Chapter Five

C HAPTER F IVE

Now, Lady Long-Nose had a distant cousin. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his eyes the blue of cornflowers and his hair golden. When he smiled, two dimples appeared on his face, and any ladies—or lords—who were nearby found themselves becoming overheated.

His name was Sabinus, and Lady Long-Nose fell quite helplessly in love with him.…

—From Lady Long-Nose

Lady Elspeth didn’t look like a lady at all.

Julian frowned down at her, taking in the smudges on her cheek and chin, the rough shawl over her head, and her plain brown skirts. Add to that her overly innocent expression, and he would’ve been suspicious even if he hadn’t seen her fleeing Windemere House.

It was only by happenstance that he had seen her. Sleep had eluded him due to his concern for Lucretia and the knowledge that he must see her safe before Augustus’s assassin succeeded in killing him. He’d risen before the sun and headed to his uncle’s house in the hope that he might see a footman or chambermaid or even a stable boy he could bribe to give him some information on Augustus’s plans.

And whom should he see dashing from the Windemere House mews but Lady Elspeth.

Of course.

He felt like shaking her. Like marching her off to her room and locking her in. He’d warned her. Had she no idea how much danger she placed herself in whenever she was near his uncle? Augustus could hurt her, could kidnap her, and Julian would never know if she was alive or—

“You need to listen to me,” he ground out, both hands on her shoulders now, his fingers flexing in suppressed irritation. “No matter how curious you may be about libraries, my uncle is deadly. If you—”

He was interrupted by a growl from somewhere about their feet.

Julian glanced down and met the eyes of an oddly short mongrel, its lips pulled back from sharp teeth. “Whose dog is this?”

“Mine.” Lady Elspeth looked down at the dog with a small frown. “Although I’m still thinking of a name. How do you feel about Thomas?”

Julian stared. “What?”

“No, I agree,” Lady Elspeth continued, still examining the dog. “He doesn’t seem like a Thomas.” She snapped her fingers. “Bobby! Stop growling.”

If anything, the dog’s rumbling was louder now.

Lady Elspeth sighed. “I don’t think he fancies Bobby, either.”

He shook her. “Listen to me!”

She looked him in the eye and said very gently, “No.”

And his fear and frustration and longing, and all that he’d kept so carefully tamped down deep inside himself, simply exploded.

He pulled her roughly into his arms and bent his head to devour her lips. She was sweet and soft, and her taste was like balm for his wounded soul. He opened her mouth with his tongue, thrusting inside almost desperately, as if her depths held all the secrets he needed to sustain life. She moaned low in her throat, so softly he felt more than heard it, a tremor against his lips, and he moved his hand to her jaw so that he might press his thumb against the pulse of her throat and understand the emotions that swept through her.

He would’ve stood there, this small, lush creature in his arms, consuming her lips and her essence forever, feeding on her innocent warmth and happiness endlessly, except that a dogcart rattled by, the boy leading the cart whistling rudely at them.

Julian straightened, appalled. When had he become so lost to propriety, so destroyed by his own terrible desires, that he would kiss a lady in the street? “I beg your pardon,” he said, and even to his own ears the words were covered in frost.

Good. Quite. It was a relief to pull his adamantine mantle about his shoulders again. To bury deep any hint of softness—of weakness that could be used against him.

Lady Elspeth stared up at him, softly touching her lips. “Oh.” She tilted her head like an inquiring titmouse. “Why are you asking for my pardon? I rather liked that.”

He felt the visceral jolt that gave him, a loosening of his restraints, a weakening of his chain mail resolve, and he pulled back sharply, tightening his control until his chest felt banded by iron. “Come.”

Julian took Lady Elspeth’s arm—he didn’t trust her not to scamper off—and strode toward Whispers.

“What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly.

“Taking you home.”

“But what if I don’t want to go home?” she asked in a tone that sounded like pure curiosity. “What if I and my dog wish to continue our walk?”

Julian glanced quickly down to see that the dog was indeed trotting along with them. He scowled. “That dog should’ve bitten me when I assaulted you.”

