Chapter Ten

“H e is so frustrating,” Lucy complained to her friends as they sat in Violet’s pretty receiving room having tea. She took a bracing sip. “He was attacked but then proceeded to get drunk with his friends?”

Violet and Adeline exchanged a look between them. “Dear, he and his friends were rather famous for their carousing,” Violet said.

“Yes, I know, but he seemed so sad earlier in the evening. I’ve never seen him be so vulnerable. I guess I thought… oh, I don’t know what I thought. He needs to be careful, is all,” she muttered.

“Do you think it was more than an attempted theft?” Adeline asked.

“Not necessarily,” Lucy said carefully. She, of course, couldn’t share Hart’s suspicions about his family’s deaths and his own accident. “But if he hadn’t been sloshed, perhaps he could have heard the culprit approach.”

Both ladies nodded.

“Men.” Violet rolled her eyes.

“Well, he is going to escort Lady Weatherby and me to the theater this week, so we can all sit in the box and look respectable. Honestly, now that I have had time to think about the gossip that was printed, I agree with Hart; it’s best to just ignore these things. Not that I would tell him that. Do you all think Lady Weatherby is overreacting?”

“Hmmm, my mother said she knew immediately it was you. But she had seen you leave the party by yourself,” Violet said. “You should be more careful if you want to sneak out. I always fake swooning. It’s a classic symptom and always guarantees that I am bundled into the carriage by my mother to be sent home.”

“Violet! I can’t believe you feign swooning. And here I always thought you had a delicate constitution,” Adeline exclaimed.

Lucy grinned. “I knew. Your swoon is far too graceful to be real.”

Violet took a sip of tea. “Ladies, you can use my trick if you like. It just takes a bit of practice.”

Lucy chuckled. “Oh, Addie, I almost forgot.” She reached beside her chair for her reticule. Pulling out the small drawing she had made of the symbol from the Hart’s letters, she held it out to her friend. “Do you recognize this symbol? I think it might be Egyptian, and I knew you would be just the person to ask.”

Adeline took the scrap paper and peered down at it for a moment. “It means protection. I believe. I can double check it against my book if you let me take it home.”

“Yes, that’s fine, thank you.” Lucy pursed her lips together. Protection—interesting.

Violet leaned over to look down at the symbol. “I have seen that before.”

“Where?” Lucy asked.

“In my father’s study. Here, come with me, I will show you.”

“Can we go into his study?” Lucy asked.

“It’s fine.” She waved a hand airily. “My father always spends his mornings at his club.”

They followed Violet out of the room and down the corridor to the end. Violet opened the door to her father’s study and swept inside. Adeline glanced over at Lucy with trepidation in her eyes. Lucy shrugged. They both cautiously crossed the threshold.

Violet turned. “Come on in, you ninnies. It’s over here on the wall.”

Lucy crossed to where her friend stood behind the large wooden desk.

But Adeline still hovered near the door. “My father would kill me if I entered his study. I don’t think I have ever seen the inside of it.”

“Don’t worry. I sometimes come read in here. It’s hard to find a slice of peace in this house. He doesn’t mind at all.”

Violet had four younger sisters and a younger brother. The household was often chaotic at best. Lucy turned to where her friend pointed. On the wall hung the very same symbol from Hart’s father’s letters molded in brass. Maybe six inches long, the metal symbol curved in a loop at the top, then stretched straight down with two arms coming off the sides bent downward at right angles. Interesting. “Violet, where did your father go to university?”

“Oxford.”

Just as Lucy thought. Perhaps the symbol was some fraternity or secret society. But how many members used the stamp? Was it only between society members, or was it a badge that one was allowed to use for all correspondence once one had been part of the society? And how would they find out who was in the society? Did they have an official roster somewhere?

“Thank you, Violet. It’s just as I thought. The symbol is maybe part of a fraternity of sorts from Oxford.”

“Why are you wondering?” Violet asked.

“Oh, Hart was going through a box of old letters from his father, and he had seen the symbol next to his father’s signature,” she replied.

She couldn’t wait to tell Hart that she had been correct. If they could find out who was a part of the society with the Egyptian symbol, they could narrow down possible suspects who had written the threatening letter.

*

Dear Lord. Hart looked so handsome in his evening clothes tonight. Lucy glanced at him as they settled into their seats in the theater box. He always had the dark, dangerous good looks of a pirate king, but with his longer hair and scars, that energy was amplified. What would it be like to be the object of his desire? To have those full lips devour her?

From next to her, Hart leaned close and gently flicked her dangling sapphire earring. “I see you still wear my birthday gift.”

Her heartbeat raced at his proximity. “Yes, I love them.”

Hart frowned. “I’m sorry I missed your birthday this year. I owe you a present.”

She slid him a glance. “It’s all right. I am just glad you are feeling better.”

“Never turn down a gift, my dear,” Trudy said with a smirk from her other side.

“She’s right. I shall make it up to you,” Hart murmured.

The curtain rose on the stage, and the orchestra began to play. They both turned their attention to the stage as the show started. Othello was not Lucy’s favorite, but Trudy had insisted on parading her and Hart out in public so that everyone could see what an innocent relationship they had. She let out a sigh. What she wanted from Hart was far from innocent. What she wanted was to climb into his lap and kiss him senseless.

He would probably push her away. Hart had some self-appointed rule that she was off limits. She’d run the hurtful scene after his accident through her mind over and over. He had said she could do better than him, that she could choose anyone. Why didn’t he want her to choose him? Was it really about his scars? Or was that just his excuse to keep her at arm’s length?

Lucy chewed on her bottom lip, barely glancing at the stage as she stewed. The soft candlelight flickered from the back of the box, casting long shadows across the dark red carpet in front of her seat. She tapped her slipper on the floor as she stared down at them. Hart’s hand moved to her knee, stopping its bounce.

Then his lips were at her ear. “Cassio doesn’t die here. He is only injured.”

“What?” She furrowed her brow but didn’t dare turn her head when his lips were so close.

“You looked worried. I fear you are damaging your perfect pout.”

“Oh.” Lucy ran her tongue over her abused bottom lip. “I was just thinking. Remind me to tell you what I found out about that symbol in your father’s letters,” she whispered back.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hart nod and then shift back into his seat as he turned his attention back to the play. But his hand didn’t move from her knee, and Lucy smiled into the dark as she enjoyed the warm weight of it through the silk of her skirts.