Courting Magic: A Kat, Incorrigible Novella

by Burgis, Stephanie

  From the moment I returned to the Marquess’s side, just as the dessert course was coming to an end, I was poised and ready. While the couples around us dipped their final biscuits in the dregs of their sweet wine, and laughter rose in waves around the table, I nibbled on a handful of dry almonds and raisins with my gaze darting from side to side, ready to take in any disturbance or singularity, particularly near Mrs. Montrose’s end of the room.

  I would not be distracted from my duties any longer…even by the expression on my older sisters’ faces as I caught them both staring at me from the other end of the table, eyebrows raised in blatant incredulity.

  Hmm. Perhaps I did look a bit frightening for a supposedly social occasion.

  With an effort, I smoothed the scowl of concentration off my face and turned to face the Marquess for the first time since I’d returned. “We should talk,” I murmured. “Alexander—I mean, Mr. Harding—has made a discovery that—”

  “There you are!” Mr. Packenham bounded to my side like an overly exuberant wolfhound, his cheeks flushed and his cravat disordered. “I’ve come to claim my second dance!”

  “Already?” I winced, glancing around. It was true that a few couples were starting to rise from the table, but most diners were still seated, and the orchestra in the ballroom was still only warming up. “Perhaps…”

  “No time like the present!” he said. “Come, come, Miss Stephenson! I won’t be denied, you know! A promise is a promise!”

  His patronizing tone scraped against my skin like sandpaper, but I could feel Stepmama’s warning glare from across the room, and I knew better than to refuse.

  “Fine,” I said. “Perhaps we can discuss business while we wait for the music to begin.”

  “Business?” He brayed a laugh that made heads turn all around the table. “Dashed vulgar topic that, Miss Stephenson! I have better things to discuss with a lovely lady, if you know what I mean, haha!”

  Even the Marquess winced at that. “Packenham…” he began.

  “Enough!” Mr. Packenham seized my closest hand and yanked. “It’s my turn with the lady, Lanham.”

  There was only one thing that stopped me from yanking myself free and knocking him back a step for good measure. I was a lady—in public, at least—and what was more, I was under full view of the rest of the diners, at least a third of whom were watching us.

  If I ruined my own social début that spectacularly, my family would never, ever let me forget it.

  So I let Mr. Packenham pull me to my feet, even as repulsion made my back teeth grind together, and I forced a smile on my face. “Perhaps his lordship could join us until the dancing does begin?” I said. “There are important matters I should pass on to you both.”

  “Of course,” said Lord Lanham immediately, and pushed his chair back to rise to his feet.

  But I should have known better. “Nonsense,” said Mr. Packenham, and shoved the Marquess back down into his seat with a firm hand. “Find your own dance partner, Lanham. You can’t steal mine.” He started toward the ballroom, moving so quickly I had to nearly run to keep up with him.

  The stench of his breath made me fall back again.

  “I can’t believe it!” I whispered. “You are actually foxed. On a mission!”

  “Oh, Lord. If I never got foxed on a mission, when would I have a chance at all?” He snorted as he strode forward, pulling me along with him. “It’s not as if we’re given many holidays, are we? Oh, no. Born to duty, born to aggravation, that’s life in the Order, ain’t it?”

  The brightly lit ballroom was already filling up with clumps of people. So I kept my voice to a low mutter as I replied, “You can’t have been brought up to think that way. If one of your parents is a Guardian—”

  “Oh, my parents.” He rolled his eyes as if I’d just proven myself an utter idiot. “As if my father didn’t do enough harm to me, he had to pass on a life’s sentence, too. My older brother gets the barony and the money, and all the others get the fun. Not me. I was a Guardian, so I had to be serious and hard-working, just like Father. I was the only one who could never…” He snapped his jaw shut, suddenly turning a suspicious glare on me. “Now see here, what exactly are you trying to get out of me, Miss Stephenson?”

  I groaned. “Nothing. Trust me. Absolutely nothing.” If I’d ever seriously considered consulting Mr. Packenham on the details of our mission, that possibility was long gone.