She scoffed. “Constantine is much more civilized than that, and besides, you didn’t assault me. We engaged in a kiss.”

He stopped, aggrieved out of all proportion. “What are you babbling about? I embraced you without any regard for your feelings or wants. My actions were those of a roué. You would do well to remember that you cannot physically stop a man from doing whatever he will with you. You need to be more careful.”

“Actually, I could’ve stopped you had I wished.” She took a tiny but lethal-looking pistol from somewhere on her person and brandished it before his eyes. “But I didn’t wish to prevent you from kissing me.”

Julian blinked and felt the foundations of his walls shake. She could have shot him. Could have intentionally wounded him or even killed him, and he would not have been able to prevent her.

He had thought he was in control of their embrace, but in reality, it was she who had held the control all along.

He closed his eyes—for a second, only that—and felt the thrill of the thought thrum through his body and harden his prick.

Her control.

Then he wrestled back his desires, shuttered his barriers tight, and started walking again. They had to be close to Whispers House now. “You took that pistol to Windemere House.”

The pistol had disappeared again, and Lady Elspeth’s voice was a bit shifty. “Well, yes.”

“You have no business at Windemere House,” he said coldly. “I don’t know if you’re spying or—”

“Whyever would you think me a spy?” she asked, sounding honestly perplexed.

He gritted his teeth. “Perhaps because every time I see you, you’re lurking suspiciously about, usually in one of my family’s libraries.”

“You’ve seen me twice in a library,” she said, her voice ridiculously outraged. “And the second time, your sister had hired me!”

He halted so suddenly he had to jerk her back to him. “And this morning? Where did you go in Windemere House?”

Her absurdly charming pout was all the answer he needed.

“Quite.” Julian nodded and linked her elbow very firmly with his as he set out again. “Either you’re spying, or you are unnaturally attracted to libraries.”

There was no answer to that.

He looked at her, only to find that there was a contemplative wrinkle between her brows.

“To be fair,” she said musingly, “I am very attached to books and libraries.”

He raised a dubious brow. “Enough to go breaking into houses?”

She opened her mouth, and for a minute he thought that she was going to continue and claim to be an insane bibliophile.

Lady Elspeth snapped her mouth closed and shook her head.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, but the victory brought him no happiness because it meant that Lady Elspeth was indeed up to something.

Which meant his warnings about the Duke of Windemere were falling on deaf ears.

The beginnings of a headache twinged behind one eye. First Lucretia and now Lady Elspeth, and of course Messalina and Quinn. He had to keep them all safe from his uncle. He was juggling too many lives, and if he let one fall, the crash would be devastating to all.

Julian was drawn from his bleak thoughts by the sight of Whispers House. The sun was fully up now, and there was nothing for it but to hustle Lady Elspeth up the steps—followed naturally by the mongrel—and knock at the front door. He hoped he wasn’t late.

It was opened by a butler looking neat and alert, even though it couldn’t yet be seven of the clock. “Sir?” He glanced at Lady Elspeth. “Good morning, my lady.”

Lady Elspeth smiled gorgeously, so bright she put the sun itself to shame. How the butler didn’t stagger back was a mystery. “Good morning, Crusher. What do you think? I had the most marvelous luck and ran into Mr. Greycourt on my morning stroll.” Crusher’s gaze had lowered to fix on the dog. “Oh, and I acquired a dog as well, as yet unnamed.”

The butler blinked once and nodded. “Of course, my lady.” He opened the door wider, letting them all in.

Lady Elspeth immediately trotted to the stairs without another word and disappeared to the upper regions of the house, trailed by the dog. She didn’t even look back at him.

Julian snorted and turned to the butler. “I’d like to see Mr. Hawthorne.”

“Certainly, sir. If you will wait here, I shall find if he is available.”

Julian was shown into a small receiving room just off the hall. It was painted a bright yellow, and a set of delicate chairs were arranged next to a fireplace.

