Accursed (8 page)

D
amn William for lacing me up so . . . emphatically.

Tamara cursed her brother as she took baby steps toward a nearby love seat. In the midst of the Wintertons’ dinner party, she had slipped away to steal a moment to herself in a sitting room beside the front parlor.

Dark spots drifted across her field of vision. She tried to take a deep breath but thanks to her corset, her chest could not expand, which meant that her lungs could only partially fill with air. Perhaps if she took only shallow breaths, she would be all right.

You should never have listened to Byron,
she admonished herself. If she had worn a bodice without a plunging neckline, she would not have had to use the whalebone. It was the most unforgiving corset she owned, but it did give her décolletage a nice push heavenward. Looking down at her meticulously powdered chest, she sighed. Lightly. Oh, well, if she
had
to suffer for beauty, she supposed the effect was worth the trouble.

With a careful glance around the room to be absolutely certain she was alone, Tamara slid the bulk of her body onto the love seat. Since she
really
could not bend into a sitting position, thanks to the heavy saffron material of her dress, the effort was decidedly clumsy. She heaved a sigh, though, as she stretched her torso out so that her back took on a slight convex curve.
Blissful relief,
she mused.

Her peaceful respite was disrupted by the sound of a woman loudly clearing her throat. Startled, Tamara looked up to find Sophia Winchell standing at the threshold, her mouth twisted into a little moue of disapproval. It was, Tamara had discovered, the natural state of her countenance.

“You look as if you’ve swallowed something unpleasant, Sophia,” she said, allowing a hint of exasperation to enter her voice. “Shall I call for someone to bring you a glass of water?”

Sophia sniffed superciliously and averted her eyes, as though unable to bear witness to Tamara’s debasement. “It was William I sought. You’ll pardon my interruption.” She clutched her hands so tightly together that they were white.

“Yes, of course. As you can see, however, William is elsewhere. Might I be of any assistance?”

Sophia shook her head quickly, causing her tightly wound curls to jiggle like little insects. Tamara suppressed a snicker, knowing that if she at all exacerbated the tenuous situation, William would skin her alive.

“Right. Then, if you don’t mind, I shall return to the task of breathing. This corset seems to require all my attention at the moment.”

Sophia didn’t respond, just rolled her eyes and turned on her heel. Tamara watched her retreating back.

Assured that she was gone, Tamara allowed herself to grin. So pleased was she with how well she had handled the encounter, and still suffering from oxygen deprivation, her grin quickly turned to a giggle. To her alarm, she found herself unable to stop.

“Oh, that does hurt . . .”

She and William had arrived at half past eight. Their lateness, while fashionable, had been Tamara’s fault, not William’s; he would do anything to avoid a public faux pas. But after her visit with “Father,” it had taken her several minutes to clear her mind. By the time she was ready to leave the house, William was so red-faced it seemed as if he was caught in a fit of apoplexy.

Even then, she was mightily distracted by both the repugnant filth that had spewed from the demon’s lips, and by the insinuation Oblis had made. The implication was that he might still communicate with other demons, other Vapors, and that he could observe the workings of the malign forces that hovered over Albion even from that locked room on the third floor of Ludlow House. The thought unnerved her.

You’ll need me soon enough,
he’d said. Tamara found the idea deeply unsettling. If they ever truly needed help from Oblis, surely they were already doomed.

His insinuations were usually merely a way for him to play with their minds, but Tamara knew they could not discount the possibility that the demon knew something. And if there was some new evil on the rise, well, she and William would have to look into it.

Those thoughts had been weighing heavily upon her throughout the night. Soon after they had arrived at No. 15 Half Moon Street and made their hellos to Marjorie Winterton, Tamara had taken leave of her brother and begun to wander alone through the beautiful Georgian town house. Her thoughts were too grim for her to be very sociable.

Unhappily for Marjorie, her husband’s business these days lay in Virginia, and he was forced to travel frequently, leaving his young wife to her own devices for fortnights at a time. Indeed, Marjorie had put together this dinner party as a diversion. She had once told Tamara that parties were the only things that relieved the monotony of her lonely days.

The dinner bell began to chime. With a distinctly unladylike grunt she heaved herself away from the comfortable love seat, glad that dinner was forthcoming, but worried about where she would put the food, since her stomach seemed to be compressed to the size of a walnut. Perhaps she would ask Marjorie’s maid to loosen her ties before dinner.

W
ILLIAM SAT STIFFLY
in his chair and stared at Lord Delwood. They had been conferring about the old man’s holdings in Barbados. Normally William would have been eager for the discussion. It was just the sort of business he had been attempting to nurture since he had taken the reins at Swift’s of London, tapping into the enormous financial opportunities developing around the world. This evening, however, he was so preoccupied that all he could do was hope that he was nodding and mm-hmming in all the right places.

His memories of Sophia’s afternoon visit to his office were driving him to distraction. Even now he found his thoughts returning to the way she had slid onto his desk, the nearness of her thigh to his hand, the taste of her lips—

Oh, that’s quite enough!

“Young man?
Young man!
” Lord Delwood’s face was a patchwork of angry, broken capillaries. “Are you
listening
to me, Mr. Swift?”

William snapped back into the moment and nodded mutely.

“Sir, Lord Delwood, of course—” he stammered, but it was too late. The old man wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“Just like you young fellows. Head in the clouds, heart in your mouth. Bah!” Lord Delwood exclaimed, spraying saliva in William’s face. The old man’s breath was abominable, like overcooked liver and onions. But William had regained his composure, so he simply smiled politely and nodded.

