by Jen Turano
“I sent off a note.”
“That might be best,” he whispered and then, for good measure, groaned.
Agatha was by his side in a heartbeat. “Zayne, what’s the matter?”
Not wanting to speak too much in case Agatha got suspicious, he let out another moan, dropped his head to the side, considered having his tongue loll out but then thought better of that, and settled for slumping into what he hoped would come across as a credible faint.
8
I must say, Agatha, having you spend every moment with Zayne has made my job incredibly easy. However—” Drusilla paused and took a sip of tea, setting her cup aside before she lowered her voice—“I don’t understand why you’re going along with his ruse of assuming the role of helpless invalid, especially since he’s been at it now for over three days.”
Agatha turned her attention to Zayne, who was still in bed, being thoroughly entertained at the moment by his five-year-old nephew, Ben, and eight-year-old niece, Piper, Hamilton and Eliza’s children. Ben was sprawled out next to Zayne’s new and lighter cast that Dr. Gessler had crafted just that morning, painting pictures on it, while Piper had her nose buried in a newspaper and was reading articles out loud to her uncle.
Zayne was getting better, of that there could be no debate, especially since he was now smiling more often than not, and mischief was almost constantly present in his eyes—mischief that was probably a direct result of his believing he was pulling off the great feat of convincing Agatha he was still occasionally at death’s door.
Turning back to Drusilla and keeping her voice no louder than a whisper, Agatha shrugged. “I’m not certain why I’m going along with it.”
“You enjoy his company—that’s why.”
“If you’ve already come to that conclusion, why bother asking?”
“I like to watch you squirm.”
“You’re a slightly peculiar lady, aren’t you?” Agatha asked.
Drusilla waved Agatha’s comment away. “Normal is completely overrated. But getting back to the topic of you and Zayne, may I hope you’ve been entertaining thoughts of embracing my matchmaking idea in regard to the two of you?”
Her first instinct was to flatly deny Drusilla’s question, but then Agatha permitted herself a brief second of honesty. She had enjoyed Zayne’s company over the past few days. He’d been charming, amusing, and just plain fun. They’d played chess for hours on end, engaged in game after game in an attempt to finally claim a decisive victory, but as of today, they were still evenly matched. She’d also sat by his side, holding his hand, while Dr. Gessler poked and prodded him, trying to figure out what was causing Zayne’s odd symptoms. The poking had finally stopped the day before, when Dr. Gessler pulled out an incredibly sharp-looking object from his bag. Zayne’s eyes had widened, he’d asked her to leave the room, and when Dr. Gessler finally left the house a few minutes later, trying valiantly not to laugh, it was clear there’d be no more incidents of poking.
When she’d asked him about the doctor’s diagnosis, Zayne had smiled an innocent smile, picked up the book they were currently reading out loud to each other—one that had a dastardly villain and a swooning heroine—and proceeded to ignore each and every question she threw at him regarding his health.
With every hour spent in Zayne’s company, she found herself drawn to him like a moth to a flame, her vow of remaining an independent and single lady slipping further and further from her mind with each passing day.
“Piper told me you found Zayne foaming at the mouth this morning.”
Shoving her disturbing thoughts aside, Agatha grinned. “I made the mistake of saying I was intending on going out for a short walk to get some air—disguised, of course—and the next thing I knew, he had a dribble of white froth coming out of the corner of his mouth.” Her grin widened. “He’d obviously taken a page right out of Matilda’s book and found himself some chalk, but unfortunately for him, Matilda had gotten a piece of his stash and slipped out from under the bed right as Zayne started gagging. His gagging was interrupted when Matilda let out a squeal, drawing our attention, and she just happened to have an identical trace of the exact same foam ringing her snout. That sight left him floundering for a good long moment.”
“What did he do after he finished floundering?”
“Tried to convince me Matilda had picked up the same ailment he was suffering from.”
