by Candace Camp
“I understand you have access to the Moreland household,” Wallace began.
“I have become friends with them to some extent,” Desmond replied carefully.
“Gordon tells me you have influence with the duchess’s granddaughter. It’s time you used that influence to acquire the Eye.”
“Sir... I cannot trade on my friendship with her.”
“Indeed?” Wallace quirked an eyebrow. “You could, I imagine, find it within you to do so if the reward was enough.” Desmond shook his head, but the other man went on, “Gordon tells me that your affection for your mentor is not enough to sway you, nor is the duty that you owe him.”
“I have great regard for Professor Gordon, and I am fully aware of all that he has done for me, but—”
“But it isn’t as persuasive as gold,” Wallace interrupted.
“That’s not what I was going to say.”
“Nevertheless, that is what is important. I am prepared to reward you for bringing me Annie Blue’s Eye.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a thin leather wallet, then began to extract bills from it. He fanned them out and held them toward Desmond.
Desmond couldn’t deny a spurt of longing at the sight of the money Wallace offered. It would pay his rent for a year. But he shook his head.
“No? Perhaps you require more?” Wallace added another note, then another. “You could leave your job, devote yourself full-time to your research.” He added another bill. “I might even consider funding some project of yours. I am, after all, devoted to expanding the horizons of knowledge.”
“That is a very generous offer, sir, and I appreciate it. But I cannot. Truly, I cannot.” Losing Thisbe’s regard was not worth any amount of money. “I’m sorry.”
Desmond reached for the handle, but Wallace blocked it with his cane. “You don’t have to answer now. Think about it. Consider the advantages. We’ll talk again.”
Desmond nodded and bolted from the carriage. Head down, he hurried toward the omnibus stop, his chest tight. It wasn’t easy to quell the pang of regret at refusing Wallace’s offer. The thought of not having to worry about money, of being able to devote himself to science, was a wish answered, a dream come true. But Desmond would not use Thisbe.
When he reached the omnibus stop, he found that he had missed the vehicle. They ran infrequently this late at night, so he settled in for a long, cold wait. As he stood there, he felt a tingle run up the back of his neck, the sort of feeling he got when someone was watching him. He turned to look back down the dark street from which he’d just come, wondering if Wallace had followed him.
There was no sign of a carriage. And why would Wallace have come after him, anyway? Nor was there a sign of anyone on foot. Still, he looked up and down the street, as well as along the cross streets. He was the only person about except for a man hurrying in the opposite direction, huddled to himself in the chill.
Desmond was tired; no doubt that accounted for the odd feeling. He had been getting up at four every morning to work so that he could leave in time to call on Thisbe in the afternoon, and afterward he’d spend the evenings at the laboratory. It was beginning to wear on him.
The omnibus arrived, and he boarded. But later, after he stepped down from the vehicle and started toward his home, the peculiar sensation stirred in him again. He whipped around. There was no one there. Had he seen a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye? Were the shadows slightly deeper in one of the doorways?
No. He was being absurd. But he picked up his pace, listening intently for the sound of footsteps besides his own. When he reached the outside stairs to his flat, he glanced back. There. He was certain there had been movement in that narrow alleyway between the buildings. He waited, alert. An instant later, a rat scurried out of the mouth of the alley, followed by another. Desmond relaxed. Just rats. No one was following him. There was no reason for anyone to follow him. He was starting at shadows. Next thing he knew, he’d be seeing the dead, like the dowager duchess. He would not consider what might have startled the rats out of the alley.
* * *
WHEN SHE FIRST saw the blisters on her feet, Thisbe turned cold inside, her brain incapable of formulating any thought other than that burns caused blisters. But as she applied ointment and wrapped strips of bandages around her feet, she remembered that only a day ago, she had worn a pair of new shoes. They must have rubbed against her skin in those places, creating blisters. She just hadn’t noticed that they hurt until she’d jumped out of bed, hitting the floor with her bare feet.
