He growls in frustration when he thinks of his meeting with Lord Wallace. He knows Lucy could sense something was off with Wallace, and for good reason. He may be Lord Tyrell’s right-hand man, but he is destructive and dangerous. Unbidden, thoughts of the last time he’d seen Lord Wallace rise to his mind, and his jaw tightens.
Alexander had sensed a surge of spiritual power during a trip to Bombay and had followed its glowing trail until he’d finally crossed paths with the prana wielder in the marketplace. He still remembers the vivid colors of her sari: reds and oranges that made her dark skin glow. Her arms were bare in the heat, and henna traced its way up her arms in vine-like patterns, and in her hands had been a stack of colorful silk. The moment her eyes met his, he knew she’d been the one he’d sensed.
He deliberately charmed her until she agreed to visit the marketplace stalls with him. It wasn’t difficult—he is gifted with the ability to charm almost anyone. The sun beat down on them mercilessly, the air dry and hot, the roads dusty, but its heat never seemed to affect them. Her name was Nadi, and together they smiled and talked as though they’d known each other for years.
“What will you make with the silk in your arms?” he had asked.
“Saris for my sisters,” she answered, looking down at the fabric shyly.
He gestured toward the sari she wore, so beautifully detailed. The paisley print was elaborate, and the closer he looked, the more he saw. A peacock hidden on the skirt, a tiger embroidered on her pallu. The fabric shimmered like a sunset, and he knew he’d found the object she’d poured her prana into.
This wasn’t always the case. Not all the spiritual power users he found enchanted objects. He would know—he was one of the ones who didn’t. But then, he wasn’t looking for those like him.
He was looking for the one who had killed his mother.
Alexander convinced Nadi, the energy wielder, to show him the many beautiful temples Bombay had to offer. But just as he had today with Lucy, Lord Wallace had appeared suddenly. Then, Alexander hadn’t known him long enough to know how deeply disturbed the man was, so he didn’t respond with as much distrust and animosity as he’d showed today. Lord Wallace had insinuated himself before either Alexander or Nadi could realize the danger, and it wasn’t long before Wallace tricked her into believing he was interested in the beautiful saris she created. She agreed to meet him, and though Alexander’s instincts growled a warning, he did nothing. Lord Wallace was trusted by Lord Tyrell, after all, and Lord Tyrell had been like a father in India to Alexander.
But Alexander would soon find that Lord Wallace was a wolf masquerading as a dog, a beast that could never be trusted.
Alexander’s hand shakes as he presses his fingers against his eyes, as though he could blot out the remembered images of Nadi. When next he saw her, her beautiful skin had turned ashy gray, her bright eyes opaque, her face caught in a permanent scream.
He thinks of Lord Wallace’s gray eyes appraising Lucy, already surmising she was another energy wielder, and his hands curl into fists. Alexander doesn’t doubt that Lord Wallace will find Lucy alone—even with as powerful a protector as Lord Thornewood.
After all, Alexander had gotten her alone.
As odious as he finds the man, he cannot ignore Lord Wallace’s summons, not when he has the chance to prevent him from doing the same to Lucy.
The stench of cigar smoke mingles with the sweeter smell of smoke from pipes as Alexander is shown into the dimly lit gentlemen’s club. Gentlemen in expensive tailored suits sit smoking and talking, or smoking and drinking, or smoking and playing billiards. The room is richly furnished in mahogany and leather; even the walls are wood-paneled. This is a club Alexander would never be privy to were it not for his newly acquired title.
He sees the man he seeks almost immediately, sitting near the fireplace alone with a cut-crystal tumbler of bourbon. Alexander’s muscles stiffen the moment Wallace takes notice of him.
With a shark-like grin, he gestures toward the nearest leather chair. Alexander sinks into it reluctantly. A waiter comes and offers him a drink, but Alexander waves him off. He will need all his wits about him for this interview.
“So,” Wallace says, pausing to take a puff from his cigar, “you came for a funeral and stayed for a Sylvani. One, I might add, that you have failed to report to Lord Tyrell.”