Quintus rose as he entered the room, his eyebrows lowered. “What took you so long? I was beginning to think I’d have to meet with Hawthorne all on my own.”

Before Julian could answer, Hawthorne strode through the door. “Greycourt. Quintus.”

“Hawthorne.” Julian nodded, while Quintus merely grunted his greeting. It was something of a miracle that his brother was awake at this hour.

Gideon Hawthorne was a sleek, muscled man, a little shorter than Julian himself. His speech still held the tinge of St Giles, where he’d been born and raised.

The door opened again, and a maid came in, bringing the scent of coffee.

Hawthorne nodded to her and waited until the door closed again before pouring three cups. “Well?”

Julian shook his head. “Archway refused.” He looked at his brother. “Quinn?”

That man took a gulp of coffee before speaking. “I haven’t found the man who wants to marry Lucretia yet. I do, however, have a few suspects. Augustus met with Earl Evening and Lord William Speckling at the city coffeehouse, so either of them might be the man—or he might not.”

Julian nodded and looked at Hawthorne. “Have you had any luck?”

Hawthorne leaned forward. “I’ve made inquiries about people who could smuggle Lucretia out of London. I might have someone. They’re a bit rough.”

“Do you trust this person?” Julian asked.

Hawthorne grimaced. “That’s part of the problem.”

Quinn sighed and tilted his head against the back of his chair. “This is maddening. What if I take her to Dover?”

“You’ll be followed,” Hawthorne grunted. “Both by Windemere and possibly the bridegroom, whoever he is.”

Julian took a sip of his coffee. “Your men are still guarding Lucretia?”

Hawthorne nodded. “As you know.”

“Thank you,” Julian said. He remembered Lady Elspeth roaming the streets. “You might want to remind them that they are to guard against not only people coming into your house at night but those leaving as well.”

Hawthorne raised his eyebrows. “Very well.”

“You heard of yesterday’s shooting at the abbey?”

Quinn muttered angrily to himself because, of course, Julian had already told him the night before.

Hawthorne’s expression became colder, but he merely nodded.

“If anything…” Julian shook his head. There was no point in tiptoeing around it. “If I die.” He met Hawthorne’s black gaze. “You’ll do your best to see them safe? Both Messalina and Lucretia?” He coughed. “And Lady Elspeth as well?”

Quinn’s brows knit.

Hawthorne gave Julian an odd look but didn’t comment on the belated addition. “Yes,” he said gruffly. “You needn’t worry about that.”

“Good.” Julian inhaled and continued briskly, “I hope to have Lucretia out of London soon. Until then…”

“I’ll double the guard around Lucretia and Messalina. But Greycourt”—Hawthorne’s gaze was serious—“the Duke of Windemere has far more money and power than I. For Lucretia’s sake, you both need to move quickly.”

“Yes.” Julian’s fingers clenched. “I know.”

He rose and bowed as Quinn drained the last of his coffee. He walked with his brother to the door and left the house.

Quinn waited until they had descended the front step. “Lady Elspeth?”

Julian cursed under his breath. “Lady Elspeth de Moray . The youngest de Moray sister. She’s staying at Whispers.”

“Ah,” Quinn said, his voice giving nothing away.

Julian dodged around a child in leading strings and shot a suspicious glance at his brother.

His lips were pressed together as if he were trying to keep from smiling.

“Damn you,” Julian snapped.

At which point Quinn burst into laughter, startling a passing maid. “Now, now, no need for foul language.”

God, his brother could be irritating.

“She’s Ran’s sister,” Julian growled. “There’s nothing there.”

“No?” He could practically feel Quinn’s eyes on him. “You named her, Jules, right along with our sisters. That means something, I think. Even if you don’t want to admit it.”

Julian merely shook his head. If he said anything more, he’d merely be feeding Quinn’s speculations, ridiculous as they might be.

Lady Elspeth wasn’t for him, no matter how much she challenged him.

Julian frowned. He should’ve made it plain to Hawthorne that his guards had let Lady Elspeth slip out of the house. It would’ve been the safe thing to do. The right thing to do. But he couldn’t betray her in such a way.