It was a relief to have a rational explanation, and she had to smile at her own foolish, primitive fear in tying them to her nightmare. By the next morning, the sores were much improved, and she hardly noticed them. She was far too busy being annoyed with her grandmother.
The dowager duchess followed through on her promise to protect Thisbe, and she spent the next afternoon in the red sitting room with Thisbe, not even going upstairs for her usual “not a nap.” All through Desmond’s visit, Cornelia kept her basilisk stare on him. It was a distinct relief the next day for Thisbe to meet Desmond at the Covington Institute lecture, free from any prying eyes.
They both arrived early and were deep in conversation when a man stopped beside them. “Desmond. I wondered if you’d be attending this.”
Thisbe looked over with interest at the speaker. He was a young man, fashionably dressed, with dark blond hair and blue eyes. He was smiling faintly, his eyes alight with a curiosity to match Thisbe’s own. Was this one of Desmond’s friends? A coworker? It occurred to her that Desmond had never introduced her to anyone.
Her gaze returned to Desmond, who was staring at the other man with a shocked expression. “Carson. I—What are you doing here?”
Carson lifted his eyebrows faintly at Desmond’s abrupt tone, but he said mildly, “You recommended the last lecture so highly, I thought I would try this month’s offering.”
“I see. Well, I hope you enjoy it.”
“I’m sure I shall. It’s already quite entertaining.” Carson sat down beside Desmond. “Hope you don’t mind if I sit with you. It’s always more enjoyable when one is with friends.” Carson’s bright blue eyes were sparkling with amusement as his gaze went from Desmond to Thisbe and back.
Finally Desmond said, “Miss Moreland, I’d like to introduce Carson Dunbridge. Carson, this is Miss Moreland.”
“Miss Moreland.” Carson’s gaze sharpened. “What a pleasure to meet you.” Thisbe offered her hand, and he leaned across Desmond to shake it. As he sat back in his seat, Carson cut his eyes toward Desmond and murmured, “Aren’t you the sly one?”
Desmond tensed beside her. Obviously there was something going on here, though Thisbe wasn’t sure what it was. Carson seemed pleasant, but Desmond had been noticeably reluctant to introduce them, and he still seemed none too pleased, remaining largely silent. Carson, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease, even amused. And what had he meant with that remark to Desmond that he was a sly one?
As they talked, it became clear that Carson, too, worked at Professor Gordon’s laboratory. Thisbe had a growing suspicion that Desmond had not told any of his acquaintances about her. Perhaps that private amusement of Carson’s was at finding out that Desmond had a secret female friend. As best Thisbe could tell from listening to her brothers and their friends, men got a strange enjoyment out of teasing one another about romantic conquests.
The teasing might explain Desmond’s continued stiffness and silence, but she couldn’t understand why he kept glancing at her uneasily or why his eyes turned stony when he looked at Carson. It occurred to her that she had seen similar behavior from time to time among Kyria’s suitors. Could it be that Desmond was jealous?
It was silly, of course, and she should be annoyed that Desmond would have so little faith in her that he feared she would prefer some stranger over him. Still, it also gave
her a certain odd sense of satisfaction.
When the lecture ended, Desmond jumped to his feet and announced, “I fear Carson and I have work that needs to be done back at the laboratory.”
Thisbe tried to hide her disappointment. They usually lingered after a lecture and took a long walk, as well. She suspected that Desmond’s reluctance had something to do with Carson, and she felt a flash of resentment at the man.
Carson, with a sardonic glance in Desmond’s direction, agreed. “Yes, I fear we do. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Moreland.” He directed a bow toward Thisbe and stepped back, looking toward Desmond expectantly. “I’ll walk with you.”
Desmond’s jaw tightened, and the stony gaze turned more heated, but before he could speak, Thisbe said quickly, “You must allow me to drive you gentlemen to your laboratory.”
“That’s not necess—” Desmond began.
