The Moonstone and Miss Jones

by Jillian Stone

  She nodded, eyes wide. “I cry at the drop of a hat—it’s . . .” Drat! She blinked back tears.

  “It’s natural.” He patted her hand.

  She exhaled a deep sigh. “He has five more days.”

  Exeter laughed. “I doubt that he will need more, but if he does—do give him a few more.” He dipped his head and winked. “I know an excellent midwife—very experienced and decidedly more skilled than the average doctor at birthing. If you’d like, I will be there to administer a bit of ether. Not too much but enough to ease your pain.”

  America was suddenly overcome by his kindness. She threw her arms around him. “Thank you, thank you,” she blinked through the tears. “I know, in his heart, Phaeton will be pleased.”

  “It is a gift to be present at the birth of a new life.” He opened a pocket square and dabbed her eyes. “Shall I ring for something? Mr. Tandi makes a sweet tea with hot milk, cinnamon, and clove.”

  “Sounds lovely,” America sniffed.

  Ever the consummate host, Exeter ordered the special tea and a brandy for himself. The moment the servant closed the door, he returned to her. “Might you be feeling well enough for a consult?”

  “Of course,” she said. There was a storm brewing behind the doctor’s intense green eyes. “Phaeton and I have both noticed that you are not yourself. Something is troubling you, Jason.”

  Another deathly quiet silence permeated the room. “Mia has recently experienced some frightening episodes. Quite extraordinary really.” His brows furrowed. “Has she mentioned them to you?”

  America shook her head. “Mia and I have yet to speak privately. Whatever you can tell me tonight might prove useful, should she bring me into her confidence.”

  Exeter nodded. “The day after the Moonstone was taken, I received a wire from the chaperone of Mia’s boardinghouse stating that she had been found unconscious between the campus and the house—and asking how soon I could come fetch her.”

  He continued. “Of course I caught the first train to Oxford, and was at the residence by late morning. By the time I arrived, Mia was recovered—but far from normal. Immediately I suspected there was more to the tale than was being presented to me.”

  America frowned. “No doubt the boardinghouse chaperone didn’t wish to be blamed.”

  “Mia wasn’t very forthcoming, either.” The muscle in his jaw clenched. “Eventually I got most of the story. She was walking home from a musicale, and got separated from her peers. Not clear exactly how that happened. Apparently the area was densely wooded, and she became frightened and started to run—she said she fell down and the next thing she remembered was waking up. Someone—one of her friends from school—found her and helped her back into the boardinghouse. Rightly, they wired to tell me about the incident.”

  “But they didn’t just inform you of an accident, they asked that you come fetch her.”

  Exeter’s eyes narrowed. “There were dark circles under Mia’s eyes. She appeared to suffer from exhaustion—her speech was confused, and she was unable to focus her thoughts. I administered a sedative and once she was asleep, I questioned a few more of her friends, who were slightly more forthcoming.”

  A gentle rap on the door brought Mr. Tandi into the room. He placed a tray beside the settee with the doctor’s brandy and her tea. “There is more warm milk and sugar should you desire it, Miss Jones.” The tall African man nodded a bow and slipped quietly out of the room.

  America sipped the tea. “Mmm, how delicious!”

  Exeter’s smile quickly disappeared. “Later that day, I met with the dean of the women’s study program, a Miss Margaret Twombly, who finally shared the alarming details. Mia was found in the woods unconscious, completely nude—her clothes were strewn about—some of them torn. At first they thought she might have been attacked by some sort of fiend, there were splotches of blood between her legs. By the way, she was found on her knees, down on all fours—in a kind of trance, but not unconscious.”

  “Frankly, the dean was concerned about hysteria, more specifically, Mia’s state of mind.”

  America nearly dropped her teacup. “But, Mia seemed perfectly herself at dinner this evening.”

  “She is restored, for the most part.” He shook his head. “But—there’s more to it than just one incident. These . . . odd behaviors started before she left for University.”

  America sipped more spicy tea. “What started?”

  “She kissed me.” Exeter was blushing, she was sure of it. And he certainly swallowed hard enough.

  She set the cup down. “More than a peck on the cheek?”

