A Study in Silks (57 page)

“Why has the world gone mad?” the woman complained. “Anyone with sense can see Nellie is as unmagical as a lamppost. She wouldn’t even let me drag her to a Gypsy at the fair to have her fortune read. She is as pragmatic as mud.”

And common as mud, too
. Keating said nothing. The duchess was probably right about her bastard cousin’s lack of magic, but that was far from the point. Actors, poets, and the like were far too prone to making mock of the steam barons. One of their number had to pay the price for that mockery, and Nellie Reynolds was the easiest target. Even better, he owed Amory a favor, and handing him a client like the actress, with the duchess so ready to pay the barrister’s egregious fees, evened that score nicely.

And the benefits of the entire business kept on multiplying. Securing Amory put the duchess in his debt, which had
come in handy when it came to presenting the detective’s niece—although that piece of business had yet to bear fruit. He would have to follow up on that first thing tomorrow.

The woman was still talking. “Besides, we grew up together. We’ve never lived more than a few miles apart. If she were a witch, I would know of it!”

It was time she heard the truth. It was a kindness, really. “My lady, forgive me for speaking my mind, but the Reynolds woman is an illegitimate relation, an actress, and a magic user. You need to let her go.”

Outrage widened the duchess’s eyes. “She is innocent, sir! Where is the evidence of this magic? A few props from her acting trunk? It’s all poppycock. They say she has a crystal ball for summoning demons. It’s a garden ornament I gave her out of my own yard last March. I know these accusations are baseless.”

Even Keating had to wince at that.

“I can’t just let her burn.” The woman’s voice hitched. She fell back onto the divan, which creaked alarmingly. The duchess was well beyond the day when swooning was a delicate business.

Keating steepled his fingers. “Madam, she is all but convicted. The association will taint this house. You will end up as one of the Disconnected.”

“I am the Duchess of Westlake,” proclaimed the woman. “You cannot turn off my steam.”

This was the moment he had been waiting for. Keating moved in for the kill without emotion. “Your Grace, I make the steam. I have helped you as a friend and a gentleman. I have kept your confidences, and acted as intermediary on your behalf. I completely understand that some things you could not do yourself as a titled woman. It was not fitting that you personally meet with jailors and police.”

So he had taken on all those distasteful tasks, winning her trust one bit at a time. Waiting with the patience of a cat at the fishbowl and scooping up pieces of business whenever they came his way. Now the Westlakes’ affairs were firmly anchored with Keating Utility—all because the duchess loved her cousin. He supposed he owed Nellie Reynolds
something after all. Pity he had no intention of paying that debt.

The duchess pursed her lips, looking a bit like that proverbial fish. “And I appreciate your efforts, Mr. Keating. You have been a friend.”

Keating’s reply was cool. “But first I am a man of business. I will not hesitate to do what is necessary to maintain harmony among my clients. I won’t have the whole upset by the actions of one, however illustrious that one might be.”

Disbelief filled her eyes, then pain, then a resignation thickly veined with hate. Keating felt a pang almost like regret.
This is the moment when she realizes her cousin is lost. When she realizes that I hold all the cards
.

Her voice rose in pitch, growing almost shrill. “Are you saying that if Society cuts me for trying to save my cousin from the stake, you will turn off my heat and light?”

“You come quickly to the point, my lady. But rest assured that I would only do so as a last resort. I know your son has a
tendre
for my daughter, Alice. She is a good girl, and will wed where I ask.” She might fancy the Roth boy now, but that could change—with the right encouragement.

And there was the foundation of his scheming. The duchess would be pliable where her son’s hand was concerned, if the entire Westlake fortune was in peril—and he would see to that. For Alice, the match would be brilliant, linking fortune to title.

“How comforting.” The duchess’s tone was dry. “No doubt you have brought your daughter up with the expectation of marrying well.”

The comment nettled him. “Alice has nothing to be humble about.”

The woman sniffed with all the hauteur of her title and pedigree. “Indeed, Mr. Keating. I understand she wears Paris fashions with great aplomb.”