Alexander forces himself to meet Wallace’s gaze unflinchingly. “I haven’t yet confirmed that she is Sylvani, only that she has an abundance of spiritual power.”
Wallace releases a plume of smoke. “What further confirmation do you need?”
“I have spiritual power and use it to find others who have it, but I am not Sylvani.” Wallace uses it, too, Alexander knows. It’s how he drains the Sylvani of their spiritual power—their arcana, as they call it. Energy wielders and Sylvani both. Like Nadi had been.
“Perhaps I should interview the girl then,” Wallace muses.
Alexander wills himself not to go perfectly rigid. He cannot give Wallace any indication of how much that would disturb him, or Wallace will certainly go after Lucy. “She is beginning to trust me,” Alexander says calmly, “if you will allow me more time with her, I’m sure I can secure confirmation.”
“I’m losing patience, and you are running out of time. My man says he saw trunks being carried out of the Thornewood townhouse earlier this morning. Do you know where they’re going?”
The fact that Wallace already has spies on the Thornewood house makes Alexander’s stomach knot. “I don’t, but I can find out,” he lies.
“See that you do.”
When Wallace falls silent again, Alexander recognizes it as a dismissal and stands to leave.
“Oh, and Alexander?” Wallace calls just as Alexander has taken a step toward the door. “Be careful of the Lord and Lady of Thornewood, or you may find yourself going in the same way as Blackburn.”
On that ominous note, Alexander strides away, eager to be free of Wallace’s toxic company. At least one thing was made clear: Alexander has no choice. He’ll have to go to Bath, even at the risk of Lucy believing he has followed her with an ulterior motive.
There is no doubt that now that Wallace has the scent, he will pursue her wherever she goes.
TWELVE
BATH is an absolute dream. Our first glimpse is of a picturesque village nestled in green, rolling hills. The buildings are all varying shades of yellow limestone, giving the whole town a lovely symmetry. Rising above it all is the Bath Abbey, its imposing gothic architecture somehow complementary to the town itself.
“I think I can breathe freer already,” Rose says with a deep breath the moment we depart from the train.
“It’s certainly warmer here,” I say. When I breathe the air, it’s lightly scented with the smell of sulfur, but not unpleasantly so. “Oh, what should we do first?”
“Why don’t you go shopping?” Wren says, one hand tucked in the crook of Colin’s elbow and the other grasping little Izzie’s hand. “I know you love it, Lucy, and Bath has so many quaint shops.”
I open my mouth to protest that I have trunks of beautiful new frocks and hats and gloves and shoes waiting for me at Colin’s townhome, but then I realize my sister is doing this for Rose.
“And Rose, darling,” Wren says, “you must allow all the bills to be sent directly to Colin and me. We wouldn’t dream of having you here as our guest only to make you pay for every little thing.”
Rose looks at both of them, aghast. “Oh but surely I cannot impose in such a way. Father did give me money to spend, after all.”
Colin shakes his head. “I would be very insulted if you didn’t spend my money instead, Rose. Katherine and I promised Izzie a long walk else I’m sure she’d accompany you as well—she does so love to spend money.”
Wren gives him a long-suffering look. “Not nearly as much as you like to.”
Rose casts around at each of our faces, searching for an ally. James smiles at her. “Don’t be coy, Rose, they’re
practically begging you to spend their money.”
“Well,” Rose says, sharing a quick glance with me, to which I nod encouragingly, “if you insist.”
“We do,” Colin says. “I’ve been told I’m quite obnoxious in that regard.”
“You’re certainly skilled at it,” Rob adds, joining the tail end of the conversation with Papa beside him.
James grins at Rob’s quip, as he always enjoys a good dig at his older brother.
“Are we splitting up then?” Papa asks, one hand in the pocket of his waistcoat. “If so, then I should like to take the waters and relax. Let’s see if this Aquae Sulis has all the magical properties it’s touted to have. I expect to run circles around the whole town in a day’s time.”
“If it can do that, then it’ll surely cure our lovely Rose here,” Rob says with a wry smile. “Come, Papa, I’ll help you in your endeavor. I’d like to have a rest for a while—not much else to do in a spa town, after all.”
