Lucas touched the panes of his study’s window. The glass was sharp with cold. Perhaps Olivia’s nurse was right and a frost was coming. It would be fitting to his mood.
The mews below was empty and what little colour left by winter’s claws was leached away by the darkening clouds. The earth didn’t look capable of spring. He was struck by a fear that perhaps this time it wouldn’t come. That some action of his would lead to disaster. It very nearly had.
Why the devil had he gone to the museum? Jem could have delivered a note later. He should never have gone to Brook Street himself in the first place. Her quest might be the centre of her existence, but he should not allow it, or her, to become the centre of his.
He knew that and yet as he summoned a hackney on the street outside her home that morning he gave the museum’s direction rather than the Mausoleum’s. On a whim. A whim which had come close to costing Olivia dearly. He had many sins to his name, but he had never ruined a woman’s reputation.
It was one thing to risk the titillated interest of the ton by dancing with a debutante in the setting of their ballrooms and quite another to actually embrace her in the staid setting of the museum. If her chaperon had arrived just two moments earlier, he would even now be on his way to Doctors’ Commons for a special licence.
A month ago...a week ago that thought would have made his blood run colder than the Baltic in January.
Now...he had no idea any more.
Perhaps he had spent too many years playing Oswald’s games, living in a world where one never trusted one’s senses and rarely one’s mind. Emotions did not even come into play. Outside his lifelong care for a tiny group of people—a few relations and a handful of friends—he had never considered emotions at all.
He wanted to believe his confusion was only the result of what she had dragged out of the graveyard of his stunted emotions along with the memories of his parents and the undeniable warmth of his old life. Once those emotions settled back into their rightful place the others would lose their potency. She would lose her potency. It was a worrying sign that he didn’t want that to be true.
He turned away from the window and wandered downstairs, his boots echoing in the cavernous silence of the absurdly grandiose entrance with its double-arced staircase that had once been lined by paintings of generations of Sinclairs. He had consigned them all to the attic when he returned from the War. It was one thing taking reluctant custody of the Mausoleum, but quite another to have to climb every night to his rooms under the baleful glares of the hordes of Sinclairs before him. Could this monster of a house be redeemed?
Could he?
He reached the entrance hall and looked around, trying to take stock. It had been decades since anyone had entertained here—if one could call the salacious excesses his uncle and grandfather indulged in entertainment. Polite society had certainly not seen the inside of these walls in his lifetime. Unlike some houses this floor was dominated by a ballroom to the left of the stairs and on the right was another room, almost as large, called the Great Hall, which his grandfather used for fencing. As a boy he had spent many hours there being tutored by an Italian master of the art, but he had not entered it since that day over two decades ago. It had just been a lurking entity to the right of the stairs, like an arthritic joint, occasioning a twinge when his mood was low, but something to be ignored and passed over.
Well, it could be ignored no longer.
The enormous room was surprisingly clean, which said a great deal about Mrs Tubbs’s pride, even if not much about his own. There was no sign of the fencing strip he remembered, but at the end of the hall under a holland sheet was the unmistakable shape of a rack of fencing foils.
He breathed in and out, sounds and smells returning of that horrific day his uncle had returned, drunk, and tried to force himself on Lucas’s mother. His mother’s shrieks of fury had drawn them all into the Great Hall, but he remembered most the clash of steel as his father and uncle fought, the smell of sweat and blood. He remembered taking Sam in his arms and pushing Chase outside on to the pavement. That was his last time in this room until today.
He twitched back a sheet covering a side table and picked up the bronze statuette of a standing wolf. So this was where it had been hiding. The Big Bad Bogus Wolf.
‘So you have finally decided to brave the dreaded Great Hall. I forgot how big it is.’
Lucas turned with relief. ‘Chase! You’re back. I was actually thinking it looks smaller than I remembered. Perspective is everything, isn’t it?’
‘Very true. Do you think those are the same foils Uncle John and Father used that day?’ His brother moved towards the rack of foils Lucas was inspecting.
