He swallowed another slug of the whisky and considered the problem. Melissa had something more to her; there was something in her eyes that held him. She had smiled at him and his thoughts had muddied, becoming confused by her smile. In the confusion, his words had snarled out of him, speaking his thoughts as though called by her clear gaze. And she had answered him back, her own temper rising above the politeness required by her station. He smiled at her audacity and wondered if it had been that which had triggered his uncharacteristic apology. Ordinarily he would chalk up the loss and return to the room, yet he had felt compelled to apologise. He had used words that had been sincere and from the heart and then he had left, worried by the way her smile tugged at him. He had not returned to claim a dance, preferring Mary and her uncomplicated company. Yet he could not banish her from his thoughts. He needed to talk to her again. She would undoubtedly hold his failure to return against him, yet he was confident in his powers of persuasion. As he knocked back another slug, he ignored the small voice that was telling him to leave the girl; that thinking of her was dangerous and tempting him to break a vow. He also ignored the even smaller voice that suggested that Melissa could handle the secrets that he carried on his shoulders like weights. With a sneer at his old romantic notions that could only come to naught, he lifted the bottle again to his lips.
He drained the last dregs of the bottle and threw it into a corner where it smashed into pieces. Justin did not notice the sound of glass breaking; he was staring into the blazing fire, his thoughts drifting back along the years, back further than anyone would have thought. Everyone who met him alluded to his maturity, how much older he seemed to be than his looks. Men and women commented on his cynical and jaded approach to life, some seeing it as an affectation that he had taken to displaying yet the truth was far stranger and much more tragic. As he sometimes did at times like this, he touched a finger to the enamel flower at his neck and wondered once again how his life should have gone and why he spent nights following the fashion in the capital and thinking up new ways to amuse himself. He wanted to tell someone about the nightmare of his life, yet there was no one who would understand. Even if he did dream about confiding in a girl like Melissa, what could she do about it? He hadn’t found a solution even after all this time. How much use would she be?
The fire popped and drew him from his brooding thoughts, he glanced up at the clock on the mantle and pursed his lips, Alistair was exceptionally late and while he didn’t keep tabs on his brother, he did worry about him. It was a habit that he hadn’t been able to break even after all these years. Alistair would not thank him for his worry; in fact he would probably feel a perverse sense of satisfaction that Justin had spent an evening in concerned silence. He sighed and stood, his fine evening wear was crumpled and his valet was currently installed at the far more proper town house. He struggled out of the fine garments and pulled on different ones, more comfortable garb for relaxing in his parlour. His fingers pulled off the brooch and he placed it on the mantle where it brooded darkly. It was late and he couldn’t drag his mind away from the nightmares in his past. The lotus reminded him of his folly and when it did not, his brother filled the gaps. He sank back in the chair and pressed his hands over his eyes. This nightmare had to end, one way or another, despite his efforts to divert himself from the horror he lived in, he still felt it late in the night. Sat in the chair, with the warming affects of alcohol flowing through his veins, he drifted off into an uneasy doze, the only sleep he ever managed these days.
Something cold pressed against his neck and his eyes jerked open, standing above him, shadowed by the light of the fire was his brother. A thin bladed knife rested lightly in Alistair’s hands and the cool metal pressed against the thin skin of his throat.
“Evening Alistair.” Justin’s voice was light and untroubled; he ignored the pressure of the knife at his neck as he looked upwards at his brother’s form. Alistair had darker hair and his eyes were a warm brown, yet of late they held all the appeal of the grave. Alistair had not adjusted well to their new existence and from time to time Justin worried about his once happy and kind brother. Still given what the others had done with their time, it could have been worse.
“Was your night entertaining?” He stared at the heavy lace on the cuffs of Alistair’s shirt and wondered briefly why he was being civil.
“About as usual.” Alistair Lestrade stared at his older brother with a sneer, he did not loose his hold on the knife and a thin bead of blood escaped from the skin at Justin’s throat. “Were you waiting up for me brother?”
“Not so you’d notice.” Justin sent his brother an irritated smile. “Do you mind moving the knife? I don’t want blood on this jacket.” Alistair sighed and stepped back, his dark eyes observing his brother with cool detachment.
“So have you managed to find the answer to our predicament in the arms of some blue blooded wench?” There was a bitter note to his laughter and Justin winced inwardly at the change in his brother’s manner. He glanced at the knife, at the enamel lotus set into the handle.
“I hope you’re not planning to stab anyone with that,” He indicated the knife and stood up. Crossing to the fire, he poked the glowing embers into sullen life. “Murder would be awkward to deal with.”
