The Dark Matters Quartet

by Claire Robyns

  He grunted. There was only so much amusement to be had from tallying up the polite barbs fired between Lily and Kelan and, after three days, even that failed to entertain. He stopped walking, tapping his cane on the packed dirt path as his gaze swept the immediate area. The sun was high and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and most of London seemed to be taking advantage of the fine weather in Kensington Gardens this morning. Ladies and gentlemen strolling along the paths, children scampering about with cries of delight, yapping dogs, nannies pushing perambulators.

  Beside him, Neco said, “Is your leg bothering you?”

  “My leg is fine,” Greyston assured him. It only acted up when he over-exerted himself and there hadn’t been much cause for that of late. Not since Lily had banished the only demon in town. Not that he should be wishing any more demons upon them, but anything had to be better than this eternal boredom. “It’s my head that needs therapy.”

  “Your head hurts?” enquired Neco.

  “Nothing that a pleasure stroll cannot cure,” Greyston muttered sarcastically.

  “We’re to take another walk all the way around the park?”

  “Why?” Greyston turned to him. “Do you have other business, anything else at all, to occupy your time?”

  “Yes,” Neco said.

  He didn’t elaborate. He never did, not when a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ would suffice. And Greyston was in no mood to press for details. He’d actually come across Neco polishing silver in the breakfast room this morning. That was the depth of depravation to which they’d sunk.

  Madness. He turned from Neco, shaking his head. Utter madness… His eyes landed on a vision that hadn’t been there moments before. He’d recognise those copper curls beneath that straw hat anywhere. Mrs. Georgina Bonnington, reclining at her leisure on a blanket spread over the grass, her back propped against a picnic hamper.

  “Don’t let me keep you, Neco.” The relentless forces pushing and pulling inside him stilled. His grip on the rounded head of his cane relaxed. He rarely needed the walking aid at all of late, but this cane was far more than that. The inside had been hollowed out to fit his Cairngorm sword. “I’ll finish my walk alone and see you back at the house.”

  “Alone?” Neco said. “What about your head?”

  “My head is miraculously cured.”

  “You don’t believe in miracles.”

  “Don’t I?” he murmured, Neco already forgotten as he stepped off the path to cross the lawn.

  Georgina stirred, started tilting her head up to the sun, when her gaze found him. Her smile was instantaneous, warm and welcoming.

  “I’m not disturbing you?” he said as he approached, looking down at the book opened on her lap.

  “Not at all.” She closed the book and set it aside. “The company of a good book pales in comparison to yours.” Her smile turned mischievous. “Besides, haven’t you heard? Too much reading will make a lady squint and I’ve been at it for hours.”

  Greyston chuckled. “I could have sworn you’d only just arrived.”

  “Oh, no, I’ve been…” She glanced around, then pointed to a nearby tree. “I’ve only just moved from the shade to enjoy this glorious sunlight.” She tucked her legs in tighter to make space for him on the blanket. “Please, do sit a while.”

  He chose a spot directly opposite her, his knees drawn up with his arms folded over them. “I hope that book wasn’t too good, or my company might not measure up to the comparison.”

  “I must confess, I find tall tales of real people far more captivating than fictional lives.”

  “Then you might find…” His thoughts derailed momentarily in the depths of her eyes. It hadn’t been his imagination. They really were the colour of a summer sky, slanted in an exquisite manner that added a touch of the exotic to her flawless beauty. “You might find memoirs more to your taste.”

  “And what would Greyston Adair’s memoir taste like?” Those eyes sparkled with amusement. “Were I to indulge?”

  Were they still talking about reading? Reminded of the last time he’d assumed more, Greyston conceded they probably were. Unfortunately.

  “An explosion of adventure and thrilling danger,” he said with a wry grin. “You’d be spoiled for all else thereafter, I’m afraid.”

  “Intriguing.” She giggled softly. “Pray, Sir, do feed me, just a tiny morsel.”

