by Anne Mallory
“I hope to surprise you, Miss Smart. Nothing unpleasant, of course. I daresay Mrs. Browning and Mrs. Smart may also find the activity interesting to watch, if not participate in, at the least.”
Abigail nodded, unsure how else to respond. Valerian’s cool fingers glided down the hollow of her throat.
“I do hope you like surprises, Miss Smart,” Basil said.
Abigail wasn’t sure she liked the entirely too watchful set of Basil’s eyes.
“Some surprises, Lord Basil. Those that are favorable.”
Valerian’s fingers touched her cheek. Surprises seemed to be haunting her as much as he was.
“Favorable is always preferable,” Basil said with a smile. “It is hard to determine which way the coin might fall sometimes though, I do concede.”
“Your own actions precipitating that concession, Lord Basil?”
Basil’s smile grew more charming. “Of course, Miss Smart. And I have found it exceedingly interesting to watch your actions and how you deal with difficult situations.”
His words could mean anything from the more benign aspect of dealing with Valerian when he was physically present in society to a more nefarious meaning entirely.
Valerian’s hands stopped their movement. “It was after we visited Basil’s house that those men appeared. They saw you, Abigail. Followed you.” He suddenly appeared in front of her, eyes narrowed, voice turned harsh. “What are you doing here? It’s not safe.”
She looked at him in shock. She couldn’t very well answer him outright. Her need to stay out of a madhouse reasserted itself now that she had found what she had come for. Him.
She turned back to Basil. “I am flattered, Lord Basil. I hope that I continue to impress you.”
“I am sure that you will, Miss Smart. I look forward to watching your next move.”
Valerian took a step toward his brother and slapped a hand toward him but it slipped right through. “Do not go anywhere alone with Basil, Abigail.”
Abigail hadn’t planned on it, but she kept her lips pressed together.
Mrs. Browning shifted the conversation to the dowager and other inane topics. The visit lasted the standard fifteen minutes, thankfully, and she escaped with a repeated vow to see Basil in two days and to also see the Duchess of Palmbury and Basil at the Louddon’s gathering that evening.
“That wasn’t as poor a showing as I expected from you, Miss Smart,” Mrs. Browning conceded once they were safely ensconced in their carriage. “Lord Basil seems to be more interested than I can countenance—and it would be silly to look seriously in that direction—but it may help with your other suitors.”
Her mother smiled absently. Along with the strange looks at Abigail, she had been generally off since the break-in.
Changes.
Her mother. Valerian. Mrs. Browning. Valerian’s friends.
For good or ill?
Valerian touched her again, his expression mixed, as if he too couldn’t believe that he could touch her and at the same time couldn’t stop himself from doing so. Instead of the previously fleeting touches, his strokes grew bolder. As if he was afraid that should he touch her less she would slip away. She couldn’t comprehend what strange force was at work to allow her to feel him, to allow him to touch her.
The carriage ride grew more tense as bolder strokes turned into completely dominating exploration. She barely kept herself from gasping and squirming on the seat in front of her mother and their starchy companion. She barely kept her head enough to pitifully answer the questions posed by Mrs. Browning. She barely made it into her room, breathily dismissing Telly before Valerian was touching her everywhere, clutching her to him as he ran fingers down the back of her dress.
“I can’t believe you are real,” one or both of them said. She didn’t know which, couldn’t separate her thoughts from her words as his fingers swept her hair to the side and lips dragged down her bare neck.
She tilted her head back, gasping. This was something that she had only experienced through watching others. Always watching, never participating. Never experiencing the wonder of another’s touch upon her bare flesh. Starved for the smallest amount of tactile need from those of her own household.
Rainewood, no, Valerian, pulled fingers along the edge of her full dress sleeves, skimming the side of her neck, touching the delicate lace and making it flutter just a bit. He pulled his fingers along the soft ribs of the weave and although it lifted as if caught by a slight breeze, the fabric didn’t release.
The action broke the spell. “Can you feel it?” she asked.
Can you feel me? echoed in the silence.
“It is like a touch through a glove.” He flexed his lean, strong, bare fingers and ran them down the satin waist of her dress, skimming fire beneath. “Like the waterfall, smooth but dangerous.”
“The waterfall?”
“My memories, me, I slip down the waterfall when you are not near. It’s something I can’t touch, can’t grab, can’t feel.” His hand moved to her bare flesh and she shivered as they skimmed the skin at her throat. “But you, everything is alive and bright the moment I set my fingers to you.”
She struggled to form thought, to catch her breath as his fingers curved around her nape and into her hair. To remember that he was acting like this because he needed her—that she was the only one to whom he could turn.
“You physically hit that man yesterday.”
His fingers stopped their exploration. “He was hurting you. You got away without harm.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a demand. As if he wouldn’t accept any other answer.
“Yes.”
He nodded and pulled her to him—a delicious warmth covered by a cool edge. His body was hard against hers, but leaner. He had always been lean and muscular, perfectly fit for his height, but feeling him against her, he was thinner by a noticeable degree.