‘Probably. How is Sam?’
‘Hard at work, surrounded by her quills and paints and notes. She asked when you are coming to the Hall. Strangely we discussed precisely that night. She remembers it though she was just a babe.’
‘So do I. She was terrified.’
‘She wasn’t the only one; I thought Father was dead.’
‘Uncle John did as well. That was the only time I’ve seen him exhibit a commendable emotion, even if it was fear of what Grandfather might do to him.’
‘Bastards, both of them, the world is a better place for their absence. Fitting they died in a fire while inebriated. A sound preparation for hell.’
Lucas selected a foil, testing its weight. They were tarnished with age, but the quality was excellent, just a little too heavy at the hilt, though. After a moment Chase spoke.
‘I came across Alvanley on Piccadilly.’
‘So?’
‘So he asked me if you were finally hanging out for a wife. Said he had a niece with a handsome dowry you might want to consider if the leopard was tiring of his spots.’
‘Charitable of him.’
‘That is what I said. Naturally I was curious what led to that burst of generosity and he enlightened me you had begun to attend society parties and waltz with wealthy heiresses. Or rather one particular heiress. Alvanley is usually highly reliable, but naturally I was sceptical. Until he mentioned the name of the heiress. A Miss Silverdale. What is afoot, Lucas?’
Lucas chose one of the foils and tested its balance. Trust his grandfather to have chosen only the best when it came to weapons.
‘You know what is afoot, Chase. I told you before you went to the Hall.’
‘Yes, but that does not explain why you would seek her out in public or why Tubbs tells me two of the Tubbs clan were assigned to her household. I can think of three possible explanations, none of which is reassuring.’
Lucas raised the foil. ‘Entertain me.’
‘Very well. First, you are worried about something she has unearthed and are spying on her. Second, she has uncovered something and is blackmailing you into serving her ends. And third, you are contemplating defusing the threat by seducing her.’
‘Interesting that you do not credit Alvanley’s theory might be correct.’
‘Unlike Alvanley and the rest of the world, I happen to know the condition of your finances and that you have no need to marry an heiress.’
‘I might have other reasons to contemplate matrimony.’
‘Are you serious? You are toying with me, aren’t you? I know you have no wish to populate the earth with Sinclairs any more than I do. Another explanation does present itself.’
‘This should be interesting. Enlighten me.’
‘Did the jade entrap you? I never thought a woman would get the better of you. The sweet Yorkshire lass must be damn good between the sheets.’
Lucas’s hand tightened on the hilt, holding back the urge to act. He turned away, returning the foil to its place as he counted out his anger.
‘Damn,’ Chase cursed. ‘I’m sorry, Luke. I spoke out of turn.’
Lucas shrugged. ‘No, you spoke out of experience, but do not do so again. She is not my mistress, she is not blackmailing me and at the moment she has uncovered nothing incriminating and I doubt she will. With any luck a meeting we attend today will mark the end of her quixotic quest and she will be leaving her Spinner Street fantasies behind.’
‘For?’
‘As long as they do not involve the Sinclair name, that is hardly our concern, is it?’
Perhaps he had not achieved quite the right tone of disinterest. He could feel Chase’s gaze on him and he took another foil just to occupy himself. For a moment he was tempted to share his confusion with Chase, except that he was the big brother. It just did not work that way. Besides, what would he say?
I embraced a woman in the middle of the British Museum.
I worry her feet might be cold so I sent her a foot warmer.
The thought of her marrying Colin Payton or Barnstable or Westerby or anyone...
Chase would think him fit for Bedlam and perhaps he was.
‘It will be over soon,’ he said instead. That at least was true. One way or another it would be over soon because he was approaching the end of his endurance. The intelligent course of action would be to put some distance between himself and his unwitting nemesis so he could consider his options. Calmly.
He returned the foil to the rack. ‘I must leave for a few hours, Chase.’
‘Miss Silverdale again?’
Lucas didn’t bother answering.