Haunted Hearts (9 page)

One side of Ian’s mouth went up. He gave a single nod at the advice, which was in step with his own feelings.

“I want to say again that I’m sorry for the loss of the old viscount. Your father served his country well.”

“Thank you. I believe so, too.” Ian almost made to stand, but changed his mind. “Sir Terrence, might I ask an unimportant question?”

“Certainly. And I might answer.” Sir Terrence smiled.

Ian gave a quick smile, too, at the old quip. “The man who threw the masquerade I attended, Lord Quinn? What can you tell me of him?”

“Ah, yes,” Sir Terrence said, clearly not put off by the question. “A peculiar man. Strange beliefs. The Home Office is well aware of him.”

“Is he at all trustworthy?”

Sir Terrence pushed out his lips and drew them in again, considering. “I wouldn’t care to see my daughter marry him, had I one. He has peculiar ideas. His title is not old. His family name, Quinn, is the same as his title. His father earned the title through service to the Crown, although I could not give you the details of how that was shaped.” Sir Terrence’s mustache riffled up and down as he worked his lips again for a moment. “But, as for England? We are not concerned. We watch him, but I can assure you the man is a true patriot. We are confident he would take no action, knowingly, that would harm our fair land.”

“But, surely, there is something…corrupt there? Something that could be used against him, or twist his honor?”

Sir Terrence shook his head. “In some ways, that is the strangest part of the man. He’s some manner of nature worshipper--but nothing unfortunate, such as Satanism. Of this we’re certain. He’s curious, and highly intelligent, but harmless… Unless you’ve heard otherwise? Do you have anything new to tell us of the man?”

Ian measured his thoughts and impressions, and in the end shook his head. “I can only report that I found the masquerade…earthy.”

Sir Terrence gave a small laugh. “Yes, I daresay. But not
quite
unsettling or distressing, hm? Yes, your conclusions are very like those often come to us on the subject of Lord Richard Quinn.”

“Well enough, then.” Ian gave a little lift of the chin, signifying both thanks and an end to the minor subject.

Sir Terrence wrote out his home direction for Ian’s use, and stood. “Come along then, we’ll nip ‘round to White’s, what do you say? I’ll sponsor you, and see if you don’t gain your place there in short order.”

“Much obliged,” Ian said, meaning it. To be selected for membership in the gentleman’s club would be the final brushstroke on the art of his homecoming.

***

Ian happily settled in the reading room of White’s, a news sheet spread open across his knees, a snifter of brandy close at hand. Sir Terrence was talking racing in the corner with an old friend.

Trained to the task, Ian’s ears buzzed from the various gossip, innuendo, and small talk around the room. He learned Prinny had won a weighty wager on his latest cross-country carriage race, but that was no surprise, as the Regent was often allowed to win. He heard that an organization called the London Society of Beefsteak Admirers had been founded just a few houses away, and apparently lived up to its name. Of course there was much said about the abolishing of the trade monopoly of the East Indian Company; those were dark conversations, for there were to be losses, no doubt some of them fortunes.

All of it was intriguing to Ian, who was used to being at least a continent away from the center of the empire, and consequently weeks if not months behind on anything but the local news. To hear it so new, so fresh, to be a part of the central unit, news pouring out as it happened or was delivered to London’s ears, was exhilarating. It only reaffirmed his desire to stay, to learn more about this nation of his birth.

Would he miss the art of surveillance? Perhaps. But he would be contributing to his nation’s well-being in a whole other way. He would work to be a good steward to his land, to his people. He could play a part in the House of Lords. He was ready to be a landowner, a man charged with bringing forth produce and employment. He listened to the prattle about crops and weather, a subject newly important to him.

Too, there were those who merely wanted to gossip about their acquaintances. That was not to say such conversation was not just as absorbing. Ian learned that Lady Rendell was living in a separate residence from her husband, with a young “nephew”--whose blood relation was highly suspect. There were tales of royal tomfoolery, of riches lost to wagering, of the loss of respect in young persons these days as evinced by Sir So-and-So’s comments to Lord Some-and-Such, and, of course, the inevitable tales of romantic trysts and foibles.

Ian might have copied the gentleman sitting to his left by closing his eyes and drifting off, but a new name caught his ear. The title “Lord Quinn” was spoken between two younger men. It was the easiest thing for Ian to raise his news sheet as a shield, with his ear pointed toward their quiet words. It was amazing, really, how little people believed their voices carried.

