Touch of Rogue (11 page)
Authors: Mia Marlowe
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Fantasy, #Historical Romance
A matron with a marriageable daughter, whether she was the wife of a secret Druid or not, could always be counted upon to wax poetic over the charms of her offspring.
The topic of conversation was officially changed.
After supper, the company moved to the third floor, where Lady Digory had arranged for a small string ensemble to play the prescribed dance tunes. Julianne was presented with a gilded dance card with her partners already penciled in. Since she’d arrived with Jacob, she would dance the Grand March with him.
Her joints still felt achy and loose after the tussle in the coach. It left her feeling vulnerable. Dancing with Jacob was an equally dangerous endeavor. Being so close to him, moving beside him in rhythm, her hip against his in light touches, made her body prick to full awareness again.
Good manners prohibited them from partnering again until the final number. She was heartily relieved.
“I’ll see you for the last waltz,” he said, when the strains of the march ended. Jacob surrendered her to a balding viscount who led her through a jerky polka and compounded his faux pas by complaining loudly over the music about the deficiencies of the second violinist.
When the strings began a waltz, Sir Malcolm appeared by her side.
“I believe this is my dance, Lady Cambourne. May I have the honor?”
“So it is, Sir Malcolm.” She curtseyed and mouthed the correct response. “The honor is mine.”
He bowed slightly over her fingertips and took her into the proper position. Her hand disappeared into his large one. In short order, they were tilting and twirling around the room. For such a big man, Ravenwood was remarkably nimble on his feet. Unlike her other dance partner, this handsome fellow was quiet enough to qualify as surly.
“I hope you weren’t put off by my questions at supper,” she said. “It’s simply that I find the whole idea of reviving Druid practice so fascinating.”
Sir Malcolm looked down at her, his dark eyes unreadable, but compelling. “The Order is uncommonly strict about feminine involvement.”
“And you agree with that?” she asked. “It never fails to amaze me that Englishmen who swear fealty to their queen, whom they may never actually meet, can’t discuss the simplest matters with the ladies they routinely see every—”
“I didn’t say I agree with keeping women from the mysteries of Druidism.”
She arched a brow at him. “So there are mysteries after all? I thought it was merely a philosophy.”
“To some perhaps.” Sir Malcolm’s gaze flicked to their host who was holding court in the corner with a pair of matrons whose dancing days were long past. “You were right at dinner. There is a sacred text extant.”
“I suspected so,” Julianne said. “That must be where Lord Digory acquired his love of nature and distaste for steam power.”
“To my knowledge, Lord Digory has not read the entire text,” Sir Malcolm said. “But even if he had, everything is open to private interpretation within our Order. A man follows his conscience.”
“Some might argue that conscience is a Christian idea.” Julianne realized with a start that she enjoyed this verbal joust with Sir Malcolm. Most men would tell her not to trouble her pretty head with larger issues. Some might even laugh at her for expressing an opinion on something other than flower arrangements or dinner menus.
“All people have an inner voice which prompts them to act or not, regardless of creed,” Sir Malcolm said. “The conscience, if you will, is a product of a man’s beliefs and the texts he holds sacred.”
“That makes sense,” she said as he led her through a graceful under arm turn. “So tell me, Sir Malcolm, what do you hold sacred?”
“Power. Power to live as one wishes.”
It was as if he’d read her secret desires. That was exactly what the sale of the Druid blades would bring her. She wouldn’t be forced into a loveless marriage, wouldn’t be beholden to her stepson for support, wouldn’t have to stop supporting Mrs. Osgood’s school. No one would rule her destiny. She would own herself.
“I must warn you, a fair reading of the Druid text shows us its teachings are not for the faint of heart,” he said, not missing a single step in their circular route around the dance floor. “Some of us aren’t content with mere philosophy. We seek to breathe life into the Old Ways.”
“Indeed?” Her heart rate increased several notches. “Are you suggesting that there is an Order within the Order?”
“Exactly. But those who seek admission to our sect must be unafraid to harness the real power of the Druids.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Women are welcome to our rites. In fact, they are essential to the mysteries.”
Mysteries. Rites.
The words smacked of the religious gibberish Lily Parks had warned her about when Julianne asked if there was a successor to the Hell Fire Club.
