The Timeseer's Gambit (The Faraday Files Book 2) (43 page)

he carriage was heavy with the sort of quiet that hung in the air, travelling back and forth between two people, growing, expanding, wrapping them together. The plush velvet furnishings of the seats and the curtains muffled all sound, heightening the effect. Outside, the city boomed as much as it ever did, but in here… in here, there was a self-contained, tiny world.

Chris couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

Luckily, it seemed to be mutual.

That silence drew them together, shortening the space between them until it was barely wide enough for a finger to slip through. It grew heavier and heavier, until finally, it burst.

“I―ah, Miss Albany,” Chris murmured.

“Rachel,” she corrected. “We talked about this.”

“We did,” he agreed.

The silence settled back. He reached out in the dimness. His hand took hers, small and warm. The air was stuffy, the heat still unbroken, but his blood was heated enough that it didn’t seem so uncomfortable. He brought his other hand forward, clasping hers in both of his. “I’ve…” he said. His voice was swallowed by the velvet darkness. “I’ve thought of you,” he admitted. “Often.”

“So have I,” Miss Albany whispered.

“I’ve greatly enjoyed our conversations on the mirror, as well.”

She laughed quietly. Chris’s body stirred at the sound, how throaty it was, how womanly.
I’m not a molly
, he said, and he knew that was the truth. What he felt right now―he wasn’t
making
himself feel this way. He’d invited Rachel here to make himself less confused. To prove something to himself. What he hadn’t expected was how well it was working. This wasn’t denial. He wasn’t convincing himself of anything.

He wanted her. This plain woman who was secretly beautiful. She was wise and clever and flinty and maternal and his attraction was as real as she was.

“I had hoped,” she murmured, and then there was quiet again. “I had hoped,” she repeated finally, “that you had some interest in me beyond the professional. Or the friendly. I felt some twinges, sometimes, especially in those last days before Rosie and I left in the spring. After we were attacked by Ethan Grey. But then, on the mirror, all I had were my own… feminine instincts. Which have always been sorely lacking. And now, now I’m here, and I can feel you, sense how you feel…”

“Yes?” he prompted.

“Well,” she said. “I… there’s no denying it, is there?”

His heart skipped a beat. Knowing that she was experiencing all of his feelings made this even more…

“Come sit by me,” he said, withdrawing his hands to pat the spot beside him. He didn’t know what he was thinking. No, he did know. He wanted to kiss her. But he didn’t know why. Because he found her beautiful and strong and singular and strange? Or because he wanted her kiss to erase those others: Duke val Daren’s in the seeing, Ethan Grey’s under the illusion, and William Cartwright’s in undeniable reality.

“Christopher,” she whispered, but before she could say yes or say no, their carriage jerked to a stop.

The footman opened the door moments later, and Chris let himself be helped out. He took only a moment to gasp at the venue―Piffleman’s Gala House, the largest public ballroom in Darrington, glittering tonight―before he turned to hand Miss Albany down. Her ostrich feathers bobbed as she alighted on the ground, her silk skirts pooling behind her. He smiled, noting that she was wearing her same ill-fitting grey button up shoes beneath her gown. He’d become rather fond of the horrid things. She looked around, mouth slightly open, taking it all in.

“Oh,” she said quietly.

He didn’t imagine she’d ever seen anything like it. Despite her brother’s new notoriety, Rachel’s wardrobe and manner implied a lower middle-class upbringing. He felt like an ambassador, showing her this world. He held out his arm and she laid her hand on his wrist. They joined the well-dressed elite walking up the pathway toward the glowing entrance to the ballroom.

It occurred to him for just a moment that he was walking into his first real ball with one of the plainest women he’d ever seen on his arm. Was he ashamed of that? He considered it, and decided that he wasn’t. He didn’t know whether Rachel truly was beautiful, or if she’d
become
beautiful in his eyes because of his regard for her. Not knowing didn’t bother him the way it once might have. He was happy to have her here. Not because she was female and he was trying to prove something, but for the pleasure of her company.

“I’ve meant to ask.” Miss Albany’s voice was very quiet, and she dipped her head closer to his so they could converse. “What exactly is this event for?”

“I… am not entirely sure,” Chris admitted. “Some sort of exhibition?” Olivia had explained it in more detail than that, even gave a name attached to it, but he quite forgot. He’d been so focused on the event―and on the honour of attending it with his employer―that he hadn’t given much thought for what it was being held in honour of.

“I do hope I’m not desperately unprepared,” Rachel murmured. “We don’t even know what sort of person will be in attendance.”

They reached the doors. There was a short queue, and a man standing there nodded. “Names?” he asked. There was a pulpit in front of him, and a long, long list. He was likely a wordweaver, and Chris did not envy his job of standing just out of range of the wonderfully cool air blowing from the ballroom.

“Ah, I’m Christopher Buckley,” he said. “Here by invitation of Miss Olivia Faraday? And my accompaniment is Miss Rachel Alb―”

“Albright,” Rachel interrupted quickly.

“I see,” the man said, scanning the page. “Ah, here you are, yes, by invitation of Miss Faraday, indeed.” Chris noted the way his eyes focused strangely as he weaved onto the page before him. He glanced up and smiled. “Very well, Mister Buckley, Miss Albright. Please make your way inside.”

They swept onward, Rachel’s hand still resting gently on his wrist. She leaned in. “Since Garrett’s new… celebrity, I’ve tried to keep a lower profile. Albany is not such a common surname that having it doesn’t raise questions, even out in the country.” Chris nodded his understanding.

They stepped past two men in identically simple finery. As they did, one stepped forward. “Presenting,” he called to a room of barely attentive people, “Mister Christopher Buckley, and Miss Rachel Albright!”