The pairing off leaves James looking very much alone and forlorn—something that has always twisted my heart. I simply cannot bear to see anyone left out. “James, why don’t you accompany us? We could use your assistance carrying our packages home.”
“Is that all I am to you, then? A glorified footman?” His smile is so bright, though, that I know he is pleased I included him.
“Perhaps you can also regale us with your wry sense of humor,” Rose adds.
“That’s something he’ll do without having to be asked,” Colin drawls.
“At least I have a sense of humor,” James replies.
“As amusing as your teasing sibling banter is,” Wren interrupts, “I think Izzie has been patient enough.” Izzie’s pixie face is screwed up in determination as she tugs her mother’s hand, trying to inch ever closer to the street.
We part, then, leaving the little train station on foot. Rose and I lead, enjoying the relative quiet of the smaller town, the clean air, the rush of the River Avon. But as we reach a crossroads, I realize I haven’t the faintest idea where I’m headed.
“We should go to the right,” James calls from behind us, and I grin back at him sheepishly. “I seem to be earning my keep. The two of you would have found yourselves hopelessly lost without me.”
“That’s why I was clever enough to invite you,” I say. “That, and your considerable upper body strength, which should come in handy when we’re laden down with hat boxes and muslin and the like.”
James shakes his head. “As your sensei, I thought I’d be treated with more respect.”
Rose leans toward me conspiratorially, but her voice is loud enough for James to hear, “Sensei? What could he mean?”
“I train Lucy in self-defense,” James says. “She’s quite good at fencing, but only tolerable at best at daggers.”
I shoot him a glare. Rose watches me with wide eyes. “I cannot deny that’s exciting, but whatever for? Surely you don’t imagine yourself in danger.”
“You must forgive my family,” I say, striving for an airy tone, “we’re all a bit eccentric, I’m afraid.”
“Which reminds me.” James rummages around in his coat pocket a moment before pulling out one of the daggers we’ve been using for training. “You should keep this in your reticule at all times.”
I scan the streets anxiously, my cheeks flaming as I think of the scene others may witness. I give a little shake of my head, but he only continues to walk after us, holding the dagger aloft.
“Give it here, then,” I say in a hiss. “You could have waited until we arrived at the townhouse.”
Once the dagger is safely hidden away in my reticule, I dare to meet Rose’s face. To my surprise, she’s grinning hugely. When I hesitantly return the smile, she bursts out in laughter so strong we’re forced to pause in our walk until she can breathe again. “Oh no, no, I’m fine, I promise,” she says when I pat her back in concern for her wheezing. “I always grow a bit breathless when I laugh too hard, but I don’t mind—I love to laugh, and it’s been far too long.”
“I’m only glad it made you laugh and not run away from us screaming,” I say. She shakes her head with another wheezy giggle.
The first shop we come to is a milliner with the most glorious array of hats I’ve ever seen. “Imagine finding such a shop here in Bath,” I say as I drink in the luxe window display. “And Colin said this was practically a ghost town.”
A little bell chimes as we walk in, and my eyes seem to dart everywhere at once. The shop boasts everything from turbans to elaborate hats so wide and filled with so many feathers that I doubt anyone wearing them would fit through the door.
“Oh, you must restrain me so that I don’t flit about like a bird and embarrass us both,” I say, gripping Rose’s arm. The array of colors and textures are so deliciously displayed I ignore my own advice and wander about the shop, running my hand along an ostrich plume on one hat or marveling at the combination of lace and pearls on another.
“May I be of assistance to you, ladies?” a small, well-dressed lady asks. Her gaze shifts from Rose and me to James standing so casually behind us and back again.
“These beauties are in need of hats,” James says with mock severity, his arms around us both, “and I am desperate to appease them.”
The shopkeeper’s eyes widen, and I cannot think what she must make of the situation. Over my shoulder, I give James a little warning look. He grins back widely. It’s a game to him, of course. He finds nothing more entertaining than manipulating people of society, and if he can imply something strange or vulgar—or both!—while doing so, then all the better for it.
