Hero
Hero braced both hands on the balcony railing and searched the crowded ballroom for Josephine. It was after midnight, and he was not in a good mood. He had just concluded another night of inquiries that had yielded few results. Granted, he had discovered more information concerning one of the mysterious snuffboxes that he sought, but so many other questions remained unanswered. He had the inexplicable sensation that time was running out quickly.
It took him a few minutes to spot Josephine. When he did catch a glimpse of her gleaming blonde hair on the far side of the ballroom, he finally realized why it had been so difficult to find her: She was surrounded by a sea of males, all of whom appeared to be vying eagerly for her attention.
She was chatting in an extremely familiar manner with a circle of gentlemen she could not possibly have met before tonight. Not only that but her high waisted, emerald-coloured gown was cut far too low, revealing too much of her soft bosom and gently moulded shoulders. She glowed like some exotic jewel, one he was certain that every man in the vicinity coveted.
Where were Felix And Anne? he wondered. They were supposed to be keeping an eye on the situation.
As he watched, one of the gentlemen near Josephine bowed over her gloved fingers and escorted her out onto the dance floor. Whatever she was saying to her companion must have been vastly amusing, Hero decided grimly. The man was grinning like a fool.
His evening had been deteriorating for the past few hours, he thought. The sight of his phoney fiancée enjoying herself on the dance floor with a complete stranger was the last straw. Matters were clearly out of control down there in the ballroom.
He shoved himself away from the railing and started toward the stairs.
"Allow me to congratulate you on your charming fiancée, Tiffin," a familiar voice drawled behind him.
He paused and looked back at the tall man coming toward him along the balcony. "Hathersage."
"I had the great pleasure of dancing with Miss Langford earlier this evening. A most unusual lady." Hathersage stopped and glanced down at the dancers. He chuckled. "Indeed, I am giving serious consideration to employing your strategy in my search for a wife."
"What do you mean?"
"Why, I am referring to your brilliant notion of interviewing candidates for the position at an agency that specializes in supplying paid companions, of course."
Hero's blood ran cold. Had Josephine told Hathersage the whole truth about the deception? Surely not.
"She mentioned the agency?" he asked warily.
"I vow it was the most amusing tale I have heard in weeks," Hathersage replied. "It will be on everyone's lips tomorrow. Such lively wit is a valuable asset in a wife, just as it is in any other type of companion."
Josephine had given Hathersage the truth, but because it was so outrageous, he had not believed it, Hero realized, relaxing somewhat.
The rest of the Polite World would follow Hathersage's lead, he thought. All was well.
"She is quite unique," Hero said.
"Indeed." Hathersage's eyes narrowed slightly. "You will want to keep an eye on her, Tiffin. I wouldn't be surprised to discover that some of those men hanging around her down there right now are already plotting to lure her away from you."
Fucking hell. Was it possible that Hathersage himself might be contemplating such a move? He was said to be in the market for a new wife, and he was certainly wealthy enough to be able to look past a lady's finances.
Anger splashed through Hero. He fought it with the force of his will and a dose of logic. Hathersage was merely amusing himself.
"If you will excuse me, I believe I will take your advice and go downstairs to see about protecting my interests," he said calmly.
"Be prepared to stand in line."
Hero waited until Josephine's partner-led her back off the dance floor before he descended into the ballroom. He had no intention of standing in line. But he was irritated to discover that he had to use some force and a certain degree of raw intimidation to make his way into Josephine's inner circle.
When he finally arrived, Josephine did not appear to be overjoyed to see him. After her small start of surprise, she gave him a polite, somewhat quizzical smile.
"What are you doing here, sir?" she asked in a low voice meant for his ears alone. "I thought you had other plans for the evening."
She was acting as though he was the last person she had wanted to see tonight, he mused. Conscious of the disgruntled gentlemen loitering about in the vicinity, he smiled the way a man smiled at a lady who belonged to him.
"What plans could possibly be more important than dancing with my lovely fiancée?" he asked, bending over her hand. He took her arm and steered her firmly toward the dance floor. "Where the fuck are Felix and Anne?" he growled.
"They disappeared into the card room an hour or so ago." She studied him with mild concern. "What is the matter, sir? You appear to be somewhat perturbed."
"I'm not perturbed, I'm annoyed."
"I see. Well, you really cannot blame me for not being able to distinguish between the two states of being. In your case, they appear remarkably alike."
He refused to be teased out of his bad temper. "Felix and Anne were supposed to keep an eye on you."
"Ah, so that is the problem. You were concerned about me. Well, there is absolutely no need, sir. I assure you, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
He thought about the cluster of gentlemen that had surrounded her earlier. "I do not like the idea of you being left alone in the middle of a ballroom with a crowd of strangers."
