The source of the impression, she realized, was a tall gentleman—leastwise he appeared to possess an uncommon length of frame even seated as he was—in the corner of the shop where the bedimmed light through the glazing offered very little illumination. He was dressed to match the shadows, his clothes as black as his shock of cropped curls, the ivory neckcloth and his pale skin contrasting diametrically. He was very striking, thus indolently reposed in his chair, one leg bent over the other and his beaver hat and cane resting on his knee. She found herself gaping at him like a pigeon until she suddenly realized that he too was staring. Staring right at her! She nearly gasped aloud at being so boldly scrutinized, but collected her senses enough to avert her eyes quickly.
Milli chose that moment to burst in like a gale through the shop door, panting. “Oh! It’s a boot shop. Well, that’s all right then,” she said, looking around with a relieved grin. “I should have been obliged to sit on your head and restrain you if you’d been in here replacing those horrid spectacles.”
“Did you not take a moment to read the sign printed on the window,” Emma chided, shooting her younger sister an embarrassed glare when Milli drew up alongside her.
“You know I do not mind boring signs.” Milli favored her sister with a patient shake of her head. “Not especially when there is a four-in-hand blocking the shopfront! Good Lord! Who is that gentleman?” Milli spilled her words with little care for their volume or for the horrified blush that consequently lit Emma’s cheeks afire. “And why are your cheeks so flushed, Em?”
“For Heaven’s sake, lower your voice!” There was no doubt in Emma’s mind that the stranger had heard them.
The man’s features, though excessively grim, were handsomely chiseled and bold. In fact, he wanted only a smile to make him exceedingly attractive. She might have considered him the most handsome of men were it not for the harsh slant of his black brows or the cold glint of those dark eyes. Even the turn of his mouth she considered disagreeable.
“How romantic!” Milli whispered loudly.
“What is?” Emma found herself inspecting a pair of shiny Hessians that she had randomly picked up to disguise her motiveless presence there.
“The way he keeps staring at you, silly!” The choleric look Milli’s answer received did nothing at all to quell her transports of delight. “How very exciting! A coup de foudre!”
“Nonsense, it is not love at first sight.” She cast a furtive gaze over her shoulder to see that he was still watching her intently, his long fingers drumming casually on the arm of the chair he occupied. She lowered her eyes back down to the uninteresting boots. “At all events, he is more than likely looking at you.”
“Do you think me such a wet goose as to mistake the direction of a man’s regard? Believe me, if he were looking at me, I’d know it.” She nudged Emma’s shoulder with her own. “Moreover, if he were looking my way then it would be my cheeks in bloom and not yours. Even the lady beside him has noticed his attentions and is whispering in his ear even now.”
What lady had she overlooked? Emma glanced up, intrigued, but upon finally seeing the lady in question her stomach dropped with unfounded disappointment. How could Emma not have remarked that stunning creature before now? And how on earth was her meager looks to be measured against such an exotic nonpareil? A diamond of the first water. The lady was garbed in the highest fashion. Her carmine silk was elegantly embroidered and embellished with scalloped lace edging along the hem and sleeves. It draped beautifully over her lithe frame. Emma was positively dowdy by comparison.
Together they were the most elegant pair of patrician beauties Emma had ever beheld—seemingly made for one another. She watched from beneath her lashes as the lady leaned down to whisper again into the dark stranger’s ear, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she glanced over at Milli and Emma. His mouth, however, flattened in response to his lady’s remark.
Emma nowise wished to be considered self-deprecating, since another’s beauty had never inspired her resentment heretofore, nor would it ever again if she could help it! She did flatter herself that she was at least rational nine times out of ten and that being said, it was time to leave. She had no business here now that she’d satisfied her curiosity. Furthermore, she convinced herself, there was naught wrong with being plain—it was beneficial to the development of a good character. The world could not very well be peopled only by beautiful gauds. Beauty was nothing to intelligence.
