A Study in Darkness (29 page)

It was more than he could take. Grabbing for the sorcerer, Bancroft’s fingers closed on thin air. He made a strangled sound, part rage, part terror, spinning around. Then he stopped, forcing himself to breathe.
Don’t let him play with you. If you fall for his tricks, he’ll win, every time
.

Then his voice was in Bancroft’s ear. “I expect results quickly, old friend.”

Bancroft lashed out, but his fist sailed through air. Then the rain came pounding down, drenching him to the bone.

“
DO YOU REALLY LIKE ALICE
?”
POPPY ASKED IMOGEN UNDER
her breath.

Imogen looked down at her little sister—although “down” wasn’t as far as it used to be. Poppy was fourteen and for once looked like a well-groomed young lady, her gloves clean and her hair combed and curled. They sat side by side at the edge of the reception room, ignored by the throng. Poppy was invisible because she was young. Despite her role as one of the bridesmaids, Imogen was hiding because there were far too many men present that her mother wanted her to meet. The odious Captain Smythe had stayed away, but the Scarlet King was there, and more than once he’d given her a ravenous smile. The sight of his strong, white teeth turned her skin to gooseflesh.

“Well, do you?” Poppy repeated.

Imogen had almost forgotten the question. “Of course I do.”

“Truly?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”
Except that she isn’t Evelina
.

“Tobias doesn’t love Alice.”

Imogen barely resisted the urge to shove her sister behind a potted palm. “Hush.”

“Don’t hush me, Imogen Roth. You know exactly what I mean,” Poppy said indignantly, tawny curls swinging.

She did. Sometimes Tobias looked at his bride with a vaguely confused expression, like he’d been caught napping and suddenly awakened at the altar. Other times it was barely banked fury. Imogen had known there was an attachment between her friend and Tobias, but since the kissing
incident, a great many things made sense—such as the way her brother’s gaze had so often followed Evelina in and out of the room. She’d put it down to the fact Evelina was pretty and Tobias was male, but apparently there was far more to it.
I wish she’d said how serious it was
. But Evelina had always been careful about presuming too much—until that awful scene at Maggor’s Close.

Imogen felt bad about how horribly that had ended. And she’d felt terrible when she’d come home from Maggor’s Close to find Evelina’s clockwork creatures hiding beneath her armoire, looking dirty and sad. She’d taken them to her dressing table and polished them up, making them a nest among her scarves. She couldn’t talk to them like Evelina, but it was plain that they’d been sent to keep her company while her friend could not.

But who was looking after Evelina? The official story was that she’d gone back to Devonshire three weeks ago, but Imogen knew that wasn’t true and other people were starting to add two and two together. Somehow, word of The Kiss had slipped out and was spreading through the reception like a low-lying gas, poisonous and foul. Of course, Evelina—the dark-haired wench whose mother had eloped with a lowborn officer—had borne the brunt of everyone’s wrath. Tobias, as usual, could do no wrong. Imogen heaved a sigh. Evelina was the most capable person Imogen knew, but she was starting to worry.

“Are you bored?” Poppy asked in a strained monotone.

“A little.”

“Do you want to go exploring?”

Despite her better judgment, Imogen felt herself brighten. The Portmore Hotel was enormous, and the Gold King had rented most of it. And the Scarlet King was eyeing her again. “Let’s go look at the wedding gifts one more time. Surely no one can object to that.”

Poppy was on her feet in seconds and grabbed Imogen’s hand. “Come on.”

“Not so fast!” Imogen protested, feeling the hitch in her lungs that came whenever she moved too quickly in that particular set of stays. “I’m an old lady.”

“You’re nineteen. You need more exercise.” Poppy half dragged her across the vast carpet and toward the stairs. “And you should be grateful I’m here to provide some excitement.”

“Ugh!” Imogen protested. “The last time you were around I was abducted by a highwayman and Bucky nearly got himself shot in a duel.”

