Page 54 of The Lady is Trouble
Reclining against the desk, he mirrored Ashcroft’s nonchalance even as blood pulsed through his veins. Rarely had he offered membership to the League in this manner—and never to someone of Ashcroft’s station. “A position in Wales fitting his skillset, your runner. No shallow grave in the forest, should that be your concern. Feasibly, he’ll even be of assistance to us, with an appropriate amount of encouragement.” He caressed the crystal, noting the way Ashcroft followed the movement, his stance having gone rigid. The stone meant much to the man, Julian realized. “I returned your money clip. I’m guessing the bastard pocketed that as additional payment. No thank you is necessary.”
“The fires started when I was a child. Literally, in leading strings the first time I recall my fingertips getting hot. Then, later, the dreams. Unbelievable prophecies. Forests aflame, the world one fierce, glowing ember.” He stalked to a sideboard Julian had not had time to search. He’d been too busy exploring the depths of Piper’s eyes as she came around his questing fingers.
“A firestarter. That’s what the earl called your gift in the chronology,” Julian finally said.
The Duke’s hand quivered, splashing brandy across his boot before he inhaled and resumed pouring a generous amount in the tumblers he’d set before him. “Firestarter.” A rough laugh slipped past his lips. He grabbed the glass and threw back the contents. “Unfortunately, an apt categorization.”
“We might help each other,” Julian offered, seeing no need to tread lightly. “There are others. More than you would think possible.”
Ashcroft laughed again and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Bowing his head, he pressed the tumbler against his temple as if this would soothe. He gasped, and a spark shot off the hearth’s brick. “Wait,” he breathed and held up his arm when Julian would have crossed the room to him. In the next moment, the fireplace roared to life with a pop that sounded like a champagne cork releasing in the ballroom below.
Julian bumped against the desk, sending it skidding back, wadding carpet beneath his feet.
“Quite a fabulous parlor trick, isn’t it? If only it didn’t exact such a high price for the entertainment.” He tossed back the rest of his drink. “Now, if you’ll give me the fluorite, which helps me control my curse, though I have no idea how, I’ll try not to burn down my ancestral townhouse when half of London’s elite stands between its walls.”
Julian crossed to the sideboard, exchanging the soul catcher for the tumbler. The brandy trailed a restorative path down his throat. “We thought the stone a myth, though it’s mentioned in the chronology.”
Ashcroft’s gaze caught his, then skipped away. “Years ago, the earl sold it to me to save one of his properties. Quite a handsome sum I forked over. The bastard was interested in my gift but not overly sympathetic to its challenges. I suppose you’re proof there is a clandestine group, one I’ve heard whispered about in foul places no one will admit they’ve been. Your name connected to each rumor as the opium swirled high above my head. The earl wouldn’t admit it. My lofty title made me suspect in his eyes, as I recall.” His hand closed possessively around the fluorite. “I should have asked you for help from the start. Saved a hundred pounds on Bow Street.”
Julian took a slow sip. “Consider this your request.”
The Duke tucked the soul catcher in his waistcoat pocket with care. “I don’t suppose the chronology is for sale.”
“No, but you have full access to it at my country estate. There’s a woman, a healer, who also may be able to assist you.” He would not reveal Piper’s identity until Ashcroft was standing on Harbingdon’s property. “There’s no cure for people like us…but there is salvation.”
“This is sounding dreadfully biblical, Beauchamp.”
Julian recognized the cynical twist to Ashcroft’s features. He remembered what it was like to have no one to trust, to share the madness that was this life.
“Before my brother’s death,” he continued, “before I assumed the title, I chose the life of a soldier to escape. Then, I found I was cursed with blood, death,andfires. I don’t want to wage another war. I can’t win another war. Not when I have this role to play. This damned curse doesn’t keep me from my ducal duties. Has it kept you from yours?”
As the Duke’s voice rose, the temperature in the room soared. With another cork pop, a tiny spark caught the edge of the carpet. Julian was there at once, stomping out the flames beneath his heel. The scent of charred fabric stung his nose, and he looked back to find Ashcroft with his head in his hands. “You started the fires in the hotel. Itwasyou.”
“I thought the medium might help me. I’m quite desperate, as you can see.”
“Shecanhelp you.”
Ashcroft lifted his head, moonlight washing over him, throwing him into shadowed relief. “I don’t understand.”
“Let’s consider it a gentleman’s agreement. My resources for your might. You have contacts in places I can’t begin to penetrate—and I’ve seen the men you travel with. I need an army, and you have one.”
“Mercenaries are more like it. I’ve too much to hide and protect to travel lightly.” Ashcroft gestured to the smoking carpet. “You’d invite this into your home?”
Julian felt his pulse settle for the first time in hours. The Duke of Ashcroft was going to accept his offer. “I have a lovely stone cottage at the ready.”
A smile crossed the Duke’s face, the first hint of the man beneath the apprehensive mask. “Fire and stone don’t mix.”
“Exactly,” Julian said and raised his glass in partnership.
Chapter 14
You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope.
~Jane Austen
Two days later,Julian rode into the Cock and Bull’s courtyard, soaked to the skin from a driving rain, grateful to see a crested Beauchamp carriage parked next to a stable that looked as if a strong gust would send it to the ground. Evidently, Humphrey had received his missive.
The mere suggestion of another second astride brought a queasy jolt to his gut.