“Thank you—that’s very kind,” Carson said at the same moment. “We shall enjoy having the pleasure of your company for a few moments longer.”
Thisbe chose to ignore Desmond’s response. Really, this was getting a bit irritating. She led the two men out to the Moreland carriage, and they climbed in, sitting down across from Thisbe. She couldn’t help but wish Carson somewhere else. It would have been wonderful to be alone in the vehicle with Desmond. They could have held each other and shared a few kisses. As it was, they could only carry on a general conversation.
When they came to a stop, Thisbe looked out the window at the narrow, unprepossessing brown brick building. “This is your laboratory?”
“Yes, down those stairs,” Desmond said.
Thisbe waited for an invitation, but Desmond said nothing more. Not being one to sit back and let others direct her course, Thisbe said, “Perhaps I could come in and see your laboratory.”
“No.” This time Desmond was swifter than Carson. “That is, um, Professor Gordon doesn’t allow visitors.”
Thisbe didn’t miss the odd look Carson sent Desmond, but Carson agreed. “He’s quite adamant about it. Thank you, Miss Moreland. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
Carson climbed down and walked away from the carriage. Thisbe turned to Desmond to ask the reason for his strange behavior, but Desmond seized the opportunity to lean forward and kiss her, and Thisbe forgot all about taking him to task.
* * *
DESMOND LEFT THE carriage in a black mood, which the sweetness of Thisbe’s kiss only partially erased. Perhaps his aunt was right; he was cursed. He had handled the whole matter terribly. He’d been tongue-tied, abrupt, even rude, and doubtlessly all it had accomplished was to raise questions in both Thisbe’s and Carson’s minds. Worse, he had barred Thisbe from coming into the laboratory. She was bound to be insulted. What was he to say if she asked him to explain his behavior?
Carson waited for him at the bottom of the steps, leaning against the door frame, arms folded and one eyebrow quirked. He straightened from his lazy position and said, “What are you playing at, Dez?”
“I’m not playing at anything,” Desmond replied sharply. “Why the devil did you come to that lecture today? Have you been following me?”
Now both of Carson’s eyebrows shot up. “Following you! My dear chap, you have an inordinately high opinion of my interest in your whereabouts. I told you why I came. You seemed to have enjoyed it a great deal last time.” He grinned. “Now I understand why.”
Desmond grimaced and walked past Carson into the laboratory. The move did nothing to end the conversation, for the place was empty. Desmond sighed and sank down onto his stool, resigning himself to a conversation about Thisbe.
He must tell Carson something to satisfy his curiosity; it was the worst luck that out of all of Gordon’s band of scientists, Carson had been the one to catch him with Thisbe. None of the others were likely to ever see Thisbe, let alone talk to her, but Carson belonged to her world. He might meet Thisbe at some party; no one would think it odd if Carson called on her.
“I assume you know who Miss Moreland is,” Desmond began.
“If you mean, do I know that the Duke of Broughton’s family is named Moreland, the answer is yes, I can guess her identity. I don’t remember the girls’ names, but I know there are a few.” He strolled over to sit down facing Desmond. “Does Gordon know you have an entrée into the Mad Morelands?”
“Don’t call them that,” Desmond snapped. “They’re not mad at all. They’re more intelligent than most of the people in the world—they’re just...different.”
“Well.” Carson pulled back, a speculative expression on his face. “You’re very...impassioned about the Moreland family. Is there something more there than getting Annie Blue’s Eye?”
“I’m not trying to get the Eye. I didn’t seek Thisbe out because she was a Moreland. I’m not using her to get inside their home.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I met her by chance. I didn’t know who she was.” Desmond looked at Carson. He wasn’t sure he could trust him. However, Carson was probably as close to a friend as he had. And, in any case, what choice did he have?
With a sigh, Desmond poured out the whole story, beginning with the first lecture, though he carefully excised any mention of the kisses they had shared. Carson listened to the end without speaking. Then he let out an explosive breath and said again, “Well.” He rose and began to pace. “This is certainly...unexpected.”