"I was hardly alone, sir, and I am making friends at a great rate."
"That is not the point. You are a very competent woman, Josephine, but there is no getting around the fact that you have not had a great deal of experience swimming in Society." Felix's admonition came back to him. "These waters can be extremely treacherous."
"I assure you, there is no need to worry about me. That is one of the reasons you went to an agency to hire a paid companion if you will recall. Among other requirements, you wished to employ a female who had been out in the world; one who possessed a degree of common sense."
"And that is another thing." He tightened his grip on her. "What the fuck were you thinking when you told Hathersage that I had found you at an agency?"
"Felix warned me that I would have to say something to Hathersage that would cause him to sit up and take notice, as it were. I had heard about your infamous vow a year ago, the one about seeking your next bride at an agency. I decided that if I referred to your little jest, Hathersage would be amused. That is precisely what happened."
"Huh." He did not like it, but he had to admit she was right. Hathersage had found Josephine very entertaining. "Who told you about those remarks I made a year ago?"
"Evidently everyone has heard about them. Indeed, they appear to have become a part of your personal legend."
He winced. "At the time I intended them as a bit of wit, one of those things one says to deflect sympathy or unwanted inquiries."
"I understand. But later, when you realized you needed a lady who could pose as your fiancee, it occurred to you that the idea was actually a very good one, is that it?"
"It was either that or employ a professional actress," he agreed. "I was reluctant to do that for fear that she might be recognized by, uh," he hesitated, searching for a diplomatic turn of phrase. "Someone who had seen her perform on stage."
She caught his slight pause and raised her brows. "Or by some gentlemen who had enjoyed her favours offstage?"
"No offence to your grandmother," he said dryly.
"None taken. She would have been the first to acknowledge that actresses and opera dancers have always enjoyed a certain reputation among the gentlemen of the ton."
He was relieved that she did not appear to be the least bit touchy or outraged by the subject. What a relief it was to be able to talk openly to a woman, he thought, his mood lifting for the first time that evening. With Josephine, he did not have to concern himself with the possibility that he might accidentally ruffle her female sensibilities. She was, indeed, a woman of the world.
"Nevertheless," he continued, recalling the point he was attempting to make, "it would have been best if you had not made any reference to my comments about selecting a paid companion for a wife. It will only serve to make people all the more curious about you."
"I beg your pardon, sir, but was that not the whole point of the deception? Your goal is to use me to deflect Society's attention while you conduct your private business, correct?"
He grimaced. "Yes."
"It seems obvious that the more people are consumed with curiosity about me, the less notice they will take of what you are doing."
"Enough," he growled. "You are right and I admit defeat. Indeed, I do not know why I bothered to start this discussion. I must have had a momentary lapse of memory."
But that was a lie, he acknowledged silently. He had started the small quarrel because he had been badly jolted by the possibility that Hathersage might have his eye on Josephine. The sight of other males paying so much attention to her disturbed him for reasons that he did not want to analyze too closely.
She laughed. "For heaven's sake, sir, no one in his right mind would actually believe that you went to an agency to find a wife."
"No, probably not."
She gave him a reproving look. "Really, sir, you must calm yourself and stay focused on your business affairs. I will deal with the tasks that you are paying me to manage. I trust your plans are going well?"
It occurred to him that she was the only part of his elaborate scheme that was actually working. He would very much like to discuss the other aspects of the affair with her, he thought suddenly. He wanted to talk to someone. Josephine was an intelligent, worldly woman who was not easily shocked. Furthermore, he was convinced now that she could keep his secrets.
He was also quite desperate for some fresh ideas. His failure to make any progress in the past few days was worrisome.
Felix had advised him to tell Josephine the truth. Perhaps that was not such a bad notion after all.
He came to a halt at the edge of the dance floor. Ignoring the polite inquiry in her eyes, he guided her toward the glass-paned doors that opened onto the terrace.
"I am in need of some air," he said. "Come, there is something I want to discuss with you."
She did not argue.
The night was pleasantly cool after the heat of the crowded ballroom. He took Josephine's arm and led her across the terrace, away from the lights. They went down the stone steps into the lantern-lit gardens.
They walked for a distance before he stopped at the edge of a large fountain. He considered his words carefully before he started into his tale.
"I did not come to town to form another consortium of investors," he said slowly. "That is merely the tale I have put about to cover my real purposes."
She nodded, showing no indication of surprise. "I had a feeling there was more to this business. A man of your intelligence and resolute nature would not employ a lady to pose as his fiancée merely to avoid the inconveniences of having every eligible young lady of the ton tossed into his path."
