Page 5 of The Lady is Trouble
“Well?” He plucked the flask from her hand.
She sat back, out of the lamplight, formulating how honest—at this moment—she wanted to be. A better time to discuss her research strategy would present itself with the benefit of a night’s sleep and a decent meal. Surely—
“Oh, no, you don’t. Sitting there, figuring out the best path to take.” Her tactical hesitation held all the strength of gauze, and he saw right through it. “A medium? A mystic in an age of cruel fascination with the spiritual world? Is this your idea of exhibiting caution and prudence, per our agreement? You nearly burned down a bloody hotel!”
Her heart skipped as the streaky moonlight filtering through the window highlighted the shadowed crescents beneath Julian’s eyes. He looked weary and defeated, for which a good night’s sleep would do little. Wordlessly, he folded the sheet and slipped it back in his pocket.
She curled her hands into fists to keep from reaching for him. Piper had not played the healer in many a month. Madame DuPre told fortunes but saved no souls. That, too, had been part of their agreement.Wait until we know how to manage your incredibly singular gift, had been Julian’s final words before sending her to Gloucestershire.
She could draw his exhaustion from him as quickly as venom from a snakebite, but he’d rebuff her. So, she stared until he sensed it. Until his aura gurgled like a brook about him. “It wasn’t entirely affected. Not swindling like you and Finn did in the rookery. I can take an aura and a few personal queries and turn it into something quite representative. I wasn’t touting myself as a conduit to their deceased Aunt Prudence.”
“Not affected, huh?” He regarded her steadily, his somber gaze razor-sharp. “Like the accent?”
Her cheeks flamed, and she hoped the dim confines protected her pride if nothing else. For all his scrupulous nature and moral rectitude, Julian could play in the gutter when his temper shoved him there. This was a sore spot, and he knew it. She’d worked hard to let the long vowels and lilting tones of the aristocracy filter into her speech after a youth spent being dragged into every gaming hell in New York City while being told to sound veryun-English. For all her diligence, when her mind wandered, certain words popped out with the flat undertones that gave away her indecorous upbringing. In truth, her accent was a complete and utter muddle. Like herlife. “The proper accent is simply giving them what they want.”
He laughed, genuinely amused. “When has Piper Scott ever givenanyonewhat they wanted?”
“Once. Quite well and gladly, as I recall.”
With a curse, he swiped his brow with the handkerchief and hurled it to the seat. “Don’t. Go. There.”
For the first time in three years, the sting of tears pricked her lids. Turning away, she blinked into a foggy night. Judging by the star’s alignment, they were heading north, out of London and into the countryside. She had no idea where and didn’t have the energy to inquire. She’d shed copious tears over a passionate instant of recklessness from a man who was never reckless. She understood and understood it well: Julian Alexander, eighth Viscount Beauchamp, took his promises very, very seriously.
And he’d promised right in front of her to never touch her again.
“Let me enlighten you, Yank. There’s someone in the ton interested in us, inyouspecifically. They’re getting closer if Finn’s dreams are any indication. And you’ve possibly thrown yourself right in their path.” He popped his fist against the carriage wall. “You don't think before you jump.” Another fist thump. “Ever.”
She rolled her head to look at him. He dodged the scrutiny, his gaze seeking the onyx twilight from his window. “How could I possibly know that? You left me with an aunt we located in some dusty tome she was so distant a relation, a letter arriving once a month if I was lucky to update me on your progress establishing the League and defining my place within it. I couldn’t walk to the village without a footman with a pistol shoved in his boot trampling on my heels.”
“Burke’s Peerageis hardly a dusty tome, Piper.” Julian propped his arm on the window frame and dropped his head to his hand. His shoulders lifted and fell with what she assumed was a repressed sigh. “Gloucestershire was a temporary solution. Fashioned under duress, I might add. Your grandfather’s death sent us into a spiral. I was only trying to get you the hell away from London until we understood who wanted you badly enough to commit murder. Our reality is far from the entertainment the ton envisions from spiritualism. You’ll be trying to levitate next, is that what I’m to assume?”
Her temper overrode the logical end of the discussion, which would be to share her research and the reason for her activities in London. Julian would be interested. After all, the League washis. Piper’s grandfather had started the society years ago as a place for those genuinely afflicted with a mystical talent to find shelter because to be afflicted was nothing short of a cruel fate, which he knew first-hand because his wife had been a healer, just like Piper. In the last moments of his life, her grandfather had laid the responsibility for the League’s future—herfuture—on Julian’s shoulders.
An honorable man, he’d not been able to say no.
She’d felt a burden ever since.
“I’m not certain why Gloucestershire was so demanding a situation. Why an impetuous escape was even necessary.”
“Because yourtemporary solutionchose to pass in her sleep last month, Jules,” Piper said. “Her heirs were cleaning out the manor around me and asking how long I intended to stay.”
Julian turned at this, his head lifting. A lock of hair slipped over his eyes, and he knocked it away. “Shedied?”
“Yes. So, I forged a communiqué from my dear family friend Viscount Beauchamp inviting me to stay in the family home in Mayfair with a maiden aunt as there was no longer an adequate chaperone in Gloucestershire, etcetera, etcetera. Another option would be found and so forth. Although, at twenty-three, I’m far too old to require a guardian, but try telling that to anyone in the ton.”
“What maiden aunt? How did you—”
“I pinched a few sheets of your letterhead in the event an opportunity presented itself.”
He blinked. “I’m afraid to ask how closely your signature resembles my own.”
Piper rapped her knuckle on the windowpane, then repeated the action for good measure. She’d actually grown quite fond of Aunt Hortense and her crooked wisdom—such as the enormous biological burden Piper faced having an American actress for a mother. “Gloucestershire wasn’t so bad.”
“I visited as often as I could. Between classes,” Finn added, trying to placate when she imagined he wanted to climb off his tiny seat and out the window. “Quite the calm setting. Much better air.”
Julian waved away the sentiment with an exasperated growl. “I needed time to find an estate completely separate from the viscountcy that could house what is coming to be a rather eccentric group of people. Time to raise funds to purchase it because most are flowing into the titled estates.” After a long pause, he continued, “Harbingdon is secure and quite perfect for our needs. But before I acquired it, we”—he shook his head—“weren’t ready.”
“You weren’t ready, you mean,” she whispered. She left it unsaid but wished Julian could read her thoughts while praying Finn did not.I know why you hid me away.