  “A great deal more.” Exeter’s eyes darted a bit. “And . . . I may have lost control for a moment.”

  “You returned her affection.”

  Exeter didn’t answer, instead he leapt to his feet. “I was greatly relieved when it was time for her to leave for University. It was my hope this adolescent infatuation would soon pass once she became absorbed in her studies.”

  America tucked herself farther back into her corner of the settee. “Confess all, Jason, or I’ll wheedle it out of your charge.”

  He waged his finger in the air. “That’s just it—she is my charge. I cannot . . . feel these . . . I must not . . .” Exeter stopped pacing long enough to connect with her gaze, which was riveted on him. She had never seen him in such a state. The even-tempered, unflappable doctor was . . . in emotional turmoil. There really was only one question she could think of to ask. “Do you love her?”

  “I have come to care deeply for Mia.” He appeared to struggle for breath, on the verge of some sort of attack of nerves. Still, he was not getting away with that answer.

  “Jason, not as your ward, but as a woman.” America narrowed her eyes. “Do you love her?”

  “I cannot answer such a question. I must not complicate matters for Mia right now. Not until I find out what is happening to her.”

  America leaned forward to pour a bit more tea. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Exeter paced the length of the Aubusson carpet and back. “Please don’t speak of it to anyone right now.”

  Admittedly, she did not know Exeter’s ward that well, the young lady was barely past her eighteenth birthday. She did recall a wonderful sense of humor and a carefree girlish manner— a bit precocious, but then what pretty, doted upon young woman of privilege would not be?

  “Valentine sensed something interesting about Mia this morning.” Deep in thought, America moistened her lips. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten exactly what she said.”

  “We’ll ask her to join.” Exeter dipped into the hallway and sent an upstairs maid down to fetch Valentine. Returning to the parlor, he took up a post at the hearth. “Mia was born in South Africa—the Transvaal. Her parents were both killed during the first Boar War. She and Mr. Tandi escaped to a neighboring farm. From there, they managed to make their way to the Cape colony and book passage on a merchant ship to England.”

  “We’re only distantly related by marriage. The de Roos baronage is the oldest in the realm. They must have known the name de Roos and when they arrived in London, they looked up my father. You met the Baron shortly before he died—despite his many indiscretions, he was good at heart. He took them both in, and within months they became . . . a part of the family.” Exeter rubbed his beard.

  America recalled a terribly disfigured Baron de Roos covered in bandages. A dying man who had committed terrible deeds, in fear for his mortal soul. And yet, as Exeter claimed, there had also been something gentle about his nature.

  A brief tap caused Exeter to pivot toward the door. “Please come in. ”

  Exeter’s pretty charge entered the room. “Ruby and Valentine are in the middle of a game.” Mia’s gaze quickly moved from America to Exeter. “This is about me, isn’t it, Om Asa?”

  Mia backed the door shut. “Valentine approached me after dinner this evening and asked me a number of intimate questions.” The color in the girl’s cheeks burned and she app
eared a bit wild-eyed.

  America was suddenly overcome by feelings of loneliness—it was purely intuitive, but she sensed Mia’s isolation and terror. “Come and sit by me.” She patted the seat of the settee. “Mr. Tandi made a spice tea, which is still warm.”

  She settled back and let the young woman sip the exotic brew. “Mia, if you were free from worry, about what people might think or say, or how they might judge you—how would you describe what is happening to you?”

  “Here at home, it always begins as a dream. In the dream my whole body feels alive, alert—every sense so magnified, so wonderful, I never want to wake up. I am drawn out of my bed, and into the garden where I can see and taste and smell the earth—it is as if all my senses are fully engaged at once, my body tingles all over—but it’s worse than a tingle because it doesn’t go away. It becomes something that makes we want to—” Mia stared at the tea leaves floating at the bottom of her cup. “The tingling grows so painful I claw at my nightgown.”

  America exchanged worried looks with the doctor.

  “I awoke in the garden last night. Valentine was there. She helped me up and returned me to my bedchamber.” Mia looked up at Exeter. “I know you worry for me.” Her eyes darted about the room. Her skin seemed paler than normal and the poor girl had a look of exhaustion about her. “That is why you asked for Valentine tonight. She knows what is happening to me, doesn’t she?”

