by Anne Mallory
She tried to wipe his words away with a sweep of her hand. “Lovely, Mr. Stagen. You flatter me. But Lord Rainewood barely knows I exist.”
“Interesting, since all of his focus is on you when you are near. And Raine is the jealous sort. He doesn’t take kindly to anyone else marking something he sees as his.”
“You are creating fantasies, Mr. Stagen.” She picked up her pace. “Besides, if this were all true, he could have ended the prank without ending up in the middle of it.”
Stagen smiled. “He found out about it only a few minutes before it was due to happen. Only he is allowed to touch you.”
She swallowed. “V-Rainewood doesn’t touch me.”
Stagen gave her a considering glance. “A strange relationship the two of you maintain, but a relationship nonetheless. Only those that are looking truly notice it, but we do.”
She thought about the prank. About how Valerian had arrived, slightly winded, at just the exact time to trigger the device. She thought about the relief she had felt as she’d looked at her pristine white dress—the water would have revealed her to God and the world.
Valerian had looked so angry—but she had assumed it was because of accidentally triggering the gag.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I just thought maybe you knew more about Raine’s whereabouts than you were telling.”
“Ah, yes. You and Lord Basil have been keeping tabs on me.”
Stagen smiled faintly. “Neither of us believe you responsible—at least not anymore. But there is no denying that you might have more knowledge than you claim.”
Abigail tilted her head. “I see.” She considered him. “I will tell you this. If I knew of Rainewood’s whereabouts, I would tell you. It seems as if you have his best intentions in order.” She didn’t know Valerian’s whereabouts, however, and she didn’t think pointing across the room to the invisible man roaming around, between, and through the party guests was likely to make Stagen satisfied with her sanity.
Stagen smiled. “Very well, Miss Smart. I knew that you could be counted upon.”
“Why?” she asked as calmly as she could.
“Because while I watch Raine watching you, I also watch your reactions to him.” He tipped his head. “Good evening, Miss Smart.”
Abigail watched him walk away, a bit numb.
Valerian appeared at her side a few moments later. “What did Stagen say?” His voice was tight.
“He is looking for you. Did you discover anything?”
He shook his head, lips thinned.
“Very well. I’m going to speak with Phillip.”
“Why?”
“Curiosity about something.”
She needed a few answers. Needed to know if there was really a chance that the other Valerian, the one from weeks ago, had such a care for her. If there was a possibility that his two incarnations were the same.
Phillip was standing near two women who were chattering while he lifted his glass awkwardly. She walked his way and nearly smiled at the relief that stole across his face.
“Good evening, Mr. Brockwell.”
“And to you, Miss Smart.”
She could feel Valerian at her side, but didn’t look his way. “I have a question for you.”
Phillip nodded, simply looking happy not to have to listen to the women near him anymore.
“At the Crupper’s ball, do you remember that prank that went badly for Lord Rainewood?”
Phillip nodded, a nervous smile playing about his lips. His previous eagerness to speak with her visually diminishing. “I do. Nasty thing meant for you, wasn’t it?”
She could feel Valerian stiffen at her side. “Yes.” She looked at Phillip closely. “Did you have anything to do with stopping it?”
Phillip cocked his head. “No. I’m happy that you escaped from it though.”
“Thank you. What about Mr. Penshard?”
“I’m sure that he was equally happy.”
“No, did he have anything to do with sabotaging the prank?”
Phillip shook his head. “No, he was with me, I remember.”
“Ah, thank you, Mr. Brockwell.” She cleared her throat. Had Valerian truly sabotaged it?
“They are always playing nasty pranks and creating problems,” Phillip said heatedly, all of a sudden. “It is little surprise that they find themselves in trouble.”
The two women seemed to clue into the discussion all of a sudden.
“Do you suppose someone could have attacked Mr. Templing and Lord Rainewood too?”
Phillip went white.
“That would explain why they aren’t here even with the gossip about the betrothal on everyone’s lips. How awful. But the duke is saying that Lord Rainewood is simply out of town on estate business.”
“And Mr. Templing?”
“Perhaps with him? Oh, the possibilities if not. I must question Lady Malcolm.”
The two women continued to chatter, but Abigail only had eyes for Phillip, who was picking at his pocket, looking increasingly nauseous.
“Mr. Brockwell?”
His eyes swung toward her and he cleared his throat. “Yes, Miss Smart?”
“It is quite hot in here, is it not?” She fanned herself, but continued to meet his eyes.
He nodded sharply, understanding at least the nature of her question. “Yes, would you care to accompany me to the refreshment table?”
“Please.” She put her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her away. She waited until they were well away before asking, “Did you have something to do with it, Phillip?”
“Something to do with what?”
“Mr. Campbell’s attack.”
“Of course not!”
“But he ruined your balloon.”
“I fixed it. Made a better inroad with the Society over how quickly and correctly I did so.”
“But I would have been quite angry, had it been me. Might even have wanted to get even with the man. Perhaps a knock on the head?”
“I didn’t do anything to Campbell!” Phillip was flustered, his face changing into a mottled shade of red mixed with the palest white.
