A Study in Silks (43 page)

They arrived at the parlor door, where many guests were already milling about. Now that the lights were back on and the Gold King was smiling on Hilliard House, it looked like the cream of London had come out for Lord Bancroft’s dinner party. At a quick calculation, Evelina counted a dozen men who were a baronet or better. She spotted Lord B, surrounded by monocled men in dark suits and gray whiskers. Seated here and there at the periphery of the room, their
wives bloomed in hothouse colors. After a shared glance, Evelina and Imogen sought out the younger crowd, who were clustered in the smaller room next door.

Evelina caught sight of Tobias and Bucky, along with a handful of the other young men in that set. Tobias was grinning his familiar fallen-angel smile, laughing at a jest. Evelina’s chest tightened with a painful burn of wanting. When he turned her way, his eyes went dark with interest as he appraised her. Evelina’s cheeks heated at the thought that Tobias Roth found her beautiful. She looked away, her heart too full to hold his gaze, and let herself drift on a complicated surge of hopes.

Imogen gave an exclamation of pleasure at the sight of her friends, and dove into the group with a broad smile. “Gentlemen, we have arrived, and you may prostrate yourselves.”

“Beautiful ladies!” Bucky cried, making a sweeping bow, while Percy Hamilton fell to one knee, clutching his hands to his chest in exaggerated adoration.

Imogen said something in reply, but the words were lost on Evelina. She was too busy watching Imogen’s carefully schooled expression, and how her gray eyes brightened whenever they turned Bucky’s way. No wonder Imogen always lost at whist. She could never hide her feelings—not when they mattered. Bucky, in his turn, was easing his way through the throng of young men, shouldering his rivals aside without their fully realizing what was happening. Evelina smiled to herself as a rosy pink spread over Imogen’s cheeks.

The next moment, Tobias was at her elbow. “My compliments to your dressmaker. She almost does you justice.”

Evelina raised her chin, feigning a confidence she didn’t quite feel. “Do I require justice? Perhaps I need a defender, if I am to mix in such witty company tonight.” She said it with a touch of dryness.

“Undoubtedly. I understand good
couture
is a woman’s armor.” Tobias gave a sly smile. He looked every inch the diplomat’s son, dressed in a formal black coat and snowy dress shirt mounted with pearl studs.

She tried to reconcile this man with the creator of the mechanical squid, and felt a pain behind one eye, as if her head were about to explode. “I thought a woman’s armor was her virtue.”

“That is a fallacy perpetuated by the underdressed. The only time virtue prevails is in light opera.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice and drawing her into the embrasure of the bay window. His hand on her arm sent a pleasant shiver down the back of her legs. “And I’m sure there will be a touch of melodrama tonight. Father has proclaimed the Gold King the guest of honor.”

“What?” Evelina whispered, turning so her back was to the room. She had always wondered how many Society gossips were effective lip-readers. “I know your father has to be civil—the man turned off his lights, for pity’s sake—but what about that horrible scene with Dora in the garden?”

“It’s all politics. At least he didn’t bring that fool Jackson.” Tobias made a sour face and tugged at one of his perfectly starched cuffs. “Keating’s suddenly very interested in Father’s doings. It brings to mind that old saw about keeping friends close and enemies closer.”

Her throat tightened. “What does Lord Bancroft say?”

“What choice does he have but to smile and bring out the best wine?” A worried crease formed between his brows. “It’s complicated—all markets and investments and patents. The barons are catching us, one by one, by holding our pocketbooks hostage.”

She blew out a frustrated breath and glanced out the window, longing for the freedom of the high wire, where she could dance above all the complexities. It was a fine springtime evening, the sun just dipping below the London rooftops. The small patch of sky she could see was scattered with clouds, their bottoms burnished gold by the light. Tobias’s tone made it sound like the sun might never come up again.

“Hello,” he said suddenly. “Who’s that coming up the walk?”

Evelina leaned an inch to see around the fold of the heavy velvet drape. Panic stopped her breath. “That’s Dr. Magnus!” she hissed.

She got a sudden flash of the bakery box with her bird. Gooseflesh ran up her arms and she jerked away from the window, nearly bumping into Tobias. “Why is he here?”