Fool that he was.

“Elspeth?” Messalina’s voice came from the door to the library that afternoon.

Elspeth looked up, hoping her weariness didn’t show too badly. She’d been able to catch only a couple of hours of sleep before she’d had to rise at her regular time. No point in provoking suspicion.

Well. Besides Mr. Greycourt’s suspicion. Or was it hatred? His kiss had been so very angry.

His mouth so very hot.

She sighed, attempting to put both the kiss and the man from her mind. “I’m sorry, I’ve been woolgathering. What is it you need?”

Messalina smiled, walking nearer. “Nothing really. Only there’s a strange dog in the kitchens, and Sam seems to think it belongs to you.”

Sam was a boy of about eight or possibly ten—Elspeth had never been good at judging the ages of children—who looked after Daisy.

The mongrel dog Elspeth had found that morning had followed her to the library after luncheon.

She glanced about the room now. Stacks and stacks of books lay in haphazard piles on the floor, with more books in the wooden boxes at the back of the room. The dog was nowhere to be seen. “Oh, bother. I hope he hasn’t been making a nuisance of himself?”

“Not at all.” Messalina sat in a chair near Elspeth, who was herself sitting on the floor, her skirts spread about her. “He growled at Daisy, but I think he was just putting Daisy in his place.”

Elspeth winced. “I’m so sorry. He seems to have attached himself to me.”

Messalina cocked her head. “When? I’ve never noticed him before.”

“That’s because I only found him this morning,” Elspeth replied, trying to keep to at least the semblance of the truth. “On my morning walk.”

“Of course you did.” Her friend smiled with amusement. “You do seem the type to attract strays in need of a home and comfort.”

“Thank you.” Elspeth smiled. “I shall take that as a great compliment.”

“As you should. What have you found today?” Messalina gestured to the piles of books. “Unpacking the library is like a treasure hunt, and I’m afraid that I’m quite enamored of its jewels.”

“My most recent finds are rather more like rocks than diamonds or gold.” Elspeth winced. “I believe you may have three different editions of The Rape of the Lock , one of them in German?”

Elspeth pointed to one of the smaller stacks of books.

Messalina looked confused. “But there are five books there.”

Elspeth sighed. “Yes. Two editions have two copies.”

“Ah.” Messalina wrinkled her nose. “I’m not really that fond of Pope.”

“Good,” Elspeth said with satisfaction. She rather loathed Pope. “Then perhaps we can sell a few of these?”

“All of them.” Messalina nodded.

The door opened, and a maid entered with tea and some lovely little cakes on a tray. Daisy came romping in, trailed behind by Elspeth’s mongrel and Sam.

“There you are,” Elspeth said happily.

In the full light of day, his short coat had a background of white with large splotches of reddish brown and black. His ears were overlarge and hung limply on the sides of his head. But his eyes were a liquid, soulful brown, the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen on a dog.

And right now, those eyes were fixed on the cakes.

Elspeth frowned. “Didn’t you feed him, Sam?”

“I did, ma’am,” he piped up. “An’ he et two plates o’ scraps.”

“Well then,” Elspeth said to the dog, “you really don’t need anything else.”

The dog sighed as if in disappointment and lay down at her feet.

The maid cleared her throat. “Where shall I place the tea, ma’am?”

“On the center table, please.” Messalina rose. “Come. Let’s take tea properly.”

“Very well.” Elspeth got to her feet in what was probably a very ungainly manner. “I’m surprised Lucretia isn’t here.”

“No doubt she’s napping,” Messalina murmured. “I do love my sister, but I vow she’s the laziest creature in London.”

Daisy gamboled over to his mistress, only to be cowed when Elspeth’s dog rumbled under his breath.

“Is your dog going to ’urt Daisy, m’lady?” Sam asked, sounding worried.

“I don’t think so,” Elspeth replied as she took a seat across from Messalina. “He’s simply showing Daisy that he’s older and therefore Daisy needs to be respectful to him. I do apologize for his growling, though.” She glanced sternly down at the dog, now sitting alertly.