  Worse yet, some second sense made me glance around at that moment. Alexander was standing on the other end of the ballroom, his eyes narrowed and focused with lethal-looking intent on my companion.

  I wanted to give him a good glare in return—of all the people in the world, and especially after our conversation in the garden, he should have known better than to think he had to defend my honor against such a fool.

  But when his eyes met mine, for the barest fraction of a second, I felt as if I’d been burned. I jerked away, my face heating.

  Memories flooded my body. His hands on my back, pressing me as close as a second skin… His mouth against mine… My hands…

  When I looked back a moment later, he was gone.

  Well. I took a deep breath, fighting to steady myself.

  It was probably for the best.

  I certainly wasn’t going to let anyone see me yearning after him like a lovesick idiot. Not in public, not in front of the whole ballroom and the odious Mr. Packenham—even if my loutish partner was blatantly signaling another woman across the room even now.

  Wait a moment. I blinked hard.

  I knew that woman. I’d been keeping a covert eye on her throughout the dessert course, after all, watching her every move for suspicious intent. She’d been laughing and chatting the whole time, but no longer. Now, she was giving my dance partner a fiercely disapproving scowl.

  I knew exactly that sort of scowl by heart. I’d seen it from my older sisters more times than I could count. And her hair was very nearly the same shade as Mr. Packenham’s.

  Of course, her eyes were a much deeper blue than his…but then, that wasn’t her real eye color, was it? Or, for that matter, her real appearance in general? No, it was an illusion born of witchcraft, carefully created in the ladies’ retiring room earlier that evening. If I imagined what her face might look like without that staggering, magically wrought perfection…with less vivid eyes, slightly redder hair and a less perfect nose…

  I dragged my feet to a halt, forcing Mr. Packenham to stop moving. “Mrs. Montrose,” I said. “Is she your sister?”

  “Sister?” He barked a laugh and gave Mrs. Montrose a dismissive wave before turning back to me. “Pippa’s my twin, for all the good it does me. You’d think she’d be more friendly to her own twin, wouldn’t you? Montrose keeps her well supplied with jewels, but will she ever just smile and share the loot? No…”

  His voice kept going, but I barely heard it. Realization had bloomed inside me.

  “You’re twins,” I whispered. With my free hand, I took hold of Mr. Packenham’s coat sleeve and gripped hard.

  Angeline and I might be sisters, but—like every set of magical siblings I’d ever met—our signature scents were distinctly different. Of course they were. We’d been born five years apart. George and Philippa had been created in the same moment, though, born in the same hour. Without Philippa’s beautifying illusions to modify her appearance, the two of them would have looked so similar, they could have passed for each other in poor light. They would be nearly identical.

  Nearly…but not quite.

  Mr. Packenham’s rant trailed off as he looked down at my hand, his eyebrows rising. “I say.” A perfectly dreadful smile spread across his face. “Miss Stephenson, you’re suddenly a good deal more friendly, aren’t you? Finally succumbed to my charms, have you? I knew it was only a matter of time.”

  The dance floor was beginning to fill up with couples. Alexander and Lord Lanham were nowhere in sight. But I couldn’t wait for them.

  Without proof, the Order
would never listen to me. So I would simply have to get some…no matter what it took.

  “You were right,” I said as I smiled at the rogue I’d been hunting all night long. “And you’ve finally convinced me. Mr. Packenham, I would love to go out into the gardens with you.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Well, I say!” said Mr. Packenham. He took two quick, furtive looks around the room. “No time like the present, eh?” Abandoning the dance circles as they began to form around us, he started for the glass doors at the far end of the room, moving at a quick trot and pulling me with him.

  I was only too happy to allow myself to be pulled.

  Unfortunately, neither of us had reckoned with my family.

  “Ah, Packenham.” Frederick Carlyle strolled, apparently casually, to stand between us and the open doors. His lips were curved in a pleasant smile, but his blue eyes looked surprisingly dangerous as they fastened on my dance partner. “Going somewhere?”