There was no reason she and Milli should continue loitering in the shop like a pair of pullets gawking after the cock. And the weight of those dark eyes upon her person was tangling her nerves into knots. Yes, it was time to leave. But before Emma could put thought to action, her sister gave an excited gasp.
“Oh my!”
Emma fidgeted with the drawstring of her reticule as a feeling of sharp foreboding settled between her shoulders. “What is it now?”
“Quick! Pinch your cheeks, Emma! He’s coming this way!”
Chapter Seven
An Asylum in Chelsea
Milli had no sooner issued the warning, and taken it upon herself to pinch Emma’s cheeks into bloom, which Emma negatived with a few sharp slaps, when they were both startled from behind by a deep male voice.
“Miss Rose, what an unexpected pleasure.” Those rich and sultry tones Emma well remembered from the night of her rescue.
She gave a little gasp and spun around, her pinched cheeks aflame. She must have stammered an acceptable reply, for Lord Winterly answered with a leisurely bow—a nod really.
He gestured to the grinning woman beside him. “Allow me to introduce my sister, Miss Victoria Winterly.”
His sister! Emma gaped at the beauty. Unwonted relief filled her chest. Fortunately, she’d recovered enough to reciprocate the lady’s amiable curtsy and, likewise, introduced her own sister who was practically fidgety with anticipation.
After all devoirs were dutifully paid, Milli lifted her beaming smile to Lord Winterly. It was without the least ounce of savoir faire that she said, “Well, well, so you are the Ottoman prince I have heard so much about.”
“Milli!” Emma’s eyes bulged from their sockets.
But Milli forged on, heedless of her sister’s mortification. “Emma is quite certain you rescued her from the mad butcher himself.”
Lord Winterly’s sardonic gaze shifted from the younger sister to the eldest, his left brow lifting askance. “I thought you said you were accosted by a gypsy?”
Emma gave a pained smile and set her teeth. “You must not pay any attention to Milli”—she shot her sister a quelling look—“she does so love to embellish a story.”
“Ah.” With good grace, Lord Winterly inclined his head at Milli. “Miss Rose, I assure you, I saw no sign of any nefarious butchers”—he paused to exchanged a strange look with his sister—“mad or otherwise. And though I regret I cannot claim Ottoman sovereignty, I am, however, obliged to admit I have been suspected of both wicked monkery and knight errantry in a single night.”
“Never mind that,” said Milli, “I say, if you are not going to be a prince then you ought to at least be a viscount.”
“Happy to oblige you in that at least,” he replied, looking bored.
Emma, who by now deemed herself quite sufficiently humiliated, fumbled for her watch and conspicuously noted the time. “We really ought to go, it’s very late. Uncle will be wondering where we are.”
“Where is your coach?” Miss Winterly inquired.
“We haven’t one,” said Milli happily. She knew very well they had planned to take a hackney back to Cheapside but made no mention of this fact to the patrician siblings.
“Then you must allow us to escort you home.” Miss Winterly peered through the window at the black sky. “It appears quite dastardly out there already.” The caveat no sooner left her lips than the sky opened up with a fulsome rumble, loosing its torrents to rush slantways at the shop window.
With a woebegone sigh, Emma tore her gaze fro
m the window. “Miss Winterly—”
“Please do not stand on ceremony. You must call me Victoria. Near death circumstances have made us anything but strangers.”
Emma nodded, thus obliged to offer the woman the use of her first name as well. “It is just that we would not wish to impose.”
“Not at all,” said Victoria. “I shall esteem it a favor. My brother is very dull today and I am in need of pleasanter company.”
Both Milli and Emma glanced up at her inscrutable brother. “Very well,” said Emma.
“Capitol!” Victoria then arranged for Milli’s packages to be collected from the boutique across the road by the stoic-looking footmen.
The ladies rushed outside where Lord Winterly awaited, heedless of the rain, to hand them one by one into his carriage. Inside the conveyance they were seated vis-à-vis with Emma facing the formidable armiger himself. That brief contact, when he’d handed her up, had unsettled her entirely too much despite the fact that both their hands were gloved. She could have sworn she’d felt some strange current passing between them.