The words smacked of the religious gibberish Lily Parks had warned her about when Julianne asked if there was a successor to the Hell Fire Club.
“How very egalitarian of you to include the weaker sex,” she said.
His lips twitched. “I assure you none of our women may be called weak.”
They continued to dance in silence for a few bars. As they moved about the floor, she caught a glimpse of Jacob with his partner for the waltz, the attractive young wife of a Member of Parliament.
Jacob had been sure a splinter group existed within the Ancient Druid Order. She wished she could ask him what to do now that it seemed she’d discovered an adherent to the fanatical faction, but she couldn’t even catch his eye.
Nothing ventured ...
“How might one join such a group?” she asked.
“One does not join. One is initiated.” He stopped dancing and pinned her with a penetrating gaze. There was something feral, something proprietary about the way he looked at her. Her gut clenched in response. “Do you wish it?”
Oh, Lord, what now?
She didn’t see any other way to learn more, so she nodded. “Where do you meet?”
She didn’t see any other way to learn more, so she nodded. “Where do you meet?”
He put a finger to her lips to silence her.
“You have no need to know that. You will be contacted,” he said cryptically. “I understand one may find you at Lord Kilmaine’s residence at present. Do you intend to remain there?”
“For now.” Jacob had moved her from the Golden Cockerel only that afternoon. “How do you know where I’m staying?”
“The mysteries provide ways of knowing that are beyond your imagination,” he said. “Be ready two nights hence. And be prepared to come alone.”
C
HAPTER
10
HAPTER
10
A
fter another hour of indifferent quadrilles and reels and one truly ghastly mazurka, Julianne was finally paired with Jacob once more for the last dance. However, she couldn’t chance telling him of her conversation with Sir Malcolm lest they be overheard by nearby dancers.
fter another hour of indifferent quadrilles and reels and one truly ghastly mazurka, Julianne was finally paired with Jacob once more for the last dance. However, she couldn’t chance telling him of her conversation with Sir Malcolm lest they be overheard by nearby dancers.
Then the party split up along gender lines. The men disappeared into a lounge fragrant with cigar smoke and fortified wines, and the women retired to the proper parlor. Most of the women took tea, but a few accepted cordials laced with laudanum “to calm their nerves” after the dancing.
It never failed to amaze Julianne that women were judged too weak to drink Madeira or port, but were offered an addictive opiate as a matter of course. Perhaps these sheltered ladies had never seen what poppy could do, how it could so warp the minds of those who craved it that they’d do anything, sacrifice anyone to have it.
Lady Somerset, who sank onto the settee next to Julianne, accepted a cordial from Lady Digory. The vile smell of laudanum was only partially disguised by the other ingredients in the drink.
Julianne’s heart fluttered, a reflexive panic triggered by the sickly sweetness. She buried her nose in her teacup and pushed the spiderweb of memories away. No good could come of retracing those distant steps.
Instead, she concentrated on making proper approving nods and “mm-hmm’s” while the ladies around her chatted about the latest shipment of lace from Brussels or which fashionable gentlemen were really far too light in the pockets to be considered eligible for their daughters’ hands. One would never guess from the mundane conversation that their husbands were discussing anything out of the ordinary over their smokes and claret.
Perhaps that was truly the case. Lord Digory’s interest in Druidry seemed as scholarly as Algernon’s had been. The goal of living in peace with nature seemed naïve, given the rapid advances in industry. The way Lord Digory lived showed he thoroughly embraced modern comforts, brought to him courtesy of that industry he eschewed. Julianne judged him eccentric, but harmless.
Sir Malcolm’s sect did not seem nearly as tame. Ambition sparked in his eyes when he spoke of their mysterious rites. Those who sought power didn’t generally have such a benign goal as living in harmony with the natural world.
Jacob would be showing them the replica of her dagger now. She hoped it would fool Lord Digory and encourage him to share whatever he might know about its mate’s whereabouts.
She was less sanguine about fooling Sir Malcolm.
“Well, what did they say about the blade?” Julianne asked once she and Jacob had thanked their hosts and climbed back into the waiting coach.
“Digory was enraptured by it,” Jacob said. “He wanted to study it, so I told him he could keep it for a week.”
“Do you think that wise? He might discover it’s a fake.”
