by Candace Camp
“I am sure it doesn’t mean I am going to get stabbed with it,” Megan said flatly. She had no intention of letting Deirdre see how badly her sister’s tale of the dream had shaken her. She had never really believed in Deirdre’s visions, though she loved her sister too much to completely discount them. But this dream defied rational explanation, and she could not suppress ashiver.
“You said Dennis was in the dream, too,” Megan went on, searching for an explanation that would allay Deirdre’s fears—and perhaps her own, as well. “’Tis much more likely that it relates to his death. Maybe a knife like that is what killed him. Maybe that is the thing I should be looking for at Broughton House.”
“Instead of the pendant?”
Megan shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps both of them are there.”
“Megan…” Deirdre reached out and wrapped her hand around her sister’s wrist. “I am worried about you. About your being there.”
“Nothing is going to happen to me,” Megan assured her. “I promise you, I will be very careful. But I have to go back. You can see that. How else are we going to find out what happened to Dennis?”
“I’d rather we never found out what happened to him than to have you hurt!” Deirdre snapped back.
“That won’t happen. I can handle myself. Besides, the house is filled with people—the family, the servants. No one would risk doing anything to me there. I will be perfectly safe.”
Deirdre looked at her, not entirely convinced. Megan leaned over and gave her sister a quick peck on the cheek.
“Don’t worry,” she said firmly. “I’ll come back here on my next day off—or sooner, if I can find anything.”
“Write to me if anything worries you,” Deirdre replied. “Promise me.”
“I promise.”
Giving her a bright smile, Megan set off down the street. She hurried, looking neither right nor left, her mind too occupied to even think about her earlier eerie feeling of being watched. She did not stop to look behind her.
Deirdre’s dream had unnerved her, and she found herself walking ever faster, eager to get home. It did not occur to her to wonder that she thought of Broughton House as home, and when at last she saw its elegant white facade rising up before her, the windows glowing warmly in the encroaching dusk, she smiled and hurried toward it, her heart lifting.
* * *
LATE THAT EVENING, Theo trotted down the front steps of Broughton House. He strolled down the block and hailed a hansom, giving the driver an address that was some distance from the elegant Mayfair section in which Broughton House was located.
He went into a humble tavern there, stooping a little to enter the old door, and stood for a moment, looking around the low-ceilinged room, smoky from the pipes and cigars of its patrons, and smelling of ale and the sweat of workingmen. It was not a gin mill, but neither was it the sort of place that his peers generally frequented. That was one of the principal reasons Theo liked it.
He nodded toward the barkeep behind the counter, and the man nodded back, familiar enough with Theo that he moved to the tap to draw him an ale. Theo strolled to a table nestled in the corner of the room and sat down to wait.
Shortly after the barkeep brought the tankard of ale and placed it on the table before Theo, the door to the tavern opened again and a young man walked in.
Slender and lithe, the young man had a shock of blond hair, untidily cut, and piercing blue eyes. He moved with noiseless grace toward Theo’s table, signaling to the barkeep, and pulled out a chair. His name was Tom Quick, and he had been an employee of one Moreland or another for a number of years.
“Yer grace,” he said in greeting, grinning, his eyes alight with mischief.
Theo grimaced. “You can’t plague me with that title yet, Quick.”
He watched as the barkeep brought another tankard and Quick took a long pull from it. He knew better than to try to hurry Tom. He was his own man, more given to insolence than subservience.
Quick had grown up in the slums of the East End and had made his living as a child as a pickpocket. He did not know his father or mother; his last name was one given to him by the man who ran the gang of pickpockets, and it referred to his speed at lifting items from strangers. Doubtless he would have ended up as most of his accomplices had, in Newgate, but for the fact that one day he had attempted to steal the wallet of Reed Moreland. Theo’s brother, recognizing Tom’s innate intelligence and abilities, had not turned the boy over to the authorities but had taken him in, feeding and educating him, and giving him a job.
