His mouth moved against hers, his tongue parting her lips. Evelina’s knees were melting. In a moment, she’d sag against him, helpless and pliable as putty. She was losing. This was how reason drowned in the arms of a pretty young man. A moment’s weakness, and she had forgotten everything: her caution, his half-truths, and—oh, yes—a killer in their midst.
Evelina backed away, nearly crashing into the clock. Her heart was pounding almost painfully hard. “You’re Imogen’s brother. You can’t be more than that to me, and you know it.”
His brows bunched with irritation. “Why not?”
She cleared her throat, forcing herself to feel the floor under her feet instead of billowing clouds of wishful thinking. “You’re not a man I can marry, and I’m not a woman who can afford to take a lover.”
Her frankness clearly startled him. “Why can’t we marry? You’re not a nobody, Evelina. You’re being presented. You’re getting a Season.”
Her mouth twisted, hating that she had to explain. “Don’t toy with me. Your father would never countenance it. He has ambitions for your family, and you’re his heir. I’m neither rich nor titled.”
Now he looked angry. “So?”
A flash of temper rescued her. “I’m not a tart, either. I can’t afford you, Tobias.”
The look he gave was filled with hurt confusion. Apparently the great oaf had never thought any of this through. And his eyes smoked with need. It was plain on his face: Tobias Roth had just realized he wanted her, quite possibly because she’d just said no.
Oh, dear God. This was far too complicated. Evelina stepped around him cautiously, careful that not even her skirts brushed his leg.
“Evelina?” The one-word query held volumes of other questions.
“Good night, Tobias,” she said quickly, and fled to her room. She’d completely forgotten to ask him about the automatons.
Chapter Fifteen
London, April 7,1888
HILLIARD HOUSE
1:30 p.m. Saturday
Despite the clock’s dire predictions, there wasn’t a storm cloud in the sky. At least, not the literal kind. The walled garden behind Hilliard House sheltered the genteel gaiety of Lady Bancroft’s birthday party. And although the April wind was still cool, bright sun and puffs of flowering cherry and plum trees made up for the sometimes brisk air.
Tobias looked wistfully at the table where the guests were served brandy and soda, and accepted a cup of tea instead. Spirituous liquors would help his mood but not his etiquette, and that sort of thing mattered to his mother.
The weather was perfection. Servants had moved the dining table and second-best Turkey carpets onto the lawn, so the ladies’ kid slippers remained free of grass stains. An automatic samovar puffed dainty gusts of steam as it brewed individual cups of tea, dispensing razor-thin slices of lemon when one pushed the correct cloisonné knob. A small wind ensemble occupied one corner, spinning out Mozart divertimenti like so much musical frosting.
One would never have known a servant had been slaughtered just nights ago, and only a dozen yards away. Tobias couldn’t drive the shadow of Grace Child from his soul. It seemed to cling to every bonnet, every macaroon, making the frothy cheer of the party feel obscene. The only thing worse was pretending that it had never happened—but his father had threatened to sack any of the help who breathed a word of it.
Grace’s eyes had been lovely. They were the only part of her face Tobias really remembered. He hadn’t even stopped to take a proper look at her. Not at first. He’d been thinking about the idiot prank he’d pulled at the Charlotte, and whether he’d be caught.
He took a swallow of the tea and nodded and smiled at the pretty copper-haired girl someone had introduced as the Gold King’s daughter. He thought he might have met her before. What was her name? Alice? Did he care? Whatever the case, he gave her the full force of his insincere charm. She dimpled sweetly, reminding him of an insipid china doll.
She wasn’t Evelina. No, don’t think about that. Even the memory of the debacle by the clock made him cringe. Seduce her, said his father. Somehow, in the moment, she had seduced him instead—and then slapped him in the face.
But he had his pick of women, and he knew himself too well. He was fickle. He was over Evelina now.
