Mischief (15 page)

Imogen stilled. “Advise me?”

“I must warn you against forming any sort of connection with Colchester.”

So he has, indeed, taken the lure
. Imogen gave him a brittle smile. “But I am determined to find the Queen’s Seal, sir. Colchester can help fund an expedition.”

“Forming a business alliance with Colchester would be akin to dancing with the devil himself.”

“Nonsense. Surely you exaggerate, sir.”

“I’m telling you the truth,” Vanneck spat out. “The man is called Cold-blooded Colchester for good reason. If he agrees to finance an expedition to search for the seal, it
will be only because he expects to possess it when it’s discovered.”

“I’m sure the two of us can work out a mutually satisfying arrangement.”

“Bah. That is undoubtedly what poor Rutledge thought. We all know what happened to him.”

“Do we?”

“He never returned from lost Zamar,” Vanneck snapped. “There are those who think that Colchester knows exactly how he died.”

“I do not believe that ridiculous gossip for one moment. Colchester is a gentleman to his fingertips. He had nothing to do with Rutledge’s death.”

“A gentleman? Colchester?” Vanneck’s eyes widened and then slitted with sudden understanding. “Good God. Surely you haven’t allowed him to convince you that he’s developed a genuine
tendre
for you, Miss Waterstone. You cannot be that naive. Not at your age.”

There was no need for Vanneck to look quite so incredulous at the notion of Matthias falling in love with her, Imogen thought. “My relationship with Colchester is a private matter.”

“Forgive me, but I would be remiss in my responsibility as an old friend if I did not warn you that Colchester may attempt to seduce you in order to get his hands on the map.”

“Rubbish. I resent that, sir.”

He stared at her with disbelief. “You surely don’t think that a man in Colchester’s position would make an honorable offer to a woman of your years and, uh, unfortunate reputation?”

Imogen planted her hands on her hips and began to tap her toe. “To be perfectly honest, sir, I am not nearly so interested in marriage as I am in finding someone who can help me finance my expedition. At the moment I do not see a lot of alternatives to Lord Colchester. He is the only gentleman I know who can afford to mount an expedition and who has an interest in doing so.”

“There are other methods of financing an expedition,” Vanneck said quickly. “Methods that would be far less dangerous than dealing with Cold-blooded Colchester.”

Imogen pursed her lips. “Do you think so? I did consider forming a consortium at one time, but I do not have the knowledge or connections to forge such a complex business arrangement.”

Vanneck blinked. A gleam of excitement glowed in his eye. “Forming a consortium would be child’s play for me, Miss Waterstone. I have extensive experience in matters of business.”

“Really? How interesting.” Good Lord, was she going to have to steer him every step of the way through this tricky waltz? Imogen wondered. She made a show of studying the face of the little watch pinned to her pelisse. “It is getting late. If you will excuse me, sir, I am in a hurry. My aunt is waiting for me.”

Vanneck frowned. “I shall see you tonight, I trust?”

“Perhaps. We have a number of invitations. I am not certain yet which ones we shall accept.” Imogen smiled vaguely and moved away from the counter. “Good day to you, sir.”

“Until tonight.” Vanneck nodded brusquely. He turned and strode to the door with a determined expression.

“Miss Waterstone?” Patricia came up to her, a volume in her gloved hand. “I have made my selection.”

“Excellent.” Imogen watched the door close behind Vanneck. Then she glanced out the window. “I believe I see Aunt Horatia being handed into the carriage. Let us be off. We must get you home so that you can unpack your purchases. The gown you are to wear tonight is to be delivered at five o’clock. There is much to do before it arrives.”

“Do you really think the dress will be ready on time?” Patricia asked. “We gave the modiste such short notice.”

Imogen grinned. “Aunt Horatia promised Madame Maud a king’s ransom. You may be assured it will arrive on time.”

Patricia did not appear reassured. In fact, she looked more worried than ever. “Are you quite certain that my brother will not be furious when he learns how much money we have spent today?”

“You seem inordinately concerned about Colchester’s attitude toward your expenses. What makes you think that he will be angry?”

“Because he hates me,” Patricia whispered.

Imogen stared at her. “Impossible.”