He grinned reluctantly. "That comment only goes to show how little you know about such inconveniences. Nevertheless, you are right. I employed you to provide cover for me so that I could go about my real business."
She tipped her chin with an expectant air. "And that would be?"
He hesitated another second or two, gazing steadily into her clear eyes, and then he consigned his remaining qualms to the nether regions. Every instinct he possessed told him that he could trust her.
"I am attempting to find the man who murdered my great-uncle, George Tiffin," he said.
At that news, she went very still, watching him intently. But she remained remarkably composed, considering his words.
"I see," she said neutrally.
He remembered how she had once briefly mistaken him for an escaped madman. "I suppose you really do think me crazed now."
"No." She looked thoughtful. "No, in truth, such a bizarre objective does indeed explain your rather strange decision to employ me. I was quite sure that you were not conducting business in the usual manner."
"Whatever else this is," he said wearily, "it is most certainly not business in the usual manner.
"Tell me about your great-uncle's death."
He put one booted foot on the fountain and rested his forearm on his thigh. For a moment he studied the dark waters in the pool, gathering his thoughts.
"It is a long and involved story. It begins, I suppose, many years ago, when my great uncle was a young man of eighteen. He made the Grand Tour that year, and as it happened he was even then obsessed with science. The result was that he spent most of his time immersed in various ancient libraries in the countries that he visited."
"Go on."
"While in Rome he came across the books and journals of a mysterious alchemist who lived some two hundred years ago. My great uncle was fascinated with what he discovered."
"They say that the line between alchemy and science has often been blurred and difficult to distinguish," Josephine said quietly.
"It is true. In any event, my great-uncle came upon an ancient lapidary called The Book of Stones in the alchemist's collection."
She raised her brows. "Old lapidaries are treatises on the magical and occult properties of various gemstones, are they not?"
"Correct. This particular lapidary had been written by the alchemist himself. The book was bound in heavily worked leather. The front cover was set with three strange dark red gems. Inside there was a formula and instructions for the construction of a device called Jove's Thunderbolt. It was all written down in some obscure alchemical code."
"How strange. What was the purpose of the machine?"
"Supposedly it was capable of creating a powerful beam of light that could be used as a weapon similar to a thunderbolt." He shook his head. "Occult nonsense, of course, but that is what lies at the heart of alchemy."
"Indeed."
"As I said, my great-uncle was young and lacking in experience at the time. He told me that he became quite excited by what he discovered in the lapidary. According to the alchemist's notes, the three red stones sewn into the cover of the Book of Stones were the key to producing the furious energy emitted by the device."
"What did he do with the lapidary?"
"He brought it back to England and showed it to the two men who were his closest friends at the time. All three were fascinated by the possibility of constructing the machine."
"I assume that they were not successful."
"My great-uncle said that although they succeeded in constructing a device that looked similar to the drawing in the lapidary, they could not figure out how to draw out the strange energy supposedly concealed in the red stones."
She smiled a little. "That is hardly surprising. I'm sure the alchemist's instructions were nothing more than crazed fantasies."
He looked down at her shadowed face. Her eyes were dark, compelling pools, more mysterious by far than any alchemist's formula. The skirts of her jewel-toned gown gleamed in the moonlight. He had to fight a sudden urge to touch the soft, delicate skin at the nape of her neck.
He forced himself to concentrate on his tale. "My great uncle told me that eventually he and his two companions came to precisely that conclusion. Jove's Thunderbolt was a fantasy. They put their experiments with the device aside, having learned their lesson about the futility of alchemical research, and moved on to more serious studies in natural philosophy and chemistry."
"What did they do with the stones and the device that they had constructed?"
"One of the three men kept the machine, supposedly as a memento of their flirtation with alchemy. As for the stones, they all decided to have them set in three snuffboxes as an emblem of their friendship and commitment to the true path of modern science."
"One snuffbox for each of them?"
"Yes. The boxes were enamelled with scenes of an alchemist at his work. Uncle George said that he and his companions formed a small club and called it the Society of the Stones. They were the only members. Each man took a coded name drawn from astrology and had it engraved on his snuffbox."
"That makes sense," she said. "Alchemy has always had a strong link to astrology. What were the names they chose?"
"My great uncle called himself Mars. The second man was named Saturn. The third was known as Mercury. But he never told me the real names of his old acquaintances. There was no reason for him to mention them. I was just a boy when he told me the story."
"This is a fascinating tale," Josephine whispered. "What happened to the Society of the Stones?"
"The three remained close for a time, sharing notes on their researches and experiments. But after a while, they drifted apart. Uncle George mentioned that one member of the Society died while still in his twenties. He was killed in an explosion in his laboratory. The second man is alive, as far as I know."