“And yet here you are, still sitting in this chair hour after hour while he comes up with outrageous symptoms every other minute.” Drusilla nodded to Zayne, who was scribbling something into a journal he’d taken to keeping as Piper continued reading the paper to him. “He won’t be able to continue faking much longer though, which begs the question of what you’re going to do when your company isn’t demanded here.”
“I haven’t really thought about it.”
“Come now, Agatha, I’ve spent an entire year with you. Don’t think it escaped my notice that you mentioned going out for a walk and in disguise, no less. Where would you be walking to, I wonder, and surely you must realize you can’t go out alone?”
Fidgeting in her chair, Agatha blew out a breath. “Caught that, did you?”
Before Drusilla could reply, Matilda scampered into the room, hurried over to Agatha’s side and promptly sat down on Agatha’s feet. Leaning forward, Agatha gave her a good scratch.
“I take it Gloria has promised to refrain from serving H-A-M?” Drusilla asked dryly.
“She has, and she’s agreed not to serve L-A-M-B either. My mother, bless her heart, made the unfortunate choice of serving a rack of L-A-M-B for dinner yesterday, which had Matilda going on a rampage. Since my mother was inordinately fond of the oriental carpet Matilda chewed to pieces, she didn’t hesitate to have a servant plop Matilda into a carriage and cart the little dear over here.” Agatha smiled down at her pig. “Matilda’s been on her best behavior today, probably because she doesn’t want to be sent back to an overly dramatic household.”
“Because there’s no drama going on here,” Drusilla said with a pointed look in Zayne’s direction.
“The foaming at the mouth might have been rather dramatic, but as we’ve discussed before, his strange antics are just his way of trying to keep me out of trouble.”
“And you find that appealing, don’t you.”
“Perhaps.” Agatha sighed. “He can be irresistible when he puts his mind to it.”
“Who can be irresistible?”
Heat immediately traveled up her neck and settled on her face when she realized she’d forgotten to continue whispering. Waving a hand to cool herself, Agatha lifted her head and found Zayne watching her. “What was that?”
“I overheard you say something about someone being irresistible.”
“Oh, ah, well, Drusilla and I were talking about . . .”
“Mr. Blackheart,” Drusilla said.
Mouth gaping open, Agatha looked at Drusilla, who was calmly taking another sip of tea even as Zayne began sputtering.
“The two of you find Mr. Blackheart irresistible?”
“Oh, I don’t,” Drusilla said before she began drinking more tea.
Zayne turned his gaze on Agatha and quirked a brow.
“Don’t look at me,” was all she could think to respond. She glanced at Piper, who was watching her with a most unusual expression on her face, and decided a diversion was desperately needed. “What are you reading to your uncle, darling?”
Piper shook out the paper and disappeared behind it. “The society page.” She peeked over the edge. “I’ve just read that Mr. Jeffrey Murdock danced twice at a ball held by the Tattler family with Miss Georgiana Tattler.”
“Ah, Mr. Murdock’s still in town. Wonderful,” Zayne said before he scribbled something down in his journal. “I do miss his sister, but from what I’ve been told, Felicia and Grayson Sumner are enjoying life in England and are soon to add a new bundle of joy to their family.”
Agatha frowned. “Felicia’s expecting
?”
“That’s what Arabella told me when she came to visit. She also told me that’s the reason behind Felicia and Grayson’s not coming to New York this past summer,” Zayne said rather absently as he wrote something else in his journal.
“There sure are a lot of babies being born or about to be born these days,” Piper said with another odd look sent to Agatha. “Aunt Arabella seems to be getting bigger by the hour, but she doesn’t even care.”
“That’s because she’s so excited about the baby,” Agatha said with a smile.
“Don’t you ever want to have a baby?” Piper asked.
Zayne stopped writing and looked at Agatha right as Piper sent a not-so-subtle nod in his direction. And then she actually winked at Agatha.
