There was another way she could protect herself from Septimus' touch. He might be open to a more business-type arrangement if she had something else he wanted. Like a slip of paper with meaningless scribblings on it, left in her parlour. A scrap that obviously meant something to Septimus, and perhaps was supposed to change hands at a meeting that had never occurred. It would be convenient if she could swap that paper for the deeds.
Her mind tore in several different directions on the ride home. Plans and ideas sprang to fruition and were then discarded, as she tried to rescue Alice, save herself, and hold tight to her equestrian dream. When the hackney stopped outside her home, Ianthe was no closer to a solution. She stood on the pavement and stared up at the plain little terrace. It wasn't her home, not really, and she found herself cast in the role of tenant.
Due to the fickleness of life, Phillip had never handed over the deeds. Hoth could lay them in her hands, or dangle them far out of reach. She was so weary of it all, of being constantly dependent on another. If she could make one decision right here, right now as she stood in the sun, her life would be her own. However lonely it might be.
With that seed planted in her mind, she walked up the path to the front door and pushed inside. She was pulling off her gloves as Sarah appeared from along the hallway. Ianthe untied her bonnet and handed the lot to her abigail.
"Where is the pup?" Sarah asked, looking over Ianthe's shoulder at the empty path as Perkins shrugged and swung the door closed.
That made her pause. The wound was still too raw to think he would never again bounce through the door and sprawl over her furniture. She curled her hands, but had nothing to grasp as her world shifted on its axis. "Mr Muir will not be returning. Perkins, please pack up his belongings."
Perkins raised a bushy eyebrow and stared at Sarah, but he did not utter a word.
The smile fell away from Sarah's face. "What? Don't be daft. We were just getting used to the lad, and Perkins liked having a man to fuss over for a change."
She stiffened her spine and schooled her features to a disinterested scowl. "He purchased seven days and his time has expired. If he comes into funds in the future, I'm sure we may entertain him again. Now if you'll excuse me, I feel quite exhausted after visiting Alice and I need to lie down."
Her hand shook on the balustrade as she walked up the stairs and her heart tightened with each step. She barely made her room before the wave of despair crashed over the top of her. As the door clicked shut, she slid down to the floor and the tears rolled down her face.
Ianthe sobbed into her arms as her heart splintered. She kept hearing his words over and over. I love you. But then he tried to command her life and dictate what she could or could not do. Marriage was a trap, one made of steel jaws that savaged a woman and tore her apart. She could never, ever, submit to such an arrangement, where she became a man's chattel.
When she raised her head, the room swam as if it were plunged underwater. A shaft of light caught the brown bottle on her dresser and lit it from within. The bitter tonic called, promising to lessen the pain and to rock her into sweet oblivion. The tonic would draw a curtain over the visions that threatened to overwhelm her, and hide them from her view.
She stood on unsteady feet and walked over. The tremor in her hand almost made it impossible to remove the stopper. Ianthe didn't bother with a glass; she just tipped back her head and swallowed a long mouthful of the horrid concoction. Then she made her way to the bed, lay down, and let the laudanum sweep her away to a different place.
23
Ianthe
* * *
Ianthe curled up and sobbed until the tonic blanketed her mind and enabled her to sleep. Sarah came at some stage and played mother, peeling off her clothes and settling her under the blankets. Disappointment ringed the abigail's eyes, but she didn't give voice to it. Ianthe couldn't take her companion's pain as well as her own. Sarah's view on life was too simplistic: Quinn fitted into their little world as neatly as a hand into a glove, and therefore he should stay. She didn't consider the practical aspects.
In many ways Ianthe was tired of being the responsible adult, always thinking of her small household and what was best for everyone. Perhaps she should throw caution to the winds and do what she wanted, not what was sensible. Was it better to be comfortable and miserable, or penniless but happy? Could love alone sustain you through cold nights, or did Ianthe turn herself into ice by not embracing the love offered by the young man?
When she’d played those cards a week ago, Ianthe could never have imagined the effect the youth would have on her life. He spread warmth into every corner of her world, and awoke her body, spirit, and heart. Quinn held her in his arms while she whispered of her dreams, and made her believe they were possible. She ached to imagine a world where it was possible to achieve them together.
Too late, a little voice whispered. How could she undo the pain her words had caused? Quinn had offered her his love, and she’d scoffed at his lack of fortune and pushed him away. She might as well have ripped out his heart, thrown it in the mud, and ground it under her heel.
She thought things would look better in the morning, but she was wrong. While she slept deeply under the touch of the laudanum, it was a restless sleep. The visions crept back but more distorted and twisted than ever. Flesh fell from the horse until it was a mere skeleton but still the wolf and demon were locked in battle. Aster's geometric parasol spun as Alice played with piles of bones and Ianthe was trapped with no escape.
All night long her body tossed and turned, and Ianthe awoke more exhausted than when she first dropped onto the bed. The dull ache in her chest remained and she suspected it was a permanent resident. Today, she needed to think about her future. Viscount Hoth would arrive tomorrow night to claim her as his mistress, and her hands itched to hold the house deeds. It had been the only reason to take him to her bed. Now she had another. She would exact revenge for what he had done to gentle Alice and the other women. She just needed a plan.