  Oh, blast it! I shot Frederick a Stay out of this! look, but of course he ignored it. Older brothers—of all types—never knew when to keep their noses out of my business.

  Worse yet, he wasn’t alone. I stifled a groan as Mr. Collingwood joined us, his normally placid countenance looking surprisingly stern.

  The truth was, when I had helped Angeline and Elissa to marry their true loves, I had never considered the fact that I’d be adding even more overprotective older brothers to my family. Thank goodness at least Charles was still in Devon. Having all three of them at the ball tonight might have driven me completely mad.

  As I narrowed my eyes warningly at Frederick and Mr. Collingwood, Mr. Packenham gave them both a rather sickly grin. “Miss Stephenson was a trifle overheated,” he explained. “Thought I’d take her outside for a breath of fresh air.”

  “Hmm,” said Mr. Collingwood. He crossed his arms, giving my partner a comprehensive up-and-down look. I could tell exactly when he took in the signs of Mr. Packenham’s obvious intoxication. His lips curled in the first sneer I’d ever seen from my sweet, kind-hearted brother-in-law.

  “How thoughtful of you,” Frederick said to Mr. Packenham. His own smile was looking decidedly less pleasant than it had a moment ago. “But you needn’t exert yourself, old chap. I’m certain her sisters would be only too happy to look after her if she isn’t well enough for your dance.”

  “I am!” I said hastily. “I would love to dance.”

  Both of my brothers-in-law turned to stare at me. Frederick raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Are you certain? Because if you aren’t feeling well…”

  “We’d be happy to escort you back to your sisters,” said Mr. Collingwood, glaring—yes, positively glaring!—at Mr. Packenham. I could hardly believe it.

  But I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of reluctant affection for them both, despite the maddening circumstances. Unlike Stepmama, both of my sisters’ husbands were clearly eager to help me escape an unwanted dance partner—and in any other situation, I would have been only too happy to take the opening they’d offered me.

  Now, though, I gritted my teeth in a smile. “I’m feeling much better,” I assured them all. “I’m quite certain that dancing would refresh me better than anything else.”

  Mr. Collingwood’s frown deepened.

  Frederick said, “We’ll be sure to keep an eye on you throughout the dance. Just in case you should feel faint,” he added sweetly, with his gaze fixed on my dance partner.

  I rolled my own eyes at both of my brothers-in-law. “Yes, thank you very much,” I said. “But if you wouldn’t mind…”

  This time I was the one dragging Mr. Packenham behind me as I led him back onto the dance floor. He kept sneaking glances back at my brothers-in-law and tugging at his cravat as if it had grown too tight. “I, er…that is, perhaps it isn’t such a good idea after all,” he said. “I mean…”

  “Oh, don’t be absurd,” I whispered, as I took my place in the circle beside him. “You aren’t going to let them intimidate you, are you?”

  “Ah…well…” He swallowed visibly. “Thing is, you see, I didn’t realize you were quite so…that is, Carlyle and Collingwood are rather more involved than I’d…well…”

  “I understand,” I said.

  And I did. I understood exactly why he’d started out by robbing servant girls. That had confused me when I’d first heard of it—after all, how valuable could their scant possessions have been, to merit robbery by a witch who clearly moved in higher social circles? But of course, they had possessed a quality that was even more appealing for a man so embittered over his own comparative lack of social and financial power: vulnerability.

  Mr. Packenham might not have the inheritance or the social distinction that both he and his twin sister seemed to crave, but he had at least enough standing to have been a guest himself at the house parties where those thefts had taken place. Even if he’d stepped into the servants’ halls in his own guise to harass those poor girls, none of them would have dared to complain, for fear of losing their employment. Once he was disguised as a nobleman of the highest rank, he must have felt perfectly safe to inflict any indignities he chose on them, and to laugh as he pocketed their few treasures.

  He was still doing it now, only wearing more impressive disguises to fool a higher class of victims. Still, one pertinent fact seemed to have remained constant: Mr. Packenham always preferred his prey—romantic or otherwise—to be as unprotected against him as possible. In his eyes, I had just lost that distinction.

