The Duke of Shadows (19 page)

"Can you really not talk about it, dear?"

Emma gave her a little smile. "There is nothing to say."

"I don't believe that. Emma—"

"Do you know what I
was
thinking this morning? A strange thought."

"Tell me."

"I was thinking it is fortunate that Mama died before your mother. She loved Aunt Anna beyond life itself. She would not have survived it."

Delphinia's lips trembled; blinking rapidly, she bent down to kiss Poppet's head. Aunt Anna had died the previous year of the influenza. Perhaps for the first time in her life, Delphinia had been overwrought. She had passed several weeks at GemsonPark, helping Emma in the garden, reading aloud at night. At first, her voice had broken every page or so. By the time she'd left, she had made it steadily though entire chapters. "I thought of my mother this morning too," she said softly. "Oh, Emma, I think of her every day. If only Papa lived nearer to London! I feel sure she would worry about him, all alone in that drafty house."

"Yes. It's a terrible feeling, worrying for loved ones." Emma leaned forward to take her cousin's hand. "I hope I never have to do so for you. Believe me, coz, I would rather go first. I have done enough grieving for a lifetime."

Delphinia made a small noise and launched herself off the chair. Poppet went yipping to the ground. "Do not go to Italy," she whispered as she pulled Emma into a hug. "I will miss you so."

"I must," Emma said gently. "Did you not hear me? I will go and paint. I am done with the rest."

With a sigh, her cousin released her. "I think you very foolish, Emma. But I love you all the same." She shook her head and reached into her pocket. "Here is the letter, then."

Emma took it and crossed to the credenza desk for a letter opener. "It's from Lockwood," she said, reading quickly. "That's why it wasn't marked, he thinks to keep our connection anon—"

"What is it?" Delphinia came up. "Emma?"

She lowered the letter. Her hands were shaking. "I cannot credit it," she whispered. "The RoyalAcademy expresses an interest in showing my work. The
Royal
Academy
."

The letter was crumpling between her fingers. Some would save this letter forever; they would kiss it and frame it and dance in celebration. "Delphinia,
I cannot stay here."

"Nothing. He is
nothing
to me."

"Then why can't you stay? Even
I
know that this is the most splendid start to a career any artist could ask for!"

She shook her head. There were no words to explain this. She had not been a coward last night; her rage had made her strong. But what of the time when rage began to fail her? It surely would, eventually. Already it failed her in her dreams. And tonight? What if she thought on it in her bed before sleeping? The quiet of the house would allow his voice to sound as clearly in her head as if he were next to her.
I looked for you.

Her heart was breaking, when she had thought it in bits already. To go through all this again, to let him smash her once more, was not a choice. It was nauseating. Literally unthinkable.

She pressed the letter onto the desktop. How slim and small her hand looked as it smoothed over the parchment. One would never guess it capable of so many things. The destruction around her. The paintings the Academy admired. Other things, even darker. There were depths in her that she could sense only dimly, that she hid even from herself. Could she rely on them?

"I don't know if I can do it," she said quietly. It felt like a confession, and a prickle of shame stung her cheeks as she looked up to her cousin. "I don't know if I
can
stay."

"No," Delphinia said, and moved forward to take her hand again. "Of course you don't. Emma, one never can know, without
trying
first."

"I did," a young man said from the corner, stepping up and giving his paisley waistcoat a tug. "I'll witness, Lord Marwick."

Marwick shook his head. "All right, Auburn. As a friend, I'd protest that you're out of practice—but God knows you can spare the brass."

Julian leaned down and in one unbroken gesture knocked off the shot. The other two groaned as the ball snapped into the far pocket.

"Bloody hell, man! That should have been impossible!"

"Another game, Auburn!"

He stepped back, throwing his cue to Adams. "You play for me." Marwick was already digging inside his pockets, cursing under his breath. "Give it to Adams," Julian said. "Spending money for Oxford."

