
Miranda’s heart hammered against her ribs. As calmly as possible, she laid her napkin aside. “Of course.”
“Tell Mr. Rathe we shall meet him in the morning room, Halloway.”
“Very good, madame.”
The footman left to perform his duty and Miranda found herself once again under Mother’s silent scrutiny. The knowledge that Corwin was only yards away both buoyed Miranda up and brought all her fears rushing back to her. How would she face him? How would she face him in front of Mother? And how would he behave toward her? He’d been gentleman enough in the ballroom, and he clearly understood discretion, but still ...
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