Page 9 of A Waltz on the Wild Side (The Wild Wynchesters #6)

Jacob gestured for the new client to have her pick of the many comfortable seats. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. A woman like that could sit on his lap if she preferred.

Except of course she wouldn’t want to stand within a yard of him. The rest of his siblings looked reasonably presentable, but Jacob had just rushed in from the barn—and apparently looked like it. Or worse, smelled like it.

Nirah had got loose, thanks to Stephen’s latest prototype endeavors. Jacob cupped a protective hand around the hedgehog hiding in the pocket of his leather apron. He didn’t want to alarm the new client, but he did need to find Nirah before the surly creature scared Tickletums. Or the client.

Perhaps “client” was too strong a word. She hadn’t yet shared so much as her name, much less the reason for her visit.

Jacob gazed at her as surreptitiously as he could, trying his best to repeat the divination trick that she had performed so easily.

Observation #1: Did he mention incredibly beautiful?

Her smooth, soft skin, the hue a deep walnut, a few shades darker than his own.

Her eyes were a gorgeous brown with amber flecks.

Her hair was as black and curly as his own, but parted into geometrical sections, each with a spiral coil of expertly twisted long, thick hair cascading over her shoulders.

She looked younger than his two-and-thirty years. Perhaps mid-to-late twenties? Her form, voluptuous. Her face… Well. That formidable scowl led him to:

Observation #2: Despite apparently having arrived at their front door of her own volition, the gorgeous woman seated before him patently did not wish to be here.

She was glaring as if they were the villains in whatever nefarious plot was afoot.

Jacob could not fathom her obvious animosity.

She had come to them . Showing up just to sneer made no sense.

Such conflicting signals were precisely why he preferred the company of animals over humans.

He understood animals. They were straightforward, with simple needs that he could easily fulfill.

They didn’t disparage him or look down their noses at him, as tended to occur when Jacob ventured into the finer parts of town.

Or visit his own sitting room, apparently, in today’s case. Which led him to:

Observation #3: She wasn’t from around here, at least not initially. The faint Caribbean accent had given that much away. Her English was perfect, but she did not develop that musical lilt in London.

Perhaps her obvious dislike of him and his siblings was due to some sort of cultural difference. Or perhaps she was here on holiday and had been treated horridly, leading to a general distrust of all Britons, regardless of name or background.

Then again, if she were here on holiday, would her natural accent have faded so much, so quickly?

And given her attire—an absolutely breathtakingly tailored lilac day dress, worn thin in places and faded by the sun—did she really seem the sort of lady who would book a passenger ship and sail across the Atlantic on a lark?

Gah, this divining-of-secrets-in-a-single-glance trick was madness. Jacob had less idea than ever how she’d managed it. He’d been gazing at her openly for a full five minutes straight and still hadn’t the least idea who she was or why she was here.

The traditional Wynchester code was to give clients their time and let them proceed at their own pace, but this woman appeared content to sit ramrod straight and glare daggers at them from now until infinity.

“May we please know your name?” he blurted out.

Her amber-flecked brown gaze snapped to his. “Miss Vivian Henry.”

There. He’d accomplished something. At least he knew what to call her.

And that she was unmarried.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Philippa said gently. “We’re here for you.”

Miss Henry gave this claim a look of such unbridled skepticism, it took one’s breath away.

She clearly was not yet ready to trust them with whatever trouble had brought her to their door. Nor had she bolted. Was she waiting for some sort of sign?

“Where do you live?” he asked in a low, soft voice. “Are you a London native?”

“Cheapside,” she responded. “And, no. I am from Demerara, in the West Indies. Though London is now my home, and has been so for a decade.”

Jacob was doubly pleased with himself: not only had the Wynchester most likely to hide from social interaction in a barn actually verbally engaged with a client, he’d even been a little bit right about what her light accent might mean.

“Do you live alone?” he asked, emboldened.

She sent him a flat look. “Do you mean alone in the literal sense, or the way wealthy people claim to be ‘alone’ when in fact they are surrounded by butlers and maids and valets and footmen?”

Jacob scooped Tickletums to his chest and pretended he hadn’t spoken. Miss Henry was pricklier than a hedgehog. Let someone else have a turn.

“I live with my cousin,” she continued, surprising him. “Quentin is ten years younger than me, though technically I am his dependent and not the other way around. He has a small trust, but until he reaches his majority in three years, I am his guardian.”