Abigail looked at him closely, suddenly realizing something. “But you did something to someone else?”
The shades instantly blanched. “I, I didn’t say that.”
“But you implied it, Phillip. What did you do?” She watched him. “Did you have something to do with Rainewood’s disappearance?”
“Of course not.” He licked his lips. Then licked them again.
Valerian swore and took a swing. It went cleanly through Phillip without making contact.
Phillip looked miserable. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. “Oh, Phillip. What did you do?”
Phillip frantically looked around, then steered her a few feet away.
Valerian furiously followed. “Abigail, don’t be stupid.”
But she wasn’t going to be stupid. She only let Phillip steer her out of the earshot of the others.
Phillip looked as if he might break down right there. “It was just a little knock on the head. I, I couldn’t let Rainewood have that list. He might not do something with it, but his friends…Templing, Campbell. The bets. I had to. Edwina…and it…always like…” he stuttered. “But I did nothing else, I swear. I searched for the list and when I didn’t find it I left them there.”
She swallowed around the gigantic lump in her throat. “Left them where?”
“In the street.”
“Oh, Phillip.”
“They probably woke up and went to the country. Went to convalesce or drink,” he said somewhat desperately. “No one would touch them. Not the heir to a duke. To Palmbury.”
“You left them in a bad section of town. Any villain could have kidnapped them.”
“No one would dare do anything though. I even sent an anonymous note to the watch in order to—” He broke off and gave her a queer look. “How do you know which part of town
it was?”
She blinked and Valerian swore beside her. “Oh. I’m just speculating because the last place they were seen was down by a shady hell.”
“Nothing could have happened, I’m telling you,” Phillip stressed, the tension cracking his voice hinting that he didn’t quite believe himself.
She took a breath before blurting out anything unfortunate. “Why haven’t they been seen, then?”
“As I said—”
She put a hand on his arm and Valerian growled. “Phillip, you don’t believe that.”
He chewed his lip and looked miserable. “I had to do it. I’d never see Edwina again. Her mother would make sure.” Abigail wondered in what position Phillip occupied the list. “I don’t know what happened after I left, I was sure that they would be none the worse. You have to believe me.”
And somehow she did.
“You are staying with your aunt on Golden Square, aren’t you?”
He looked surprised. “Yes.”
She nodded. “Number Twenty still?”
“Yes.”
She couldn’t see him, but she could almost feel the intense relief behind her that projected off Valerian in waves.
It hadn’t been Basil. Nor Campbell. Nor even Gregory.
Oh, Phillip.
Chapter 21
“I want you to tell everyone what Brockwell did!”
Valerian had been demanding it for an hour now. Through the not-quite-announcement of his betrothal to Celeste Malcolm—the duke taking Celeste’s hand and making it obvious to all that the match had his full approval, even without the showing of the future groom. Speculation had continued to be rampant, the gossip mill churning. Each uttered word had driven another nail in her headache.
She was just glad they were finally home. “Phillip didn’t take you.”
“He attacked us. He as good as put me in this position.”
That was true. “And for that damn list. But someone else took you. Something else is at work here, don’t you see?”
“That muckrakers or common thieves disposed of us or sold us to the nearest body part mill? Yes. And I want Brockwell punished for it.”
“I’m not pleased with Phillip at the moment.”
“Not pleased? Not pleased?”
She scowled at him.
“Abigail, you can’t be seriously thinking of letting him get away with it?”
“Of course not. Phillip said he is going to tell someone. Probably Sir Walter. I think it has been eating him up inside. But there is nothing to be gained by hurrying up that process. He doesn’t know what happened afterward.”
“Maybe he is lying. Have you thought of that, wise one?”
“Of course. But Phillip just doesn’t have it in him.”
“He had it in enough to attack us.”
“But what about the other attacks? The men in the square? The men at the hell? They were waiting for you, Valerian. From everything you’ve said, they took you on purpose.”
Valerian opened his mouth, whether to agree or not, she wasn’t sure, but he suddenly flickered and disappeared.
Valerian woke to the screams, the groans. Not Abigail’s cellar this time though—no, this was the hospital, or building, or wherever he was being held. A shot of some sharp spike rushed through him and he pulled up on his clasps, turned his head toward where Templing was the last time he had seen him. But Templing wasn’t there.
The reflection through the window shone through. He stared at it for half a second and internally swore. He pulled forcefully against his clamps.
A hand gripped his face and he thought frantically of home. But instead of Grayton House, Abigail’s face pulled into view. His closest confidante.
There was one thing that tied everything together. The list. The doctor. The attack.
One thing.
The hand gripping his mouth poured the vile liquid in, but he managed to spit most of it away.
She had always been his closest confidante, even after they’d parted ways he had never replaced her.
He thought of her face when she’d been ejected from Palmbury Manor so long ago, when she’d tried to speak to him.
The hand succeeded in forcing him to swallow.
He needed to go home.
Abigail paced her room, lips pressed together, heart raging in worry. Plotting how she was going to get back into Grayton House for a third time. And whether he would even be there.