“Those men. I don’t understand.”
He stilled against her. “Nor I. I saw them at the hell. I don’t know the name of the one who held you, but the man talking was called Evans by another. I don’t know who they are, but at the hell a man named Burns was ordering around the man who held you. Burns sent the two boys to Golden Square. He hinted at knowledge of me.”
She shivered. “The one talking seemed the more dangerous, even with…even with…”
A hand stroked down her back, then up again and into her nape. “Yes.”
He didn’t say anything else for a second, just stroked her neck, but he said softly into her hair. “It is my fault for putting you in the situation.”
No, it had been her own choice. Not the smartest one, but her choice all the same. “What happened to you? After?”
He tensed. “I returned to the place where they are holding me. Templing is there too. I saw him strapped down.”
Shock shot through her. “Strapped to what?”
He let go of her and stepped away. “A table. I think…I think someone is performing experiments on us.”
She swallowed and took in his form. “And you are reflecting that in your present state. You are thinner.”
“Weaker,” he shot back, prowling toward the dresser and concentrating before flicking a comb. It didn’t move. “I couldn’t get up. Couldn’t fight. My hands are strapped as well, and I can do nothing before they knock me back out. Then I wake once more in Grayton House.”
She swallowed thickly again. “It sounds like a hospital.”
“I’ve been to Bethlehem. It’s not Bedlam, or at least not a part to which I’m familiar.” He hesitated before turning to her. “Have you visited any of the others?”
She looked away. “One. But it was a small asylum.”
“Did they use straps?”
“Yes.” Dozens and dozens of straps ready and waiting to clamp her down and never let her back up. The doctor had whispered in her ear that the straps were always a possibility in her treatment were she to step out of line. She had read in his eyes that he relished the tho
ught. The only thing that had stopped him was the threat of her mother, who had asked him to perform other tests before resorting to the less savory treatments. Like…
No, no she wouldn’t think on it.
“But it is doubtful that is where you are being held,” she said after realizing that she had been staring, frozen like some small woodland animal on the wrong end of a hunt, for a few seconds.
“Why do you say that?”
“I just do. Were there identifiable smells or sounds? Can you describe the building at all? There are dozens of hospitals, and who knows if you are not in a confined space that looks remarkably like one.”
“Yes.” He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it before the strands settled back into place. “White walls, few windows. Two men at least.”
“That isn’t much to go on.”
“I need to keep disappearing, returning to gather more information.” He closed his eyes as if concentrating on doing just that. “But I can’t seem to do it without some provocation from you.”
“I don’t know if it is wise for you to disappear again,” she said uneasily.
“Why?”
“You look worse each time you reappear.” And the fear kept increasing that he wouldn’t return at all.
“Thank you, Smart.” His moody voice was full of sarcasm. “I will endeavor to look my best the next time I return from torture.”
She fought the urge to reach out and touch him, but all of her insecurities concerning him kicked back into the fore and she kept her hands at her side.
He looked toward the partially opened drapes. “There was something. Letters through the one window. M-A-L.”
“Like a sign across the street?”
“Yes.”
“I can ask Telly. Have her look into it.”
He slowly nodded.
“I am to attend the Louddon’s party tonight,” she said. “All of your cronies will be there. Perhaps now you will be able to talk to or touch one of them as well.” He hadn’t been able to touch Basil, so she didn’t think that was likely, but who knew. He had been able to hit that man.
She hesitated. “Basil will be there. And if we don’t learn more from him tonight, I will try and drag information from him the day after tomorrow. Perhaps we can settle the matter of his—”
“You are meeting with Basil in two days?”
“Yes, didn’t you hear the conversation?”
“I wasn’t paying attention to that part.”
“Oh, well I am. Meeting with him, that is.”
“No.”
She blinked. “I assure you that I am. My mother and Mrs. Browning will be there. It is hardly as if we are having a liaison. Or that he could harm me in the middle of Hyde Park.”
“Just like someone couldn’t have harmed you in the middle of the fair yesterday?” he said darkly.
“That—” She licked suddenly dry lips. “That was different.”
“All it takes is for someone or something to separate you from your companions.”
“I will hardly choose to run after a footpad again.”
“There are dozens of other ways.”
“Valerian, I can’t stop living just because I’m scared.” Which was a darkly humorous statement.
She had determined her life over when the doctor had finished with her. Had remained in a state of shock for months before pulling herself together and saying that she would never again give someone that power over her—to put her in such a state. She would not let fear rule her. At least not to that extent.
She still had to live within the strictures of society. Still had to make sure that she kept herself out of the hands of people like that.
But caution was different from fear. And choices were different from dictates.
She continued, “People who want to do harm can always try and separate one person from the pack, but I am in a better position now that I know to look for it.”
His eyes grew darker, but there was something unreadable in their depths too. “You called me Valerian.”
She fiddled with her lace cuff. “That is your name, is it not?”
“You never call me that without sarcasm.” Anymore, went unstated.