At this last word, she winced and pinched her lips shut tight.

Jacob wondered where the trust money came from and made a mental note to follow up later if its origin proved relevant.

“I’m sure guardian of an adolescent boy is a round-the-clock post,” Tommy said.

“You probably would think so,” Miss Henry answered. “You probably think governess and housekeeper and cook are also full-time posts.”

Tommy nodded. “Because they are.”

“And yet I am all those things, and a playwright besides. Some of us must work more than others.”

“Playwright?” interrupted Marjorie, sending Jacob a meaningful look. “My brother is a poet. Might we have read some of your work or seen one of your plays?”

Miss Henry visibly deflated, then just as quickly resumed her stiff posture. “My scripts have not yet been performed in a public theater.”

Marjorie clapped her hands in glee. “Jacob hasn’t been published, either. He’s an aspiring writer, just like you. The two of you must have so much in com—”

“Don’t move,” Jacob commanded. Not only because he wished to put a stop to this excruciatingly mortifying line of conversation, but because he’d just caught sight of Nirah.

Coiled beneath Miss Henry’s chair.

He handed the hedgehog to Adrian, then started to slide from his seat. “Please don’t make any sudden movements, Miss Henry. I don’t wish to alarm you, but there is a snake unfurling a few inches behind your heels. Please allow me to—”

Her torso tumbled forward onto her lap. Her head dropped upside down between her calves, spilling long strands of twisted black hair to the carpet as she hiked her skirts up to her ankles.

In one fluid movement, she darted her hand between her legs, grasped the writhing snake just behind its jaws, then thrust Nirah out toward Jacob. “This one?”

“Er,” he managed, caught in the act of crawling toward her on hands and knees. “Yes. That would be Nirah.”

“Aren’t you terrified it’ll kill you?” asked Marjorie, recoiling against Adrian.

Philippa was practically cowering in Tommy’s lap. “How can you stand to touch it?”

Miss Henry looked at them as though they had sprouted reptilian scales of their own. “Terrified? Why would I be? I saw her reflection in the tea urn. She wasn’t going to kill me.”

“But it could bite you!” insisted Philippa.

Miss Henry shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Marjorie and Adrian stared at her with their mouths open.

“For the record,” said Jacob as he carefully plucked Nirah from Miss Henry’s hands, “we do own venomous snakes as well. You shouldn’t assume all pets are harmless.”

He made a show of closing Nirah safely in a basket to be returned to the barn later.

“I never assume,” Miss Henry retorted. “I observe. The green body with dark markings, the pale belly, the gold-and-black collar… This is obviously an ordinary grass snake. In fact, the only poisonous snake native to England is the adder, which has completely different coloring.”

Marjorie and Tommy exchanged glances.

“Are you seeing this?” Marjorie asked in her usual far-too-loud whisper.

I can’t look away , Tommy had the wherewithal to sign back, so that her words would not be understood by their client. Aspiring writer and snake charmer? Is Jacob swooning yet?

“Jacob is a professional who is on a case,” he hissed to his sisters. “Or would be, if I knew what was happening. Miss Henry, I do not mean to push you before you are ready, but if you are going to share with us the reason for your visit… might you do so now?”

A clear internal debate raged across Miss Henry’s pretty face as she watched him settle back into his armchair.

“Quentin is missing,” she confessed at last. “It’s not unusual for him to spend all day out with his friends, but he’s always home in time to eat supper with me, without fail. Nor would he miss our evening game of cards.”

“He didn’t come home last night?” asked Adrian.

“Or all day yesterday. He hasn’t been home to eat, or to change his clothes. Something is wrong.” She took a deep breath. “We parted on bad terms. An old argument.”

Jacob leaned forward. “What were his last known whereabouts?”

“After he left home? I don’t know. I do know every place he has ever visited up until now, and I personally checked each and every one of them. No sign of him at any of those locations.”

“Is there a friend he might be visiting? Or would harbor him in secret?”

“That was my first thought. Quentin has a…” Her face turned shiny, and she shook her head.

“He has spent every waking moment with the same group of idiots for years. They would not cause him any harm. I visited each of them as well. They are all at home and accounted for, and assure me that my cousin is safe and will be home soon.”

“But you don’t believe them?” Jacob asked.