But Tobias gave her a chuckle, his mood visibly lifting. “With luck, Dr. Magnus is here to see me.”

“Why?” Evelina nearly gasped the word, making a few heads turn.

“He looks a bit exotic, I’ll give you that, but you don’t need to be skittish. He has some old feud with Father, but he’s all right, you know.” Tobias gave a boyish grin. “He wants me to help him build something.”

She remembered the garden party, and how happy Tobias had been after talking to Magnus. “Be careful!”

“Of what?” He gave her a puzzled smile, then squeezed her arm and left her standing at the window, an anxious lump just under her heart.

NICK HAD A
plan. He was, after all, the Indomitable Niccolo.

A handful of silver—or even a fistful of rubies—would never buy Magnus the kind of information he wanted about Evelina. Not from Nick. He wasn’t a hero by anyone’s definition—he’d done his share of surviving and had even killed a man who’d shown up at Ploughman’s with evil on his mind—but Nick had his lines in the sand and Evie was one of them. Money was useful, but he was used to the lack of it, and it couldn’t buy what he most wanted.

He hadn’t recovered from seeing Evie in that soft and lacy bedroom, her dark hair tumbling down her back and her skin as fair as lillies. He would give his soul to touch her again, and have her touch him back the way he wanted—the way he knew in his bones was the way they were supposed to be—and he would never get that with betrayal.

It had been four days since he’d followed the doctor home from the theater, and he’d got away with making only one innocuous report. He still didn’t know exactly what Magnus wanted with her, any more than he understood the man’s interest in Tobias Roth. However, when it came to shady foreigners using death magic, it couldn’t be good.

Withholding real information was easy enough. Warning Evelina was another matter. After the murders, the grounds of Hilliard House were now discreetly guarded by men with firearms. No nipping into her bedroom now—even if his ankle was mostly healed—unless he was going to parachute from a dirigible onto the roof.

Or, not until tonight. With guests arriving and the staff all busy with the carriages and endless deliveries to the kitchen, he’d been able to sneak across the garden and through an open window—not an easy task with the fashion for so many lights everywhere. He had to get into the house, because that’s where Magnus was going, far too close to Evie for Nick’s comfort. She had to be warned. He wanted to let her know he was there in case she needed help. If the doctor went too far, the Indomitable Niccolo was expert at discouraging ruffians with a knife.

Nick was crouched in a room that he guessed was used to store cleaning supplies. He’d picked this window because he could get to it, but also because no one had passed by for some time. There were pails and brooms in one corner, and shelves with sacks of borax and washing soda and jars of polish against the other. Some kind of mechanical device on wheels sat mutely across from him—perhaps one of those steam-powered things that sucked dust from the floor. The rich were strange. After all, wasn’t the ground where dirt was supposed to be? Nick gave a mental shrug. Whatever the case, no one was wanting to suck dirt now, with company in the house, and that made the room a good hiding place.

He shuffled to the door, reaching up to turn the knob and opening it a crack. He peered out, barely daring to breathe.

Two men were walking away from his position, speaking in low voices. Nick went completely still, recognizing Dr. Magnus’s familiar form. Magnus, who seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. He’d caught Nick following him once. Something told Nick it would be a bad idea to let that happen again and he shrank back another degree, his eye pressed right to the crack of the door.

Then the two figures stopped, facing each other. Nick
froze, recognizing the other man as Lord Bancroft. He’d been watching Evie’s comings and goings long enough that he knew almost everyone at Hilliard House.

This is interesting
. What were they doing in the downstairs part of the house? The toffs weren’t supposed to hang about here. Not even the servants were in these quarters, with the dinner party in progress—they were with the food and drink and horses. Nick had made sure of that before he’d slipped inside—at least as much as he could tell from a lot of listening and creeping about.

But of course that was the answer, wasn’t it? No one was supposed to know the men were here. Nick realized he’d been holding his breath for too long and wanted to cough. He sucked in air as quietly as he could.

“I understand you are the Gold King’s latest acquisition,” said Magnus, his voice carrying a snide edge. “His new friend, or at least his newest lackey destined to help him with his political connections. How odd, because the gossip I heard just days ago said that you were bent on challenging the man. Some ill-advised dabbling with a new kind of engine.”