Unfortunately, the idea of wooing her in earnest came and went like a fever. One of those nasty recurring ones. Ten minutes hence, he might be shaking with the dread sickness again. Only keeping his distance from her seemed to make things easier. He never stayed in lust long—at least that fact gave him something to hope for.
Unless he really meant to lay his heart at her feet? Tobias pondered for a moment. His father would hate it, which was a plus, but he actually cared about Evelina. He worried about her safety. He might be a bit of a rake, but he wasn’t without some scruples. Still, what could a bit of dalliance hurt?
Maybe more than he had assumed. She was more than some demimondaine who knew the rules of the game better than he did. Those women never raised the question of marriage. She’d slapped it down before him like a gauntlet.
And what exactly had Evelina meant when she said she couldn’t afford him? That made him sound like an overpriced pair of shoes. Just admit it. She showed you how confused you are. You’re a callous idiot and don’t really know what you want.
He strolled through the crowd, nodding and smiling and utterly revolted with himself. The only thing he’d done right was keep Grace’s secret. The word about the baby was out—there was nothing he could do about that—but not about her involvement in some sort of shady activity. It helped that his job was to keep Evelina from investigating, because he’d been able to keep his conversation with Grace private.
Nevertheless, if it hadn’t been for the squid business—and he didn’t want to trust his alibi at the brothel until he absolutely had to—he wasn’t sure he’d have kept Grace’s fears from the police. The longer he thought about his exchange with the maid, the more uneasy he became. The safety of the family was paramount, but he wasn’t sure that silence was the best way to get it, whatever the pater said. Nevertheless, his father had a lot more experience of the world and had spent decades striking deals with emperors and kings. All Tobias knew was how to get a good table at a fashionable restaurant.
“A fine occasion,” said Bucky, appearing at Tobias’s elbow. He had a generous plate of food: lobster salad, foie gras, salmon in green sauce, and a little paper cup of ice cream that was quickly melting into a puddle. “Your sister looks radiant.”
“Eh?” Tobias looked for Imogen, a little puzzled by the statement. Imogen looked like Imogen. She was fluttering around the row of chairs set in the shade, making a fuss over the dowagers no one else wanted to talk to.
“Your sister. London must agree with her.”
Tobias gave a halfhearted shrug. “It’s the prospect of buying nine and twenty dresses for her Season. That sort of thing puts a sparkle in a girl’s eye.”
Bucky speared an olive with his fork. “And no doubt this blazing insight arises from extensive discourse with the fair sex?”
“My observation, or shall we say interrogation, of any woman’s wardrobe has little to do with shopping.”
Bucky rolled his eyes heavenward. “So which was most informative, petticoats or knickers?”
“Both were most unreliable witnesses. They came undone beneath the slightest pressure.”
Bucky dropped his voice. “One would have thought they’d keep their lips fastened. Or perhaps that’s the girl I’m thinking of. Or perhaps I’m thinking of the wrong lips.”
Tobias opened his mouth, closed it, and cast about for a change of subject before the conversation could get any more disgraceful. Most of the time, he found innuendo amusing, but not now. Today, he felt weirdly prim.
“Did you hear they’re betting on the Reynolds trial?” Bucky asked, his merriment fading a degree.
“Who hasn’t?”
They’d both known the woman from parties—not we
ll, but enough to be shocked by the charges. Nellie Reynolds was a queen of the demimonde, a bastard daughter of some highborn lord. She was striking more than beautiful, but possessed of a resonant voice that captured one’s heart and wrung it without mercy.
“I heard she’s got a lawyer,” Bucky said. “A good one. He’s going to plead the evidence they found was all for the theater. Magic for entertainment purposes is allowed. Card readers and astrologers are exempt, so why not allow someone to own a crystal ball, if its only use is for play acting?”
“The whole thing is too macabre for me.”
“An anonymous donor is paying for a defense.” Bucky shifted uneasily. “Someone is brave, to go against opinion like that.”