Quick had worked for Reed, then for their sister Olivia in her business of debunking mediums, and now generally worked for Kyria’s husband, Rafe, in whom he had found a kindred spirit. He had, however, been happy to take on a small task for Theo on his Sunday off.
He let out a sigh of pleasure as he set down his ale and leaned back in his chair. “I followed your Miss Henderson, just like you asked. She went to a house—a snug little place. Then I followed her back to Broughton House. She didn’t go anywhere else. So I returned to the area where she visited, and I talked with a few people in a tavern or two.”
“And what did you find out?” Theo asked.
“The house where she went is being rented by an Irishman. Nobody knew his name, or they weren’t telling. But he visits the taverns—well, he would, wouldn’t he, being Irish?”
Theo considered Tom’s news for a moment, aware of a fierce surge of jealousy. Who was this man to Megan? Husband? Lover? Or simply a business associate? It disturbed him to realize how much the answer mattered.
“Did anyone know what he does for a living?” Theo asked finally.
“Not that any of them could tell me. He’s full of Irish stories and the like, but they didn’t know anything about his work. Seems that, on reflection, they realized that he didn’t talk much about himself, really, except for long ago things about Ireland.”
“Indeed? Interesting.”
“That’s not the most interesting thing,” Tom went on. He took another swig of ale and sat back in his chair, looking quite pleased with himself.
“All right. I’ll play along,” Theo said. “What is the most interesting thing?”
“When I was following your lady…I realized I wasn’t the only one. There was another fellow trailing her.”
CHAPTER 12
Theo stared at Quick in astonishment. “What?”
“After walking along after her for a little ways this morning, I noticed this other chap in front of me. He was taking all the same turns I was, and once when she stopped to look in a store window, he stopped, too. I realized that he was following her, just like me.”
“Who the devil was he?” Theo asked, his brows drawing together thunderously.
Quick shrugged. “Don’t know. Never saw him before today. But I’m sure I was right, because while I was idling about, waiting for her to come back out of the house, I saw him doing the same.”
“Did he spot you?” Theo asked.
Tom shot him a scornful look. “’Course not. I may not be in the game anymore, but you won’t find any better than me. I know how to stay out of sight. He was clumsy, or I wouldn’t have noticed him—followed too close behind her.”
“Is he in the game, do you think?”
Quick shrugged. “I don’t know. I been out of it too long—don’t know anybody in it anymore. But usually, following somebody around—you got to figure one or both of ’em’s up to no good.” He paused, then added, “Who is this woman, guvnor? Is she going to hurt your family?”
“Not if I can help it,” Theo replied. He sighed, then said, “I’m not sure. She is the twins’ teacher, but I can’t help thinking there is more to her than that. I have found her in a couple of places where she had no reason to be. I suspect she may be a thief—or working for one.”
He saw no point in mentioning that she was also someone who had come to him in a dream ten years earlier.
“Chuck her out—that’s what I would do,�
� Tom offered.
“I’m keeping my eye on her,” Theo promised.
“Aye. Well, she’s worth keeping an eye on, all right.” Tom grinned, then added seriously, “But not worth letting any harm come to your family.”
“No. Of course not. I won’t allow her to hurt them.”
But Theo knew it was already too late for that. The members of his family liked her, had taken her in and treated her as one of their own. If Megan was there to steal from them, just the knowledge that she could betray them would hurt them far more than whatever she might steal.
“I could look into it some more, if you want,” Tom said. “I could probably find one or two of my old mates. Check if she and the Irishman are thieves. Though it seems an uncommon roundabout way of stealing something, if you ask me—especially if it means taking on the Greats.”
“She has no problem with the twins,” Theo said in some wonderment. “I have never seen them as well-behaved—or as happy with their tutor.”
“I’d guess they’re not the only ones who like her,” Tom replied shrewdly.
Theo shot him a sardonic look. “Don’t get cheeky.”