  “You are a half-breed, Mia.” Valentine stood in the parlor entry. “You are part nocturnal creature, and you have just entered your womanhood.” The female Nightshade approached the doctor. “Mia is experiencing her first menorrhea.”

  “This is unusually late to begin menarche—I would have thought,” Exeter’s brows crashed together. “I’m very sorry Mia—I should have thought to ask years ago.”

  She raised her chin rather defiantly. America thought the flush on Mia’s cheeks gave her some lovely color. “Why ever would you think to ask, when you see me as a child?” Mia’s stare was rather cool, and wonderfully adult.

  Exeter’s return stare was less than parental.

  Mia shifted her gaze away and spoke to the women surrounding her. “At first I was frightened. I thought the blood between my legs meant I was ill . . .” The poor girl looked a bit mortified. “When I realized it was the monthly curse I was relieved.”

  Valentine took a seat close by. “I don’t believe I have ever encountered one of your kind. There are many kinds of demigods—or half-bloods. Most are gifted with extraordinary powers. Some are part animal, some demon—some angel. They come in various shapes and sizes—and you are all beautiful to look upon. Jersey is one. If you let him, he can be very helpful during this time of discovery.”

  Valentine leaned in close and took Mia’s hand. “Have you met your other half, as yet?”

  Mia’s sparkling dark eyes grew large and round. And green.

  Chapter Twenty

  BLOODY BLUE BOLLOCKS! All Phaeton could think about was his cock buried deep inside America. Preferably in a warm bed, but he wasn’t about to be choosey. He had stumbled home through an access portal near the Anchor Pub. His latest, best inkling—bitters. Interesting how many of these strange slipstreams between worlds were located in such close proximity to a pint of bitters. Or was it just that London had so many pubs?

  No matter, at the moment he was not inclined to think about anything other than his pursuit of carnal relief. According to Big Ben, it was near midnight. Just ahead, along the river, the professor materialized, and not long after, the two Nightshades. He assumed Ping moved in and out of these spatial anomalies with ease, perhaps even created his own. Ah, there he was, up on the bridge.

  They made their way across the Queen Street Bridge and waited for a hansom at a cab stand. Lovecraft continued to pester him endlessly about his conversation with Violet and the whereabouts of the Moonstone. “My impression is she is somewhat estranged from Georgiana and Fleury. I pressed the matter quite strongly with her—I expect to hear something soon.”

  “Did she mention names—locations—anything we could pursue?”

  “Rather hard to remember details with a lady’s derrière rubbing against one’s crotch.” Perhaps it was the lateness of the hour, but the professor’s eyes were particularly buggy this evening. “Need I remind you, Phaeton, time is running out.”

  “I understand. We appear to be on a collision course with a world that is unraveling as we speak. A crumbling, debilitated London that just might take our side down with it.” Phaeton exhaled, loudly. His pressing cockstand no doubt contributed to his lack of patience with Lovecraft. “I expect Gaspar knows the dangers better than any of us.”

  He wasn’t exactly sure why, but he had begun to feel a kinship with the bloody leader of the Gentleman Shades. He thought it might have a good deal to do with how Lovecraft was acting, as if he was entitled to the Moonstone. “Short of calling up the Metropolitan Police and the Horse Guards, which I wouldn’t recommend, we’re doing everything possible to recover the stone.”

  “This is a game that must be played by wits and stealth, not with an army of combatants,” Ping added.

  Phaeton studied Lovecraft. “What is going on with you, professor?”

  “Cutter.” Without taking his eyes off Phaeton, the professor called the Nightshade over. “Cutter served under my son—Lieutenant Alexander Lindsay Lovecraft. Please tell Mr. Black what was left of my son after the war.”

  Phaeton had no trouble reading Cutter’s expressions, despite his having only half a face. His bodyguard was clearly in distress. “Not much more than a torso—both legs and an arm taken out by cannon fire. They used shrapnel—nails, balls of lead—cut a swath through our men.”