Keating narrowed his eyes. It was amazing how an aristocrat could insult without actually saying anything one could point at. Well, he was the one with his hand on the switch. “As you say, Your Grace.”

Her face turned to stone. “I would appreciate it if you left me now, Mr. Keating.”

Keating looked down to hide his smile. He had won. “Very well, Your Grace.”

“
YOUR GRACE
,”
SAID
a male voice. Whoever it was sounded utterly irritated. “You are in no position to bargain.”

Eavesdropping from the room next door, Imogen touched Bucky’s arm, feeling the fine cloth of his sleeve through her lace gloves. “Your Grace?” she whispered.

He put a hand over hers, and leaned close to her ear. His breath was warm. “Be careful they don’t hear us before they need to.”

Worry clutched at Imogen’s chest, and she hugged her arms across her middle. They were in the awkward position of overhearing something they shouldn’t, but Bucky was right. There was trouble. They couldn’t walk away, in case there was real danger—but no one wanted to raise the alarm until it was absolutely necessary. A mistake could be mortifying for everyone involved.

Bucky began prowling the room, picking up a broom, and then setting it down in favor of a sturdier carpet beater. He weighed it in one hand, clearly testing its weapons potential. Bucky might not have had Captain Smythe’s uniform, but he was a practical thinker who wasn’t wasting any time.
But what if there is a gun?

“I’ve paid everything I can,” the woman said, her voice harsh.

“Barristers are expensive, and Sir Philip Amory is the top man in London. I engaged him as you asked, but I don’t think more money is the answer even if you had it to give. The public has turned against her.”

“Nellie is my cousin. I can’t give up.”

Bucky turned to look at Imogen, astonishment plain on his face. He mouthed the words, “Nellie Reynolds?”

Imogen felt her own eyes widen as the conversation came to a tense silence. She barely dared to breathe. Bucky made a questioning gesture. Imogen shrugged in reply.

“And I appreciate your efforts, Mr. Keating. You have been a friend.”

Keating!
Imogen’s breath hitched—but she suddenly understood why the duchess had sponsored Evelina. If Keating was helping the duchess save her cousin, she would do anything he asked.

The duchess’s voice rose in pitch. “Are you saying that if Society cuts me for trying to save my cousin from the stake, you will turn off my heat and light?”

“You come quickly to the point, Your Grace. But rest assured that I would only do so as a last resort. I know your son has a
tendre
for my daughter, Alice. She is a good girl, and will wed where I ask.”

The threat was so bold, Imogen’s jaw grew slack.

“How comforting,” the duchess’s tone was dry. “I would appreciate it if you left me now, Mr. Keating.”

“Very well, Your Grace.”

Imogen’s throat closed with panic. What if he left through the back way and found her and Bucky within earshot?

Bucky silently set down the carpet beater and was at Imogen’s side in a heartbeat. “Come on!” he whispered, and took her hand. He pulled open the door to the corridor and dragged her into the passage, barely closing it again before Imogen heard the interior door open.

It was just a piece of luck that the corridor was empty at that exact moment. No one saw Imogen emerge from a darkened room, towed by a young man who ran with a fast set. It would have been enough to destroy her reputation before the Season even began.

But their good fortune ran out before they made it more than a few more steps. Jasper Keating swept out of the room, as casual as if the house were his.
Maybe that’s what he has in mind
. Imogen had already seen the duchess’s son dancing with the Gold King’s daughter, Alice.

But she barely had time for that thought to form before Bucky roughly backed her into the wall, shielding her from view with his body as if he were moving in for a kiss. Imogen’s breath left her in a whoosh, and when she dragged it back in, all she could smell was him. It was a male smell—tobacco
and whisky, soap and wool. Intoxicated, Imogen allowed desire to overcome her fright for just that moment. Keating moved by, paying no attention to them.

But even as the Gold King disappeared down the corridor, Bucky didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned forward, his deep brown eyes searching her features as if she were a precious artwork. She could feel his breath on her face, hot and quick, and felt her own grow shallow with excitement. Slowly, he raised one gloved hand and touched her cheek with his fingertips, the gesture almost reverent. Imogen was mesmerized, her entire soul lost somewhere in the tiny space of air between them.