“Me?” Quick feigned innocence.
“Do whatever checking you can on her and the Irishman.” He frowned. “And on the chap who’s following her.”
Whatever Megan’s game was, the fact that someone was following her could not be good. Whether the follower was an accomplice who did not trust her or someone from whom she had stolen or had crossed in some way, it seemed very clear to him that the man represented a danger to her.
Theo knew, with a fierce, sharp pain in his gut, that he had to protect her from whoever threatened her. It came as an unwelcome surprise that the need to protect her was greater than his concern for whatever she was planning against him and his family.
“Right you are, guvnor,” Quick said cheerfully. “What about Miss Henderson?”
“I will keep an eye on her,” Theo replied flatly. “The lady won’t be going anywhere this week unless I am along.”
* * *
MEGAN DREADED SEEING Theo again after what had happened in his bedroom the other night. However, there was little way to avoid being in his company—especially, she found, since he seemed to pop up at every turn for the next week.
He dropped by the nursery to chat with the twins or check on their animals. When she took a stroll about the garden after classes, he was there, sitting on the terrace and reading a book, his gaze on her more often than on the tome in his lap. He ate every dinner at home, and not an evening went by that he didn’t suggest that Megan join the family after the evening meal for a round of games or an hour of music or simply the free-flowing conversation that often occupied the Morelands.
There was nowhere that Megan particularly wanted to go, but she felt certain that if she left the house, with or without her charges, Theo would turn up before she had gotten ten steps from the door. He was, she knew, trying to find out what she was doing, why she had tried to get into the duke’s collection room, and why she had been prowling around his own bedroom.
It made her a little nervous that he did not simply ask her what she was doing. It seemed the obvious course. It was even odder, she supposed, that he had told no one else in the family, even his parents, about her strange nocturnal visits to places she had no right to be. It was as if he was protecting her from his family’s anger.
The thought made her feel warm and tender inside. It was foolish, she supposed, to feel that way; he was not doing it, after all, because he wanted to protect her. There were bound to be reasons—selfish reasons—behind his actions.
He could intend to hold his knowledge over her head, to coerce her with the threat of revealing what she had done. But she could think of nothing he could want to coerce her into doing besides giving herself to him, and she had already proved herself embarrassingly close to bedding the man without any sort of coercion at all. Besides, Theo had made no move in that direction since the other night.
He had not tried to be alone with her at any time. His conversation and manner were perfectly gentlemanly. Except for a time or two when Megan had glanced up and found his gaze on her, a quickly veiled heat in his eyes, she would have wondered if he even remembered the ardor they had shared the other night.
She moved through the next week, puzzling over Theo’s actions and attitude, and wondering how she could get back into his bedroom to search it. She could not risk entering it again unless she was absolutely certain that he would not walk in on her. She would have to wait until he was out for the evening, preferably very late at night when no one else would be up or on some night when the rest of the family was out, as well.
The evening of the museum benefit, for instance, would have been perfect—if it had not been for the fact that she would be attending it, as well.
She had half hoped that Kyria and the others would forget about their promise to take her, but those hopes were dashed on Monday afternoon when Kyria, Olivia and Anna swept her out of the nursery and down to Anna’s room, where Kyria’s maid was laying out a number of dresses.
Megan’s eyes widened when she saw the display of sumptuous ball gowns. “Mrs. McIntyre! My lady!”
She turned from Kyria to the other two. Kyria wore a broad smile on her face and Olivia looked pleased and encouraging. Megan glanced at Anna, whose expression was more guarded. There was in her gray eyes the same faint darkness, even suspicion, that Megan had seen there when they first met. Reed’s wife, she thought, did not completely trust her. And there had been that disturbing thing about the woman’s seeing things that others could not….
Megan turned from the women back to the bed, where a wealth of jewel-toned satins, velvets and laces were draped across the spread. There were also gowns lying across chairs and every other available surface.
“This is too much,” Megan protested feebly.
