The Rebel Heir (4 page)

“Crosby, is it?” Brice asked.

“It is,” Ash said with a grin. “You know, I have a healing tonic upstairs that would make last night all but disappear from your memory.” He gave a wave of his hand as he said it—an affectation he'd picked up from a fortune-teller last year. People seemed to like the drama it added to his words.

“Do you?” Brice asked as he took a drink from his glass.

“No, but the tonic will get you foxed to the point that you don't mind the memory so much.”

“I like him, St. James.” Brice released a hearty laugh that shook the windowpanes. “We could use someone with a sense of humor around here, after enduring your secretive glares.”

“Good to know I'm not the only recipient of that look,” Ash said.

Brice leaned closer even though he made no attempt at lowering his voice. “You didn't ask him about the house, did you? He doesn't like to talk about that at all. Clams up tighter than ol' Harriett's nether regions, if you know what I mean.”

“Brice,” St. James interrupted. “Before you arrived, we were discussing a bit of business.”

“Never mind me, then. Continue. I'll stay silent as the grave.”

“That
would
be a feat,” St. James replied as he raised his hand and signaled for a footman to come forward. The man laid a large piece of paper in the center of the table, then backed away with a nod.
Crosby Steam Works
was printed in large, official-looking letters above a drawing of some sort.

“I believe this will lend some credence to your words, beyond waving your hands about to suggest vapors.”

Ash looked down at a sketched diagram with intricate wheels, lines connecting them, and notes scribbled in pencil around the borders. It did seem technical, but what was it? He looked up at St. James. “This…whatever this is…will produce steam?”

“At the moment it produces squeals and the scent of burning hair.” St. James took a drink of his tea. “Of course, the
ton
doesn't need to know the details.”

“It does give the impression of actual scientific advancement,” Ash offered as he studied the paper, spinning the drawing to look at it from all angles. If he was to use this document, he would have to memorize it and give the marks meaning in his own mind. “How did you come across such a diagram? And the name at the top…Crosby Steam Works.” It did sound as if it would be a legitimate organization. He ran a hand over it in admiration.

“I know a scientist of sorts.” St. James shot a look at Brice that Ash didn't quite understand. “I paid him a visit after I last met with you. The Crosby name was added after your arrival at headquarters of course, but the remainder of the diagram was completed a month ago.”

Brice leaned forward to study the paper with them. “This was what that visit was about, then? Steam? And I thought we were only there to wish Dean well with his upcoming leg shackle.”

St. James shrugged and looked across the table at Ash.

“How did you know I would come to London?” Ash asked.
He
hadn't even been sure, and yet this man had taken a trip to have scientific-looking sketches drawn.

But St. James only twitched the corner of his mouth up in a hint of a grin, revealing nothing.

Ash glanced to Brice, but the large man only shrugged and said, “Welcome to the Spare Heirs.”

As for Ash, he still wasn't sure about the entire thing. If the group could assist him with his plans, then he was glad for that, at least. But one month of belonging to any sort of group would be long enough. The last thing Ash needed was something tying him to London society. One month and he would be gone, no matter how great the temptation to stay.

* * *

Her mother had insisted that she stand just so in order to tempt every gentleman present into a dance. Evangeline pursed her lips and moved her fan to her waist where she'd been instructed to keep it to accentuate her shape beneath her gown. She paused, waiting for someone to notice. Her arm was growing numb, but she didn't dare move from her statuesque position.

Her mother had left her side to chat with a well-connected lady she'd spotted in an adjoining parlor. This was Evangeline's first small piece of freedom from the woman's watchful eye since the last ball, and she was not going to fail.

“Evie, don't you agree?” Isabelle pleaded at her side. “Tell Victoria she's being ridiculous about the rules of the card rooms.”

“Don't bother her, Isabelle,” Victoria responded. “Can't you see she's too busy posing for an invisible portrait? She can't possibly answer questions at a time like this.”

Isabelle shifted beside her. “You simply know that she will agree with me. Ladies do not belong in the card room with the gentlemen.”

