Worry squirmed inside Evelina, pushing her into action. The Roths had left, Nick had fled into the night, and she needed to find a ride back to Hilliard House. She had to collect the last of her things and make her way to Baker Street. She’d been advised that morning that the moment her uncle was no longer an invalid, Lord Bancroft no longer wished to suffer her presence. She had delayed until after the gallery opening only because her uncle had required her presence and she had run out of time to pack. Now that Holmes had started a chain of events that would likely lead to Lord Bancroft’s arrest, she would be lucky not to find her underthings in the street.
“Miss Cooper.” She turned to see the Gold King standing beside her. He gave a slight bow.
“Mr. Keating.” She gave a small curtsy.
“Allow me to loan you one of my carriages for the night.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “But I am quite comfortable hiring a cab.”
“Perhaps, but I owe your uncle for his services. It was my men that saw him home, and he specifically requested that his young relation be treated will all possible respect.”
There was no objection she could make to that. Keating studied her a moment, as if seeing her for the first time. She noticed his eyes were a peculiar shade of amber, like a cat’s. “I understand that you also played a role in uncovering the forgery scheme,” he said.
“It was very modest, I assure you.”
“I don’t think so.” A smile creased his distinguished features, but it had an edge. “I found your paper knife in the leg of my streetkeeper, and my agents found Miss Roth’s calling card in the warehouse.”
Evelina felt herself going light-headed. “A coincidence, surely.”
He smiled with a quick shake of his head. “You have interesting talents. I am always keen to know more of clever young people.”
“And I am gratified if I was able to assist in any way.”
A small black victoria pulled to a halt in the street. One gray horse pulled it, and the top was up to shelter against the evening breeze. Keating gave another bow. “Here is my carriage. Again, I thank you. I’m sure we shall meet again sometime.”
He helped Evelina up and closed the door, but his hand remained on the sill of the open window. “One piece of advice, Miss Cooper. It is clear that my foolish cousin is but one of a cabal of thieves, quite probably the least and last of their number. That is my mistake; I thought safely unpacking crates was well within his capabilities. Apparently, I was in error.”
Evelina waited while he cast a glance around the street and then leaned closer to the window. “Captain Roberts is certainly among the guilty, and Lord Farley. I do not doubt those involved in the Harter Engine scheme attempted to recoup their losses at my expense. This bears the hallmark of someone with imagination and an understanding of craftsmanship and metalwork.”
Understanding seeped in like chill, foul water. She turned icy, her fingers trembling in her lap.
He narrowed his eyes. “When word gets out, there will be a metaphorical bloodbath in Mayfair, Miss Cooper, and I would be very surprised if your name was not dragged into the affair. I would advise you to forget having a Season and retire to the country. I’m sure what social events go forward would not welcome you.”
She caught his gloved hand where it sat on the window. “Please, remember these men have families, and they are innocent.”
The look on his face said she’d revealed something interesting to him. Her anxiety went up a notch as if a gear inside her had tightened.
“Calm yourself, Miss Cooper. I know very well about family affections, and I’m not a wasteful man.” He rapped on the side of Victoria with his cane, and the Gold King’s equipage lurched forward, rattling on the cobbles.
If his words had been meant to reassure her, they didn’t. Evelina sank into the soft velvet of the cushions, horrified.
Once the carriage reached Hilliard House, she stood for a moment admiring the serene beauty of it, ignoring what it hid. She’d never completely fit into the world of the gentry. She remembered cowering in the cupboard under Grandmamma Holmes’s stairs, afraid of a beating because she’d thoughtlessly picked the flowers in the formal garden. And she’d cried when she saw her brand-new bedroom, the one her mother had as a girl. It was so big, and so beautiful, but she had no one to share it with, and she would have to sleep in the huge white bed alone. And yet she’d persevered. She’d gone to school and learned to be a lady. She’d been presented to the queen and danced at a ball. She didn’t
Quietly, she slid into the house and mounted the stairs to her room. Her trunks had already been removed. All that was left was a bag to pack with her last few things, and she wanted to avoid everyone until that task was done. Far better to be ready to go before she went through the awkwardness of good-byes.
“It’s my fault, you know. I should have left Grace Child standing outside in the cold.”
She turned. Tobias was in the doorway, his face haggard. “That’s nonsense,” she said. “If anyone is to blame—” She stopped. She was going to say it was her fault, or her uncle’s. But her intention had been to save Bancroft, and Holmes had been hired to find the casket. Both of them had, in their own way, tried to shield the family. In truth, the only person guilty of Bancroft’s ruin was Lord B himself—but that wasn’t what Tobias needed to hear.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said with a shrug. “What matters is that everything has fallen to pieces since. It will seem odd with you away. You’ve been Imogen’s friend so long, I feel like you’re one of us. I can’t imagine our house at Christmas, or five, or ten years into the future and not seeing you in your spot at the table. You’ve been one of the family for ages. You’re a habit I like.”
She bit her lips together to keep them from trembling. “I know. I feel it, too. But things will settle down when your father realizes that everything is fine.”
That statement fell between them like a concrete dirigible. Once Keating finished with Harriman, and got his list of names, Lord Bancroft would be in very, very deep water. “The Gold King warned me what was coming. He said I should go to the country. Grandmamma isn’t well. I think I might go stay with her for a time.”
“What about your Season?” he asked.
“There won’t be one. Not for me, anyhow. I’ll be fine. I always am.”
She saw her words strike to the quick. He blamed himself, or at least his family, for what was likely to be her fall from favor, too.
“It’s all right.” She whispered it, because she didn’t trust her voice. “You didn’t cause any of this.”
He smiled, but it was jerky. “I don’t like it.”
“But what you like doesn’t count right now, does it?”
He took her hands in his, and she felt the rough spots where he’d been handling tools. He kissed her fingers, looking up under his brows. She saw the fear and desire in his gray eyes. It was the look of someone seeing a door crack open—and praying it doesn’t close. The naked, honest vulnerability of it squeezed her heart.
They embraced, hot and desperate. His mouth found hers, telling her without words how much he hurt. Evelina felt tears slip from under her lashes and she dragged in a shaking breath. “I don’t want to lose you.”
His hands slid over her ribs, over the flare of her hips. “I know.”
And their lips met again, but this time it was slower, more deliberate, as if the alchemy of touching was turning their sorrow into something else. They kissed once, twice, then his fingers found the buttons of her fine lace collar and slid first one pearly sphere, then the next through the fine mesh loops that held it closed. Warm against her throat, his fingers were indescribably intimate, as if a great deal more of him were touching her.
An ache began low in her belly, a fire instantly stoked to life. She leaned into him, suddenly needing the pressure of his body like she needed air, and rested her head against his strong shoulder.
The lamp on her desk spilled light into the room, pulling the yellows and gold from the Turkish carpet, but it could not dispel the emptiness of the space. The dresser was bare, the wardrobe door standing open, the bookcase cleared of all her volumes. She had already left. This was just the denouement.
Tears coursed down her face freely now. “Tobias.”
His hand pressed against her back, holding her to him. “I love you.”
Evelina felt her body go limp. She didn’t move a muscle, but felt like an automaton whose engine had just