  “Very well.” He leaned back, stretching his arms out behind him for support. He could make up any story, but Georgina had shattered his defences at their first meeting and nothing had changed. There was something about this woman that drew him in, made him want to reveal something of his true self. “Greyston Adair is a Scottish scoundrel, by all accounts. Charming, and not wholly dishonourable, or so he likes to think.”

  “And what do his acquaintances think?”

  “They don’t,” he informed her soberly. “They’re bedazzled witless by his rugged good looks and outrageous deeds.”

  “Oh my, suddenly I’m quite overcome with bedazzlement.” Georgina fanned herself dramatically with one hand. “Do tell me more.”

  Greyston laughed. “He’s a marauder of the high streams, a pirate and a—”

  “High seas, you mean.”

  He shook his head. “The Red Hawk is a magnificent ship, undefeated in the Aether streams and manned by a mottled crew every inch as unscrupulous as their captain.” He lowered his voice to stamp the next words with a dark, sinister undertone. “Greyston Adair. Master of the Aether. No man, damsel in distress or bird is safe in the merciless wake of his path.”

  “You are absolutely wicked!” Georgina tugged off a glove and threw it at him.

  He caught the glove and dangled it between them. “No glove, either. As we speak, the Red Hawk swoops over the treacherous dunes of the Syrian Desert, fearless in her hunt for scavenger bandits and treasures to rival all the Kings of Egypt put together.”

  They both laughed, looking into each other’s eyes, then Georgina sighed. “If only I could meet this Greyston Adair.”

  “You and many others,” Greyston said sadly. “He is a dastardly dashing rogue.”

  “Oh, it’s his ship I’m interested in,” she said. “I’d love to see the Red Hawk.”

  “You cannot look upon the Red Hawk.” He came forward, holding her glove out. “Not without being driven mad with desire to ride the Aether with her.”

  “You know exactly how to make a lady’s heart race.” She tried to take the glove, but he didn’t let go. Neither did she. She used it to tug him a little closer. “A pity the Red Hawk is merely a relic from a phantom memoir.”

  “Phantom memoir?” He gave her a wounded look. “I’ll have you know, at least half of my tale is the God honest truth.”

  She tugged harder, and suddenly he was inhaling her scent. “Are you saying the Red Hawk exists?”

  “I’m captain of the Red Hawk, and I should warn you…” His gaze dropped to her lips. “At least three quarters of my tale is the truth.” His eyes flickered up, this time without any trace of humour. “And that really is the God honest truth, Georgina.”

  “I’ve heard nothing yet that might scare me off,” she said, and the way she looked at him was every bit as serious, intense. She wet her lips. “How is Lady Perth?”

  He knew what she was asking. Is Greyston Adair still besotted with the Earl of Perth’s new wife? He’d always care for Lily. Hell, maybe he’d always be a little in love with her. But right here, right now, staring into Georgina’s eyes, he wanted what was before him more than that which he couldn’t have.

  “Lord and Lady Perth are settling well into their married life,” he informed her. Not necessarily a lie. For all he knew, they were behaving typically of a married couple. “If I release your glove, will you promise to accept my invitation? The Red Hawk is still somewhere over the Syrian Desert, but as soon as she returns, I’d like to take you up in her.”

  “Lord Adair,” she gasped, but her voice was a hoarse whisper. “Are you prop
ositioning me?”

  “I don’t know what I’m doing.” He released the glove, but his fingers closed around her wrist before she pulled away. Her skin was silken, warm, and her pulse throbbed beneath the pad of his thumb. “All I know,” he said, “is that you make me feel less restless.”

  She looked at him a long moment, her long lashes lowering, her eyes deepening to a smoky blue, and then she jerked her hand from his and rolled onto her knees.

  “My goodness, look at the time.” Without looking at any timepiece whatsoever, she unlatched the hamper lid and shoved both the discarded book and that single glove inside. “I have to go.”

  Greyston let the abrupt dismissal slide. She’d felt the tangible attraction, he’d seen it in her eyes, felt the flutter at her pulse. And what about the way she’d packed her glove away instead of putting it on? He’d rumbled her composure and that, if nothing else, was a promising beginning. She’d also been a widow for the last year and a half and they could take this as slowly as she needed to.

