that you are growing senile."
Ufton drew himself up and contrived to appear mortally
offended. I assure you, sir, I do not jest. Indeed, I never jest. You
should know that. You have told me often enough that I have
absolutely no sense of humor."
Damnation, man, I haven't got a sister Matthias broke off
abruptly. He stared at Ufton. Bloody hell. You cannot mean my
half sister?"
Lady Patricia Marshall, sir." Ufton's eyes held a certain sympathy. And her companion, a Miss Grice." Reaching around
Matthias, he silently opened the library door.
Matthias went cold as he gazed into the firelit chamber. The
library was his sanctum sanctorum, his retreat, his lair. No one
should be in this room without his personal invitation.
Many found the chamber strange and oppressive with its
Zamarian decoration and exotic hues. Others thought it fascinating, although some said it made them uneasy. Matthias was not
concerned with the opinions of his visitors. The library had been
created to remind him of ancient Zamar.
Every time he walked into this room, he strode into another
world, a place where the long-lost past enveloped him and locked
out the present and the future. There, among the ghosts of an
ancient people, he could occasionally forget the ghosts of his own
past. He spent hours at a time in this chamber, engaged in the task
of unraveling the clues left by those who had inhabited mysterious
Zamar.
Years earlier Matthias had discovered that if he concentrated
sufficiently on the quest to understand ancient Zamar, he could
ignore the unanswerable need that seethed deep beneath the ice
inside him.
This chamber was a perfect replica of his most astounding
discovery, the great library he had found hidden in the labyrinth
beneath the ruins of the lost city.
Rich, heavily fringed hangings of Zamarian green and gold
were suspended from the ceiling. The floor was covered in match
ing carpet. Elaborately carved and gilded columns jutted out from
the walls of the room, giving the impression of an ancient colon
nade.
The bookcases were crammed with volumes of all shapes and
sizes. Greek, Latin, and other far more obscure texts filled their
pages. Inscribed clay tablets and documents written on rolls of a
material that resembled papyrus but had proved more durable
over the centuries were stacked on several shelves. Matthias had
brought the tablets and the scrolls out of the secret library as
though they had been fashioned of solid gold and priceless gems.
Indeed, their true value to him had been far higher than the glittering treasures Rutledge had craved.
Painted scenes of the ruins of Zamar decorated the walls
between the elaborate columns. Stone statues depicting Zamaris
and Anizamara loomed in opposite corners. The furniture was
ornamented with the dolphins and shells that were so prevalent in
Zamarian art.
Matthias walked slowly into the firelit chamber.
Two women, one young, one of middle years, sat stiffly on the
dolphin sofa in front of the hearth. They hovered close together,
evidently intimidated by their surroundings.
Both women were garbed in dusty traveling gowns. There was
an air of weariness and apprehension about them. Each gave a
start when Matthias entered the library, as if the time they had
spent waiting for him had unnerved them. The younger one
turned an anxious face toward Matthias.
He found himself looking into silvery-gray eyes that were
mirror images of his own. She would have been quite pretty if she
had not looked so desperate, he thought dispassionately. A classical nose and an elegant chin promised a hint of backbone beneath
the nervous expression. Her hair was somewhat lighter than his, a
dark brown hue that had no doubt come from her mother. She
was willowy and graceful. He was surprised to note that her gown
was somewhat worn and shabby.
This was Patricia, the half sister he had never met, never wanted
to meet. This was his father's other offspring, the beloved daugh
ter who had been wanted, adored, sheltered, and protected; the
babe whose mother had not been obliged to coerce her seducer
into marriage.
This was the daughter of the woman who had played her cards
far more cautiously than his own mother had played hers,
Matthias thought. The daughter of the paragon.
He came to a halt in the center of the library. Good evening. I
am Colchester. It's rather late. May I ask what brings you here?"
Matthias kept his voice very even. It was an old trick, one he had
developed before he was twenty and which had become a habit
over the years. It effectively concealed all emotion, all doubt, all
hope. It asked no quarter and it promised none.
Patricia was apparently struck speechless by his icy greeting.
She gazed at him with huge, frantic eyes, looking as if she were
about to burst into tears.
It was the older woman, the one with years of bitterness and
resignation etched into her face, who drew herself up and
regarded him with a degree of determination. My lord, I am Miss
Grice," she announced. I accompanied your sister on her journey
to London. She informed me that you would reimburse me for my
expenses and pay me a fee for my services as her companion."
Did she?" Matthias crossed the room to the brandy table. He
removed the top of the crystal decanter and deliberately poured
himself a healthy dose of the contents. And why does she not pay
you herself? My solicitor informs me that she is well provided for
according to the terms of my father's will."
