took a small step back, putting another inch or two between them. “You wanted me to examine the body. Why stop me now?”
His gaze lingered on her face, working lower and lower a degree at a time. “Honestly, I’m afraid for you. You’re too important to me to take needless risks.”
She raised her eyebrows, unable to keep the sarcastic edge from her voice. “I’m important to you?”
“Of course.”
Long ago, lying in her narrow bed at the Wollaston Academy for Young Ladies, she’d daydreamed of Tobias Roth falling on his knees and declaring his love. Of course, her dream Tobias was an ideal—this man of flesh and blood was not. In her dreams he’d meant every word. Now she could not tell, and caution warred against her desire.
“Aren’t I important to you?” he asked softly, angling his body closer. “Please say that I am.”
“You are Imogen’s brother.” She had tried to make the words crisp, but they had come out far too breathy for comfort. He was standing too close again, the warmth of his breath brushing her cheek.
“No more than that?” His hand was on her waist. There were too many layers of clothes between them to feel the warmth, but she sensed the pressure of his caress. Was this how her mother had ended up eloping? A touch in a dark hallway?
The moment his arm was around her, Tobias lowered his lips to hers. Instinct urged her to run, but she ached to taste what he had to offer—and properly this time.
His mouth was soft, so soft and warm. Just like before, except now it was spiced with brandy. He smelled of wool and soap and smoke and just a faint undertone of machine oil. That made her smile against his mouth. Tobias was rich, spoiled, and willful, but there was more to him. He had an artist’s urge to create that disarmed her.
Their noses bumped as they shifted, finding a better position. Her palms brushed the front of his jacket, feeling the soft, expensive fabric and the swell of firm, young muscle beneath. An ache throbbed deep in her body, blotting out common sense. A slow burn began low in her belly, tingling upward until she was sure she glowed with hot little sparkles of sinful sensation. Her stays suddenly felt too tight, too hot, too rough against her skin.
His mouth moved against hers, his tongue parting her lips. Evelina’s knees were melting. In a moment, she’d sag against him, helpless and pliable as putty. She was losing. This was how reason drowned in the arms of a pretty young man. A moment’s weakness, and she had forgotten everything: her caution, his half-truths, and— oh, yes—a killer in their midst.
Evelina backed away, nearly crashing into the clock. Her heart was pounding almost painfully hard. “You’re Imogen’s brother. You can’t be more than that to me, and you know it.”
His brows bunched with irritation. “Why not?”
She cleared her throat, forcing herself to feel the floor under her feet instead of billowing clouds of wishful thinking. “You’re not a man I can marry, and I’m not a woman who can afford to take a lover.”
Her frankness clearly startled him. “Why can’t we marry? You’re not a nobody, Evelina. You’re being presented. You’re getting a Season.”
Her mouth twisted, hating that she had to explain. “Don’t toy with me. Your father would never countenance it. He has ambitions for your family, and you’re his heir. I’m neither rich nor titled.”
Now he looked angry. “So?”
A flash of temper rescued her. “I’m not a tart, either. I can’t afford you, Tobias.”
The look he gave was filled with hurt confusion. Apparently the great oaf had never thought any of this through. And his eyes smoked with need. It was plain on his face: Tobias Roth had just realized he wanted her, quite possibly because she’d just said no.
“Evelina?” The one-word query held volumes of other questions.
“Good night, Tobias,” she said quickly, and fled to her room. She’d completely forgotten to ask him about the automatons.
Chapter Fifteen
HILLIARD HOUSE
Despite the clock’s dire predictions, there wasn’t a storm cloud in the sky. At least, not the literal kind. The walled garden behind Hilliard House sheltered the genteel gaiety of Lady Bancroft’s birthday party. And although the April wind was still cool, bright sun and puffs of flowering cherry and plum trees made up for the sometimes brisk air.
Tobias looked wistfully at the table where the guests were served brandy and soda, and accepted a cup of tea instead. Spirituous liquors would help his mood but not his etiquette, and that sort of thing mattered to his mother.
The weather was perfection. Servants had moved the dining table and second-best Turkey carpets onto the lawn, so the ladies’ kid slippers remained free of grass stains. An automatic samovar puffed dainty gusts of steam as it brewed individual cups of tea, dispensing razor-thin slices of lemon when one pushed the correct cloisonne knob. A small wind ensemble occupied one corner, spinning out Mozart divertimenti like so much musical frosting.
One would never have known a servant had been slaughtered just nights ago, and only a dozen yards away. Tobias couldn’t drive the shadow of Grace Child from his soul. It seemed to cling to every bonnet, every macaroon, making the frothy cheer of the party feel obscene. The only thing worse was pretending that it had never happened—but his father had threatened to sack any of the help who breathed a word of it.
Grace’s eyes had been lovely. They were the only part of her face Tobias really remembered. He hadn’t even stopped to take a proper look at her. Not at first. He’d been thinking about the idiot prank he’d pulled at the Charlotte, and whether he’d be caught.
He took a swallow of the tea and nodded and smiled at the pretty copper-haired girl someone had introduced as the Gold King’s daughter. He thought he might have met her before. What was her name? Alice? Did he care? Whatever the case, he gave her the full force of his insincere charm. She dimpled sweetly, reminding him of an insipid china doll.
She wasn’t Evelina.
But he had his pick of women, and he knew himself too well. He was fickle. He was over Evelina now.
Unfortunately, the idea of wooing her in earnest came and went like a fever. One of those nasty recurring ones. Ten minutes hence, he might be shaking with the dread sickness again. Only keeping his distance from her seemed to make things easier. He never stayed in lust long—at least that fact gave him something to hope for.
Unless he really meant to lay his heart at her feet? Tobias pondered for a moment. His father would hate it, which was a plus, but he actually cared about Evelina. He worried about her safety. He might be a bit of a rake, but he wasn’t without some scruples. Still, what could a bit of dalliance hurt?
Maybe more than he had assumed. She was more than some demimondaine who knew the rules of the game better than he did. Those women never raised the question of marriage. She’d slapped it down before him like a gauntlet.
And what exactly had Evelina meant when she said she couldn’t