Evangeline kept her gaze on the swirl of movement on the ballroom floor, wishing Roselyn had been able to attend this evening. In Sue's absence, Roselyn seemed to be the only voice of reason beyond her own. And Isabelle and Victoria required constant reasoning. She blinked as she'd been taught to do, allowing her lashes to fall with grace to her cheeks before opening her eyes wide again.

Victoria gave a snort of derision in a most unladylike fashion. “If you were truly
hunting
for a husband, you would go where the prey is plentiful. Gentlemen congregate together over a hand of cards. It's logical to walk up the stairs and join them.”

“Where Mother would surely catch you gambling again? Victoria…” Isabelle's voice trailed off in concern.

“I'm not gambling. See?” Victoria stepped forward into Evangeline's field of vision with extended arms. “I am here, bored out of my wits at the side of a ballroom where sweet young ladies such as myself belong.”

Evangeline sighed, abandoning her pose and turning toward her cousins. “No one is going to be caught gambling, because no one is planning to gamble this evening. Isn't that true, Victoria?”

“Of course it's true.” Victoria rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows the stakes at this sort of event are dismal anyway.”

Evangeline narrowed her eyes at Victoria, then stretched out her fingers. They'd gone cold from clutching her fan with the utmost intensity. “Comments like that are not helping to keep Isabelle from fretting.”

Victoria's full lips twisted in irritation. “I only suggested we stroll up the stairs to try to find her some fresh meat for the husband hunt.”

“I'm fairly certain referring to gentlemen as slices of flesh isn't advisable,” Evangeline whispered, glancing around to see if anyone had heard.

“If society can force me onto the marriage mart like a pig being led to the slaughter, then I can damn well refer to gentlemen in the same terms,” Victoria retorted.

“Shh. For heaven's sake, Victoria. Someone could hear such talk and then you'll never find a husband.”

Isabelle stepped between them with a hand laid on her cousin's arm in a gesture of kindness. “Don't mind her, Evie. She has no desire to find a husband. I believe she longs to be my children's unwed, elderly aunt.” Isabelle turned to look at her sister, a rare fond smile passing between them.

“And I shall teach them all the things they need to know,” Victoria added.

“Like how to out-curse a sailor?” Evangeline asked.

“Precisely. I look forward to it.”

“My poor children,” Isabelle muttered, but she was beaming at her sister with obvious affection.

Evangeline sighed and slid her gaze beyond her cousins. And that's when she saw him. Hair dark as sin, and arrogance that could be seen from across a room. Crosby hadn't left London. He wasn't on the road to some other place far away from her… He was
here
.

Her breath caught as she watched him ascend the open stairs to the balcony above the ballroom floor. He was talking to the gentleman at his side, whom she didn't know—imparting some secret, she was sure. Secrets seemed the only language he knew; even his name was false. But why? And who was he truly?

He was moving in the direction of the card room Victoria had been so interested in visiting. Soon he would be inside the walls of a room where no lady was permitted, and she would have lost her chance to learn the truth.

Evangeline gave Victoria's arm a tug to spin her in the proper direction. “On second thought, perhaps the card room is just the place for us this evening.”

“You can't be serious, Evie,” Isabelle said, attempting to follow her gaze, currently fixed on a point moving up the stairs. “We mustn't go inside there with the gentlemen.”

“I'm not suggesting we do,” Evangeline replied. There was no need to do something that brazen. She only needed to get close enough to learn why Crosby was still here. “But I think we would be remiss not to take a trip up the stairs. Only for a moment, of course.”

“See, Isabelle?” Victoria said with an air of triumph. “Evangeline understands the rules of the hunt, and I'm only too happy to assist her.”

“Wait for me,” Isabelle cried. “If you're to go in search of gentlemen, I'm coming with you. Perhaps Mr. Brice is in the card room.”