I cannot pay her because I haven't got any money," Patricia
burst out. Every time my quarterly allowance arrives, my uncle
takes it all and spends it on his hounds and his horses and his
gaming. I was obliged to pawn my mother's necklace to purchase
a ticket on the stage."
Matthias paused with the glass halfway to his mouth. Your
uncle?" He recalled the name his solicitor had mentioned.
Someone on her mother's side. That would be Poole?"
Yes. He is in charge of my inheritance and he is stealing it. Last
year Mama and Papa gave me my first Season. Mama said I was
to have another this year, but my uncle refuses to pay for it. I real
ize that he does not want me to marry and thereby escape his
household. As long as I am forced to live in his home, he will have
control of my money. I have been trapped in Devon since my dear
parents died."
Trapped? That sounds something of an exaggeration," Matthias
muttered.
It's the truth." Patricia snatched a hankie from her reticule and
began to sob into the little square of linen. When I protest my
uncle's treatment of me, he laughs. He tells me that he deserves
the money because he was the only one who was willing to give
me a home after Mama and Papa died. He reminds me that you
want nothing to do with me, my lord. I know that is true, but now
I must throw myself on yo
ur mercy."
At the sight of her tears, bleak memories howled across
Matthias's soul. He hated tears in a woman. They never failed to
bring back those occasions on which he had been expected to deal
with his mother's periodic bouts of weeping. He had always felt
helpless to comfort her and at the same time consumed by rage
because his father had walked out and left him to handle the situ
ation.
I shall have my solicitor look into the matter of your finances."
Matthias downed a large swallow of the brandy and waited for the
heat of it to warm him. Something can be worked out."
It will do no good. My lord, I beg you, do not send me back to
my uncle's house." Patricia clenched her hands in her lap. You do
not know what it is like there. I cannot go back. I'm afraid, my
lord."
Of what, for God's sake?" Matthias narrowed his eyes as an
unpalatable thought occurred to him. Your uncle?"
Patricia shook her head quickly. No, my lord. He ignores me for
the most part. He is interested only in my inheritance. But two
months ago my cousin Nevil came to stay with us after he was sent
down from Oxford." She lowered her gaze to her tightly clasped
hands. He frightens me, sir. He is always watching me."
Matthias scowled. Watching you? What the devil are you talk
ing about?"
Miss Grice cleared her throat and fixed him with a steely gaze.
I trust you can hazard a guess, my lord. You are a man of the
world. Think of it. A young man with a distinctly unsavory reputation moves into the household. The young lady of the house
does not feel well protected from unwanted advances. I'm sure
that there is no need to go into details. I myself was in a similar
situation at one time in my younger days. Very difficult."
I see." Matthias rested an arm along the black marble mantel
and tried to marshal his thoughts. Surely you must have other
relatives, Patricia? Someone else on your mother's side?"
No one else who will take me in, sir."
Matthias drummed his fingers on the cool marble. Something
can be arranged." He looked at Miss Grice, seeking inspiration.
Lady Patricia informs me that you are her brother, my lord,"
Miss Grice said as if that summed up the entire matter. You will,
of course, want to provide her with a proper home." She glanced
around dubiously at her surroundings.
Matthias could read the woman's thoughts as clearly as if she
spoke aloud. Miss Grice was not at all certain that this household
constituted a proper home.
Patricia ignored the fantastical room. She watched Matthias
with the sort of hope that only the young and the naive can
successfully conjure. Please, my lord. I throw myself on your
mercy. I beseech you not to toss me out into the streets. Papa told
me that you promised him you would give me a home if it became
necessary."
Bloody hell," Matthias said.
There be a gentleman to see ye, Miss Waterstone."
Imogen looked up quickly from the copy of the Zamarian
Review she was reading. misses Vine, the housekeeper, who also
happened to be the landlord, hovered in the doorway of the draw
ing room. The gentleman she referred to must be Vanneck. The
rumors must have reached him quickly, just as she had hoped. But
now that the moment was upon her, she felt fear flash through her
veins. She suddenly wished that Matthias were with her.
Nonsense, she told herself in the next instant. This was her
scheme. She was in command and she was responsible for making
it work properly. Matthias had warned her that he was not a man
of action.
Slowly she put down the Review. Send him in, misses Vine. And
then please inform my aunt that we have company."
Aye, madam." Mrs Vine was a tall, dour woman of indeterminate years. She nodded in a long-suffering fashion, as though the
task of ushering a guest into the parlor was a great imposition.
It seemed to Imogen that misses Vine's position as both landlord
and housekeeper gave her a distinctly skewed view of the proper
relationship between herself and her tenants.
