Nero's Fiddle (29 page)

She stood still but inwardly recoiled, gut instinct screamed not to let him lay a hand on her body, even as the strong face behind the old one drew her curiosity to the surface.

Who was he?

She never saw Nate move. One moment he stood beside her, the next instant in front.

“She is not yours to touch.” His tone stayed low and conversational but along their bond he growled. Chest to chest, he stopped the other man from reaching Cara.

“No need for such an overreaction,” the Curator said.

A snarl curled Nate’s upper lip. “We both know words alone would not stop you from taking what you desired.”

“A touch, that was all. A moment to bask in the sun of youth and beauty.” His image wavered as the handsome young man threw the challenge to Nate. As though the anger of the confrontation centred him and enabled him to suppress the elderly visage.

A huff of moist air left the man and he took a step backward, young fading to ancient as he retreated. Only then did Cara see the blade Nate pressed into his abdomen. Four inches of bright steel pulled free of his clothing; a slick of clear moisture ran along the length. Nate pressed a button under his jacket sleeve and the blade slid back up into the sheath strapped to his forearm.

The Curator bowed to Cara as though nothing had happened, with no sign of injury or distress. “Perhaps you will visit with me another time, Lady Lyons. We have much to discuss and I have so much knowledge to offer you.”

She nodded, unable to form words, her brain about to explode with all the strands it tried to unravel.

Keeping Cara close to his side and beyond the reach of the Curator, Nate led her from the mansion.

Safe in their carriage, she leaned back against the blue velvet interior and let the fabric caress her cheek while her mind rampaged and examined every detail of the evening. It took several minutes before she uttered another oath.

“I’m glad Jackson is no longer at your back, he seems to have influenced your vocabulary.” Nate rapped on the roof and the carriage moved forward.

She flashed her husband a smile. “Actually I learned cussing in Texas, from the experts.”

Her brain picked one thread to being the conversation. Nate slid a blade four inches into the other man’s gut. “Explain to me why he wasn’t picking his entrails up off his expensive carpet.”

A smile touched Nate’s lips. “Yes. A rather handy trick in have in your repertoire, is it not?”

She replayed the moment he withdraw the knife and the way the light played over the edge. “There wasn’t any blood.”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “But the blade was wet.”

“Whatever runs through his veins was clear, like water.” A chill lapped at her body like the lick of the tide. “Whatever he hides in there is dark and damp with sinister depths.” The house pulsed with a menace far worse than her family home in Soho, where the house would often send a stray charge of electricity to Cara’s fingertips when she flipped a light switch.

“Rather like the Thames at this point.” Nate drew her closer.

“Perhaps that is why he lives here, his castle perched on the edge with its feet in the water. Do you think he holds some artifact that needs water close by?”

“Possibly. You will need to consult your books. After you brush up on your Latin,” he teased, injecting much needed lightness into the brooding tension.

“So much is happening in that house,” she muttered to herself. “Another thing, did you see the dual images? He’s ancient but young at the same time. It made me cross-eyed to look directly at him, like two versions of him kept shifting over each other.”

The carriage gave a gentle sway as they headed home over the bridge. “I suggest we worry about the Curator another day. Right now, we need to figure out what Prince Albert was up to with Nero’s Fiddle.”

“He said we have much to discuss. That my father betrayed him. What do you think he meant?” Already she wanted to return and ask a myriad of questions. But if she did, would she ever leave?

Nate curled a large hand around the nape of her neck. “I don’t know. Do you really want to cross paths with him again?”

She chewed her bottom lip. “But we will have to, eventually. One day we will have to find out what dwells in his house. Not that I want whatever he possesses under our home in Lowestoft, I’m much too fond of the warmth.”

Christmas 1818

unlight streamed in through the high windows in the morning room and belied the frigid temperature outside. Although it had yet to snow, the ground froze over. Hardwood burned on the fire and provided a slow heat that warmed the entire parlour. Bella wore festive red with a white fur edging and looked like a cherry covered in whipped cream. The family decorated the room for Christmas and only one thing remained to be lavished with good cheer: the tree.

The child approached the fir tree with a miniature silver armillary sphere in her outstretched hand. With monumental effort, the youngster lined up the metallic string with a bough and shoved the ornament over the green needles, where it nestled up against four other arrow pierced globes on the same branch. The tree took on a distinct lean to one side with the unbalanced weight distribution.