  “The very best surgical doctors in London managed to repair my son’s internal injuries.” Lovecraft’s sly grimace was laced with grief as well as anger. “It’s been over seven years, and I have perfected the artificial appliances Lindsay will use to lead a reasonably normal life—but I need the Moonstone.”

  Cutter’s one good eye bulged, and his mechanical brow lifted. “Lindsay is alive?”

  “Like everyone else you assumed he wouldn’t last—and he nearly didn’t.”

  Right, Phaeton thought. The balmy professor was certifiably mad. Luckily a hansom pulled up. “Gentlemen, I’m headed off to a soft bed and warm woman.” Now it was his turn to eyeball Lovecraft. “We’ll take this back up in the afternoon.”

  Much to his relief, the ride to Mayfair was swift and silent. Mr. Tandi opened the door at 22 Half Moon Street. “Do come in gentlemen. The household is retired for the evening, but you are welcome to take a brandy in the study—or shall I show you to your rooms?”

  He led them through the foyer to a curve of stair. “Mr. Coppersmith and Captain Blood share a room on the fourth floor. I have placed a reasonably comfortable chair near Miss Jones’s bedchamber, as I am told she is always guarded—as is the doctor.” Exeter’s man ushered them upward. “I myself volunteered for first watch, this evening.”

  Halfway up the grand staircase, Phaeton paused. “Changed my mind about a good tumbler full of whiskey—would you be so kind, Mr. Tandi?”

  The manservant bowed a nod and slipped downstairs. Upstairs, Phaeton spotted the chair beside America’s room. Glancing back at the two Nightshades, he put a finger to his lips and stole inside the bedchamber. He took a moment to orient himself.

  Moonlight traced a faint pattern of window pane squares across the plush carpet. The pale glow illuminated a figure at the window. A tall, masculine silhouette stood just inside the French doors. Out on the balcony, Phaeton spied the shadow of a lithe and lovely figure of a young woman. Could it be America? And Doctor Exeter? A heaviness filled his chest and yet he crept forward.

  The ephemeral beauty approached Exeter slowly, in a sensuous, feline fashion. Her hand went to the shoulders of her nightgown. She slipped dainty sleeves off her shoulders and let the silk fall to her hips.

  Beautiful round globes.
Small and high set.

  Phaeton froze. Pretty as they were, those weren’t America’s breasts.

  He stole a quick glance at his surroundings. An elegant canopied bed, and a few tell-tale masculine furnishings. He had the wrong bedchamber. This was Exeter’s room. Phaeton’s eyes returned to the trysting couple. The beautiful creature reached out for the doctor’s hand, cupping his palm to her breast.

  “Mia.” Exeter spoke her name in whispered protest even though Phaeton was quite sure the doctor’s thumb stroked a nipple. Mia arched into Exeter and murmured the loveliest . . . most unusual love cry. Something between a moan and a deep, throaty purr.

  Placing one foot behind the other, he backed out of the bedchamber. He closed the door with a near silent click and turned around. His bodyguard held out a tumbler of whiskey. “Mr. Tandi left this for you.”

  Phaeton examined the paltry amount of whiskey left in the glass.

  Jersey slouched onto a side chair, and grinned. Phaeton had been slow to warm to the quiet leader of the Nightshades, but the man was growing on him. Phaeton knocked back the last half dram.

  Jersey nodded across the corridor. “She’s in there.”

  He found her curled up on a small settee, fast asleep. A book lay open in her hand. The booty rub at The Orchid Lounge had kept him half-hard for hours now. Phaeton shrugged out of his jacket and unbuttoned his waistcoat. For the past few hours all he could think about was the sight of America’s naked bottom writhing beneath him. Her moans of arousal from his cock rooted deep inside her.

  She awoke to the touch of his arms wrapping around her. “Open your eyes, Sleeping Beauty.” He brushed his lips over her throat as he removed the book from her hand.

  Her eyes opened, bright with mischief. “Am I in a waking dream?” Her somnolent, sensuous smile only increased his arousal. Phaeton slipped her nightgown off one shoulder. “A dream that has to do with you and me on that comfortable bed over there.”