“Are you going?” the first man, tall and thin, asked the second, his expression somewhere between temptation and doubt.

The second, not as tall and with a rounded face, hedged. “Are you?”

“My cousin said he’d bring me along, if Quinn’s willing.” His voice had lowered even more as he’d said Quinn’s name. He flashed a look around the room, Ian saw as he turned a page of his news sheet. “No costumes this time. I’d like it rather better if there were masks again.”

“I don’t know about it all. I’ve heard…stuff goes on, later.”

“What’d’you mean?” Now the thinner man leaned forward to catch every word.

“I heard…it’s just said…that is, that sometimes not everyone is….all clothed.” This last was said very quietly, so that Ian could not be absolutely sure he’d heard correctly.

“Women?”

“And men!”

The thinner of the two gave a hissing sound, somewhere between shock and titillation. “I don’t know, Ollie. Seems…peculiar-like.”

“Some say--” Ollie cut himself off.

“Say what?” his friend urged. His insistent tone overcame his friend’s resistance. “Some say he’s a devil worshipper,” Ollie said.

A silence fell, and the young men considered the shocking claim.

“Did you see that one woman?” Ollie asked.

“Which one?” Robbie asked.

“The one dressed up like a cat.”

Ian suppressed the impulse to lean forward into their conversation.

“Oh, yeah. What about her?” Robbie said.

“I hear she’s Quinn’s newest interest. At the masquerade he predicted she’d have a lover soon. They’re saying he meant himself.”

“Is she a devil worshipper, too?” Robbie asked, something like awe in his voice.

“I dunno. But she was luscious, wasn’t she? Dressed up like she might not mind the stuff that happens after proper folk leave, I say.”

“What? What kind of stuff?”

“Weird ceremonies,” Ollie said, his voice going quieter and quieter. “Half-naked dancing. Orgies.”

“What’re orgies?” Robbie asked.

“God, you’re such a simpleton,” Ollie scoffed.

Ian rose as Ollie labored to explain the term to Robbie. Folding his paper and tucking it under his arm, Ian made his leisurely way toward his sponsor. He bid Sir Terrence farewell, thanking the man and saying he hoped to join him here as a member one day. He left a nodding Sir Terrence to the chess game in which he was now entrenched, tossed the newspaper on a tabletop, and struck out for the street.

Quinn, a devil worshipper. And Cat, a naughty temptress.
Interesting gossip, indeed.

Ian had been too long abroad, though, in many places where he’d seen and heard tell of any number of alarming practices, to be unduly disturbed by such accusations. But it was rather unexpected that rumors of devil worship and orgies were whispered of in the heart of the so-called civilized world. These might well be but mere claims between two foolish pinks--but Ian knew rumors ought not be discounted out of hand. Especially not when he’d seen the excess of his host’s decorations and costuming for himself.

Perhaps an acquaintance with Lord Quinn--and, through him, the elusive Cat? who was more and more sounding less like any sort of woman to be taken to wife, Ian acknowledged with a scowl--was something to be pursued…

***

When Ian returned home he was met by Kellogg, who delivered the day’s post into his hands, among which was a missive from his brother, Arthur. Ian’s heart lifted. How had any letter from Arthur found him so quickly?

He put the letter in his coat pocket in order to listen to Kellogg tell him that one of the chambermaid was leaving his service to care for her sick mother and that another girl was being sent by a respectable agency. Further, that one of the footmen had found evidence that someone had been sleeping or hiding in the mews.

“’Someone’?” Ian echoed.

“Daniels, the groom, said a barrel was tipped on its side, and there were bread crumbs and footprints inside. It was most probably a one-time thing, my lord. Some vagrant. No cause for alarm. But if we catch anyone, of course I’ll send at once for the Watch--”

Ian held up a hand. “Didn’t I ask that anyone coming to call be put in the parlor to await my return?”

“Calling, my lord, yes. At the house. But not in the mews, surely?” Kellogg must have realized his questioning was cheeky, because he immediately added, “I didn’t realize you meant anyone, house or no, my lord.”

