“Aurelius Steward, at your service.” Oh, I’d love to service her. I lifted her small hand and placed a kiss on her inner wrist. That would earn me a full hour preach from Mama.
The woman’s small gasp of shock made me wonder if she’d gasp like that in bed while writhing underneath me.
She snatched back her hand. “Son of Lord Caesar?” A corner of that delectable mouth quirked up.
“I am.” I wrapped an arm around her waist, feeling the pearls stitched on her bodice. “Do you find it funny?”
“Not at all.” She twirled, her auburn curls bouncing on her flushed cheeks. “So it’s true that in your family the names of ancient Roman emperors abound.”
I steered her away from another couple, holding her closer than it was appropriate. “It’s a family tradition. My grandfather was called Nero, and my brother’s name is Tiberius.”
A chuckle escaped her. “Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“I find it funny.”
My lips betrayed me. I meant to scowl, but her laugh was contagious, and I ended up smiling. “May I ask your name, my lady?”
Her chin jutted out as we changed partners, following the bloody routine. Her hand slipped out of mine. I took an anonymous lady’s hand, searching for a flash of red hair.
“Sir!” My companion jolted and pulled her foot from beneath mine.
“Apologies.”
I stepped on the left and beamed when the red-haired girl danced into my arms again. “You were saying your name.”
“I wasn’t.” Her skirts swished about her ankles when I pirouetted her around.
“I’d like to know your name.”
“Bridie,” she said. “It means—”
“Flame in Celtic.” My smile faded. I recognised the very fitting name. Mother had told me about the unfortunate Cleath family—the death of Lady Cleath, the bankruptcy, and Lord Cleath’s grave disease. “You’re Lord Edmund Cleath’s daughter.”
She gave a curt nod. Some of the challenging light in her eyes faded, leaving me somewhat colder.
When a gentleman pirouetted closer to take her away from me again, I shot him a glare. No way. The fellow skidded to a halt and redirected his steps. Routine could go to hell. “I heard about your father. How is he?” I asked.
The peach colour of her cheeks turned into a pasty chalk. “Not well.” She slowed her pace. “He’s not improving. The consumption is destroying him from the inside out. If he hadn’t insisted that I had a night out, I’d be next to him. Not that I can do much to aid his pain.”
I gently guided her towards the window, away from the crowd. Her hand trembled in mine, and the sudden urge to hold her, to tell her I’d like to help her tightened a knot in my stomach. “What do the physicians say?”
Her eyes glistened. “That there isn’t much hope. After my mother’s death, he’s never been the same, exerting himself to save the family company. Not that it worked anyway.”
Rumours spread fast in Auckland’s society. Bridie’s father’s death wasn’t her only concern. Her father’s debts were. If he died, he’d leave her bankrupted and alone with a string of useless coal mines that weren’t producing anything and no one wanted to buy, but that were costing a lot of money. Worry worked its way through me. And my brother said I was a bloody tosser who didn’t care for anyone?
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I brushed my knuckles against her hand.
Those brandy-coloured eyes flashed, the challenge fully returning. “Why are you asking?” Even her voice held fire. Despite being younger than I was—probably around sixteen—her attitude made her look older and wiser. “We’ve just met. Why would you care?”
Why indeed. I’d never been the compassionate type. That was my brother’s job. Yet, the thought of Bridie alone, penniless, in a society that forgot about fallen from grace peers very fast made me sick to my stomach. She was too young and pretty to survive a tragedy like that. Auckland would eat her whole and spit out her bones. She’d end up being someone’s mistress in the best case scenario or working on her back in the worst.
I shifted. “Why? Can’t I be a generous gentleman?”
“You? I know you, Lord Aurelius Steward. Your reputation precedes you.” Her fists closed tightly enough to crease the silk of the gloves. “You’re gifted with supernatural strength, aren’t you?”
I shrugged. It wasn’t a secret. “Like my father and brother. Another family tradition. And?”
“I heard what you did to that lord the other day.” She stretched out a finger as if she wanted to poke my chest. Not that I wouldn’t mind. A phantom pleasure rippled on my skin.
“What did I do exactly?” There were many lords with whom I’d had an argument or two in the past few days. Old, stuffy pricks who believed they were better than my father only because they supported the war. Another war wasn’t what the Empire needed.