The carriage ride was interminable, Lord Winterly’s penetrating looks and reticence having completely frayed her nerves by the time the steeple of Bow Church finally came into view. Emma sighed her relief. Just a little further now. Only Milli and Victoria seemed at their ease, beguiling the time with light chatter.
Lord Winterly’s silence gave every indication that he thought the two sisters personae non gratae, doubtless rueing Emma’s penchant for requiring constant rescue, either from gypsies or inclement weather. She kept her eyes averted, studying the people and the streets outside, unwilling to acknowledge him even with an inconspicuous peek.
At last, she thought, there was the coffee house where her uncle usually liked to take his snuff and eat his sandwiches during business meetings. But seeing as it was now past business hours, the place was shut up. Only a little ways further. Thankfully the rain had let up; traffic was always terrible, but when it rained it was unbearable.
When the carriage rolled to a stop, Emma closed her eyes and sent up a thankful prayer that they had finally arrived. But she forestalled herself from leaping at the door by curling her fingers into the plush seat. Lord Winterly’s presence was anything but innocuous and she felt herself compelled by that most basic need to flee what threatens. Why was that? He was perfectly civil, content to let his sister to do all the talking. Emma chanced to look up at him and suddenly found herself caught in his black, assessing gaze. A very potent gaze that she was ill-equipped to answer.
“Why have we stopped?” Victoria was peering through the window curiously. “Is this where you live?” She looked to Milli for an answer.
“No, it is just over that rise. I cannot think why—”
“An accident up ahead,” Lord Winterly interjected with what she was coming to believe was his usual indolence. “It seems we must go on foot from here.”
How could he possibly know that? Emma tried in vain to descry the purported accident, but saw no sign other than the traffic congestion.
“Walk in all that mud?” said Victoria.
“My lord,” said the footman, appearing suddenly to open the door, “there is an accident up ahead.”
Lord Winterly nodded at his gaunt footman, preparing to climb out.
“Please do not trouble yourselves,” Emma asserted cheerfully, before Victoria got it into her head to suggest they all wait inside the stuffy coach, “Milli and I shall continue the rest of the way on foot.” After all, the house was a no more than a mile from their current location.
“Capitol!” Victoria grabbed Milli’s hand excitedly. “My brother and I will walk you to your door.”
Emma forbore rolling her eyes, or glancing towards the imposing viscount, as she disembarked in a hurry. Once the rest of the occupants had alighted, she made to walk beside her sister, but, alas, Milli was promptly commandeered by Miss Winterly. Their arms were linked like old friends and they were whispering confidentially as they moved along the narrow pavement, leaving her to follow with Lord Winterly.
Why did he have to be so achingly beautiful? She’d been far more sure of herself when the night had concealed his beauty. Oh, what a shallow peagoose she’d become! Thankfully he was not privy to her unbecoming thoughts, nor did he appear inclined to distract her from them with idle conversation.
Perhaps she had looked prettier under the gaslights and that was why he had been friendlier? Emma shook her head, exasperated at herself. The man had rescued her and seen her safely home, and to expect anything more from him was ridiculous. After today she would never see him again. In the meantime, she would endeavor to regard with distaste the symmetry of his excellent features.
Unaccountably tickled by her own silliness, Emma hid a facetious grin behind her knuckles and shook her head. She was not some piffling pullet, to be so easily beguiled by pretty feathers. And to prove she was no longer intimidated by him, she would think of something outrageous to say.
Her amusement drew Lord Winterly’s notice, for he peered down his nose at her with a puzzled arch to his brows. “Something amiss?”
“You must forgive me, sir, I find that I talk to myself quite often.”
He nodded, a quirk appearing to chip at his granite lips. “And what, pray, was the subject of this inner monologue?”
“You.”