“Nonsense,” Kyria said. “Now stand there and let me look at you. Joan…”
Kyria’s maidservant obligingly held up one gown after another in front of Megan as she chatted with Kyria and Anna about the possibilities. Golds and greens and blues followed deep red and chocolate brown and pale yellow.
“Olivia’s colors suit you best,” Kyria said thoughtfully. “If only she didn’t insist on such plain things.”
“Not plain,” Olivia protested. “I just don’t like a lot of fussy decorations.”
“Elegantly simple,” Anna said, compromising. “I agree. The shades that look good on me aren’t as good on Megan, though I think I am a little more the same size.”
“I like the rust-colored satin,” Anna went on, picking up one of the gowns and holding it up to Megan.
Anna might be suspicious, but she seemed willing enough to help her, Megan thought. Perhaps she was simply more reserved than Kyria. Or perhaps she was simply waiting for her to take a misstep.
“It’s a beautiful color on her,” Kyria agreed. “Why don’t you try it on, Megan, and Joan can see where she needs to alter it?”
It didn’t take much urging for Megan to try on the dress. It was a beautiful rich satin in a dark russet that picked up the red of her hair and warmed her pale skin. She had had her eye on it the whole time. The low neckline curved slightly up to the short, puffed sleeves, and a darker lace trimmed the edge, making the neckline more modest.
Olivia was a trifle more slender than Megan, she found, and she had to suck in her breath sharply to let Joan fasten the hooks up the back.
“Oh, yes!” Kyria exclaimed. “That looks lovely.”
“I can scarcely breathe,” Megan commented, but Kyria waved away that protest.
“We’ll lace up your corset more tightly,” she told her. “I think this is definitely the one.”
Joan tucked the lace down inside the dress, startling Megan with the familiarity that the aristocratic ladies seemed to not even notice.
“Much better,” Kyria almost purred. “We’ll take off the lace at the neckline. You ca
n add a bit of copper lace as decoration at the hem. I have some earrings I made last year that would be absolutely perfect. Copper-and-turquoise dangles.” She paused, thinking, her head tilted to one side. “Or perhaps just plain ear bobs and a cameo choker with a copper-colored ribbon.”
“The choker, I think,” Anna said, hopping up and going to her jewelry box and returning with a cameo on a ribbon. “We can exchange these ribbons.” She wrapped it around Megan’s throat and held it, looking toward Kyria for confirmation.
“Simple and elegant,” Kyria said with a nod.
Megan, looking at her reflection in the mirror, could not help but agree. Even with her hair twisted into its usual plain knot, she looked more attractive than she could ever remember looking. The rich material and the warmth of the color made her skin glow, and her eyes were lit with pleasure. Her waist was infinitesimal in this tight dress, well worth, she thought, a little discomfort. Her bosom, larger than Olivia’s, swelled above the lowered neckline, full and soft, beckoning the eye.
“Um…don’t you think it’s, well, a little low cut?” she asked doubtfully. “I mean, I am only a tutor. It seems, well…” She shrugged.
“Nonsense,” Kyria said firmly. “There is no need to look like a governess at a ball, is there? It isn’t as if you’re going to be teaching anyone.”
“Besides, it’s simple,” Olivia put in. She cast a look at Kyria. “Plain, in fact. No one could say it was inappropriate.”
Megan suspected that her father and the nuns would probably argue about that, but she wasn’t about to let that stop her from wearing this dress. It was sheer vanity, she knew, but she could not wait to see Theo’s face when he saw her in this dress.
Joan fussed about the skirt of the gown, pulling it up here and there, and telling Kyria that she could drape the hem over the copper lace, as well as add a little more padding to the modest bustle. Kyria was quick to agree.
Puzzled, Megan looked at Kyria. “I have to wonder—why are you doing this?”
Kyria raised an elegant brow in a gesture that was designed to quell impertinent questions. “I’m sorry. Do you not wish to attend the museum benefit?”