Barely attentive or not… this was a dream. Chris tried not to beam and colour and wave as he strode into the room. Eyes scanned him and a few nodded appreciatively. Some turned to whisper to their neighbors as he passed. He shivered with pleasure as he and Miss Albany swept into the mingling bodies of a thousand people. He saw the flash of an alp bound to a camera. Would this be in the Society papers? Was there a chance that he and Miss Albany would be shown on the front page of that section, beaming and looking perfect?

Would Will see the photograph?

His heart dipped. Miss Albany’s eyebrows raised in silenct askance. Chris swallowed and looked away, just in time to see someone headed their way. A man with a beautiful blonde woman all in brocaded dusty rose on his arm. The man was even taller than Chris himself, thin, with a shock of chestnut hair barely held back by pomade and a face that seemed to shift between plain and handsome.

Rachel tensed at his side.

“Rachel?” he asked. “What is―”

And then the man was before them.

“Rachel!” he cried, and before Chris could react, he had Rachel out of his grasp and had pulled her into a tight embrace, rocking her back and forth. “Why, I
thought
I heard the name Albright read!” He pulled back, grinning crookedly. His canine teeth were more pointed than anyone Chris had ever seen, which, combined with his long face, gave him a curiously vulpine appearance. His pomade gave up the ghost and a long curl of chestnut hair fell over his forehead as he ducked his head to examine her. “It’s been
ages
! What the devil are you doing here? I thought you were out of town!”

Rachel took a step back from him. Her smile was forced. “Please, this is entirely rude,” she said. “We must make introductions for our confused accompaniment, mustn’t we?”

“Right, sorry,” the man said, flashing his strange teeth again. “You know I’m bloody terrible at these things, Rachel.”

“Please watch your language,” Rachel mumbled, and the man laughed.

He pushed the pretty blonde who’d been on his arm forward with a touch to the small of her back. “Actually, Rach, you know this pretty young thing,” he said, tilting his head to her. “May I present my current lady of interest, Miss Katherine Woodruff. Katherine, you remember Rachel?”

“Of course,” Miss Woodruff said. Her voice was low and husky.

“
Ka
―
?” Rachel gasped. “I didn’t―that is, I wasn’t aware you were still in contact, I…”

“I keep in touch with all our old friends,” the man said, showing his teeth again. “But really, Rachel, for someone who complained about my being rude, you seem to be forgetting something. Who is this dandy?”

Chris bristled while Rachel indicated him with a shaking hand. “This is Christopher Buckley, my―my current employer. I care for his sister. Christopher, this is… this is my brother. The current leader of the reformist movement. Garrett Albany.”

Of course. Of course it was. Chris’s gaze snapped back to the tall, thin man. Garrett matched the vague photos he’d seen in the paper, a tall man with a long face and a shock of dark hair. “Mister Albany,” he said faintly. He nodded his acknowledgment. He felt like he was spinning in midair.

“What on earth are you doing here?” Rachel asked. Her voice was breathy.

Mister Albany laughed. “I’m here to see the exhibition, of course!” he said. “I’m very interested in seeing what Miss Banks has to show us. I’m expecting another spectacular failure, myself.” He looked hard at Rachel’s face and then he sighed. “Of course, you have no idea who or what I’m talking about, do you? You’re here because you have an… invitation.” His eyes swept over Chris.

Rachel was stiff at this side. “Garrett, you’re being a boor right now, you―”

“What on earth are
you
doing here is a better question, I think,” Mister Albany interrupted smoothly, raising an eyebrow at his flustered sister. “The last I heard, you had some grand mission, saving that girl from the papers, isn’t that what you said, darling? So where is she?”

Chris’s heart was in his throat. A tense moment passed, and he held his breath. He stared at Garrett Albany.
Go away
, he said. He didn’t really expect it to work, but Gods, how he wanted it to.
Leave Rosemary alone. You don’t want to get involved in this
.

“She’s―” Rachel stammered. “I―”

And then, miraculously, they were rescued.

“Miss Woodruff! Oh, but can I still call you Katie? Please?” The voice was extremely familiar. Chris blinked and turned to look for its source and there―there was Olivia bloody Faraday, radiant like the savior she was. She was dressed in a wine-coloured gown so dark it was almost black, with a plunging neckline that showed rather more décolletage than he’d known she
had
, lacy, gauzy, flowing sleeves, and it…
sparkled
. Head to toe. No hat touched her perfect, genius head, just her long, straight, unbound hair. She eclipsed the serviceably dressed Kolston at her side like the moon to the night sky as she hurried toward them, stepped between them, and pumped Miss Woodruff’s hand like a man.

“Miss… Miss Faraday?” the pretty blonde woman stuttered.

“I can’t believe it, myself! How have you been?”

“Much better,” Miss Woodruff said, “since you helped clear my name.” She sounded confused, uncertain, as if she didn’t know where to put her words, like someone who’d just learned to walk.

“And who is
this?”
Olivia asked, turning to Mister Albany. She scanned him up and down and then dismissed him with a flick of her wrist. “Oh. Never mind, I recognize the bloke. The infamous Garrett Albany, isn’t that right? Katie,
really
, I thought you agreed to stay away from revolutionaries after that last fellow tried to pin his little
radical activity
on you. Though I will say, this one is―” She gave Albany a long, considering look, and then sighed and shook her head sadly. “No, I was wrong. I was going to say he’s at least a fine-looking fellow, but then you gaze right at him, and Katie, that
nose
. And the chin! His face just doesn’t know when to quit, does it? It’s on a mission, aiming right for the floor!”