"Never play with a shark, Lorrie," Marwick grumbled, as a footman stepped up with a pencil. He bent over the table to sign the note, then handed it to the boy with a flourish. "Spend it all on women."

"Yes, sir." Straight-faced, Adams pocketed the note.

"Good. Then it'll do you for a week, tops. I say—Auburn, where are you going? Wait up, man!"

Julian ignored him, cutting across the plush lobby of the club toward the gaming room. Despite the early hour, the den was filled with cigar smoke and quiet conversation, gentlemen hunched over their cards with the concentrated dedication of connoisseurs.

He spied Lord Chad in the far corner. They briefly made eye contact, and the man's brow lowered. Something clicked in Julian's brain as he moved on
—that
was why the woman with Emma last night had seemed so familiar. A black laugh moved through him. He motioned to a manservant with two uplifted fingers. He had crossed paths with Chad and his Countess innumerable times in the last few years. And yet he had never known that news of Emma was but a word away. He could not have imagined to ask.

The ache in his shoulder reminded him of another thing he hadn't known: Chad hired footmen for muscle. His paid thugs had not
turned
Julian away from the house on Bolton Street this morning. Accuracy demanded a more forceful verb.

"Your grace."

"Thank you, Lionel." He accepted the tumbler of Scotch, downed it neatly, then reached for the second. The bearer masked his surprise well enough. Julian had not come here for play or strong drink since his return from India. It had not been a conscious decision; he'd simply no longer needed alcohol. Sobriety had felt equally numbing to him.

He was reconsidering the notion now. The Scotch seemed to rip down his throat, traveling like a tide of acid to his stomach. Nothing objectionable in it.

"Lionel," he said, "arrange a private room for me. Something in the back, facing Arlington Street."

"Directly, sir."

Adams was passing, looking very pleased with himself. Julian crooked a finger, and he changed course, amiable and loose-limbed as a puppy.

"Sir?"

"A favor from you."

"Say the word."

"Do you see the gentleman in the far corner? The one darting me the surreptitious scowls."

"D'you mean—Lord Chad?"

"Yes. Find out his plans for the evening. Be subtle, if you please."

With a cheeky salute, Adams ambled off in the direction of Chad's covey.

Corrupting the youth. A novel pastime. His conscience did not twinge; it was otherwise occupied.

He bolted the last of the Scotch, and the indubitable Lionel appeared like clockwork with the next round. Very good; the man learned quickly.

"Note for you, sir," Lionel said, and held out a letter along with a large brass key. "Also, sir—your room."

He took the brass key and used it to split the seal of the letter. Caroline, importuning him to receive her. He felt bad about that. He would have to deal with her. No apology, of course. That was the best thing about Caro: she did not set precedents that she didn't wish to follow. Fidelity, jealousy, judgment—none of these appealed to her. If he disappeared for days on end, doubtless she would pout, but she would not
castigate
him when he returned. Her expectations were adjusted to the lowest common denominator; one simply couldn't disappoint her. It was a comfortable and convenient attitude, provided it was genuine. As it was, with Caroline.

You left me there to die. You couldn't have known; I do
not blame you for it.

"Sulking in the corner, old boy? Masters told me you made a poor showing last night. Staggering about Lockwood's like a boy who'd filched the keys to the liquor cabinet."

Julian bolted his drink and pushed himself up from the table. "Lindley. I've been waiting to run into you all day. There is a matter of great import we must discuss. I require your … advice."

"Is that so?" Lindley seemed to inflate. He cast a look around the room, no doubt to gauge the number of witnesses to this gratifying request. "Very well, Auburn. I am already engaged, but I will gladly make time to advise a cousin."

"Excellent. Lionel has arranged for a room for us."

Lindley trailed him down the hall. At the door into the study, key turning in lock, Julian looked up and asked, "Have you seen Miss Martin since her return to town?"

The smirk on Lindley's face faltered. "Emmaline?"

