A Study in Silks

A soft knock sounded at the door. “It’s Tobias. May I come in?”

“All right.”

He entered, closing the door behind him. Evelina rose uneasily. Propriety demanded an open door.

“I must speak with you,” he said quietly. “Forgive me, but I must do it privately.”

He didn’t look particularly sober, which didn’t reassure her at all.

“What about?” she asked.

He paused, giving her a distracted smile. “So serious. Do you know I almost never see you laugh?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Is that what you came here to say?”

“No, although it’s definitely worth saying.”

He pulled the stool from her dressing table and sat down on it, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked suddenly exhausted. “I …” he trailed off.

Evelina waited, her apprehension turning to worry for Tobias. “What is it?”

“I don’t know where to start.”

She turned her desk chair to face him and sat down, clasping her hands in her lap. She wanted to reach out to touch him, to offer comfort, but that would have led down a dangerous road.

“Are you still angry with me?” he asked, looking up under his brows.

The question caught her off guard. She felt her cheeks heat. “Does it matter?”

“To me. I’m sorry. There are things you don’t know.”

She was tired of his secrets. “Then you can’t blame me for making what judgements I can.”

He winced. “Fair enough. I’m asking you to believe I’m being honest when I … well, it’s trust for trust, isn’t it? I need to trust you if you’re going to trust me. But I need you to keep what I say to yourself.”

Evelina heard the scrabble of Bird’s claws on the ledge outside. Panic tingled through her, and she shifted to block as much of the window as she could. Secrets. There are just too many secrets. “I can keep a confidence, but don’t tell me if you will regret it later.”

To be honest, she didn’t want to know about his mistresses, or the gambling hells, or any of the other depravities that went on in his clubs. Her imagination could supply all that well enough without his assistance.

Tobias hunched his shoulders, his hands braced on his knees. “That night—the night Grace died—I built a giant squid and tore down the opera.” The words came out in a muffled mutter.

For a moment there was nothing but stunned surprise.

Bloody hell. Evelina clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, dear Lord, that was you?” she mumbled from behind her hand. “I should have known!”

“You can’t tell anyone or we’ll all be arrested!” he hissed.

She clamped her other hand over her mouth, forcing herself to stay silent. Her shoulders were starting to shake. She’d read about it all in the papers. Tears of laughter started to leak from her eyes.

He was turning red. “It’s not that funny!”

“Yes, it is.” She hiccuped. “Was your father there?”

He nodded, starting to grin himself. “Like Jove remembering he left his thunderbolts back in the chariot.”

Then they both started to giggle, the cramped, hushed noise of two conspirators afraid of discovery. Evelina couldn’t stand it, and got up to look out of the window. She needed to laugh out loud, but they might be overheard. And there was no way to settle down as long as Tobias was right in front of her, looking as guilty as the boy who’d stolen the pie.

Of course that was him. Who else would ever do such a thing? She shook with an aftershock of mirth, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Is that why you had bruises on your face that night?” she asked.

“There was quite a fight,” he nodded, looking sheepish.

A huge knot of worry came loose from under her heart. If he was wreaking havoc at the opera, full of high spirits and mischief—well, it just didn’t fit with a cold-blooded, gruesome murder. Tobias has to be innocent.

How could the man who had defended Dora before the Gold King be anything less? Tobias Roth was handsome, clever, and original. There was no room in her universe for him to be anything but good and kind.

Bird had flown off and was flashing through the branches of the trees, bouyant as her spirits. Behind her, she heard Tobias moving and was about to turn around when she felt his hands come to rest lightly on her shoulders. She tensed, afraid to move, afraid that he would move, afraid that he would leave. As if he sensed her uncertainty, he stood perfectly still.

“At least now I’ve seen you laugh.” His voice, deep and soft, came from right behind her. His breath tickled her ear, tart with the scent of wine. His fingers were warm, gentle—though there was strength just beneath that softness.

“You are a wonderful idiot,” she whispered, wanting him to touch her even if it made every instinct alert and wary.

He chuckled. “You’re probably the only woman in the Empire who knows who I am and still thinks so. The wonderful part at least. The idiot part is a generally accepted truth.”

Evelina bit her lip, afraid to disturb the moment. Would you think I’m wonderful if you knew everything about me?

Tobias went on, his voice low and urgent. “I want you to know I’m dealing honestly with you.”

Instantly, caution assailed her. “Your father—”

“Never mind him.” Tobias squeezed her shoulders lightly.

“He is your father. Don’t hurt yourself for my sake.”

“He is important to me, but I have my own heart to follow. I know who I am now.”

She thought of her own situation, of the roads she had traveled and how many she had yet to go down. Her chest ached for Tobias. “That’s not always as simple as it sounds. There are a lot of false paths.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve been on quite a few of them.”

Evelina swallowed, wondering what any of this meant. Don’t read more into it than is there. He just came to tell you about the opera house. The rest is as reliable as quicksand. “Right now everything is more confusing than ever.”

He made a wry noise. “I have a feeling a lot is going to happen before the Season is over, and I don’t mean just a lot of balls and tea parties.”

Champagne, proposals, and—oh yes, a triple homicide with a garnish of sorcery. What larks. “I think you’re right.”

“You’ll keep me honest.” He pressed his lips to the tip of her ear, then backed away.

She turned to face him, catching her breath at the soft look in his clear gray eyes. “I can’t be your conscience.”

He gave a lopsided smile, his face pale as if the drink were finally catching up to him. “Some of us are better if we’re held accountable.”

She smiled, shaking her head. “You have to do that for yourself.”

That’s the thing with real professionals. They can work without a net. But he had trusted her enough to tell her his secret. Never mind he was quite clearly drunk, it was still something. Perhaps it made her trust him a little. “Good night, Tobias.”

The lopsided grin widened with a version his habitual mischief. “Good night, fair Evelina. Talking with you always makes me a better man.”

“It doesn’t take much,” she muttered, pushing him away.

He barked a laugh as he disappeared out the door.

Chapter Twenty-three

London, April 10, 1888

KEATING RESIDENCE