name was Eldritch, but she was so overset by her communications with George she became quite hysterical with weeping and I felt horrid and halted the session and told her George was being summoned back, but we could try again in a few days once her soul was calm.’
‘And she accepted that?’
‘Apparently George was never fond of crying females so in fact it strengthened her belief in my powers. So you see, I need to find out who this Mr Eldritch is, but Mr Mercer had no luck and I do not know how to proceed.’
‘You surprise me. But before we proceed to Mr Eldritch, I’m curious why you are so certain she was not your godfather’s mistress in the first place?’
‘I just knew. And I was right.’
‘An intuition, in fact.’
The sardonic inflection was back and she shrugged. She had told him enough. It was time to see if he would be of any use at all or whether he was merely enjoying treating her like some freakish fair exhibit.
‘Will you help or not?’
‘Help with what?’
‘Help find out who this Eldritch is and why he paid to defame my godfather and whether it is in any way connected with Henry’s suspicions about your father’s death.’
‘Why?’
‘Why?’ She threw up her hands in disbelief. ‘Because I, for one, will not sit by while someone out there is ruining people’s lives. My godmother, Mrs Payton, is in shock and in pain not only at the loss of one of the most wonderful men I have ever known, but at the discovery that he had betrayed her and his family. I must find out who is behind this and make them pay for what they have done to the Paytons. And I don’t know how to do that on my own! That is why!’
Lucas stifled a sigh at her outburst. He wished he had tossed her note into the fire rather than succumbing to the siren’s pull of curiosity. If he had an ounce of sense he would send her on her way—she was probably either mad or a very creative liar and he didn’t have time to indulge in such nonsense, he was already running late for his meeting with his uncle at the War Office. But as his brother Chase always told him, curiosity was likely to be his downfall, which was rather ironic because Chase was just as bad.
For a moment he contemplated taking her to his uncle. Oswald would see through all the girlish dramatics and probably reveal her as the clever trickster she was, because although Oswald was as cursed with curiosity as any of their fated Sinclair tribe, he was never swayed by sentiment. Lucas usually wasn’t either, but as much as it galled him to admit, even to himself, mentions of his father’s demise still had the power to sink their talons into his flesh. He could stride over most matters without much compunction but the moment she spoke those words he stumbled. Just a little, but enough. He couldn’t walk away without at least trying to understand what was afoot. Which meant he had to find out the nature of the peculiar beast sitting opposite him.
Not today, though. However offended she appeared to be by his accusation of entrapment, her voice and demeanour were clearly those of a well-born young woman and every moment spent in her company as night descended was a moment of precisely the kind of danger he did not enjoy.
‘Where do you live?’
‘Why?’
‘Because as tempting as the thought is, I can hardly leave you in the middle of London in the dark. I presume you do live somewhere. This might be a fantastical story, but you appear discouragingly corporeal.’
For the first time her eyes shifted away from his. She was about to lie, which was interesting in itself.
‘Spinner Street.’
‘Spinner Street? Isn’t it around the corner from the church where you summoned me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Stranger and stranger. Is that sad neighbourhood populated by occultists now? At what number are you perpetrating your masquerade?’
‘Fifteen. But... Does this mean you won’t help?’ she demanded as he tapped the wall of the carriage and it slowed to a halt on the empty street and a postilion jumped down to take his directions.
‘It means it is nearing your bedtime, Miss Silverdale. I will consider what you told me. That is all I can offer for now.’
Again her expression changed, or rather it leached away, leaving her face blank just as they slowed and the gaslight filled the carriage. Now at least he could see what she looked like in repose. She reminded him of a painting he had once seen in Venice. It was a depiction of the biblical tale of Ruth, with Naomi seated on a stone cradling a very unattractive babe and Ruth standing, her hand on the older woman’s shoulder and, unusually for such a painting, looking straight at the viewer. She, too, had worn no expression, but the message was clear. Beware. I guard my own.
‘If this is a polite way of telling me you have no intention of pursuing this puzzle, I prefer you tell me so outright,’ she said as she raised the hood of her cloak over her bonnet. ‘Heaven forfend I waste any more of your precious time which could be spent so much more profitably in gaming hells and brothels like Madame Bern—’
Her haughty lecture ended on a squeak when he caught her wrist as she opened the carriage door. He should have kept his calm and sped her on her way. If he needed anything to convince him to have nothing more to do with her fantasies, it was a lecture. His temper had borne quite enough that evening.
‘I don’t need you to put words in my mouth and I sure as hell do not need your lectures. You do either again and that will be the last you see of me, Miss Silverdale. I said I will think about it and I will. That is all for now. Now run along before I decide to demand compensation for your ruining what had promised to be a very pleasant evening by fulfilling your worst suspicions about my character. Unless that is what you are looking for? Is that tortuous little mind of yours curious about that as well?’
He brushed his fingers lightly across her lips, as much to test his question as to warn her. They were soft and warm and as they shifted under the pressure his gaze caught on them as well, making the question rather more complicated than he had intended. But before he could pursue the thought she drew away so abruptly she bumped into the frame of the door and for the first time he saw real fear in her gaze and something beyond it which surprised him. Revulsion was not the usual reaction to his overtures, but then he never made overtures to proper little virgins and they never made appointments to meet him in a darkened church and proceed to tell him the world was made of cheese and rode along on the back of a turtle.
He opened the door.
‘Run along, little miss.’
She didn’t run. The blank watchdog expression returned and she drew down her veil and jumped down nimbly from the carriage, ignoring the postilion who stood by to assist her.
Olivia looked around the respectable interior of St George’s, smiling at the gall of the man.
She might not quite have Lord Sinclair’s measure, but she knew without doubt his choice of arranging this meeting in a church in midday was an ironic riposte rather than out of any concern for propriety.