“The duel was his stupid idea. You can’t blame me for that.”

“You were the one who played Cupid.” Something for which Imogen adored her little sister, although the universal code of siblings forbade speaking any such sugary sentiments.

The grand staircase was so grand that Imogen had to stop and rest halfway up. She’d been weakened by a nervous ailment that had struck when she was five years old—the same one that had eventually claimed Anna.

“Come on,” Poppy said impatiently.

“I told you, I’m old,” Imogen said lightly, forcing her feet to continue. Since April she’d felt generally weak. Maybe it was simply that there had been too many shocks of late, and there seemed to be no indication that they would ever stop coming. She’d heard whispers that Evelina had never made it back to London, that she had run away from a broken heart. Imogen didn’t believe it for a moment. Evelina certainly had been hurt, but she was tougher than that. Something else was going on, and no one would tell Imogen a thing.

“Here.” Poppy hauled her up the last few steps, then waited while Imogen caught her breath. “You’re not going to faint, are you?”

“No.” But Imogen leaned against the wall just in case. She closed her eyes, but that was worse, so she focused on a flower in the wallpaper.

Poppy’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure? I can call Mother if you want.”

That was all she needed. “No, I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Just then a couple of men rounded the corner. Imogen knew in an instant they were Keating’s men by the long
black coats they wore. Strange-looking weapons hung from their shoulder belts. Unlike many of the steam barons, the Gold King didn’t fill his domestic life with steam-powered toys, but he had access to almost infinite industrial power. Those rifles or guns or whatever they were reminded her Keating’s genteel face was just a facade. The lion had claws and fangs, however fuzzy he appeared.

“Who are those men?” Poppy asked in a whisper.

Imogen pulled her back out of the way. The men started down the stairs without a word or a glance in her direction. Both were weather-beaten and rough beneath the neat uniforms. Not the toy soldiers who asked her to dance at every ball, but the real thing. One was missing an ear. “The one with the gold braid is Mr. Keating’s new streetkeeper.”

“How do you know that?”

“Alice told me she helped pick out the braid.”

“And what do the streetkeepers do?”

“They run the security forces for their steam baron. All the members of the Steam Council have a streetkeeper.” And a private army, if what she’d heard was true. Bucky had said it was only a matter of time before two of those armies had a problem with each other, and then things would get very interesting indeed.

“Why does he need security forces at a wedding?” Poppy wrinkled her brow. “Does he think someone’s going to steal the cake?”

“Important men have enemies.” Imogen watched from the top of the stairs as the two black-coated men crossed the floor of the reception hall. It was like watching sharks scare away all the other fish. The guests parted rapidly, leaving a wide path through the crowd.

“Is Tobias in danger?” Poppy asked.

“No. He’s the Gold King’s son-in-law now. We’re all safe from harm.” But she wasn’t that naive. No one was safe in a world where armed men showed up at a wedding. Either Keating was showing off, which was horrible enough, or he was expecting trouble. But Poppy was too young to worry about that—or so Imogen hoped. “Let’s look at those gifts.”

The room with the gifts was shut, but not locked. Imogen
looked around for anyone guarding the room, but no one was in attendance. She wondered if it was worth mentioning.

Oblivious to something so mundane as security, Poppy pushed the door open, then ran forward with a squeal of glee. “Lucky Alice. People are so nice when your papa owns half of London.”

Imogen winced, but it was true. A horseshoe of tables lined the room, draped with snowy damask cloths. A fortune in luxury covered them. There were elaborate clocks and steam-driven tea sets, silver trays and Chinese urns of tea, and a gas-fired cigar lighter shaped like an elephant raising its trunk. Someone had sent an entire bolt of Brussels lace picked out in gold thread, and another had offered a crate of very expensive Bordeaux. Most beautiful of all was a set of emeralds—a necklace, bracelet, and earrings—framed in gold and pearls. The case, while there was no name attached, bore the crest of the Palace. Imogen touched the velvet box with reverent fingers.