They both stood silent a moment, sharing uneasy thoughts. The wish to rebel was easy. Facing the reality of it was something else. Eventually, Bucky saw someone he knew and hurried away.
Abandoning his teacup on the table, Tobias worked his way through the crowd to where his mother was accepting birthday wishes. Her pale gray and pink gown was accompanied by a tiny hat crowned in curling feathers. Lady Bancroft was tall and slender, but her fair hair and pale skin seemed faded, like a painting left too long in the full glare of the sun—or perhaps in the glare of her husband.
“Dear Mama, happy birthday.” He bent and kissed her cheek.
“Tobias.” Her hand automatically touched his face—a maternal gesture she’d never quite surrendered.
“My congratulations on the party. You always put these affairs together with such exquisite taste.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “After so long in the service of your father, it becomes second nature.”
Tobias met her pale blue gaze, experiencing a slight twinge of apprehension. “I have a birthday gift for you.”
When finding a present for his mother, Tobias faced an age-old problem. She never complained about what he gave her, and never seemed to favor one year’s offering more than any other. It made it hard to tell which ones had truly hit the mark.
He pulled a small parcel from his jacket pocket and placed it in his mother’s lace-gloved hands. Then he watched for her reaction as she unwrapped the blue tissue paper with agonizing care. Inside was a delicate silver brooch shaped like a butterfly.
“How lovely!” she said, tilting to examine the garnets and pearls set into the wings.
Tobias reached down, pressing a tiny button on the butterfly’s body. The wings began to slowly fan. He pressed it again, and a soft, silvery chime rang as the creature moved. His mother’s lips parted in wonder, and she smiled. It was a wonderful smile—a real one that warmed him from the heart outward.
“You made this, didn’t you? It’s so delicate,” she murmured. “And so clever.”
“I had a jeweler set the stones,” he said, struggling to sound nonchalant.
“You’re as brilliant as your father was when he was your age.”
The words seemed to catch in her throat, and the smile stopped. Tobias scanned her face, wanting to bring back that instant of rare, genuine pleasure. Somehow, in his infinite genius, he had managed to please her and stir an unpleasant thought at the same time. There were days when he marveled at his own ineptitude.
“Thank you so much, darling.” She put her hand to his face again, the pleasant, impersonal mask of Ambassador’s Wife firmly back in place. “Help me put it on. I want to wear it right away.”
Obediently, he pinned the brooch to her shawl and accepted a kiss to his cheek. He wondered how many hours he had to remain sober.
Too many. His father was advancing, shirt so crisp beneath his cutaway coat it made one’s eyes water. A violent urge to flee seized Tobias, but with the eerie telepathy of mothers, Lady Bancroft took his hand. Lord Bancroft gave him a cool look and turned to his wife.
“My dear, you look lovely as always.” He lifted her free hand, kissing the air just above it. “Felicitations of the day.”
“Thank you, Lord Bancroft. I hope the arrangements meet your expectations.”
His father gave a perfunctory smile. “It’s a shame the prime minister couldn’t attend, but I had a very satisfactory discussion with the ministerial liaison to the Steam Council.”
“I’m pleased to hear it, my lord.”
Tobias clenched his teeth. Of course his mother’s birthday party would be used to further his father’s social connections. That was the way the world worked. But it still bothered him.
“What’s this?” Lord Bancroft indicated the fanning butterfly.
Her hand cupped it protectively. “A gift from Tobias.”
He shot his son a contemptuous look. “I would have thought you had outgrown your artisan phase.”
Tobias heard his mother’s indrawn breath, but knew she would not contradict her husband. She was too proper to even address him by his first name in public. Instead, she gently squeezed Tobias’s hand, offering covert sympathy. He returned the pressure and then took a step away. Otherwise, it felt too much like he was a child again, hiding behind his mother’s skirts.
“I’m still fascinated by the possibilities of the imagination,” he said to his father, keeping his tone reasonable. “Not just the possibilities, but how many of them I can manifest.”