“He has chosen to invite me to work with him rather than against.” Bancroft’s tone was impatient, hot to the other man’s cold.

“In other words, he’s put you under his thumb. How merciful, but a lord does qualify as big game, even for a steam baron. Crushing one altogether might cause him to break a sweat.”

Bancroft snorted. “Good to hear.”

What’s this about?
Nick could almost taste the tension between the men, the roots of it clearly deeper than this single conversation.
And what does the Gold King have to do with all this?

“Keating’s prudent. You could be useful. Plus, he wants a title for himself, after all, and that will be hard to weasel out of Victoria if he’s mounted the head of a viscount on his study wall. In broad terms, aristocrats find the public ruin of their peers off-putting.” Magnus smoothed his goatee, looking thoughtful. “Count your blessings this happened now. In
a few years, Keating might have enough power that he won’t need to show restraint.”

“Thank you for pointing out my precarious position.” Bancroft folded his arms, leaning back an inch to look into the taller man’s face. “But I assure you, I was entirely aware of the abyss yawning at my feet.”

The ambassador was a tired man, Nick thought, adjusting his position to see the man’s face better. For all the crisp quality of Lord Bancroft’s garments, his skin looked as rumpled as clothes that had been slept in for a week. He also looked like he’d been in a fight. There was a bruise on the side of his face and he was moving like a man who ached.

Bancroft curled his lip. “But something tells me you aren’t here to offer me advice.”

Magnus nodded. “True. I require your assistance with Keating.”

“Are you mad? I have no influence with the man!”

“You always find a way, Ambassador. You are not a diplomat for nothing.” Magnus made a gesture that whisked away all objections. “Keating has something I want. You must convince him to relinquish it to me.”

“I will not!”

“No?” The doctor’s voice was suddenly low and dangerous, like velvet soaked in contact poison. “I knew you would say this, and I am far, far ahead of you. I have something you want back. Not just for your sake, but the sake of your family.”

“
You!”
Bancroft’s exclamation was a snarl. “You murdered my men.”

Nick started.
Murder?

“I did not.” Magnus shrugged. “Not that you are required to believe me, but I swear to you it was not my hand that held the blade. But I do have your trunks and their cargo.”

What the bloody hell are they talking about?
Nick’s legs were starting to cramp, but he didn’t dare move.

Bancroft lunged at Magnus, as if he were going to strangle him where he stood. Magnus sidestepped the attack, grabbing the ambassador’s lapel and using it to push him
against the plain white paint of the servants’ corridor. “Get a grip on yourself, man!”

Nick could hear Bancroft’s breathing, the heavy, gasping whistle of someone whose strength is all but spent. Nevertheless, Magnus held Bancroft pinned until the older man went limp with submission.

The doctor spoke between clenched teeth. “Keating has Athena’s Casket. I need it.”

Bancroft’s face twisted. “What are you talking about?”

“Keating is building a gallery. He intends to put the casket in his show of archaeological treasures, but I want it for my research. It is too important a piece to waste on him.”

“Why don’t you simply ask him for it?”

“I did. He prevaricated, spinning some nonsense about how the shipment was delayed. It’s clear that he wants to keep it for himself.”

Nick was growing boggled. Too much information was flying too fast, and he wanted to—had to—straighten up. The urge to flee was growing by the second. Getting caught spying was bad enough, but there was no question he’d heard something of value, even if he didn’t grasp it all now. He started to stand, moving inch by inch, praying his knees didn’t crack.

“It was from Greece?” Bancroft asked, a cautious note in his voice.

“From Rhodes.”

Bancroft said nothing, his breath hissing in his throat. Nick wondered what that silence meant.

“Come now,” said Dr. Magnus, releasing Bancroft and smoothing out the lapel, “you’ll get it for me, won’t you? All I want is the casket. I’m not an unreasonable man.”

Bancroft made a panicked noise, as if that was not his experience of Magnus.

The sorcerer chuckled.

A flicker of defiance crossed Bancroft’s face. “What do you want it for?”

“My work. Benevolence. Order.”