“How? Unless he has a real one in his possession, which I doubt. He was quite taken with the scrollwork and engraving, but there was no sense of recognition in his eyes,” Jacob said, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if he were trying to smooth away the frown lines that deepened between his brows.
Lady Kilmaine had mentioned her cousin’s sick headaches. Julianne wondered if Jacob had the beginnings of one now, but since he’d taken such pains to hide the infirmity from her, she couldn’t show sympathy.
“I’m satisfied he’s not seen the dagger’s like before,” Jacob said.
“Not even an illustration of it?”
“I didn’t get the sense that he has the other half of your manuscript,” Jacob said, neatly following her train of thought without her needing to explain. “Or if he did, that his section contained a picture of the daggers as yours does.”
“What about the other men?”
“The others parrot whatever Digory says as if they haven’t a brain among the lot of them.” He snorted in disgust.
“Sir Malcolm too?”
“He’s a different case.” Jacob cast a sideways glance. “I gather you think so too. You certainly seemed intent on him while you were dancing.”
She hadn’t caught Jacob glancing her way a single time while she danced with the Druids. Apparently he’d taken more notice of her than she’d thought. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound a bit jealous.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d admit that I am.” He shrugged, his gesture in opposition to his words, and stared out the coach window as London rattled past them. “What were you and he talking about?”
“The existence of a sacred Druid text,” she said with smugness. “He confirmed it.”
Jacob turned back to her. “What else?”
“He told me about his secret sect, the Order within the Order, as it were. You warned me we might find a nest of true believers in the mix of poseurs. Sir Malcolm seems to be their head,” she said. “What would that make him, an Arch Druid, you think?”
“I doubt they have a pope,” Jacob said dryly. “I suppose failing that, your friend will have to be satisfied with Arch Druid.”
“He’s not my—” Julianne clamped her lips shut, refusing to be drawn into an argument. Instead, she told Jacob what she’d gleaned about the Order within the Order—the fact that it involved mysterious rites, accepted female initiates, and didn’t particularly long for harmony with nature.
“I’m not surprised,” Jacob said, dragging a hand over his face. Julianne recognized the gesture as an attempt to soothe away pain and her chest constricted in silent empathy. “He seems the type.”
“If by that you mean he’s charismatic, attractive, and intelligent, I have to agree. Sir Malcolm is a natural leader.” She enjoyed a brief surge of triumph when Jacob scowled at that. Perhaps he really was jealous. “If Lord Digory is aware of the existence of a partial manuscript, Sir Malcolm all but confirmed that he’s not read it. His ideas about the goals of Druidism are entirely beneficent. Sir Malcolm takes a much different view. I don’t know why he makes such a show of standing behind Lord Digory.”
“Classic misdirection,” Jacob said. “Digory is his straw man. Ravenwood runs the show, yet remains in the shadows. I’m surprised you’re so taken with him.”
“I’m not.” She bristled at him and immediately regretted being so prickly when he raised his hands in mock surrender.
“All right,” he said. “Where do we find Sir Malcolm’s unholy little sect?”
“We don’t,” she said. “It appears they find us. Or rather they find me. I’ve been invited to their gathering two nights from now.”
“Well, that’s something,” he said, removing one of his gloves and rubbing his palm on the head of his walking stick. “It would make sense for them to keep whatever text they regard as ‘sacred’ in the place where they perform their rites. Once we’re there, we’ll be able to search for the other half of your manuscript.”
“There is no ‘we.’ The invitation was quite pointedly for me alone.”
“I’m sure it was,” he said. “But that’s out of the question. You have no idea what you may be getting into.”
“I’m not a child. I knew from the outset that finding the last dagger would not be without risk.”
“But this is beyond risky. It’s lunacy.”
Regret over being prickly faded in an instant. Jacob was treating her as if she were incompetent, helpless. Sir Malcolm had said the women of his Order were not weak. They were welcome. Essential, even.
“I did not hire you to counsel me on where I may go or not go. I hired you to find the dagger,” she told Jacob. “You are not my keeper.”
“I beg to differ,” he said. “You hired me to help you. Consider keeping you from doing something foolish an added bonus.”
“On the contrary, the only foolish thing I’ve done this night happened right here in this coach.” She folded her arms across her chest and looked out the opposite window to avoid the sight of his damnably handsome face. “And I’m not likely to repeat it.”