Her hand went to her waist. “And you never call me Abigail, if you’ll remember.”
He shook his head, but she continued before he could say anything. “Back to the situation,” she said, trying to get the conversation away from more uncomfortable topics. “It is unreasonable to avoid Basil in public spaces.”
Valerian’s eyes tightened.
“We will go to the ball tonight and see if there is anything we can glean about Basil or Number Eighteen.”
There was a tentative knock on the door. As she invited Telly in she felt a light touch at her neck—reassuring, demanding, claiming. Which Rainewood would win at the end? The old one, the new one, or a combination of the two? Or was each incarnation designed to torment her forever?
Chapter 13
Abigail wound through the dense ballroom crowd with a heightened sense of purpose to her movements. Valerian prowled behind like a large pet cat impatiently waiting for her to fill his dish.
She smiled at the image. She might be uncomfortably turning into one of the young women who groveled for a word from Valerian and preened with confidence when in his good graces, but he was equally cursed at the moment.
“Feeling good tonight, Smart?” His fingers pulled down the exposed skin of her arm, then continued and curved beneath the shoulder of her dress to pull her against him. She tried to cover the fact that she had awkwardly moved an inch forward from no apparent cause, but her heart was beating too quickly and her breath gusting too fast.
He hadn’t been able to touch or talk to anyone else in the room, so he seemed to have concentrated all of his ability to do so on her once again.
There was an ironic aspect that their conversations were still private—even though they took place in the belly of the ton.
He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “I could do all manners of things to you here in the ballroom, and no one would notice.”
Heat, searing and forceful, burned her.
“Miss Smart, might I remark that you are looking quite lovely tonight.”
She jerked away from Valerian and turned to see Aidan Campbell standing before her, the look that he had been sporting whenever their eyes met during the last week was deeper and more urgent.
“Thank you, Mr. Campbell,” she said politely, carefully looking around to make sure there were others near. “It is a pleasant evening, is it not? I find myself succumbing to the pleasure of the teasing weather that states summer is nearing.”
He smiled. “How lovely, Miss Smart. I too find summer to be most pleasurable.” A dance struck up—a waltz. He bowed to her. “I wonder if you would do me the honor?”
“Don’t do it, Abigail,” Valerian said darkly, his eyes narrowed slits as he looked at his friend.
She looked into the crowd to see shocked or unreadable expressions on the faces of most of Rainewood’s group.
“He’s up to something,” Valerian said more insistently, but there was a tinge of something else in his voice. She almost dropped her fan in shock when she recognized the emotion.
She smiled widely at Campbell, fanning the green flames. “Of course, Mr. Campbell, it would be my pleasure.”
She was on the lookout for oddities in behavior, and Campbell’s definitely qualified as such. Nothing could happen in the middle of the dance floor though—besides threats. And in that case they would be one step closer to the truth. One step closer to finding Valerian’s body.
To her losing him again.
She shut down that train of thought and accepted Campbell’s extended arm as he escorted her onto the floor.
The violins struck their opening measures and Campbell competently began the three-beat rhythm. He was a good partner. Confident and practiced.
“You are a very good dancer, Mr. Campbell.”
“As are you, Miss Smart. I daresay I have missed a keen opportunity to partner you all these months.”
She tilted her head to regard him. “You could have asked me to dance, Mr. Campbell. Though I am surprised even now that you have.”
“Raine wouldn’t much have liked it, would he have?”
Shock rocked her. But judging by the explosive expression on Valerian’s face as he paced alongside, she was pretty sure that was an accurate statement.
“I don’t know to what you refer.”
“Don’t you?”
“No. But if I did, do you always do what Rainewood wants?”
A false smile appeared upon his lips. “Usually, yes. And I have long suspected more between the two of you.”
Her posture tightened. “Oh?”
“Yes. It’s in the way you interact. Or strictly don’t, I should say. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but the other day it shone brightly.”
“Lord Rainewood was quite unpleasant the other night. I found myself equally unpleasant in his company, unfortunately.”
A dark melody whispered in her ear as she passed. “We’ll see how unpleasant you feel later, Abigail,” Valerian’s voice darkly promised.
“Are the two of you lovers?”
She missed a step, then another as Campbell shifted to help her back into the rhythm. “Pardon me?”
“I asked if the two of you are lovers.” There was a pinched look to Campbell’s expression. “It would be just like Raine to cover an indiscretion so boldly.”
“I think I am finished with this conversation, Mr. Campbell. Thank you for the dance.” She tried to extricate her hand, but he held tight.
“No, forgive me.” There was an almost desperate air to the plea. “My lips run away. I admit to maddening jealousy.”
She stared, hard, but allowed him to continue to lead. “I find that hard to believe, Mr. Campbell. With how often you associate with Rainewood and the rest, it would seem you are on the same page as they in how I am viewed. Invisible.”
“And yet, I am but a simple coward, Miss Smart. Only with Raine gone do I now come forward to dance with you.”