It suddenly became crystal clear that Piper was following in her grandmother’s footsteps, and Drusilla’s as well, for that matter. The child had apparently decided that Agatha needed a rather hefty shove in Zayne’s direction. It was no wonder the little girl had been sending her strange looks, what with the mention of Mr. Blackheart and all that ridiculous irresistible business.
Piper had always been rather clear regarding the fact she longed for Agatha to join her family, but even though her feelings for Zayne had definitely grown stronger, he had given her absolutely no indication that he saw her as anything other than a friend.
“I suppose someday I’ll consider having a baby, Piper,” she finally settled on saying.
“And you’ll need a husband to make that happen, won’t you?” Zayne asked.
Her pulse began to flutter as she caught and held his gaze, but then he returned his attention to his journal and the fluttering came to an abrupt halt.
“Getting back to Mr. Murdock,” Zayne said with a nod to Piper. “Was there anything else mentioned about him and Miss Tattler?”
Looking slightly confused, Piper scanned the newspaper and shook her head. “No, he’s not mentioned again.”
“Hmm, that’s too bad.” Zayne added something else in his journal and lifted his head. “What other gentlemen were seen dancing with ladies at the ball?”
Piper returned to the paper, and as she read it, Agatha began to feel a touch of apprehension steal through her. Zayne was behaving more unusually than normal, and she truly had no idea what he was up to or why he seemed to be so interested in the eligible gentlemen dancing around the city at the moment. Granted, he’d spent a great deal of his time when family members had come to call—those being Hamilton, Eliza, Arabella, and Theodore—questioning them about society matters, but Agatha hadn’t realized until just now that many of his questions revolved around society gentlemen.
“This is unfortunate,” Drusilla whispered before she took another sip of tea and narrowed her eyes on Zayne.
“What’s unfortunate?”
“That some gentlemen are so obtuse, of course.”
“There you go again, explaining matters to my complete satisfaction.”
“I do believe I’ll need to take a vow right here and now to abandon all attempts at matchmaking in the future. It’s evidently way beyond my capabilities, and I apologize to you most profusely for putting thoughts into your head that would have been best not placed there.”
“What?”
Drusilla sighed. “Zayne, my dear, is an idiot, and you would be wise to remember that.”
Zayne tapped his pen against his journal, completely oblivious to the fact Drusilla had just called him an idiot, and said, “So in review, here’s what I make of this matter, Agatha. . . . You do find Mr. Blackheart slightly irresistible, but are hesitant to admit that out loud just yet, at least to me, but I can’t help but wonder what it is about him you find so appealing?”
Something unpleasant began to snake down her spine. “Are you taking notes about Mr. Blackheart and my feelings for the man?”
Zayne’s hand paused over the page. “Ah, so you do have feelings for him.”
“I never said that. In fact, if you’ll recall, I wasn’t the one who brought Mr. Blackheart into the whole irresistible conversation. That was Drusilla, and . . .” Agatha’s sputters came to an abrupt stop as her eyes widened and she turned to Drusilla, who was once again calmly sipping tea as if a huge disagreement, bordering on a real argument, wasn’t taking place right in front of her. “Why was it that you mentioned Mr. Blackheart when the conversation turned to matters of irresistibility?”
Drusilla choked on her tea, wheezed for a moment, finally caught her breath, and frowned. “I don’t particularly care to be brought into this conversation, dear.”
By the telltale stain of pink now covering Drusilla’s face, and not a color Agatha believed had come from the choking, it was clear the conversation really was making Drusilla uncomfortable, which meant that . . .
“Good heavens, I didn’t see that coming,” Agatha said, earning another bout of choking from Drusilla in the process.
“Didn’t see what coming?” Zayne demanded.
Agatha gave a breezy wave of her hand. “Nothing.”
“Fine, don’t tell me. But getting back to Mr. Blackheart and your feelings for the man—would you say these feelings developed while you traveled out west with him?”
“I don’t have feelings for the man, at least not the kind you’re insinuating,” Agatha said through gritted teeth. “And I haven’t even seen him since the day after the accident. He hasn’t bothered to send me an update regarding his investigation, and because of that obvious slight, I hardly find the gentleman irresistible at the moment.”