“It’s true, Miss Waterstone. He holds me in the lowest regard because I am the daughter of our father’s second wife.”

“Surely not.”

“Mama explained it all to me the day she told me that I had an older brother. She said I must never expect anything from Colchester. She told me that he was very dangerous and that he possessed none of the more refined emotions.”

“Rubbish. For heaven’s sake, Patricia, that’s ridiculous.”

“She told me that he was given the name Cold-blooded Colchester when he was barely four and twenty.”

“I assure you, Colchester is the victim of malicious gossip.”

Patricia struggled with a hankie. “Two years ago Papa told me that if anything ever happened to him and Mama and if I felt I would not be happy in my uncle’s house, I must call on Colchester. Papa said he had promised to take care of me.”

“And so he shall.”

“Papa said that the only good thing about Matthias was that he had a reputation for keeping his promises.”

“Very true.”

“But I know he does not want me in his home, Miss Waterstone. He will seek any excuse to be rid of me.
When he receives the bills for my gowns, he may very well decide that I am too expensive. And then where will I go? I dare not go back to my uncle’s house. I shall surely end in the workhouse or worse. Perhaps I shall be forced to sell myself on the streets.”

“Somehow I don’t think it will come to that,” Imogen muttered.

“Oh, Miss Waterstone, I miss Mama and Papa so much.”

Sympathy surged through Imogen. She had been the same age as Patricia when she had lost her own dearly loved parents. She recalled the loneliness and the sense of loss far too well. There had been little comfort from anyone except Lucy. Horatia had been unable to visit often because the demands of her sickly husband had kept her trapped in Yorkshire. Her uncle, Selwyn, had been consumed by his sepulchral interests. Yes, Imogen thought. She knew precisely what Patricia felt.

Ignoring the disapproving glances of the bookshop patrons, Imogen put her arm around Patricia and gave her a quick, warm hug. “Things will be different now, Patricia. You are no longer alone.”

The commotion in the hall brought Matthias to the door of the library. He lounged there and watched, bemused, as the intrepid shoppers returned from their whirlwind tour of Pall Mall and Oxford Street.

Boxes and bundles of every description were in the process of being unloaded from the carriage. Ufton stationed himself to one side, a stoic expression on his stony face as Imogen assumed command. She stood on the front step, looking very cheerful in a Zamarian-green sprigged walking dress and a huge bonnet trimmed with shells.

She issued instructions to the footmen with the crisp precision of a military officer. Horatia fluttered about, checking the packages as they were brought into the hall. Patricia hovered, her expression anxious, as usual. She kept shooting uneasy glances in Matthias’s direction.

His sister had been in the house for only a matter of days, and already he had grown weary of her nervous manner and her tendency to weep at the least provocation. She reminded him of a frightened rabbit.

“Yes, yes, bring everything inside.” Imogen motioned
briskly with her dolphin-handled parasol. “And then take the whole lot upstairs to Lady Patricia’s bedchamber. My aunt will accompany you and see to the unpacking. She knows about the proper care and storage of fine materials and such.” She glanced at Horatia. “You will handle that end of things, will you not? I wish to have a word with Colchester.”

“Yes, of course.” Horatia smiled with satisfaction. “We must also set out the things that will be needed for Patricia’s first appearance tonight.” She beckoned toward Patricia. “Come along, my dear. We have a great deal to accomplish.”

Horatia started toward the stairs. Patricia gave Matthias one last skittish glance and then scurried after her.

Imogen turned to Colchester with a determined air. “May I speak with you in private for a moment, my lord? There is something I wish to discuss.”

“I am at your service, Miss Waterstone.” Matthias moved politely out of the doorway. “As always.”

“Thank you, sir.” Imogen untied the strings of her oversized bonnet as she strode past him into the library. “This will not take long. A slight misunderstanding I wish to correct.”

“Another one?”

“This one has to do with your sister.” Imogen broke off on a sharp gasp of delighted astonishment. She gazed in rapt fascination at the interior of the library. “Good heavens. This is amazing.”

Matthias watched as she came to an abrupt halt just inside the door. He realized he had been awaiting her reaction. This was, after all, I. A. Stone, the only other person in all of England who could properly appreciate what he had created in this room. Her expression of unabashed wonder was deeply gratifying.