“Of course, Lord Delwood, you are absolutely correct in your estimation. The youth of today do nothing but laze about,” William replied, hoping to confuse the man with this avowal. Delwood did appear to be taken off balance. He opened his pale, withered lips like a great codfish, then promptly closed them again, his jowls actually shaking with the aborted effort.

“Well, I say, I never—”

But William pressed his advantage.

“Yes, quite right, indeed, sir. Though I do hope that wasn’t your estimation of
me,
my lord. On the contrary, I apologize that my thoughts were elsewhere, but certainly they were not far afield. I was merely contemplating how Swift’s of London might best advise you upon an investment plan that would be both aggressive and secure—”

This blatant lie was interrupted by the dinner bell.

“I must say that it has been a very real pleasure, Lord Delwood, and if you ever have need of banking services, know that we at Swift’s would be more than happy to oblige you.”

William stood up and gave the old man a polite bow before escaping the confines of the study for the delicacies of the dining room. At an intersection of two corridors, away from the main flow of the guests, he saw Sophia waiting for him.

“I looked
everywhere
for you, darling,” she began, but William quickly silenced her with a kiss. Their lips met for the briefest of moments, then Sophia pulled away from him, the darkness of the hallway hiding her expression from his curious stare. He was afraid he had gone too far.

“I am sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Then Sophia was in his arms again, kissing him with her soft, honeyed mouth, her corseted breasts pressed firmly against his chest. She drew her mouth away and peered about to make sure that they were alone. Then she leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed contentedly.

“Not tonight, my love, but soon,” she cooed. “Very soon we will be together.”

William blinked, and stared at her. What promise was this?

She took his hand and quietly led him toward the dining room.

Six other dinner guests were already settled at their places when Sophia guided him to their seats at the table. He was very glad of the gentle pressure of her fingers around his wrist. If she had not led him, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to move forward of his own volition.

Tamara was one of the guests who had already found her place, and she fixed her gaze upon him the moment he entered. A knowing smile flickered across her face, replaced instantly by one of mock concern.

“William, you look ill at ease. Are you unwell?” she asked.

Tamara was seated across from Marjorie Winterton, at the far end of the large, square dining room table. Her blond head was the only fair one among a sea of dark coiffures.

“I am fine, thank you—”

Lord Delwood, his ornately carved bamboo cane thumping ahead of him with every step, came into the room, interrupting William.

“I am afraid the boy is of the sensitive type,” the old man proclaimed loudly as he found his seat at the end of the table, beside Tamara and Marjorie.

“I beg your pardon, sir?” William spluttered.

Lord Delwood turned and smiled broadly at him. His crooked teeth were yellowed from years of tobacco addiction.

“As I was saying,” he began, laying aside his bamboo cane so that it rested delicately against the dining room chair.

William assumed that the old man would lose his footing without the cane and collapse onto the thickly carpeted floor. But to his surprise the fellow actually straightened up to a height several inches taller than William himself. The hunched shape was revealed to be illusion, nothing more.

“I have found William Swift—” At this point, Lord Delwood produced a monogrammed handkerchief from his black frock coat and unfurled it with a dramatic snap of his wrist. Then he took the white cotton handkerchief and began to wipe the soft material across his cheek. “—to be a bit of a prude.”

The old man’s wheeze was now replaced with a smooth, rich tenor. “Sorry, Willy.”

William spluttered again, and cursed inwardly for having done so. “Who in God’s name—” he began.

But he was silenced by a gasp of shock that came from one of the other guests—a stocky, middle-aged woman called Mrs. Northrup—as the “old man” turned the handkerchief so that the assembled guests could see the greasepaint that covered it.

Sophia gave a cry of her own, her pale cheeks crimson with anger.

“John Haversham,” she croaked out, “how dare you! How
dare
you! I shall have words with your mother!”

Marjorie Winterton gave a sharp giggle, then quickly covered a mischevious smile with her hand. William gaped openmouthed as “Lord Delwood” wiped away the rest of the greasepaint, revealing a handsome young visage. The now much younger Mr. Haversham turned away for a moment as he pulled something large and pliable from his mouth—a set of very realistic-looking teeth, which he dried with a napkin.

When he turned back, he spoke to Tamara.

“You will have to forgive my cousin Sophia. She, too, is of a delicate nature, I am afraid.”

Sophia’s eyes flared, but this time she held her tongue. Her anger was too raw to give polite voice, William supposed. Haversham paid no attention to her rage. Instead he continued to address Tamara, doing so with an impish grin.

“These were a gift from a dear American friend, who found that his invention of vulcanized rubber could be put to good use in the improvement of mankind.”

“I can think of
nothing
of more import to mankind than the gift of rubber teeth,” Tamara responded archly.

Haversham tossed her a wink before dropping the dentures into her hand. William watched with some amusement as a bright crimson blush came to his sister’s throat.

“Yes, I had a feeling that these might be of keen interest to you especially, Miss Swift. I’ve heard tales of your grandfather, and about your curiosity concerning the art of stagecraft. These should enthrall you, no doubt.”

Tamara nodded, smiling mischievously herself now. “Oh, indeed, sir. My curiosity is certainly piqued.”

William just stared at his sister, all traces of amusement having evaporated. This man was a rogue, and Tamara was actually
flirting
with him.

Marjorie Winterton stood up abruptly and called for everyone’s attention. “Thank you very much, John, for such an entertaining diversion. If only my Thomas were here to enjoy it, the evening would be perfect.” She paused, giving Haversham a quick nod. “Please, everyone, take your seat, so that we may begin. I think you shall all thoroughly enjoy the treacle tart.”