Footsteps sounded in the hall. Imogen braced herself. This first
encounter with Vanneck was critical to the success of her plans.
She must keep her wits about her. Once again she thought wist
fully of Matthias. He might not be the adventurous sort, but he
was extremely clever. He would prove a useful ally in a situation
such as this.
misses Vine reappeared in the doorway, looking more put upon
than ever. Mister Alastair Drake to see you, ma'am."
Alastair." Imogen leaped to her feet so quickly that she
knocked over her teacup. Fortunately the cup was empty. It
bounced harmlessly on the carpet. I was not expecting you," she
said as she stooped to pick up the cup. Please, sit down." She
straightened quickly, set the cup back in the saucer, and
summoned up a smile for the handsome man in the doorway. Old,
wistful memories tumbled through her mind.
Good day, Imogen." A slow smile curved Alastair's sensual
mouth. It's been a long while, has it not?"
Yes, it has." She stared at him, searching for any changes the
past three years had made.
If anything, Alastair was more attractive than she remembered.
He was nearly thirty now, she realized. Experience had rendered
his face more interesting. His light brown hair was cut short and
crimped in the latest fashion. His blue eyes still held that beguiling expression that was a combination of little-boy-lost and man
of-the-world. Lucy had once told him it was his most charming
quality.
Alastair sauntered into the room. Sorry to surprise you. Were
you anticipating a visit from someone more interesting perhaps?
Colchester, for example? I hear that he fastened himself on to you
last night at the Blunts" ball."
Don't be ridiculous." Imogen gave him what she hoped was a
bright, convincing smile. I was startled to see you because my
housekeeper did not mention the identity of my caller. Would you
care for tea?"
Thank you." Alastair studied her from beneath his lashes. I can
well comprehend that after the unfortunate manner in which we
parted three years ago, you have no reason to greet me with any
warmth today."
Nonsense, sir. I am delighted to see you again." Now that she
had recovered from her initial shock, Imogen was pleased to feel
her pulse slow to a more normal rate.
Lucy had once remarked that Alastair was the good-natured
older brother every woman wished she had. Imogen had never
seen him as a brother, however. He had drifted into Lucy's social
sphere three years earlier when the pair had met at a meeting of
the Zamarian Society. When Imogen had arrived in Town to visit,
Lucy had introduced her to Alastair. The three of them had
become inseparable.
Alastair had been welcome initially because he could be
counted upon to serve as an escort. Vanneck was rarely available
to take Lucy and Imogen about in the evenings. He pref
erred to
spend his time at his club or with his mistress. Lucy had confided
to Imogen that she was grateful that her husband spent his time
with another woman. She had dreaded the nights that he came to
her bedchamber.
More memories washed through Imogen. There was a time
when she had thought that Alastair might be falling in love with
her. He had kissed her as if she were made of fragile silk.
There had been only a handful of such embraces, most of them
stolen in dark gardens or on shadowed terraces during the course
of a soiree or ball. Imogen had quite enjoyed them. Alastair had
not been as good at that sort of thing as Philippe D'Artois, her
dancing instructor, but then, Philippe was French. Not that the
comparison mattered now, she thought. The frail ghosts of the
kisses she had received from both men had been well and truly
incinerated a few days before in the blaze of Matthias's fiery
embrace.
Although she was unable to summon up more than the tattered
remnants of the warm feelings she'd once had for Alastair, she
could not help but note that he looked very fine. His coat and
trousers were expertly cut and his cravat was folded in the stylish
manner she thought she recognized as the Waterfall. His blue
waistcoat complemented his eyes. Alastair had always been in the
first stare of fashion.
I could scarcely believe my ears when I learned that you were
in Town, Imogen." Alastair took the cup and saucer from her. His
eyes were eloquent. It's good to see you again, my dear. My God,
how I have missed you."
Indeed." Imogen had a sudden vivid recollection of the shock
and outrage that had marked his face the night he had discovered
her with Vanneck. Alastair had never given her a chance to
explain. I have certainly missed Lucy."
Ah, yes. Poor Lucy." Alastair shook his head. Such a sad situation. I often think about the wonderful times the three of us
shared together." He paused meaningfully. But I must confess, my
fondest memories are of you, Imogen."
Really?" She took a breath. Then why did you never write, sir?
I had rather hoped to hear from you after Lucy's funeral. I
thought that we were friends, at least."
Friends?" His voice abruptly hardened. We were more than
friends. I shall be perfectly honest with you, Imogen. After the
incident, I could not bear to reopen the wounds."
Amanda Quick - Mischief.txt Page 10