And then there were a thousand bizarre inventions no doubt aimed at Tobias—gauges and barometers and bizarre-looking eyepieces that magnified bugs to the size of dirigibles, tools and microscopes and a thing that measured how many pounds a spring could sprong. Imogen didn’t know what half of them were for, but Tobias had said they were all of the finest workmanship. The spring-spronger seemed to excite him more than the wedding itself.

Imogen bit her lip. No, she didn’t dislike Alice, but she loathed anything that felt like a cage, and she knew her brother was trapped. Her own illness was part of it. He’d given up Evelina in part because she was a survivor—circus bred and smart as her famous detective uncle. Imogen and her mother and even Poppy were far more vulnerable. More of a burden.
Damn it all, I don’t want to be anyone’s responsibility but my own
. But she didn’t know how to be anything but Lord Bancroft’s sickly daughter.

“Bucky Penner!” Poppy cried.

Imogen whirled around. She hadn’t heard the door open or close, but Bucky was in the room holding a wrapped parcel.
He looked like the boy caught stealing apples. The first thing she thought of was those armed men and her heart almost failed. She felt her face drain, as if she were about to faint.

“Miss Roth.” He set the parcel down. “Imogen.”

And then she was in his arms. His coat was damp with rain, but she didn’t care. He was warm and solid and steady and she fit perfectly against his broad chest. “You aren’t supposed to be here. It’s too dangerous,” she whispered. “But I’m so glad that you are.”

Bucky was smart, rich, and good-hearted, and had been Tobias’s friend from the first year of school. But in the eyes of her viscount father, he wasn’t the right class to wed Imogen—and that had rapidly become a point of friction. After the duel, Bucky’s ban from the Roth household had become official. But so had their secret engagement. When Bucky’s lips gently touched hers, the kiss was as forbidden as it was sweet.

“I’ll be outside on lookout,” Poppy said mildly, slipping from the room.

Imogen heard the words without completely understanding them. All her attention was on Bucky, and he was certainly pleasant to look upon—especially his mischievous smile. He had brown hair, dark brown eyes, and a tan that said he’d spent much of the summer months out of doors. As always, he was neatly dressed, with excellent clothes tailored to his muscular frame. Even if his family owned lucrative weapons factories up north, he still had the physique of his blacksmith grandfather.

But what she loved about him most was his ability to surprise her in the nicest ways. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

“You didn’t see me,” he said in a quiet voice. “I am utterly invisible. But I did want to bring Tobias a gift, so I came through the back entrance.”

“You brought him a gift? Even when he didn’t ask you to the wedding?”

“I might be persona non grata at your dinner table, but he is my best friend.”

“You’re nicer than I am,” she confessed.

“I’m trying to steal you away, and I’m nowhere near good enough for you.” He gave her a wicked grin. “Peasant that I am.”

“Weddings put me in a romantic mood,” she said dreamily.

“Good.” He kissed her forehead. “Do you want to share a secret?”

“Naturally.” She loosened her grip so that she held him at arm’s length.

“I’ve finally found a place to set up a toy factory.” He looked a trifle apprehensive.

“You have?” she said excitedly.

His face cleared at once. “You approve?”

“Yes! You’ll be brilliant. What does your father think?”

“That it’s youthful folly, but he’d rather see me working at some kind of moneymaking venture than spending all day in a gambling den or drinking myself blind.” Bucky shrugged. “He has a point.”

“Not that you ever played the rogue.”

Bucky made a contrite face. “I have spent a lot of time carousing with your brother. All in the interest of keeping him out of trouble, of course.”

“Of course.” She was delighted, because she could tell he was happy. Yet she couldn’t contain one small protest. “I still think you should have been in the wedding party.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t think I could have borne it. Neither could Tobias. He knows that I know how miserable he is. That just makes him feel worse and probably jealous. It’s better that he doesn’t see me for a while.”