His father’s tone was low, but held the sting of acid. “Better if you manifested a career.”
“Perhaps I shall invent something that will make me a wealthy man.”
“Then you would do well to raise your sights above butterflies.”
“But it is merely a gift!” his mother interjected.
Both Tobias and his father stared at her. She had never, as long as Tobias could recall, intervened in one of these debates.
“What did you say?” Lord Bancroft demanded.
The moment hung in the sunny garden. At the other end of the lawn, someone smacked a croquet ball. Lady Bancroft looked away, hiding her face. Casually, as if merely moving to keep the sun out of his eyes, Tobias put himself bodily between his parents.
His father’s displeasure radiated like the blast from a furnace. “I’ve given you my opinion of your tinkering. It’s not an acceptable pastime any longer. Not with men like Jasper Keating, and their opinions count. You attract the wrong kind of attention to this house.”
“I have talent. How can that bring anything negative?”
“Unless you intend to mend pots for a living, you had best find other pursuits.”
“You were good with your hands once, too.” Tobias turned his head to look his father full in the face.
But Bancroft looked more drawn than angry. “This is no time to mock me.”
Tobias frowned. “I don’t understand.”
With a derisive huff of breath, his father stalked away. By the time he reached the drinks table, he appeared to be his smooth, urbane self once more. From what Tobias could see, whisky always improved Lord Bancroft’s mood. But once he had refreshment, he wasted no time in moving to the far end of the property, away from his son.
Tobias stuffed his hands into his pockets, and then turned to his mother. “At risk of repeating myself, I don’t understand.”
Lady Bancroft gave him a searching look. “Perhaps that is for the best.”
“He did wonderful work. He made that machine that cut out those pastries you like. And do you remember those odd dolls he made for Imogen and Anna?” As a child, he’d thought them hideous and frightening, but now he could appreciate the skill it had taken to make them.
His mother shuddered. “Ugh. Don’t mention those automatons. Those were what made him give it all up.”
Tobias just had time to wonder about that before they were interrupted by a tall man wearing an elegantly cut dark suit.
“Forgive my intrusion,” the man said, sweeping off his top hat to make an extravagant bow to Lady Bancroft. “Madam, I come to pay my respects.”
Everything about the man was foreign, from his looks to his accent to his presumption that he could address a respectable woman without pro
per introduction.
“Who are you, sir?” Tobias demanded.
His mother answered with a laugh. “Why, this is Dr. Symeon Magnus. It has been far too long. You have not aged a day. You must tell me your secret.”
Tobias looked on in astonishment. Now that they’d been introduced, he recognized him, but only vaguely. His childhood memories were jumbled at best.
When Magnus bowed a second time, Lady Bancroft offered her hand. He lifted it to his lips in such a way that it brought color to her pale cheeks. Whoever he was, the man was smooth.
“This is such a pleasant surprise. Have you been in England long?” she asked.
“Not so long,” he replied easily. “Rest assured that I would not delay the pleasure of renewing our acquaintance, my lady.”
“Do you remember my son, Tobias?”
“Indeed, but he is now grown, I see.”
As they exchanged a nod, Tobias catalogued the man’s features. His dark, saturnine face was set off by a neatly trimmed goatee and mustache. His hair was too long for English fashion, but was thick and dark. From the quality of his dress and the fine silver carving on his walking stick, he was very well off.
“What an exquisite ornament.” Lord Magus indicated the butterfly brooch. “It operates on a spring, I assume?”
“Yes, it does.” He’d had enough of the man smiling at his mother. “What brings you to our fair country?”
“There is something here that I seek.” Dr. Magnus leaned both hands on the head of his cane, studying Tobias like a piece of prized horseflesh. “And if what I hear is true, I have come to see you.”
A jolt of surprise raised his hackles. “What business have you with me?”
The man grinned, teeth white in his dark face. “Allow me to render you pleasantly astonished.”
“How can I refuse such an offer?”
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