Nan watched the child’s labour. Laughter skated through her body and she didn’t know how much longer she could hold it inside. The tree soared to nine feet tall with a spread of over four feet at the base and yet Bella insisted on placing every single ornament in the exact same spot. The rest of the tree remained barren and green while one bough became the sole recipient of the child’s decorating skill.

“Obstinate child,” she murmured.

“She gets that from you, once locked onto your target you are both hard to deter.” Gideon smiled at his wife.

Her parents had tried to direct her attention elsewhere and her father picked her up to reach higher but she steadfastly refused to release a bauble in any other spot. If anyone dared moved a bauble when she turned away she threw herself to the ground in a tantrum. Bella’s determination to hang every ornament in the same spot butted up against Gideon’s need for military precision. Nan suspected the man would soon develop an eye twitch at the uneven distribution of the brightly coloured troops on the expanse of green territory.

The earl paced and tried to rein in his natural instinct for order and control even while he tried to contain his growing mirth at his beloved daughter’s antics. “She’s going to make the tree topple over at this rate.”

Bella returned to the open crate. She leaned in and gave the remaining ornaments close inspection before emerging with a sixth armillary sphere. Her attention wandered over the tree and zoomed in on her favourite spot. She gave a cry of triumph and wandered to her selected branch.

Nan burst into laughter. “Do you want to remove the ornaments and rehang the tree in an appropriate and military-approved pattern?” Every year of their married life her husband decorated the tree like he was on manoeuvres. Each object had to be placed an exact and equal distance apart. He ranged the knickknacks like troops and armaments, larger items at the bottom rising to the more delicate glass blown trinkets at the pinnacle.

He paused before answering and Nan wondered who would win his internal debate, the cavalry captain or the doting father?

“And disappoint my daughter? Certainly not. I’ll get some wood, we just need to prop up this side. And perhaps tie the top to the dado rail. And maybe build a low supporting structure.” He gestured around the tree, imaging ropes and pulleys to enable it to survive Christmas without toppling over.

A cough from behind caught Nan’s attention. She turned to find Nessy in the doorway. Six months had passed since she fled from the orchard but to Nan it seemed more like six years. Never before had the two friends been parted for such a long time, and they parted on such angry words.

Her chest constricted. Relief to have her friend back was overlaid with pain at what her presence meant.

“I had nowhere else to go.” Nessy stood immobile, her hands fisted deep in her floral skirts. Eyes bright with tears met Nan’s gaze. “Bill has married as his family directed and I am cast off.”

Nan’s heart broke for her lifelong friend. To love but to be turned aside. She opened her arms and Nessy flew to safety.

Sobs racked her frame. “Oh Nan, the last few months have been horrible. His family were so cruel. They made me sleep in the servant’s quarters. I was such a fool to think they would accept me.”

Nan stroked her friend’s hair. “Any man would be lucky to have you, the loss is entirely his.”

“He tried, he really did.” Nessy spoke up for the man who broke her heart, loyal to the very end. “At first it was wonderful, to have so much time together and he treated me like a princess. I would cook his dinner some nights and laid his clothes out in the morning.”

Gideon reached into his pocket and passed over a linen handkerchief and Nan shoved it into Nessy’s hand. She paused in her tale as she gave a noisy blow.

“Three months ago, his family began interfering; they said it was not appropriate for Bill and me to sit at the same table. They said I was not good enough. Every week there was a parade of noble women before him. They discussed them like broodmares. Talked of bloodlines and which would be most likely to breed an heir.” Tears choked her words. “I wouldn’t have been surprised if they shoved their hands into the women’s mouths to check their teeth.”

A familiar lump rose in Nan’s throat. Gideon had every right to cast around for another wife, another mare to service in the hope of fathering a boy. She could well imagine how the sight of prospective breeding partners would shred her friend’s soul.

“He stood up for me but the arguments flew more often, weekly sometimes and they raged long into the night. I used to sit on the stairs and listen.” A wail burst forth from her chest and her words became lost amongst the tears.

Nan caught Gideon’s raised eyebrow over the bowed blonde head. They knew the relationship was doomed and Nan tried to dissuade Nessy from her course of action. When they parted ways, Nessy was convinced jealously fuelled Nan’s words. Noble families rarely let sons marry where their hearts lay. Bill sacrificed his love to try and save his family, the match arranged for him by brokers. The bride with suitable bloodlines imported from Europe like an expensive horse.