“I realize it sounds like the stuff of melodrama.”
“Oh, it’s far more implausible than melodrama.” Carson’s lips quirked. “If it were anyone but you telling me this, I would be certain you were playing a prank.” He returned to Desmond. “I must say, you’re a more honorable man than I. I would have used her to get the Eye.”
“You aren’t in love with her.”
“Clearly you are.”
Desmond shrugged helplessly. “I know it’s impossible—there’s no hope for me. But I can’t change how I feel.”
“Gordon must be furious.”
“Disappointed is more like it. Deeply disappointed. I feel like a worm for ruining his hopes. But I simply cannot steal from her family.”
“But if you explained to her how it happened...”
“Really? If you were she and I gave you such an unlikely story—‘I’m not a fortune hunter and I met you entirely by chance, but, by the way, I would really like to have a valuable object in your grandmother’s possession’—would you believe it?”
“When you put it that way...”
“Especially now, after I’ve known who she was for over a fortnight, and I still haven’t told her about it. I have been hiding it from her.”
“But you haven’t tried to find the Eye during that time—surely that’s proof of something.”
“I told the professor I would look for it.”
“And have you?”
“Not to any great extent. It’s not easy to rifle through anyone’s possessions when you have someone with you all the time. I could... It might be possible to learn about it through her little brothers. They’re into everything. If anyone has seen it, they have. And they wouldn’t have any idea it would be wrong to tell me. But I can’t abuse the trust of two children. I feel guilty even thinking about it.”
“You know your problem, Desmond? You feel too bloody guilty. A little dose of self-interest would do you some good. Perhaps I could lend you some—I’ve plenty to spare.”
Carson’s quip brought a ghost of a smile from Desmond. “It’s kind of you to offer, but I doubt it would help.” He studied his hands for a moment. “Carson, will you...? Could you not tell her about all this?”
“Miss Moreland?”
“Yes. Or anyone, really.”
“I doubt I’ll ever see the woman again,” Carson said.
“You could make it a point to.”
“You mean, if I wanted to ge
t the Eye for myself?”
Desmond nodded. “If you ask her for it for the laboratory, she will know that I knew it, too.”
Carson eyed him for a moment. “I think it’d be safest for you to tell her the truth. But, no, I won’t seek her out. I won’t ask her about the Eye. And I won’t tell the others about her.”
“Thank you.” Desmond was flooded with relief.
“I hope you know that Gordon and Wallace won’t stop,” Carson warned.
“Good luck to them trying to locate it in that house.” Desmond turned to his work with an easier mind. He wasn’t always sure of Carson; the man was only half joking about acting in his self-interest. But this time he believed him. Even before he’d learned the story, Carson hadn’t said anything to expose Desmond’s deception to Thisbe, though he’d had ample opportunity.
Professor Gordon didn’t come in all evening, and the other two students were late, so he and Carson had worked in uninterrupted silence. Carson left before him, and Desmond soon followed. He was desperate for sleep, and he dozed off riding the omnibus, waking up only because the conductor woke him at his usual stop.
Still bleary-eyed, Desmond trudged toward his flat, paying little attention to either side of him. As he passed a narrow dark alley, a place where he normally kept a careful eye out for a footpad, a hand lashed out, grabbing him by the arm and jerking him into the mouth of the alley.
His attacker slammed Desmond against the wall, then braced his arm across his chest, leaning his weight against Desmond and putting the tip of a knife to his throat. For an instant Desmond couldn’t breathe, but he recovered and said, “If you’re wanting money, you’ve picked the wrong man.”
“I don’t want your money,” the other man growled, sticking his face close to Desmond’s. “It’s the Eye I’m after.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“THE EYE! GOOD GOD, you, too?” Desmond was now more annoyed than afraid. Clearly the man wasn’t about to slice his throat if he wanted Desmond to find the Eye for him.