Sarah opened the curtains and admitted a cheerful day. Ianthe wished there were thunderclouds instead; it would have suited her mood better. Once dressed, she sent Sarah to open up her little library and fetch a fresh pot of tea. The ache behind her eyes needed a different brown tonic this morning, one best served with a large spoonful of sugar or a slice of lemon.
Sitting at her dresser, she avoided eye contact with the tired creature looking out of the mirror. She pulled open the main drawer and then reached inside for a button. Unseen, it had to be operated by touch. She pressed the shallow depression and waited for the faint click. The bottom of the drawer popped up a fraction and, using a nail file, she pulled up the hidden layer. Underneath lay a small piece of paper. It appeared to have been ripped from a larger piece; one end was jagged and rough. The contents meant nothing to her. It was just a list of random numbers, but she would bet they meant something to Septimus.
This was the piece of paper left behind the night Phillip died. With increasing regularity, the two men had held meetings in her small parlour that often lasted until dawn crept over the horizon. What snatches of conversation she caught were of the men complaining about their respective positions in society and talk of how things needed to change.
The night Phillip died, he had planned a midnight session with Septimus, a meeting he never made because fate intervened. When Ianthe had bundled up his clothing to put in the carriage with him, part of his waistcoat had crunched under her fingers. Some instinct made her look and examine the garment, while the staff wrapped his cooling body in a blanket.
The waistcoat had an internal pocket, which was most unusual given that the garment was itself worn under a jacket. When she undid the tiny shell button, she extracted the torn sheet. It appeared to be a piece of rubbish, but why tuck it into a hidden pocket that would stay close to one's body? As they deposited Phillip in the carriage, Ianthe had slipped the paper into her pocket as something to puzzle over later.
Hard to believ
e this little missive could offer any protection from the soul eater. But Phillip had valued it, and now Septimus sought it. Perhaps it was a powerful spell of some sort. She would offer him a proposition: the deeds to the house for the scrap. She dared to hope it could it be so easy—a simple exchange of papers and she would be free. Her life would be her own and she could follow her heart for once. If Quinn would forgive her.
Ianthe folded up the note and tucked it inside her stays, so it rested next to her heart. Then she descended the stairs and took her usual seat by the front window. She needed to make room in her life for Alice. One more mouth to feed made finances harder, but there would be a way. Could Alice ride? She blushed to realise that she didn't know. If she could, then the two of them could school more horses than one rider alone, and the activity would benefit her fragile friend.
Perkins knocked on the door a scant second before he pushed it open. "A Mrs Logan to see you, miss."
Ianthe frowned. That was Aster, Quinn's sister. Perhaps come to castigate her for her callous treatment of Quinn and to tell her she was not worthy of his love. "Send her in."
She tucked her papers away in a desk drawer and rose as Perkins reappeared with the unexpected guest. Aster Logan was decidedly average, until you met her gaze. Her eyes were an arresting deep violet. It made one quite forget everything else about the woman.
"Mrs Logan, I did not expect your company today." They both bobbed a brief curtsey and Ianthe waited for an explanation. She hoped it would be a short visit. She was too tired to keep up a pleasant social façade for long, especially if this turned out to be a scolding.
"Aster, please. And don't worry, neither Hamish nor Quinn knows I am here. Ewan is my co-conspirator and accompanied me." The other woman's gaze caressed the bookshelves with a lover's gentle touch and the volumes held her attention as though they sang to her.
Ianthe breathed in a sigh. From the little time she had spent with Aster, she didn't think the woman intended to deliver a self-righteous lecture about how she had morally corrupted her brother, which left her pondering the reason for the visit. As the silence stretched, there was one matter that preyed on her mind.
"Did you know Quinn was a spy under my roof?" Ianthe asked.
"Yes." The violet gaze was clear with no hint of subterfuge. "But that was secondary to Quinn's need to be near you. Don't think for a moment that he ever deceived you about his feelings."
Ianthe blew out a sigh. She wanted to castigate the youth as a spy who had played her, but she remembered the openness in his expressive face and the pain as she hurled cruel words at him. He didn't pretend at affection for her.
"I did not mean to hurt Quinn, truly. I have his best interests at heart. He deserves to share his life with a socially acceptable noble girl, not a Cyprian."
A warm smile lit Aster's face. "You don't need to protect either Quinn or our sensibilities. He loves you. His wolf would claim you as his mate and that means something very special. If you return his affection, we will welcome you into our family, whatever your history."
That made her pause. Society existed by adhering to strict strata. One did not attempt to move upward without being censured. It was unusual to find someone so accepting.
A faint sadness resided in Aster's smile. "My origins are not lofty. My mother was unwed and raised me on her own, and then died when I was only fifteen. In many ways we are similar, you and I. Women with no family or fortune must use what they have at their disposal to put a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. I use my mind, you use more earthly attributes. You will find no censure from me, only an offer of friendship, if you would take it."