“You took Lord Blight’s carriage and threw it away.”
“Ah, Lord Blight.” I smiled at the memory of that ridiculously decorated carriage smashing into thousands of pieces. “The prick deserved it.”
“Oh my God.” She clamped a hand on her mouth at my cursing. “Do you know what everyone says about you?”
“Please, enlighten me.”
“Ladies say you’re a short-tempered, arrogant young man without a heart.”
I straightened. She didn’t recoil though. “Lord Arse Blight was harassing a street urchin girl, putting his dirty paws all over her. And when I stopped him, he called me a coward like my father. So the carriage had to go, and I considered myself generous. I could’ve kicked his sorry, little arse. In retaliation, the bloody swine cut a kauri tree that grew in my estate. The tree was more than a thousand years old. Then he used the wood to build his new carriage. A nightmare, if you ask me. Awful golden flowers all over it. Even his second carriage had to go. He isn’t only vile, but has terrible tastes.”
Her stance slackened, hard to say if in shock for my language or for what Lord Arse had done.
“Oh, well, you can’t take advantage of your uncanny strength for revenge,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because in a fair fight, Lord Blight might’ve beaten you. He’s an excellent swordsman.”
I scoffed. “That skinny, floppy lump of a man? He can’t climb the stairs without wheezing. Too short to be a fighter.”
“I’m shorter than you are.”
“You aren’t a fighter either.”
Oops. I must’ve said something wrong because colour slammed in her cheeks with an explosion of crimson.
“I’m sure I can beat you.” She folded her arms across her chest, which pushed her breasts up, the creamy swells pressing together.
The wonderful vision distracted me for a split second. “Excuse me?”
Again, her chin went up. “You heard me. If you don’t use your gift, I can beat you.”
Lord, I didn’t know if I should admire her courage or if I should laugh. “I don’t think so.”
“Why? Because I’m a girl?”
“No, because no one has ever beaten me.”
“Did you use your strength when you fought?”
Damn. I glowered. I didn’t like where the conversation was going.
“I challenge you, Lord Steward. Right here, right now.” A shoulder lifted towards the garden. “I bet I can knock you out if you fight fairly. In the garden.”
I smirked. “I’m looking forwards to being entangled with you in the garden.”
“I know it’s difficult for you, but please, make an effort and be a gentleman.” Her gaze narrowed, but sifted over me slowly.
“I can’t spar with you.”
“Amuse me.”
“All right.” How could any man resist? I pushed the glass door open. “After you, my lady.”
She took a fistful of skirts and in a swish of satin and lace strode out of the ballroom. Her lily of the valley scent
teased my nostrils, and I wondered how it’d smell on my skin. Or how my scent would feel on hers.
I followed her to the veranda that hung over some trimmed bushes and half naked statues. Moonlight lit Bridie’s fierce hair with a glittering hue.
“So?” I spread my arms in surrender. “Here I am.”
“You promise you won’t use your supernatural power?”
The mix of her innocence and fierce temper was arousing.
“You have my word as a gentleman.” I put a hand on my chest and bowed from the waist.
She snorted. “I guess I have to believe you.” Her eyes fluttered closed, her brow furrowing in concentration. A little tremor rolled over her skin, and a flush tinted her cheeks.
What the hell?
“Are you feeling unwell?” I edged closer, but slipped to a stop when she opened her eyes. “What was that—”
She lunged, her movements smooth and fluid like an experienced fighter. Her hand locked on my shoulder while her leg swept me off my feet. I fell over backwards, the sky swapping place with the ground. My back met and greeted the hard marble floor of the veranda, and pain burst like dozens of scorching blades up my spine and the base of my skull.
A feminine squeal hit my ears. Birdie loomed over me, hands clasped in concern over her kissable mouth. “Oh Lord. I didn’t mean . . . I wasn’t . . . Did I hurt you?”
What do you think, Little Flame?
Her face blurred, and her voice sounded distant. But I realised two things as pain pounded in my head and my vision dimmed: One, Miss Bridie Cleath was a Supernatural, and two: I had to talk with her father right about now.
The Royal Occult Bureau Page 25