“Of course, my lord,” she says, a little dazedly. “Do you have anything in particular in mind?” Her gaze once again darts from person to person, unsure which of us she should address.
I take pity on the poor thing and gesture toward a royal blue hat with a wide brim and a bright white ostrich plume that provides fabulous contrast. “Rose, that hat would look just beautiful on you, wouldn’t you say?”
She pats her own hat with its modest brim as the shopkeeper hurries to retrieve it. “Do you really think so?”
I nod emphatically. “You could wear any of these hats, really—with your Gibson Girl brown hair and blue eyes.”
I touch my own upswept hair. “Not like my unfashionable blonde.” I wink to show her I’m only teasing.
“You know I think you’re both staggeringly beautiful,” James says, positively dripping with smarminess.
This time the shopkeeper manages not to stare at him in surprise, but I see the questions flit across her open face. She carefully removes Rose’s hat and then secures the blue hat with a few strategically hidden hatpins. Rose tilts her head this way and that as we admire the transformation in a standing oval mirror.
James’s hand is warm on my arm as he draws me away from the mirror. “What about this one for you?” In his other hand is a black hat with a curved brim trimmed in lace, pinstriped ribbon, and feathers. “May I?” he asks, cheeky grin in place.
“May you what, exactly?” I ask.
In answer, he gently removes my wide-brimmed hat—his fingers surprisingly deft—and places the black hat on at a rakish angle. One finger trails down the line of my jaw, and his eyes sparkle at me teasingly—but it’s the heat I see reflected in them that makes the room suddenly feel much too warm.
“That one looks lovely on you, my lady,” the shopkeeper says, and I jerk toward her terribly fast, as though we’ve been caught doing something—which, I suppose, we were.
James takes a step back, his expression pensive and admiring, as though he is viewing a painting in a gallery. He gives a terse nod. “Yes. We’ll take them both.” I give a little huff in warning—I can’t stand when he tries to make decisions for me, and he’s done so for years. “Unless, of course, there is anything else you’d like?” he asks Rose and me.
“I will be quite content with this hat, I should say,” Rose says.
I inspect the shop’s con
tents once more before answering. “Do you have any more of that violet-striped ribbon there?” I indicate a rather unattractive straw bonnet, save for its lovely ribbon.
The shopkeeper walks over and holds the bonnet in question aloft. “This ribbon? You have superb taste, my lady. I do believe I have more of the satin in the back. Shall I check for you?”
“I would appreciate it if you would. I have a violet-striped frock that I adore, but since I haven’t had a hat to go with it, I haven’t had chance to wear it yet. If I’d thought to bring it to Bath, I’d have you design a hat, but I’m afraid I’ll have to make do with the ribbon instead.”
She smiles. “Of course, my lady.”
When she slips away to the back of her shop, I whirl on James. “I cannot believe you are teasing the poor woman so! She doesn’t know what to make of us.”
He grins. “You know you love it.”
“And what of Rose? Did you stop to think she might not want to be embarrassed?”
Rose turns from admiring her new hat in the mirror. “Don’t quarrel on my account. I’m afraid my expected lifespan is much too short to care what everyone thinks of me.”
“Goodness, how could you say such a thing?” I demand, even as James nods at her encouragingly. I shake my head. “I can’t take either of you anywhere.”
Mercifully, the shopkeeper returns with the ribbon in hand—more than enough for a hat—and we make our purchases and leave.
“You’re devilishly fun to be around, James,” Rose says as we continue our walk.
“You see?” James says to me, eyebrows raised. “Rose at least enjoys my company.”
“I do, too,” I say. “You’re carrying those hatboxes beautifully, after all.”
Rose’s hand is suddenly on my arm. “A bookshop! Oh, we must go in.”
REED AND TAYLOR’S BOOKS OLD AND NEW, a sign proclaims in elegant gold lettering. The shop is small but welcoming with soft lighting and the comforting smell of books. James heads toward a section of books that are clearly very old, with yellowing pages and brittle leather covers.
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