  “May I have your address?” he said, pushing to his feet so he could help roll up the thin picnic blanket. “I’d like to call on you.”

  She took the blanket from him and tucked it under her arm. “I’m leaving the country in the morning.”

  “Where are you going?” He leapt to grab the handle of the hamper before she could. “France? Italy?” He recalled a recent destination she’d mentioned and tagged on as a lark, “Cairo?”

  “You’re missing the point.” She held her hand out for the hamper. “I’ll be gone for months and months. Would you mind? I’d really rather take that myself.”

  In his disappointment, Greyston numbly handed over the hamper. It was as light as a feather, anyway. Did she have anything inside besides the book and glove? “You are returning to Cairo, then?”

  “Greyston, I’m so sorry.” She gave him a small smile, and he’d swear that was regret lurking at the corners. “It’s unlikely our paths will cross again. It was nice meeting you.”

  Nice meeting me?

  “If you didn’t want me to call on you,” he said as she turned from him, “you could just have said so. You needn’t flee the country.”

  Georgina didn’t reply.

  She walked away without a stagger in her step or a glance over her shoulder.

  Greyston collected his cane from the grass and stood there, watching until she’d disappeared into the shadows of tightly packed trees. He scrubbed his jaw, frowning, but damned if he wasn’t impressed.

  The lady certainly had style.

  FIVE

  Lily supposed she should have been suspicious when Evelyn insisted on hand delivering the parcel. Or, perhaps, when her friend arrived with three enormous packages, a hatbox and that incorrigible smile.

  As soon as Andrew had deposited his armload onto the bed and left, she rolled her eyes at Evelyn. “I wanted a pair of practical bloomers, not a new wardrobe.”

  “You’re going to adore this.” Evelyn perched on the bed and started tearing the brown wrapping from the oblong box. “In fact, I commissioned a pair for myself, although I won’t be wearing them for another seven months.”

  Lily drew closer. Her brow quirked in amusement when Evelyn tugged out a pair of men’s leather trousers and spread them over the bed. Well, not men’s, she quickly saw, and not really trousers either. The fit looked closer to riding breeches, pinched at the waist and shaped to fit a woman’s hips. My hips in particular.

  “Where did you get these?”

  “A seamstress in Solihull,” Evelyn declared on a breath of wistful nostalgia. “I obtained her address from one of my old risqué sport acquaintances.”

  Lily picked up the buckskin breeches, running the leather through her fingers. Much thicker than her kidskin gloves, but every bit as soft and supple.

  “It’s certainly lovely,” she said. It was also absolutely scandalous. She thought of the struggle with her skirts when fleeing Timothkin and was almost tempted. Almost… “I could never wear these, naturally, but I do appreciate—”

  “Flottersnip.” Evelyn stood to take command of the breeches, pressing them flat against Lily’s front. “Times are changing, darling. Do you know, some daring ladies have taken to wearing trousers in New York?”

  “But this is London,” Lily protested.

  Evelyn wasn’t listening. “Not quite this narrow fitting, of course.” She gave Lily an outrageous wink. “Why should men have all the fun?”

  Lily took the breeches back and held them up for closer examination. “There’s not enough space inside here for both me and my undergarments.”

  “Have you considered going without?”

  “You are jesting!”

  “Not entirely…” Evelyn turned to the next parcel and brought out a pair of silken pantaloons and a rather odd corset.

  Both looked as if they were to be worn as a second skin. The pantaloons were silk, the weave allowing for some natural stretch. The corset appeared to be stiffened with starch, which gave it far more flexibility than the usual boning.

  “Try it on at least,” Evelyn said. “Please?”

  Lily wasn’t completely averse to the outfit. She kept thinking about floundering in the Thames beneath the weight of her skirts… Tripping on her petticoats while trying to avoid Timothkin’s demon fire… “It’s just not very practical, Evie.”

  “Practical?” Evelyn exclaimed. “The only way you’d get more freedom of movement is if you pranced around without anything on at all.”

  “I mean socially practical.” Lily sighed. “I haven’t told you yet, but the household staff know the truth about Ana and Neco. It’s only a matter of time before the word spreads.”