He seemed both taken aback and slightly perturbed by the idea. “Me?”
“Yes, I was just remarking to myself how incredibly lively I find your society to be. Or I did, when you were a monk.”
He snorted at this, neither mistaking her irony nor, surprisingly, taking any insult from it. Scratching his jaw thoughtfully, he said, “There’s an asylum in Chelsea with beds to spare, Miss Rose.”
“Been there, have you?” Emma shot him a brazen smirk.
“I imagine the aimless palaver of the inmates to be rather more intelligent than what is to be had in most refined London drawing rooms, madam. But if you do end up being a habitué of that fine establishment, rest assured that I will visit you there.”
“If only to laugh at my maddened ramblings, eh?”
Lord Winterly merely inclined his head. “Just so.” He lowered his gaze and tilted his head so as to read the title of the book she had purchased from the bookstore earlier. “That is an interesting choice of reading material you have there, Miss Rose.” He held his hand out for it and she obliged him at once, placing the volume in his large palm.
She bit her lip to keep from laughing, for his brow was furrowed in a most delightful way. The effect upon her heart was wholly unexpected. “You are not a fan of gothic romance, I take it?”
“I did not say that.” He briefly leafed through the first few chapters. “Books like this give a woman peculiar impulses.”
“Of what impulses do you speak?” she asked, her dander already mounting in anticipation of what he might say to vex her.
“They might take it into their heads to go traipsing in the fog where gypsies and witches and wicked monks tend to lurk.” His eyes gleamed obsidian. “That is to say nothing of the vampyres.”
Chapter Eight
Midnight Fairytales
Emma pulled out the little cross dangling from her neck chain, her brow arching. “I am sure if I ever met a vampyre, he’d not trouble himself with me.”
Lord Winterly stroked his chin with a look of devilish arrière-pensée. “It is easy to be brave in the daylight.”
Emma looked up at the black clouds with a shrug. “Easier still to have no fear of what isn’t real.”
He inclined his head, but forbore offering agreement. Instead, he considered her book again with knit brows. “You seem to delight in what is unreal. This delightful little piece of tosh, for example.”
“Ah, yes, and I believe you were declaiming against the influences of gothic romances on the female brain.”
“Indeed, the notion of young ladies flitting off into wild countrysides, exploring gloomy castl
es in the middle of the night, fending off noisy ghosts, and escaping evil counts and monks is preposterous. A lady’s place is to be safe within the bosom of her family, married off as soon as may be arranged, attending endless soirees and insipid engagements, and thereafter raising her ten strapping children in perfect apathy. And only a subversive would think otherwise.” There was something of a voluptuous glint in his gaze that occasioned her to believe he was only teasing, and that his comment was not a faithful representation of his own opinion. “At any rate, reality is usually far darker.”
“Upon my honor, you take a dour view!” She darted a sly smile at him. “Then you do not hold with happy endings?”
He gave a cavalier shrug. “Fantastic rubbish.”
“Certainly not, I intend to have a happy one! And I am exceedingly glad to know you are not the arbiter of my destiny.”
“Do not be so sure of that, Miss Rose.” His smile became flinty. “One never knows when one has met one’s destiny.”
She looked away, unsettled.
“In fact,” he said, “I believe Hades met Persephone in a sunless fog.”
“Did they really?”
“No, not really.” He chuckled as her mouth fell. “Persephone was not one to go about adventuring in the fog at night; she was an obedient girl, her abduction no fault of her own. For my part, I much admire an adventuress who, by her own design, succumbs to folly and danger.”
“Well, I am not she. And—” looking at her book, still in his grasp “—I doubt very much that I shall be running amok in an ancient castle and fending off evil counts in the middle of the night.”
“What about evil viscounts?”
She pursed her lips to keep from smiling. “I have heard they are far more villainous than counts and quite as bad as wicked monks.”
His eyes darkened. “I can heartily confirm that.”
“At all events, I have no desire for a life of soirees and childbearing.”
Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1) Page 5
