It was very possible he’d shut out people and their interfering energies in order to accomplish the many tasks he set himself. In the process, he’d shut out this part of himself as well. He wasn’t entirely certain he wished to go through life noticing vibrations, but for Iona, he’d concentrate as if people were antique objects of interest.
Crossing one leg over his knee and leaning back in his chair, he assumed his best air of boredom and disdain as Drummond introduced his gambling mates from the previous evening. Gerard shrugged when one of the others suggested the newcomers join them.
Winter practically rattled the table with his eagerness. A stout young man, wearing tailoring finer than Gerard could afford, the American beamed delight from a cherubic face it was hard to dislike. He was quite possibly as much a victim as the twins.
While Winter lavished them with gratitude for allowing him to join such exalted company, Gerard watched his companion, the supposed Earl of Craigmore. Mortimer wasn’t too far into his cups yet. He had probably once been a handsome man but dissipation had carved lines in his face, shadowed his eyes, and sapped his body. A receding hairline and untrimmed sideburns and mustache created a caricature of a degenerate villain.
It only took a few rounds of cards to determine Mortimer was cheating. Gerard fingered the cards the villain handled, focusing on the energy they emitted and not how he played. As Iona had said, her stepfather wasn’t much on planning more than the moment. His vibrations were so shaky and crude that even Gerard’s newly discovered talent could translate them as fury and frustration—and fear.
He didn’t need pulsing air to tell him Mortimer was quite capable of doing damage if he didn’t have what he wanted.
The old soldier in his head grunted agreement. . . and interest. It was worse than having his father in his head.
After a few more rounds of play, Gerard almost began to like the eager young American. On White’s cards, he picked up languid shreds he interpreted as boredom and impatience, presumably with Mortimer. Again, he didn’t need vibrations to discern the wealthy American’s unnatural interest in young Drummond. Damn. This business of reading others was worse than sitting down to a gossip fest.
Irritated, Gerard laid down his cards, literally and figuratively. “I’m ready to call it a night, fellows, sorry. Craigmore, I believe I’ve found something of interest to you. I’m seeing your solicitor in the morning to verify that all is above board. It was good having a chance to meet you first.”
He tapped on his hat and stood, leaving the fake earl and his wealthy friend looking startled and shoving back to follow. Rainford and friends prevented them from doing so.
Gerard had no doubt that he’d be tracked the second he climbed the cellar stairs. Insouciantly, he summoned a hansom and took it to the hotel. He had no fear for himself, but he may have just dropped a bomb that would have repercussions.
Mortimer had seemed dangerously desperate. Would he try to find Iona first? If the false earl thought he could pry a large marriage settlement out of Winter, he’d want as much control of Iona as he could. That wouldn’t happen in a solicitor’s office with Gerard watching.
Wrapped up in his thoughts, Gerard forgot to be wary once he reached the relative safety of the busy hotel lobby. It was early enough in the evening for guests to be returning from dinner or leaving for entertainments. Heading for the stairs, he nearly tripped over a ruffled red train.
The wearer of said train swung angrily, then said in disgust, “Lord Ives, of course. Why aren’t you in your sty where you belong?”
Lady Alice. He really didn’t have time for flirtation or argument. Volatile Alice was capable of either without a moment’s notice. They’d been lovers a few times, years ago, but mostly they were childhood acquaintances who occasionally leaned on each other. And she apparently thought him dull enough to marry her if pressed. He knew to be wary now.
He offered his usual smooth apology, a smattering of flattery, and kept his eye out for her escort. But when it became plain she had just returned from dinner with her father, a little imp in his head kicked cans until he woke up.
Mortimer’s spies were waiting for Gerard to lead them to Iona. If he stayed in the hotel, they might tear the place apart in search of her. If they had anyone watching the school, they may have seen Gerard arrive with a cloaked female and not depart with her. Thugs might attack the school.
He hoped the school had the resources to protect Iona for an evening, but why leave it to chance?
“How interested are you in helping the ladies at Wystan who helped you?” he asked bluntly. Alice was self-absorbed but not heartless, and she owed him for that earlier embarrassing contretemps.
Her eyes widened. “You’re actually speaking to me, not just uttering inanities?”
Gerard waved an impatient hand and played on Alice’s usual ennui. “Obviously. It’s only a small favor, to aid a young Wystan lady being pursued by an unwanted suitor. You’ll benefit from it, I assure you.”
“Deceit and a reward,” she almost purred. “I can do that. If this will settle any debt I owe, what do I need to do? And how long will it take?”
He produced Iona’s room key. “I need you to change into something drab, perhaps from your lady’s maid, if necessary. If you have a hooded cloak, wear that, or I’ll borrow one.” He wagered the lady knew the need for hooded cloaks and kept one on hand. “Then go to this room and wait for me. How long do you think that will take you? I shall try to be up