  Evelyn’s eyes rounded. “How will you explain them?”

  “With the truth, mostly,” Lily said. “It’s no secret Duncan McAllister designed the celludrones and sold the patent for production on a larger scale. If anyone asks, we’ll simply say he went on to create an advanced version too intricate and expensive to reproduce beyond Ana and Neco. But you know people delight in exaggerating anything that appears mildly strange, and to have whisperings of the mistress of Lark House dressing up as a man on top of that could explode the situation.”

  “You have too little faith in me,” Evelyn scoffed. She dragged the hatbox closer and produced a wide-rimmed felt hat. “You can tuck your hair up and angle the hat over your eyes. I’ve tried it and trust me, you’ll look exactly like a young boy with remarkably beautiful cheekbones.” She gave Lily a naughty smile. “Your staff may still gossip, but it won’t be about Lady Perth dressing up as man.”

  Excitement ticked at Lily’s pulse. Could she really get away with the disguise? And if she could fool the staff, did she dare venture further? If the next time she went after a demon…

  She met Evelyn’s sparkling gaze. “Help me unbutton this dress, will you? I have a pair of breeches to fit into.”

  Evelyn put her hands together. “I haven’t had this much fun in ages.”

  “Your mood is certainly brighter than it was the other night,” Lily remarked as she gave Evelyn her back. “Does this mean you’ve spoken to Devon?”

  Evelyn’s nimble fingers quickly worked through the row of pearl buttons. “No, but I do have a plan.”

  Lily cringed. In her experience, Evelyn’s plans had a knack of backfiring.

  “Devon is taking me to Harchings Castle on Tuesday,” Evelyn went on. “We’re supposed to stay until Sunday, but I suspect he’ll try to convince me to stay on alone when he returns to London. For my health, he’ll say, but honestly, sometimes I think he just wants me out of the way until I’m passably attractive again.”

  “Oh, Evie… Is it all possible you’re overreacting?”

  “It’s entirely possible,” Evelyn snorted. “Which is why I have a plan. If you were to join us, you could observe the situation for yourself.”

  Lily spun about, a fervent refusal on her lips. She couldn’t leave London right now, even if she was s
illy enough to plant herself in the middle of Devon and Evelyn’s marriage again.

  “Observation only.” Evelyn gave her a pleading look. “And support? Sometimes I feel as if I’m losing my mind, Lily.”

  Lily’s resistance melted. How could she say no? The demons would have to wait a few days. Besides, she checked the demon glass countless times every day and she hadn’t seen anything since Timothkin. And if she did, she could always hurry back.

  “Observation and support only,” she clarified.

  Evelyn’s smile returned. “I knew I could rely on you. Now turn around, I haven’t finished with the buttons.”

  Undressing took twice as long as donning her new attire. The undergarments slid on easily, and, thankfully, the breeches didn’t sit quite as tightly as she’d feared. For a top, Lily chose one of the cream cotton shirts usually worn with her riding habit. The shirt tapered to her waist, fitting just over the band of her breeches. She scooped her hair into a loose pile and held it there while Evelyn adjusted the hat on her head.

  “There you are.” Evelyn pushed the last of the stray tendrils out of sight before standing back to look at her. Her smile blossomed into a giggle.

  “I feel like I’m only half dressed,” Lily muttered, moving past her to cross to the full-length cheval mirror in the corner.

  Her heart jumped at the sight of the slender lad with that black hat angled jauntily over half his face.

  Evelyn followed on her heels, peering over her shoulder. “You look absolutely dashing.”

  As Lily neared the mirror, however, the reflected image lied with less conviction. “This won’t deceive anyone.”

  “You’d be surprised at how readily people will see a boy when that’s what they think they’re looking at.”

  Lily threw her arms out. “A curvy boy with a bosom.”

  “Hmm… What about your lovely black velvet cape? That would cover your feminine curves adequately.”

  “Perhaps.” Lily stepped closer to the mirror, inspecting her face. She tugged the hat a little lower, covering her left eye completely. “I suppose I could pass it off, if I kept my head down.”