“Now listen here, Julianne—”
“No, you listen.” Suddenly she knew exactly how to throw him off. “Your cousin told me you live with a difficult ability. I don’t think she meant you have a hard time keeping your nose out of other people’s business, though you seem to struggle with that as well. What was she talking about?”
The coach passed from shadow to light as they clattered by a street lamp. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of his wary expression before they were plunged back into shades of gray.
“It’s nothing,” he said flatly.
“She said you have terrible headaches whenever you use your ‘gift,’ so it doesn’t sound like nothing to me.”
His lips tightened into a thin line. It was more than annoyance. The man seemed to be in genuine pain.
“What exactly is this gift, Jacob? And don’t you dare try to tell me it’s what dangles between your legs.”
It was a low blow, but he’d started this row. She hadn’t grown up in Cheapside and clawed her way to center stage on Drury Lane without learning how to fight dirty.
“You misunderstood Viola.”
“No, I didn’t,” she said evenly. “She said her sensitivity is easier to avoid than yours. Since you’re about as sensitive as a bull in a china shop, I can’t imagine what she means, but the look on your face tells me you know exactly what she was talking about.”
“Not now, Julianne,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Why? Because your head hurts?” Just because she hadn’t caught him using opiates since that first morning didn’t mean he hadn’t. Her aunt had been sneaky about her addiction at first too. “Have you considered the reason it hurts might be because you’ve abused laudanum so long, you now need more in order to feel normal?”
She knew he wasn’t to blame for the devastation laudanum had left in her past, but she could still smell the cordials the women at Lord Digory’s home had sipped so blithely. Opiates had cost her so much. They were the beginning of her long empty road. Like phantom pains from a missing limb, the lonely ache still throbbed in her chest.
Jacob frowned at her. “I rarely take a tonic. Only when absolutely necessary.”
That was how it always began for an opium addict. First, it was rarely. Then on occasion. Finally the addict couldn’t imagine a day without it.
The first morning she’d arrived on Jacob’s doorstep to begin their search for the dagger, his eyes had been red-rimmed, bleary with the remnants of drug-induced oblivion. Even then, she’d recognized the signs.
She simply hadn’t expected to care.
Usually, she had to work hard to manufacture a few tears. Now they trembled on her lashes without having to stir them up. Didn’t he realize what laudanum could do to him? She kept her face turned carefully away from him as the coach shuddered to a halt.
Without a word, he climbed out and handed her down. They walked in silence to Lord and Lady Kilmaine’s door and were greeted by the thoroughly competent butler. The man took their wraps and politely asked Jacob if he’d like a drink before retiring.
“Whisky,” he said wearily and the man disappeared to do his bidding.
“Don’t forget to add your poppy juice,” Julianne muttered as she headed for the stairs. She knew she was being spiteful but she couldn’t seem to help it. The old wound had been pricked and nothing would stop it from bleeding.
“Julie, wait.”
She stopped on the second riser, her stomach roiling. She might be swayed if she looked into his pain-riddled eyes, so she didn’t turn back to face him. She didn’t want to hear his excuses. He was weak. She despised him for his weakness.
And despised herself for caring.
“I’ll tell you about my gift,” he said softly.
She held her breath.
“But you have to tell me something in return,” he continued.
“What do you wish to know?”
“Why you’re so afraid all the time. And so guilty.”
She rounded on him. “I am not.”
How could he know about the remorseful panic that always clawed her gut?
He approached her, the difference in their heights obliterated by her perch on the stairs. For the first time, she was able to meet his gaze without looking up.
“You hide it well, I’ll give you that,” he said. “I suppose it’s part of what made you such a good actress, but it’s there just beneath the first layer of your skin all the same.”
She lifted her chin. “I’m not afraid of you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I almost wish you were.” He laughed mirthlessly.
“I’m willing to go to the secret Druid rites. Doesn’t that prove I have courage?”
“I didn’t say you weren’t courageous. I said you were afraid. You can’t rightly be the first without the second.” He cupped her chin with gentleness. “What happened to you, Julianne?”
The temptation to bare her past made her lean toward him slightly. He seemed like a solid rock, but if Jacob used poppy, she knew that would change. She couldn’t bear to see another person she cared about and counted on disintegrate before her eyes.
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