“If stabbing you would get me results I would have done it years ago. Unfortunately we both know that it won’t work,” He pointed at the enamel brooch on the mantle. “I notice that yours is still filling the role of jewellery.”
“I like it close.” Justin reached over to the table and hefted another bottle, with a quick motion he threw it towards Alistair. His brother caught it one handed and took a long drink.
“So how about you?” He leant against the edge of the sideboard and regarded his sibling with a curious look. “Has your night-time roaming come up with anything substantial?”
“Of course it hasn’t,” Alistair snapped back. “When you get us in trouble, you manage to really do it thoroughly.”
Justin ignored the words, he had listened to hundreds of variations on this speech and he could recite each word in his sleep. It didn’t help that Alistair was right, had he been sensible, or at the very least cautious, they would not be in this predicament. Still, he hated to be reminded of his follies by his brother.
“So glad I oblige,” He took another long drink and regarded his brother’s angry features. “Have you spoken to the others recently?”
“No,” Alistair took a swig from the bottle in his hand and stared at the floor distractedly. “I haven’t seen any of them for a number of years now,” Alistair glanced up at his brother and raised an eyebrow. “Have you?”
Justin nodded, placing the bottle back on the sideboard, “I see Emily from time to time,” He stared down at the faded glory of the sideboard, cracks from age and misuse had destroyed the heavy but once beautifully carved piece of furniture. “She’s still passing herself off as the bereft widow of an elderly noble.” He absently traced his finger across the whorls in the wood, memories of a long dead past threatening to choke him.
Alistair chuckled mirthlessly. “That’s our Emily, the noble whore..”
“Don’t start Alistair,” Justin turned back to his brother, “Emily has fewer options than we do,”
“Yes and one more crime to lay at your door.” Alistair snarled back, slamming his bottle down onto the table as though to punctuate his words. “She must think she has entered hell,”
"Actually, she is doing fine," A loud, amused voice echoed through the room, cutting across their conversation. Justin pushed himself away from the sideboard, reaching for the rapier he kept in the corner of the room as his brother whirled to face the door, dagger held tightly in his fingers.
"Now now boys; is there any need for that?" Leaning against the doorframe with an expression of amused nonchalance on her delicate features, was Emily Saint-Clair. In contrast to the immaculately coiffered temptress of earlier, she was dressed in man's breeches with a frilled shirt and l
ong waistcoat; her blonde hair was tied at the nape of her neck beneath a man's tricorn hat and a riding crop twirled idly between her fingers.
"Very nice," Justin noted as his gaze swept across her form with a deliberate leer, "you look," He settled against the sideboard, his rapier falling to the floor. "delectable,"
"You're looking particularly fine yourself." She answered his sensual gaze with one of her own as she pushed herself away from the doorframe and stepped forward. "Quite desirable," She purred the words as she walked further into the room.
"Heaven forefend," Alistair rolled his eyes and replaced the dagger in his belt. "Don't you get enough of this empty flirting at your.." His mouth twisted into a grimace as he spoke. "parties."
"Oh good gracious no," Justin smiled and winked at the blonde. "It helps make life bearable," He turned his gaze back to his brother and his smile froze. "Much as empty religious mouthing does for you," Alistair lunged forward, only to have his arm seized by Emily.
"Enough," She hissed, her voice no longer playful, "This isn't why I travelled here tonight," She glowered at Justin, who shrugged and leant back against the sideboard.
"Why did you come here?" Alistair snarled, pulling his arm free and retreating to the far side of the table. "I thought you were cultivating another husband,"
"Yes I heard you," She walked forward and sat on the sideboard. "I can cultivate my next match and still keep in touch with you two." Her fingers trailed onto Justin's upper arm. "We all need to stick together and besides you two are my favourites."
"Maybe that's even true," Justin allowed her to stroke the back of his neck. "but you never come here without a good reason,"
"Darling you wound me," Her fingers reached into his hair and he closed his eyes, savouring the sensation as she gently massaged his scalp. "Can you not just accept that I like your company?" She moved closer, her lips brushing his cheek. He shivered at the contact, familiarity not diluting the impact of her touch.
"Oh I can accept it," He turned his head and felt her breath drift over his lips. “and I must admit that your company has a certain charm.” He could almost feel her smile as she reached forward.
“I can’t believe you two.” Justin’s eyes snapped open and he turned to face Alistair. His brother’s face was crimson with pent up rage and he was spluttering incoherently. “Have you no shame?”
“If this bothers you,” Emily noted with no small amusement, “then don’t look.” Her fingers slid across Justin’s face and she drew him closer. He wet his lips and leant in for a tender kiss. From the corner of his eye, he watched as his brother stomped towards the door and out of the room. Suppressing the desire to laugh, he held the kiss for a few more seconds before pulling back and away from Emily.