“Ah, so he’s not a very considerate gentleman.” Zayne returned his attention to his journal and began to write somewhat furiously.
“Mr. Blackheart is in the midst of an investigation, trying to discover who wants to kill me, so in all fairness to him, I don’t think consideration can actually be expected from him at the moment.”
“Hmm . . . interesting how quickly you excuse his behavior.” Zayne stopped writing and looked at her. “If I were a young lady, I’d find it quite charming that a gentleman was so determined to keep me safe.”
She’d thought it had been rather charming of Zayne to try his hand at keeping her safe, if through somewhat unorthodox means, but now he was being anything but charming. In fact, she was quickly coming to the conclusion he was plotting something dastardly in regard to her, but she hadn’t quite had the time to figure out exactly what that dastardliness was.
“You do realize that we’re currently engaged in a most nonsensical conversation, don’t you?” she asked, her temper beginning to simmer when he had the audacity to laugh.
“It’s a delightful conversation, and I find it rather enthralling. So tell me, what do you think of Mr. Jeffrey Murdock?”
“What?”
“Jeffrey Murdock. I wonder what you think of him.”
“I heard you the first time, but I have no understanding of what you’re really asking me.”
“Do you find him handsome?”
Agatha’s mouth gaped open again for a brief second before temper had it snapping shut. “He’s a lovely gentleman to look at, and I enjoyed my time tremendously with him when he escorted me to three balls after you left town. But, that has nothing to do with what you’re up to at the—”
“Jeffrey escorted you to three balls after I left town?”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Drusilla mumbled behind her hand as her eyes gleamed with what almost seemed to be satisfaction.
“No, we’re not,” Agatha said before she looked back to Zayne and found him once more writing in his journal. “I want to see what you’ve written.”
To her extreme annoyance, Zayne set aside his pen, shut his journal, and shoved it underneath his bottom, right before he smiled a rather strained smile and then let out a really loud moan.
He was back to his old tricks, but his moan evidently scared poor little Ben, who’d been completely absorbed with painting the cast. Ben sat straight up, scrambled off the bed, and stood looking at his uncle
with huge eyes, completely unaware that the paintbrush he was holding was dripping paint onto the expensive rug underneath his feet. “Did I do something to hurt you, Uncle Zayne?”
Rising from her chair after she scooted Matilda off her feet, Agatha hurried over to Ben, took the paintbrush away, set it on a table, and sent Zayne a glare. “You scared Ben.”
“I’m sorry, Ben,” Zayne said in a voice that was less than feeble. “I forgot you were on the bed, but I’m fine. Just had a quick jolt of pain hit my, er, arm, but it’s fine now.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your arm,” Piper pointed out as she set the paper aside, jumped out of the chair, and moved to stand by the bed. “Your leg’s the problem.”
“Hmm, so it is,” Zayne said cheerfully before he looked over Piper’s head and smiled. “Ah, look, there’s a footman at the door. What a fortuitous interruption. Do come in, my good man.”
The footman stepped into the room looking a little surprised—that surprise probably brought on because Zayne was beaming back at the man as if they’d been best friends for life. He stopped and made a small bow. “Excuse me for interrupting, Mr. Beckett, but I have a . . . ah . . . Well, I’m not sure what it is exactly, but it’s been delivered for you.” With that, the footman turned and waved toward the door. Another footman entered the room, pulling behind him one of the strangest-looking things on wheels Agatha had ever seen.
Walking over to stand beside it, she looked it over for a long moment and laughed. “Is this from Mrs. St. James?”
Nodding, the first footman held up a letter. “Mrs. St. James sent a note along with her apologies for not being able to deliver her invention to Mr. Beckett in person.” Walking over to Zayne, he gave him the note, turned, eyed the gift for a second, shuddered, and then beat a hasty retreat with the second footman following right behind him.