“Do you like it?” he inquired offhandedly as Ufton softly closed the door behind him.

“It is really quite wonderful,” Imogen whispered. She
tipped her head back to study the green and gold ceiling hangings. “Extraordinary.”

Slowly she began to walk through the room, pausing here and there to examine the exotic landscape scenes on the walls and the vases sitting on the carved pedestals.

“You have captured the very essence of ancient Zamar. I vow, its spirit lives and breathes in this room.” She stopped in front of the towering statue of Anizamara, Goddess of the Day. “Exquisite.”

“I brought it back with me on my last trip. I discovered her and the statue of Zamaris in a prince’s tomb.”

“It is fantastic, my lord.” She ran her gloved hand lovingly along the back of one of the twin dolphins that supported the sofa. “Absolutely fantastic. How I envy you.”

“I would not go so far as to say that it is a perfect copy of the Zamarian library.” Matthias tried to maintain a semblance of modesty, but it was not easy. He leaned back against the edge of his desk, crossed his booted ankles, and folded his arms. “But I admit that I am pleased with the way it turned out.”

“Incredible,” Imogen murmured. “Absolutely incredible.”

Matthias had a sudden vision of Imogen lying nude on the dolphin sofa. The vision was excruciatingly clear. He could see her tawny hair tumbled around her shoulders, her gentle curves bathed in firelight, one knee gracefully raised. He felt his lower body harden with a desire that was almost painful.

“You are fortunate to have been able to re-create this wonderful setting for yourself, my lord.” Imogen stooped to study the script on a clay tablet. “A bit of verse. How unusual.”

“I discovered it in a tomb. Most of the Zamarian clay tablets that are floating around London these days are rather dull records of business transactions. Rutledge arranged to send hundreds of them back to England. He
thought he would make a tidy fortune selling them. And so he did.”

“Speaking of financial matters, I have a question to put to you.” Imogen glanced at him with perceptive eyes. “Tell me, Colchester, did you establish The Lost Soul in order to pay for your venture to Zamar?”

He raised his brows. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

She nodded with evident satisfaction. “I thought that might be the reason. Well, that explains everything, of course.”

“I asked my father for the funds,” Matthias said slowly. It was the only thing he had ever asked of his father in his adult life. “He refused. So I opened the hell.”

“Perfectly natural. You had to find a way to come up with the money. Zamar was simply too important.”

“Yes.”

Imogen touched a vase with delicate fingers. “About Mrs. Slott.”

Matthias grimaced. “I caught her lover, Jonathan Exelby, cheating at cards one night in The Lost Soul. I told him he would have to leave. He was outraged. Said I had impugned his honor, which I certainly had. He challenged me to a duel but thought better of it once he grew sober. He decided to seek his fortunes in America instead. He never appeared in London again, but the rumors of his death were legion.”

Imogen gave him a serene smile. “I thought it must have been something along those lines. Well, then, on to other matters. I wish to discuss your sister, sir.”

Matthias frowned. “What about her?”

“For some odd reason, she appears to feel unwelcome in your household. Indeed, she is living in a state of near terror.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why should she be terrified?”

“Perhaps nervous weakness runs in your family, sir. It is not uncommon to observe families in which each generation reflects a certain temperament just as they often reflect a chin or a nose or”—she glanced at the icy streak in
his hair—“other physical attributes received from a parent.”

“Nervous weakness?” Matthias decided he was tired of listening to Imogen’s theories concerning his temperament. “Where the devil did you come up with such an idiotic notion?”

“Lady Patricia certainly seems to have inherited your tendency toward anxious forebodings and uncertainties.”

“That is quite enough on the subject of my sister,” he said coldly. “You need not concern yourself with anything other than getting her launched into her second Season.”

Imogen ignored him. She clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace thoughtfully across the green and gold carpet. “I am of the opinion that you must make more of an effort to encourage her to feel at home. The poor girl believes that she is here on sufferance. As if she did not have a legitimate claim on your assistance.”

Anger flashed without warning deep inside Matthias. It went through him with the force of a storm, overcoming his self-mastery before he realized what had happened. He unfolded his arms and straightened away from the desk. “I do not want your advice on this matter.”