“What do you call ’im, then?” Sam asked.

The maids finished setting out the tea things and quietly left.

Daisy had recovered at the sight of the cakes and watched closely as Messalina poured the tea.

“I haven’t found the right name yet,” Elspeth said thoughtfully. “It’s rather an important event, naming things, don’t you think?”

“Quite,” Messalina said gravely.

Sam’s brows wrinkled. “’Ow’s ’e ’spose to come then if ’e doesn’t know ’is name?”

“That’s a very good point,” Messalina murmured.

“Yes, it is.” Elspeth met the dog’s liquid eyes. “Perhaps you might help me, Sam. Messalina has told me that you were the one to name Daisy. What do you think of Spotty?”

“Erm… seems a bit common-like,” Sam said diplomatically.

“Of course,” Elspeth said, holding back a smile. “What do you think, Messalina?”

“He’s rather severe,” Messalina commented. “Perhaps Abraham?”

Elspeth shook her head. “Too old.”

“Sweetie?”

Elspeth laughed. “Too young.”

Messalina’s lips twitched. “You ought to name him after Julian—he’s severe as well.”

Elspeth thought of that kiss, the way Mr. Greycourt had almost compulsively drawn her into his arms. He hadn’t been at all severe then. She felt her ears heat and hastily said, “That might cause confusion.” She turned to Sam. “Have you any other ideas?”

The boy stared earnestly at the mongrel. “Plum.”

Messalina blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Plum.” Sam looked shy. “The fruit.”

Elspeth cocked her head. “Hm. I think I like that name, but what made you think of it?”

“I like plum pudding the best,” Sam declared with a small grin.

“A very good reason for a name.” Messalina nodded sagely.

“Then Plum it shall be.” Elspeth looked at the dog at her feet. “What do you think, Plum?”

The dog wagged his tail.

Messalina laughed “I think he approves.”

“Good boy, Plum.” Elspeth broke off a piece of her cake and gave it to him.

Daisy—who might’ve been jealous—tried to scramble into Messalina’s lap, making it only halfway before falling back to the floor with a squeak.

Messalina bent to the puppy, but Daisy scampered to Sam, wriggling about his feet.

Messalina shook her head. “Perhaps it’s time for Daisy’s run in the back garden.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sam picked up Daisy carefully and left the room.

“I think Daisy might like Sam more than me.” Despite her words, Messalina was smiling. “It must be the running around the garden.”

“Dogs do like to run about.” Elspeth peered down at Plum. “At least most dogs do.”

“Doesn’t Plum like to run?”

“Yes.” Elspeth concentrated as she finished the last of her cake.

“You’ve hardly had Plum a day,” Messalina replied, pouring a second cup of tea. She glanced doubtfully down at the dog. “He doesn’t seem built for speed.”

Elspeth remembered Plum galloping out of the Windemere House garden. “I think he would surprise you.”

The door to the library was flung dramatically open, revealing a rather disheveled Lucretia. “Have you eaten all the cakes?”

“Not all of them,” Messalina replied, sounding perfectly tranquil. “Come have a seat, dear.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Lucretia said, and plopped into one of the chairs.

“The cakes are very good,” Elspeth said helpfully. “They’re filled with strawberry jam.”

Messalina rang for more hot water, and for a few minutes, the ritual of serving tea took precedence.

When the maid left, Lucretia cleared her throat. “I wonder when Uncle is planning to marry me off.”

Messalina sent her a worried look. “Julian and Quinn consulted Gideon this morning, and I have faith that they will find a way to remove you from London.”

Lucretia sighed. “They can get me out, I suppose. But what if Uncle sends men to retrieve me? What then?” She poked at one of the cakes on her plate with her fork. “I wish I didn’t have to rely on others. I want to be able to protect myself.”

“If only the Wise Women could help,” Elspeth said in frustration.

Messalina looked at her. “The Wise Women? I thought you and your sisters had to flee them?”