Evangeline gave the parlor door a fleeting glance. Her mother's attention was focused on smiling at the appropriate times in the conversation that surrounded her. Things such as smiles and laughter didn't come naturally to the stern woman, and never had. She wouldn't notice if Evangeline moved for only a few minutes. And as usual her father had wandered away the moment they'd arrived, no doubt to discuss politics with their host. He'd been quite clear in the carriage about his reasons for attending this evening.

Leaving the ballroom for even a minute, two balls in succession? She would have to be more vigilant with her conduct for the remainder of the season. But tonight… If she could slip away, then return in a timely manner to her position at the edge of the ballroom floor and stand appropriately as if nothing had occurred, no one would be the wiser. Quickening her pace, Evangeline moved through the crowd, gliding around the groups of people gathered at the edges of the room.

The Tottings' home boasted a lovely ballroom that was open to a gallery above. It was only a few steps to the base of the stairs. For once her mother hadn't been able to manage a position for them farther from the entrance, and Evangeline couldn't be more thankful. The staircase to the gallery hung in the corner as if suspended from the ceiling. She led the way, leaving her cousins to scurry up the stairs behind her if they were to keep pace. He'd come this way, and if she hurried, she could catch him before he disappeared into the realm of gentlemen.

She paused at the top of the stairs, glancing to each end of the open gallery. Seeing two dark heads turn the corner at the far end of the room, she followed. Serene-looking Tottings ancestral portraits lined the walls, giving the appearance that they were watching the ladies twirl about to the music below. It was a charming effect, if one didn't consider that they were doomed to spend eternity living every ball as a wallflower with both an unfortunate visage and an inadequate dowry might be forced to do. Evangeline gave the portraits of the ladies a sympathetic nod as she passed.

“Evangeline, what is your hurry?” Isabelle complained at her back. “I can't walk any faster in these slippers. They match my gown to perfection, but I cannot say the same for their fit on my feet.”

“Then why did you tell Mother they were divine?” Victoria asked. “I believe that was the exact word you used—
divine.
”

“Did you not see them? They are divine,” Isabelle replied, her usual dreamy tone back in her voice.

“As long as your plan is to admire them from afar,” Victoria countered. “You can hardly walk, Isabelle.”

“Yes, but look when I point my toe…” Isabelle's words trailed away as she paused to show off her shoes to her sister.

Evangeline didn't even slow her stride, much less turn to look at Isabelle's shoes. She could admire them after she'd found Crosby and learned why he was here tonight.

“Damn if that isn't divine,” Victoria exclaimed.

“See? I told you.”

Evangeline shook her head, making sure to stay well away from the railing overlooking the ballroom where she could be seen. Her cousins could hobble in her direction when they were finished discussing the finer points of Isabelle's dancing slippers. She only slowed when she reached the end of the gallery. The portrait of a sour-looking gentleman seemed to be giving her a set-down about the direction she was taking. “Hush,” she whispered to him as she turned the corner toward the card room.

Bracketed sconces provided scallops of light that swooped down the long hall like the trim on a lady's dress. If Evangeline and her cousins kept to the shadows, they could reach the far end without drawing notice. She glanced around to see if Victoria and Isabelle were coming, only to have them collide with her as they rounded the corner.

“Oof,” Evangeline muttered, taking a step back to find her balance. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “If we're careful, we can reach the door to the card room without notice.”

“Without notice?” Isabelle asked, appearing deflated by Evangeline's plan.

“I agree with Isabelle. If we're going to lure a gentleman for either of you, it won't be done in the shadows.”

“What do you plan to do, walk right down the hall where we know we shouldn't be?” Evangeline asked.

“Yes.” Victoria smiled. “And with style. This is for your sakes, after all, not mine.”

Evangeline opened her mouth to argue, but Victoria had already linked arms with her and was pulling her down the hall. She was the one who'd started on this path of wrongdoing so she could hardly complain now.

Her nerves jangled like a bell in the hands of an eager child as they slid from light to shadow and back to light again. The gentlemen seemed to be gathered at the opposite end of the hall, still a distance away. A door had been left open, and gentlemen spilled out in a mass of dark coats and rumbling voices. The smell of liquor burned Evangeline's nose even at this distance.