Mia swallowed. “What is it, Om Asa?”
He read the message again, this time out loud. Her eyes widened at the mention of Phaeton Black. “Do you think it’s really him?”
He shook his head. “If it is, it’s a miracle. The odds of finding him this quickly . . . Let’s not get our hopes up too high, as yet.” Exeter stood. “Come, let’s find this location.”
Mia was out the door, through the hall, and down the corridor. If only she could see herself as he did in this moment. Mia thought of herself as a woman, and, in the technical sense, she was. As he watched her fly down the corridor he was tempted to call out, “No running in the house,” as he had so often done during the past ten years.
He stood in the doorway of the study and rounded off the map coordinates. “Forty-eight degrees north by 2 degrees east. If I’m not mistaken that should place us on the Continent.” He moved in beside her at the globe.
Placing her finger on the line of latitude, Mia turned the globe until he found longitude. Their fingers met over—“Paris, France.” Mia jerked upright. “Our Paris, or an alternate Paris?”
“Mr. Noggy has advanced the idea that there may be touch points—places where one parallel universe connects with another. Just as we have discovered an alternate London, there may indeed be another Paris.” He moved his finger westward, over the globe—across the channel, over the fertile plains of Kent, stopping at London. “A few months ago, before we lost Phaeton, he suggested a new wardrobe for you, Mia. Something less ingenue. Gowns that are more—sophisticated.”
“I love that man with all my heart.” Mia sighed. “Not as much as I love you, of course. But there are certain things Phaeton knows . . . mysterious things . . . and so understanding of the female temperament—our dreams and longings . . .” She tilted her chin, exposing a graceful length of neck as she turned to him. “. . . our desires.”
And then there were moments with Mia, like this one. Sensuous moments when she was so utterly desirable his body ached for her. Caught off guard, his gaze lingered too long on her lips, which parted ever so slightly. Her large, liquid brown eyes returned his gaze honestly, openly.
He cleared his throat softly. “I thought we might . . . make a trip to Paris—have a look about for Phaeton, and order a new wardrobe for a beautiful young lady.”
Even as she struggled to remain composed, her eyes lit up.
Exeter grinned. “One who doesn’t scamper down hallways and say rude, upsetting things to well-meaning young men who just wish to waltz with her.”
Mia exhaled a deep breath, but didn’t roll her eyes, even though he knew she wanted to. “When might we leave for France?”
“I shall arrange travel this morning. We could leave by tomorrow morning if my agent can book passage.” Exeter checked his pocket watch. “We’ll give the Nightshades some time to sleep in. Jersey and Valentine got in very late last night.”
Mia nodded. “I saw Valentine briefly—sneaking out of Jersey’s room.”
Exeter twisted a look of irony into a faint smile. “In a few more hours, we can all ride over to Lovecraft’s factory together. America should be up and about by now—go check on her, would you?” Mia turned to leave and he caught her hand, placing the message about Phaeton in her palm. “Be sure to caution America about the news.”
Mia smiled. “After all these months, she’ll likely weep for joy.”
“And Mia.”
She turned back. “Yes, Om Asa?”
“Perhaps you should drop the Om in Om Asa. As charming as it was for you to adopt Mr. Tandi’s honorific”—Exeter felt his jaw twitch from nerves, though he wasn’t sure why—“I believe it’s time to let it go.”
She lingered near the door of his study. “May I call you Asa privately and Jason or Exeter among company or in public?”
He returned her smile. “I’d like that very much.”
She whirled around, tossing a second thought over her shoulder. “And I shall call you ‘the good doctor’ when I’m cross. Or when I’m being minxy.”
The moment Mia was down the hallway and out of earshot she paused for a muffled squeal of happiness and a bit of fancy footwork. A new wardrobe, designed by couturiers in Paris! The smile she had started with Exeter crept though her entire body.
Exeter. Jason. And perhaps Asa, when they were intimate together.
Of course she hadn’t phrased it quite that way, in front of the doctor, but a lady could enjoy a momentary flight of fancy, couldn’t she? She lifted her skirts enough to ascend the stairs. Reaching the third floor, she checked to make sure no one was looking and raced down the corridor to America’s room.
At times like this she felt completely normal and estranged from the part of her new life that frightened her, terribly, at times. But when those dark urges came—always in the evening, and always so . . . irresistible. At the fifth door on the left, she rapped quietly and poked her head in the doorway. “America?”
Phaeton Black’s exquisitely beautiful paramour waved her into the bedchamber. “Come in, Mia.” America Jones stood near the tall windows in her room. Her profile was haloed briefly by morning light. She was large and round with child—an earthy fertility goddess—and she had never looked lovelier.
Exeter had made the remark the other afternoon at tea. And Mia wholeheartedly agreed. America had put on a bit of weight, and her cheeks glowed a rosy peach color, The effect over fawn skin tones was stunning. Everything about her spoke of the new life growing inside her. Phaeton’s child.
Mia thought about the hopeful news she carried in her hand and smiled. She opened and shut the door quietly. “Exeter received a message from Tim Noggy.” She paused, making sure to measure her words. “It seems Mr. Ping’s flies on the wall have captured a conversation . . .”
America searched her face. “What are you saying, Mia?” Her voice was hesitant, as if she already knew but wouldn’t dare let herself hope.
“One of the voices has been identified as Phaeton’s.” Mia held out the folded paper. She felt the tremble in America’s hand as she passed her the note. “Perhaps you should sit down.” Mia guided her over to the settee.
America held onto her hand as she read and Mia bit back the urge to speak until she could stand it no longer. “Well? I do think there is room to be hopeful, even though Exeter advises caution.”
America held up a finger. “Shh! Let me read his speech again.” Her gaze slid back and forth across the notepaper and stopped. “Snidely trickery.” Her eyes sparked with light. “That certainly sounds like Phaeton vernacular—don’t you think, Edvar?”
Large yellow eyes blinked as the gargoyle gradually made his appearance. A snort or snuffle from the leathery gray beast ended in a whiny, high-pitched yuk-yuk. America grinned. “There is always a little bit of no in every yes from Edvar, ” she explained. “Phaeton claims Edvar is contrary by nature, but I have come to believe he’s just a grumbler.”
“Contrary and curmudgeon do go hand in glove.” Mia agreed. She had only recently become aware of Edvar’s presence, though Exeter had always been able to see the little fiend. Not much larger than a medium-sized terrier, the gargoyle had been Phaeton’s companion since he was a child. Mia thought it quite charming and wonderfully protective of the creature to remain at America’s side all these months. Mia squeezed her hand. “Tim was able to get map coordinates.”
Near breathless, America looked up and whispered, “Where?”
“Paris!” Mia could contain her excitement no longer. “We’re going after him.”
America’s gaze searched her face. “How—when?”
“Very soon. Tomorrow, if possible. I’ve sent messages to Tim Noggy, as well as my travel agent at Thomas Cook & Sons.” Exeter stood in the doorway. “May I come in?”