“Yes, we did,” Elspeth said grimly. “But this situation is exactly the sort of thing that the Wise Women helped with. If Freya were still the Macha, she could send word to the messenger, who would in turn inform other Wise Women. There would be a chain of secret helpers smuggling Lucretia out of the country.”

Messalina inhaled sharply. “So easily?”

“Lucretia would disappear so thoroughly, no man would be able to find her.” Elspeth sighed. “But now, with the networks disabled? The Wise Women have hobbled themselves.”

Messalina nodded. “I can see why both you and Freya mourned the collapse of the Wise Women.”

Lucretia brought her hand down on the table in a loud slap. “I wish I could use a sword. I’d at least have a hope of defending myself.” She turned to Elspeth. “Doesn’t your sister know how to duel with a sword? Messalina said she dueled with Kester once and beat him.”

Elspeth smiled with pride. “Freya is the best swordswoman I’ve ever seen. But really a knife would be more useful to you, I think.”

Lucretia glowered. “Why?”

Elspeth mimed sliding a knife from her sleeve. “Easier to carry with you. Easier to hide.”

“That makes sense.” Lucretia nodded. “But does Freya know how to fight with a knife?”

Elspeth was about to reply in the affirmative. In fact, Elspeth and both her sisters had grown up learning to fight with different weapons.

But Messalina had another idea. “Darling, Gideon knows how to fight with a knife. He used to fight for prizes in St Giles, and he won .”

Lucretia wrinkled her nose. “You want me to ask Gideon to teach me?”

Messalina looked a bit exasperated. “Why not? He is an expert, after all.”

“I know,” Lucretia said rather loudly, and then more quietly, “But will he agree? I haven’t exactly been nice to him.”

“No, but I think Gideon finds your attitude amusing more than anything else.”

Lucretia’s eyes widened in what looked like outrage.

“Which means he rather likes you,” Messalina said hurriedly. “Ask him. I’m sure he’ll want to help you.”

Lucretia nodded and ate a piece of cake.

Messalina inhaled and quite obviously fixed a smile on her face before turning to Elspeth. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a table to work at instead of the floor? Truly, it would be no problem to bring one in.”

“I like sitting on the floor,” Elspeth said. “I feel closer to all the books, and I have almost the entire room for my stacks.”

“Do you?” Messalina sounded dubious. “I really am quite grateful you’re doing this, you know.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Elspeth cleared her throat. “I’m surprised that you didn’t have your own library when you wed.”

“Well, of course I had some books,” Messalina replied. “Would you like another cup?”

“Family books?” Elspeth asked, trying not to sound too interested. “And yes, please.”

“Oh, no.” Messalina took her teacup. “My uncle has all of the family books.” She poured. “At least all of the books at Windemere House and Greycourt. Do you remember the Greycourt library at all?”

“Yes, I remember there was a magnifying glass with an ivory handle,” Elspeth said. “I believe I was instructed not to touch it. I remember miles and miles of shelves. There must have been at least a thousand books.”

“There were.” Messalina pursed her lips. “But Uncle removed most of the books after my father’s death. My grandfather had made a special disposition that Father might have the use of the manor while he lived, but he was the second son and, naturally, the estate reverted back to Augustus. The library was Papa’s treasure. I remember that, before Mama died, she was quite distressed by my uncle’s disregard of the library.” She winced. “I’m afraid he burned many of the books.”

Elspeth’s heart fell, not only at the destruction of books but also because she’d already searched the Windemere library, and if there wasn’t a library at Greycourt…

She cleared her throat. “There must be other libraries at smaller estates in the dukedom?”

“I’m not sure,” Messalina said sadly. “There was one once at Heathers in Bath. I remember looking at the shelves for something to read. But Augustus…” She swallowed. “He really finds no use for books or libraries.”

Elspeth stared at the teacup in her hands. If the duke had had the books in the Greycourt libraries burned, Maighread’s diary might be already destroyed. Gone forever.

And with it her only chance to save the Wise Women.