  I ground my teeth together as the musicians struck up a vigorous country dance. I needed to come up with an alternate plan, and quickly, but it was hard to think as I skipped my way around the circle at a breathless pace, passing from arm to arm without a break. Faces flashed past me as I spun around. Frederick was keeping a steely-looking gaze on me from the far side of the room, as promised; the Marquess loomed at the other end of the room, looking morose and as stiff as a stick; Lucy whirled past in the next circle over, laughing with infectious delight as long blonde strands of hair fell down around her face…

  Aha. A smile swept across my own face as I returned to Mr. Packenham’s side.

  “Mr. Packenham,” I called, over the noise of the music and the laughter and the feet stomping all around us. “Later this evening, there is someone I absolutely must introduce to you.”

  ***

  “You must be mad!” the Marquess of Lanham hissed fifteen minutes after the dance had finished. We were standing near the refreshment table, surrounded by other guests, so he had to keep his voice to a ferocious whisper, but his tall figure was braced as if for battle. “Of all the irresponsible, impossible—”

  “Oh, don’t fuss so!” I flapped half a macaroon at him to make him hush. Having skipped supper, I was absolutely starving. I crunched down the last of the treat with relish before I continued, “Lucy was happy to help.”

  “Of course she was,” the Marquess snapped. “Because she’s just as reckless as you are, with just as little regard for her own safety! But—”

  “And you should have seen his face when I told him about her,” I added smugly.

  Mr. Packenham’s eyes had flared wide as I’d told him all about the fat family diamonds that Lucy’s eccentric aunt insisted she carry in her reticule at all times for good luck…and how that aunt, who usually kept an eagle eye on Lucy, was feeling horribly ill and distracted tonight.

  It was the perfect—and only—chance he would ever have, and I could see from the light in his eyes that he’d realized it. A sober, sensible man might have given it up, knowing the danger of the other Guardians in the room; but Mr. Packenham, as I’d learned that evening, was neither sober nor sensible, and he had a grudge to pay against the Order, piled up all the way from childhood. Stealing Lucy’s diamonds while his colleagues hunted at the same ball would fill him with the most reckless glee.

  Once I’d pointed Lucy out to him across the crowd, he had excused himself with such alacrity “to visit the card room, do
n’t you know” that I might have thought he was fleeing the scene of a crime…if I hadn’t been so happily certain that he was actually preparing to commit one.

  Lucy, of course, had been utterly delighted when I’d drawn her aside to explain the plan to her. She had been the one to insist, for the sake of plausibility, that I cast a real transformation spell to change the hairpins in her reticule into diamonds. Their round corners bulged satisfyingly out of the reticule’s cloth sides, and I had to admit, they did add a nicely convincing tone to our ploy.

  I glanced quickly across the room at her now, pleased to see her standing a little away from any clumps of people, near the edge of the room—just where it would be easiest for her to be approached without anyone else noticing. She gave me a knowing smile, and I realized that she’d chosen that position quite deliberately. She was ready to play her part. Better yet, with the position I’d chosen for myself, I would be the first to see when the little play began.

  All that remained now was for me to quickly gather my coconspirators to follow after her…but the Marquess was proving to be absurdly recalcitrant.

  “If you were correct, you would be placing her in grave danger!” he snapped. “But you can hardly accuse Lord Packenham’s own son of being a criminal. Their family has been in the Order for centuries! Packenham is a gentleman, not a witch.”

  “Well, witchcraft runs in families, too,” I retorted in a low whisper. I kept my eyes fixed on Lucy’s distant figure as I continued, “And it’s inherited by every member of a family, not just the ungentlemanly ones. So as his twin sister most certainly is a witch…”

  “His father,” gritted the Marquess, “is not only a Baron but also one of the most respected Guardians in our Order. Lord Packenham has a well-known history of duty and service and—”

  “And have you noticed Mr. Packenham following in his footsteps so far?” I demanded.

  The Marquess started to speak, then stopped, looking pained. Apparently, even he couldn’t go that far. Still, a moment later he said: “But he went to Eton!”