“You’re a very bad girl.” He noted, with a wry laugh. “What would you have done if he had stayed?”
“Kissed you some more,” Her voice was matter of fact, a far cry from the kittenish seductive tones of earlier. “He wouldn’t have stayed.”
“Surely there are easier and less obvious ways of getting me alone?” He returned to his chair and sat down.
“Justin.” She chided, her lips pursing into a mockery of a pout. “I thought you liked my kisses,”
“Oh I do,” He levered his legs onto the table and relaxed, “but you only play like this when you want something,” He raised his hand and beckoned her forward. “What do you want this time?”
“I was thinking about this evening,” She reached the table and sat down, nonchalantly playing with the riding crop between her fingers, “and one part of it intrigued me above all the others.”
“Oh?” Justin rested his head on the back of the chair and stared at her, “Which part?”
“My darling Justin, you know which part,” The riding crop briefly tapped against his legs in gently chastisement.
“You’re going to have to be specific; after all, it’s been a busy night.” With a smile, he leant forward and tugged the crop from her fingers. “And you can’t expect me to remember all of your amorous adventures.” He laid the whip across his knees and smoothed down his shirt.
“Don’t be a bore my darling,” Emily’s eyes flashed with annoyance and she nearly reached for the crop. Thinking better of it, she rested her hands on her chin. “I’m not talking about myself, but rather that charming hellcat you were talking to.” With a careless hand, she removed the hat and let it fall to the table. He watched it settle against the satiny wood before returning his attention to her blue gaze.
“Really and why is that?” A troubling thought flowed through his mind as he regarded the blonde. Emily was no slouch in the brains department and if anyone could figure out his interest, then it would be her.
“Well not many women would slap a man during their debut, but my interest has been piqued about you.” Justin sighed inwardly and stood up, taking the crop with him.
“And what, precisely, has captured your interest?”
“Well,” She turned to follow him, reaching his side with delicate movements. “You spoke with her, turned on the charm and then,” She waved her hands before him, “and then, nothing. No dance, no kiss,” Emily turned away and paced towards the door. “You’re never this inept, I was watching her face, you had her eating out of your hand and then,” She looked back at him and shrugged. “Nothing,” A tiny laugh, amused yet somehow disbelieving, escaped her lips. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you fail before.”
Justin sighed and pushed himself away from the sideboard. “Well thank you for the boost to my ego. It’s a pleasant observation but hardly accurate. I don’t win all the time you know.”
Emily smiled a strange catlike grin that spoke volumes. “Nice try darling,” She walked forward and pressed a hand against his chest. He stilled as she moved in again. “You like her,” It wasn’t a question, Justin felt his guts clench at the sure clear knowledge in her gaze.
“That’s an interesting insight on the strength of one solitary meeting.” He tapped the riding crop against his leg, the slight movement giving him focus and chance to think. Her fingers were splayed against his chest and he stared down at her fine hand, wondering if pulling her in for a kiss would put her off. A long moment of silence passed between them before he finally spoke. “She wasn’t my type,” Stepping back, he watched her hand fall back to her side and he took a breath. “She was too much of an innocent,”
“That’s never dissuaded you before,” Sultry, teasing notes laced her words. “You can tell me.”
“No Emily,” The words snapped across the space and she stared at him, watching the motion of the crop against his thigh with interest. “I have no interest in Melissa De Vire, beyond the realisation that she is desirable, please leave it at that.” He held out the crop and pushed himself away from the sideboard. “Now unless you have anything else of substance to tell me, I’m going to bed.”
“Do you want company?” Emily took the crop and retreated back into flirting, sensible enough to know when she was entering dangerous territory.
“Not tonight,” Justin answered, grateful that Emily had let go of the subject. He wasn’t entirely sure of what had happened with the De Vire girl, and he didn’t want Emily spreading unfounded gossip.
“Pity,” Emily reached for her hat and placed it on her head. “Well I shall see you at Lord Carson’s.” She reached his side and kissed him lightly on the cheek and his skin prickled pleasurably at the sensation. “Though I do think you are lying.” Her voice whispered, tickling as it drifted across his ear. “Have a pleasant evening darling.” She called as she pushed herself away from him and headed for the door.
“Good night Emily.” Justin responded, not stopping the irritation from filling his voice. “and try to keep your theories to yourself.”
“I’ll try darling.” Emily carolled as she headed out through the door and into the hall. Justin could hear her shouting farewells to Alistair as she headed down the hall and he swore under his breath. Emily saw far to
o much and this was one thing he didn’t want to reach the others.
The Black Lotus (Night Flower) Page 6