“And of course, no one was actually found or seen,” Ian admitted, considering for several long beats. “Kellogg, tell the lads that if they can get their hands on anyone about the house or grounds, to bring him in, here, and we will give the stranger food and drink. Put him in the back parlor, or if he seems too rough, bar him into the pantry. But try to treat him well enough. I wish to speak with him.” Ian began to walk away, but paused to add, “Hold
anyone.
A man, or a woman. With or without a French accent.” He would not share the man’s name with the servants, not unless he had to by some chance.

“Of course, my lord,” Kellogg said with an apologetic bow and allowing only a hint of questioning to show on his face.

Surely the intruder had been the informer. Damn.

Ian went to his room. Arthur’s letter was brief but good news. His ship had docked in London for a few days, and the first thing he’d heard was that the new Lord Ewald was in residence. Arthur was to call tomorrow.

Ian went up to the room that had once been Arthur’s--he recognized it when he mentally added a bed and a wardrobe--happy he would get to share the return to this house with his brother.

The thought of Arthur’s visit made him restless, however, so Ian went back down the stairs to reclaim the beaver hat and gloves Kellogg had already brushed and set on the cloakroom table.

“You are leaving, my lord?” As servants could, Kellogg put a wealth of inquiry into the sentence.

“I shall be back for supper,” Ian assured the butler. He didn’t need to report his comings and goings to his man, but it amused him to answer.

“Do you require a horse or a carriage, my lord?”

“A horse.”

“Very good, my lord.”

“Kellogg, wish me well.” he said, donning his hat.

“Because, my lord?”

“Because I am going to the devil.”

Chapter 8

“Ah, I thought I did not know you when my man gave me your card, but I see I am mistaken,” Lord Quinn said as soon as he had crossed the threshold of his own receiving room. Both residing in Mayfair, it had taken Ian not even a five minute ride to return to the house that had hosted the masquerade.

Ian stood from the seat to which he’d been shown, bowing in greeting. The wide-shouldered Lord Quinn ought to have appeared quite different, now dressed in perfectly ordinary garb, but even the fine cut of his coat and pantaloons couldn’t hide the specter of the man who’d dressed as Samhain. There was something… predatory about the man, in costume or not.

Lord Quinn half-bowed in return, clearly reserving a fuller reception, and crossed the room to make a gesture indicating Ian should sit once more.

Ian returned to his well-appointed chair. Along with taste, the furnishings made it evident Quinn had a plump purse.

Lord Quinn lifted his chin toward Ian. “I know your face. You were Louis XIV two days ago. But it’s only because of your calling card I now know your name, Lord Ewald.”

“That is why I came to call, to thank you for your delightful party. Too, as there were no announcements, in the end I was remiss in not introducing myself. I must tell you, too, I was there under false pretensions. Sir Terrence gave me his invitation.”

Lord Quinn’s eyes narrowed, but otherwise he did not evince any upset. “I wondered.”

“I am newly returned to England, and Sir Terrence was kind enough to let me use his invitation in order to enter English society a bit more slowly than at an unmasked affair.”

There was no change in Lord Quinn’s expression, but there was an attentive attitude to the way he sat, his hands too neatly folded together, like coiled snakes. “You have a hint of an accent. You have been abroad, my lord?”

“For years. Turkey, India, Germany, Italy, France.” This last was said with no particular inflection, though he looked directly at Lord Quinn as he spoke. He saw the large frame, the steady blue eyes, the firm, large hands. This was a powerful man, both in size and in demeanor. It was, on the one hand, easy to take him at face value as the average English gentleman, the sort to be more concerned with hunting than attending the House of Lords--but on the other hand, it was also easy to imagine this man could be the kind to do as he chose, hunting down a far different manner of game than mere fox or pheasant. This was a man who could be a worshipper of darkness…or a man who might grant aid to one who had informed against the French. Without knowing him, it was impossible to say which, if either, was the more likely.

Yes, this was a man to get to know, regarding the informant…and, perhaps, regarding the Lady Cat.

Ian chose his strategy, but there was also sincerity in his tone. “I have realized that I and Sir Terrence have overstepped. I have defied etiquette twice, once at your party, and now by introducing myself to you. But I must tell you that everything about your masquerade has persuaded me you are a man who can live outside a rule or two, and that you might tolerate my cheek.” Ian stood, crossing his hands behind his back and bowing his head. “I offer you my apologies, for invading your home and for my forwardness. If you reject me now, I will fully understand, but I am hopeful we might further our acquaintance.”