Julian opened the door and pushed him inside. Lindley swung around, his hand moving to his waist.

Julian locked the door behind him. "You forget you are no longer in the army, Viscount. You do not wear a pistol."

Lindley flushed. "What is this about, Auburn? You wanted advice?"

"Yes, indeed. I am contemplating the benefits and drawbacks of a certain proposition—one to which I find myself most ardently inclined."

Lindley stopped his backward retreat. Confusion, and perhaps relief, lightened his face. "Lady Edon," he said. "Is
that
what this is about?" He laughed. Yes, definitely relief. "Well, her reputation isn't quite the thing, of course. But if you don't mind the tales, then certainly, as a member of the family, I will give my approval. Her lineage, after all—"

Julian waited a moment. But nothing more was forthcoming. "Go on," he said. "I believe it just occurred to you to remark on my bad blood. I see no reason for reticence. At one time you were quite expansive on the matter."

Lindley glanced uneasily around the room. Bookcases against the walls, and a few wing chairs that bordered a low, scrolled table. Little of interest, less of use. The single, small window was set high into the back wall, and the milky haze outside was not taking advantage of it. Put out the lamps and it would be very dark. Julian strolled forward.

"Bygones," Lindley muttered. "I let bygones be bygones."

"Curious. My proposition is directly inspired by one such bygone. Would you like to hear it? No," he said gently, as Lindley's startled eyes came back to him. "It does not concern Lady Edon."

"I didn't know." Lindley's voice was suddenly higher. "Believe me, Auburn, in Cawnpore
I did not know."

Lindley's lips moved soundlessly. And then he advanced a pace himself. "Damn you, Sinclair! You filthy, rutting beast. You had her, didn't you? I thought so; when you showed up in Cawnpore, I thought—"

His words ended in a wheeze, as Julian lunged forward and took him by the throat. Back, back, the man's boots scrabbling between his feet, until he slammed Lindley up against the bookcase. Books thumped down around their shoulders. Lindley's throat, pinned beneath his hand, worked convulsively. A pleasant feeling. "Here is my proposition," Julian said, and stepped on Lindley's ankle to forestall a kick. "I will kill you. The drawback: I will be tried for your death." He put his whole weight into his hand as Lindley began to claw at his fingers. "Benefit:
You will be dead."

"Au—burn—" Lindley went for his eyes. Julian shifted grip, yanked him forward, and pulled him into a chokehold.

"Benefit,"
he said in Lindley's ear. Not so calm now. The urge to snap the bastard's neck was cramping his hands. He could do it. So easy. "The world will be rid of one pompous, spineless, vicious, murdering son of a bitch. Drawback—why, Viscount—I cannot think of another one."

"Emmaline—will—"

A slight readjustment of the arm around Lindley's neck, just a bit more pressure, solved that annoying tendency he had to talk. As if anyone cared. "She might not like it," Julian said. "That is true. I have thought of it. Then again, the marvelous thing about Miss Martin is that one never can be sure. She may be
thrilled
by it."

"Ha!" Lindley jammed up his shoulders. "Thrilled? By
you?
Like it or not, you abandoned her, you—"

He slammed Lindley forward into the bookcase. Lindley's head cracked against a shelf; he went down on his knees.

"Get up," Julian said. "Let's do it properly."

Lindley hauled himself up by the shelving, then in one continuous movement turned and threw a punch. Julian sidestepped, but did not see the next one coming. The fist glanced across his cheek, throwing him back a step.

The following jab was too obvious. He caught Lindley's fist and twisted it around, yanking it back behind the man's torso and twisting until the bone cracked. On an ear-splitting shriek, Lindley fell away from him.

"Yes, that will hurt," Julian said, as the man clutched his arm and rocked on the floor. "You may never be able to draw a gun again. Pity you don't still have access to the cannons."

The door closed behind him without a sound. They kept everything marvelously well oiled around here.