They were close to finding him, or to losing him, if he had started flickering so fiercely and disappearing so easily. Perhaps she should just go after him herself.
Free him and let him go. Give in to the inevitable.
She heard the steps behind her and chided herself for not even paying attention enough to hear her maid enter.
“Telly, we are going to O’Malley’s tonight. I’ll need your help.”
“You aren’t going anywhere.”
She whipped around, her hand lifted to her throat. She took a step forward before stopping. “How?” she whispered.
Valerian leaned against the four-poster looking exhausted. “I returned to my body, but then ended up here.”
“Oh.”
“It’s not O’Malley’s.”
“Oh?”
“I read the sign incorrectly.”
“What is it, then? We will go.”
“No.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
His eyes turned dark. “It isn’t safe.”
“Valerian—”
“No.” He took a breath. “Listen, Abigail, I’m s—”
Telly bustled through the door. “Miss, are you ready for bed?”
Valerian’s mouth clicked shut and he drummed his fingers against the four-poster. Sound that it still seemed only she could hear, if Telly’s unchanging, expectant expression was anything to go by.
Aunt Effie flickered in the corner.
Abigail let Telly strip her of her ball garments and concentrated on the brush on her dressing table as Telly peeled one layer then another from her. She had kept the brush, always. Never quite able to part with it, even through her darkest days with him. Oh, she’d tried to toss it a number of times. Hidden it away, thrown it in the rubbish bin. But she’d always retrieved it. Put it back in place on her table.
She said nothing as Telly worked. She didn’t know if fighting again would make Valerian disappear. One of these times he wouldn’t reappear. She knew it, dreaded it. He would just be gone. Whether from the mortal coil, or socially once more.
Abigail retrieved the footman’s gear from the drawer as Telly folded her garments.
“Miss, are you still entertaining your new spirit?”
It was an unfavorable choice of words under the circumstances. “Are you worried, Telly?”
“A little, miss. I just wondered whether we would be going out again. The talk has been all about people going missing lately on the streets. Just up and gone. No word left.”
Telly looked at the trousers and shirt askance. Abigail hadn’t said that they would be going out, but pulling out the clothes as good as proclaimed it.
“I haven’t decided yet whether to go out, Telly. Do not worry yourself.”
“Yes, miss. I’m going to get you some warm milk while you are deciding. I will be back soon.”
“Thank you, Telly.”
Valerian’s narrowed eyes followed Telly, then he stalked off after her. Abigail sat still for a moment, then pulled the shirt between her fingers, wondering what she could do to make things right. For herself and for them.
Valerian followed Abigail’s maid downstairs and through to the backyard. A man waited for her in the shadows.
“Well?”
“I think she might go out. I will go too, of course.”
“Of course.” The man placed a hand at the maid’s shoulder. “You are a good servant.”
Telly leaned in and fiddled with his collar and shirt, actions that spoke of a familiarity more than casual acquaintances.
“She continues to speak to them, poor dear.”
“You do encourage it.”
“Well, I can’t say anything. She is a wonderful mistress otherwise. Just because she is a bit batty, doesn’t mean a thing. She gives me her best dresses when she is done with them and treats me kindly. That one I wore the other night—the one you liked so well? Beautiful, wasn’t it?”
The man ran a hand down the maid’s hip and gripped her rear, pulling her against him. “Anything on—or off—you is.”
Telly giggled. The man ground his pelvis into hers and Telly’s breath caught.
“Is she still talking to that one—the man?”
“Yes, poor dear. She has held a tendre for him forever. And now she is convinced he is with her. I hope it doesn’t break her mind when he shows back up.”
The man grabbed a handful of the maid’s skirts, grinding against her again. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”
Valerian narrowed his eyes and memorized everything he could about the man.
“No? But she was always ranting about Rainewood this, and Rainewood that. And now she positively dotes on the imaginary man. When the real earl gets back from wherever he is, she won’t know what to do with the imaginary one.”
So the maid was oblivious. Duplicitous to her mistress by revealing her secrets, but unmindful of the dangerous type of information she was passing on.
“If that happens, you can use your ‘Gypsy’ ways to help her.”
Telly had the grace to at least bite her lip and look embarrassed. “You know I hate when you tease me about that. I had to say something, Roland. She is a wonderful mistress. I didn’t want her to dismiss me just because she is slightly mad. We all know it in the house. I just hope that she marries well. The uppers have long histories of madness. She’ll blend right in.”
Valerian gritted his teeth. Abigail’s one support, and even she was false.
“Oh, I’m sure your mistress will be fine.”
“I do hope so. I think I can talk her out of leaving tonight.”
“Good, you do that, sweetheart. You want her to stay safe, don’t you? Don’t want the poor dear wandering around the streets.”
“No!”
“Good girl. Then keep her inside tonight. O’Malley’s isn’t in a terrible section of town, but you’d have no idea what you were getting into. Better to stay safe.” He tweaked her breast. “She still wants to go to O’Malley’s, yes?”