When he spoke, the words were rough and low. “Whatever you do, don’t say a word about this. Pretend you never heard it at all.”

The statement brought her back to herself, breaking the spell of his touch. “But … shouldn’t we do something?” She wasn’t sure what, but the Duchess of Westlake was trying to help her cousin, and at considerable risk to herself. That won her points in Imogen’s book.

Bucky shook his head, his brow furrowing with concern. “Not here and now. As you just saw, there is nowhere truly private at these events. You and I will talk about this some other time. Maybe many times—but I don’t want you taking any risks before we’ve thought this through. There are some things that are too dangerous to know.”

He looked into her eyes then, and she could see the urgency in their warm, brown depths. “Promise me,” he said. “And we’ll figure this out together. Don’t run any risks alone.”

“I promise,” she said, but at least part of her mind was entirely on the fact that his face was so close to hers, their breath mingled at every word.
Is he going to kiss me?
She wasn’t sure she wanted it now, when everything was so grim, but she was growing tired of waiting for him to make a move.

Something in the set of his mouth made her wonder if he was thinking the same thing—whether this was the right
moment. She shifted just a little, putting herself just a smidgen closer, stretching her neck just a touch longer.

Then his eyes widened a shade, and the decision was made. He pressed his mouth to hers, hot and hungry. As much as Imogen had anticipated the moment, she gave a tiny start, and then leaned into it, tasting him as he tasted her. A fire began low in her belly, rushing to her head with a sudden, heady blaze. She rose up on her toes, not letting anything stop her from the full enjoyment of the moment.

And Bucky was an enthusiastic kisser. In that moment he proved that just like her, he could set aside the darkness in the world to enjoy life. When they finally broke apart, she nearly had to gasp for air.
So this is what they mean by kissing a girl senseless!

“There is one thing I regret,” she murmured. “I would have liked to have seen you challenge the most powerful man in the Empire with no more than a carpet beater in your hand. It would have made an enormously heroic picture.”

Bucky chuckled, his eyes alight with pleasure. There was a touch of possessiveness in the look that nettled her and delighted her at the same time. “My dear Miss Roth, if that impresses you, I will be sure to demonstrate what I can do with oranges.”

And then he gave her a smile that made her go wobbly in the knees. The world might be threatening to crumble about her ears, but Imogen felt something more powerful than the gathering storm.

JASPER KEATING STOPPED
by to exchange guarded pleasantries with Lady Bancroft. Evelina thanked him again for his support for her presentation. At first, with a distracted air, he looked at her as if he couldn’t quite recall who she was. Then, as he wished them a pleasant evening, he asked after her uncle, seeming to want to know the detective’s whereabouts. Once again, she itched to know what on earth had gone on between the two men.

A few minutes later, Tobias arrived, as late as was permissible
without actually being rude to the hostess. He was freshly shaved, his hair still damp from the bath, and impeccably dressed in formal black. He came bearing Evelina a glass of lemonade. Nevertheless, when he smiled it was not his usual wicked expression. He looked troubled.

“What’s wrong?” Evelina asked.

“I’ve been distracted.”

She wondered how much she should say, and then decided to speak her mind. “You didn’t sleep at home last night.”

“I was—disassembling a project.”

She smiled. “You lost track of time.”

“No—it wasn’t that.” He rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “It went all wrong. I took it apart. Chopped it. I tried to burn it but the wretched thing wouldn’t light. I went back today to try to finish the job.”

He actually looked shaken. She put her hand on his wrist. “Tobias?”

His mouth formed a hard line, and he looked down at his hands. “It’s all right. I simply had a look down a path I can’t follow. There was a price there I wouldn’t pay.”

A small, selfish part of her wanted to say this wasn’t the right conversation for her first ball. She wanted romance, flowers, and celebration. She swallowed back the feeling, counting it as selfish. “I don’t understand.”

He gave a quick smile. “I’m glad to be here, with you, in the bright lights. In the end, that’s all there is to it. Really.”

Evelina squeezed his wrist and let her hand fall away. Any other comfort was hard to give when she didn’t comprehend the problem. “Tonight is for music and dance.”