With Ellis, one rarely achieved anything else. The man was scrupulous in his social dealings, unlike Alex who usually couldn’t be bothered. Since giving up the demon drink, his focus on his work had been such that he’d allowed his social commitments to fall by the wayside. Ellis wasn’t in on tonight’s plan. As fond as Alex was of him, in many ways he remained an enigma. Alex doubted he could carry off a scene like this convincingly.
As Nightingale nodded at something Ellis had said, Alex couldn’t help marveling a little that he’d actually invited his enemy into his home and given him claret. If this were a few hundred years ago, there might be poison lurking in its depths. He couldn’t muster the same animosity for the boy hovering at Nightingale’s side. With his faded velvet suit, closely cropped bright red hair, and pale, prematurely wise elfin face, his presence as Nightingale’s shadow saddened Alex. What chance did the boy have and what must his life have been?
Carter inclined his head in acknowledgment from his station by the fire. Like Alex, he was steering clear. He was perhaps the only man Alex knew who was incapable of polite dissembling. Raw honesty, that was Carter’s way, and Alex had always admired him for it. Helen had chosen well.
At last, Evie stepped from behind the drapes of her spirit cabinet. Her black hair, drawn severely back and neatly parted in the middle as always, shone in the candlelight. She wore the same black gown she’d worn the night of their first meeting. If he only had time, he would buy her dresses. Ruby red, emerald green, and sapphire blue. He wanted to see her hair unbound once before he lost her.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said. “My preparations are almost complete.” Without raising her voice, she commanded the room. She was what they’d all been waiting for. Especially Alex.
All of my life.
He pushed the thought away. “Next to me, Mr. Nightingale, if you please,” he said, taking one of the seats that formed a semi-circle in front of the curtains. “And the boy on my other side.”
“You heard His Grace, Jack,” Nightingale muttered.
Carter and Ellis took the chairs on each end.
“Before I re-enter the cabinet, I will ask one of you to bind me so that everyone may feel confident no chicanery is possible. I will allow His Grace and Mr. Nightingale to decide between them who is to do the honors.”
Alex allowed his amusement to show as he turned to the other man. “Any thoughts, Nightingale?”
“I am content for His Grace to secure your bonds. And to supply the rope if he prefers.”
The gall of the man when he must know she kept a blade on her person.
“Would you consent to be searched, madam?” Alex asked.
“Not by you, sir,” was Evie’s tart rejoinder.
Alex laughed outright. “By Mr. Ellis then? Or perhaps Dr. Carter is more to your taste?”
Ellis looked absolutely mortified, Carter impassive.
She heaved an exasperated sigh. “Have you no trusted female retainer? I am a respectable girl, no matter what you think.”
“No one doubts that, Miss Jones,” Ellis said, because someone had to.
Another sigh. “Very well. Come and search me then, Your Grace. I see you won’t be satisfied with anything less. His Grace only, though, if you please.” She fixed Alex with a steely glare. “You are, after all, the skeptic I’m here to enlighten.”
He rose and followed her into the cabinet. Carter was to keep an eye on Nightingale and his boy while they were gone. No one waited behind the curtain. Helen was still in the adjoining room.
“Well?” Evie said loudly and not for his benefit.
“Extend your arms to the side, please,” he said at a similar volume, and waited to see what she would do.
Her arms came up, palms parallel to the floor. Her eyes were lit with challenge.
He felt along each sleeve. The outline of a small blade was plain through the fabric of both forearms. He shook his head but naturally said nothing.
“Is that all?” she said and smiled. Rare as diamonds, those smiles.
He couldn’t help himself. “Not quite.”
Her eyebrows rose in amusement as he sank down onto his knees before her. First he ran his hands up and down her bodice, pressing lightly. His touch was nothing or almost nothing.
Now it was her turn to shake her head. “Where else, sir?” she whispered.
He stopped smiling as the moment hung between them.
They were safe.
Nothing could happen with four people on the other side of the curtain. He gazed steadily into her eyes as he gathered her skirts together in one hand. Still fixated on her face, he took hold of her ankle. Her breath hitched as he trailed his fingers up and up. He didn’t allow himself to dwell on her faltering breaths, on the smooth glide of his hand against her stockings or the sudden shocking feel of soft bare thigh.
The dazed look in her eyes shattered his good intentions. He leaned in as he clasped the other ankle. The sweet lavender smell of her was more than he could bear. His fingers traced circles on her calves as he leaned in for a kiss. She was wet and warm and tasted like claret.
But as always there was no possibility of more. No time and nowhere to go.
He pulled free. “I’m satisfied,” he announced.
He was anything but.
As he stepped back into the main room, he was grateful for the flickering gaslights. A steadier light source would not have hidden the signs of arousal that were surely otherwise evident in his face and person. At least if Nightingale noticed anything he would think she’d been following his orders, trying to hook a duke.
She emerged a moment later, looking entirely untouched. Inviolable as ever. His will-o’-the-wisp, always drawing him from the safe path. Always vanishing before he could reach her. He wanted her pinned beneath him, her responses undeniable. It was the only way he would ever be sure of her.
“I’m going to turn down the lights.” She moved from lamp to lamp, turning them off completely. By the time she’d finished, the fire was their only source of light.
“Is this not a little much?” he said, because it would seem strange if he didn’t.
“My apologies.” Her shadowy form—she was the only person not seated—moved to the fire. Kneeling, she plucked a glowing coal direct from the grate and held it up between two fingers.
“Christ,” Carter muttered.
Now Alex understood the purpose of that potion she’d been brewing earlier; she’d made at least one of her hands heat-resistant. She carried the coal across the room to a small table that stood to one side of the curtain and used it to light a single candle. It was a good trick and Carter at least was suitably impressed.