Ianthe swallowed down tears. Her emotions danced close to the surface and she didn't know how she could continue on her life's path. She had spurned love for money, and yet Quinn's sister still sought to be her friend. Her walls were crumbling to dust when she needed to reinforce them, make them thicker and stronger to survive the lonely years ahead. She indicated the chairs by the cold hearth, and waited for Aster to sit before taking the other chair. Perkins arrived with a tea tray, giving Ianthe valuable time to gather her thoughts.
Aster took the offered cup, and waited for the man to leave. "A Highland Wolf in love can be rather overwhelming, but never doubt the sincerity of their feelings."
Ianthe's hand tightened on the ceramic handle, denial on her lips. "Quinn is merely infatuated with me."
Aster laughed to herself and then took a sip of tea. "Perhaps, in the very beginning. Did you know that every day he has been in London, he has waited by the rail on Rotten Row hoping to see you ride past?"
The ache in her heart stretched and grew. It hurt so much to think about him and the dreams they shared. "No. I didn't know that. But it does not change the fact that he barely knows me. And he is so young."
A smile transformed Aster's face. "There is no age at which one can magically know if one is in love or not; it is obvious when you gaze into your heart. Quinn knows his mind and his heart. Don't let his lack of years blind you to the truth. Not to mention that, being an Unnatural, his wolf recognises things on a more primal, instinctual level. Do you not return his feelings, Ianthe? Is that why you push him away?"
Ianthe closed her eyes for a moment. The lure of the young lover was too enticing. So eager, keen, devoted—until time wore the shine from his vision and he saw her for what she really was: used goods. "It is because of how I feel for him that I must push him away. We would never last. How long before he brought to mind the countless other men who went before him?"
Aster put down her cup and reached for Ianthe's hand. "Quinn is not like other men. He will not judge your past. Has he made any such comment in the time he spent under your roof?"
Ianthe shook her head. No words of recrimination had ever passed his lips.
Aster continued, "From what I know of him, there is only one place where he would demand precedence."
"Oh?" By reflex, she squeezed Aster's hand as she waited to hear the answer. If there were any possibility for a life together for them, what price would Quinn demand from her?
"How many men have you truly loved?" Aster asked.
Ianthe laughed. Courtesans did not love, although they gave the appearance of it. Some could even trick themselves, but it was a cheap spell bought in a market. A shallow glamour that soon wore off. She had once thought she loved, but had been fooled by her own visions. "I have never loved."
Aster patted her hand and then sat back, a satisfied smile on her face. "Then you have something precious to offer Quinn that no man has ever touched. Your heart."
"I wish it were that simple," she whispered and stared at a wisp of steam as it escaped from her cup. It curled up and broke free, which brought to mind another obstacle in their way. "I must be mistress of my own future. I cannot marry. I will never give a man dominion over me."
"I see the question of marriage more as a logistical arrangement than an impediment. How you arrange a life with Quinn is your business and nobody else's," Aster said.
The two women sat in silence for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Ianthe's mind raced. Aster spoke of a world of possibilities, where she and Quinn loved freely, without concern for the gossips among society. She made it sound so simple to love, and be loved in return.
When Ianthe thought of closing her eyes and taking a leap of faith, an image flashed through her mind so fast that it barely registered. A green pasture, a white horse and a man standing at a wall. But what did it mean?
The sight had tricked her years ago, when she thought it showed her life as William's wife. Ianthe gave herself to him only to discover the vision was the world of a courtesan after she was ruined. This flash could be Galahad after he had been sold; nothing said she was a part of that future. Why didn't the trace of mage blood in her veins give her a worthwhile gift that she could use to navigate life?
Eventually, Aster coughed and spoke again. "There is another reason for my visit today, quite apa
rt from wanting to plead Quinn's case. I need to broach the subject of Viscount Hoth, the soul eater. We are all concerned that he does not consume you, too."
Ianthe stared at her cup of tea. The viscount and his unnatural appetite was much on everyone's minds. "Fore-warned is fore-armed. I will not succumb like the others, and perhaps being mage-blooded like Alice provides some level of protection. She survived where others did not."
Aster set her cup on the table and moved to sit next to Ianthe. "Quinn said you had a vision of bones. Do you believe it is his former mistresses drained of all they are, or more literal and that they are now only bones?"
Ianthe met the startling violet gaze. "I cannot say with any certainty. The sight has always been… unreliable. I saw bones tied up with silken ribbons. I believe the bones are all that is left of them and the ribbons represent the women they were. One is a green ribbon with small white flowers that has nagged at me for some time and now I know why. His mistress before Alice was a woman called Lily. She used the lily of the valley as her symbol."
"The green ribbon with white flowers could very well be symbolic of her. We will never know unless we find them." Aster looked up, lost in her own thoughts.
"He is wealthy and powerful and his victims drawn from the shadows. The authorities will never investigate." Ianthe thought it all so futile.
Aster reached out and took Ianthe's hand. "The authorities, no. The Highland Wolves, yes. Do not think Hoth will escape justice. The men have altered their mission brief. Even if Hoth does not hang for treason, they will ensure his soul-eating activities are curtailed."
Kisses to Steal Page 20