"But your great-uncle is dead," she said.
"Yes. Murdered in his laboratory only a few weeks ago."
Her brows came together in a gentle frown. "You're certain that he was killed? It was not an accident?" Hero looked at her. "He was shot twice in the chest."
"Dear heaven." Josephine drew a breath. "I see."
He watched the waters splash in the fountain. "I was very fond of my great-uncle."
"My condolences, sir."
The sympathy in her voice was genuine. He was oddly touched by it. He roused himself from the moody reverie and returned to his story.
"The Runner I employed to investigate the crime was useless. He concluded that my uncle had been murdered either by a burglar whom he surprised in his laboratory, or, more likely, by the young man who assisted him in his experiments."
"Have you talked to the assistant?"
He set his jaw. "Unfortunately, John Watt fled the night of the murder. I have not been able to find him."
"Forgive me, but you must admit that his disappearance adds credence to the Runner's theory."
"I am well acquainted with Watt, and I am convinced that he would never have committed murder."
"What if the other theory?" she asked. "The one concerning a burglar?"
"There was a burglar, right enough, but he was no random footpad. I searched my great-uncle's house quite carefully after his death. The Book of Stones was nowhere to be found." He tightened his hand into a fist on his thigh. "And his snuffbox, the one set with the red stone, was also gone. Nothing else of value was missing."
She contemplated that. "Are you certain?"
"Absolutely certain. I believe that my greatuncle was murdered by someone who was after the lapidary and the snuffbox. Indeed, I am convinced that those three snuffboxes are important clues. If I can find the two that belonged to my great-uncle's old friends, I may learn something useful. It is in that direction that I have been focusing most of my efforts lately."
"Have you had any luck?"
"Some," he said. "Tonight, I finally managed to discover the address of an elderly gentleman who may be able to tell me about one of the snuffboxes. I have not yet been able to speak with him, but I plan to do so soon."
There was a short silence. He was aware of the music and the laughter from the ballroom, but both seemed to come from far away. Here beside the fountain, there was a sensation of privacy that bordered on the intimate. The flowery scent of Josephine's perfume tugged at his senses and tightened the muscles in his belly. He realized that he was becoming aroused. Control yourself, man. The last thing you need now is that sort of complication.
"You say you have disregarded the Runner's conclusions," Josephine continued after a moment. "Have you formulated some conjecture of your own regarding the identity of your great uncle's killer?"
"Not precisely." He hesitated. "At least, not one that makes any sense."
"You are a man of logic and reason, sir. If you are considering a theory, however bizarre, I suspect there is some serious foundation for it."
"Not in this case. But I will admit that I find myself reflecting again and again upon a remark my great-uncle made when he told me about his three friends and the Society that they had formed."
"What was it?" she asked.
"He mentioned that one of the three members of the Society, the one who called himself Mercury, never truly overcame his fascination with alchemy, although he pretended to do so. My uncle said that Mercury was the most brilliant of the trio. Indeed, there was a time when they all believed that he would someday be hailed as England's second Newton."
"What became of him?"
He looked at her. "Mercury was the member of the Society who was killed by the explosion in his laboratory."
"I see. Well, that makes it rather difficult to conclude that he might be the killer, does it not?"
"It makes it fucking impossible." He sighed. "Yet I find myself returning again and again to that possibility."
"Even if he were still alive, why would he wait all these years to murder your great-uncle and steal the lapidary and the stone?"
"I do not know," Hero said simply. "Perhaps it took him this long to unravel the secret of drawing the energy from the red stones."
"But there is no secret." She spread her hands. "Your great-uncle told you that the alchemist's tale was no more than a fantasy."
"Yes, but Uncle George also told me something else," Hero said slowly. "Something that has been weighing on my mind. He claimed that, as undeniably brilliant as Mercury was, he was also showing signs of mental instability, perhaps even of outright madness, toward the end of his life."
"Ah." Thoughtfully, she tapped her fan against her palm. "So this Mercury might have begun to believe in the power of the red stones."
"Yes. But even if that were the case, it all happened a long time ago. Mercury, whoever he was, has been in his grave for a very long time."
"Perhaps someone has stumbled upon his notes or journals and decided to pursue his research."
Hero experienced a flash of new respect. "That, Miss Langford, is a very interesting theory."
A woman's light, teasing laughter stopped him in mid-sentence. The sound came from the other side of the tall hedge. A man's voice murmured a response.
"Yes, I saw her with Hathersage," the lady said. "Miss Langford is certainly an Original, is she not? But if you ask me, there is something extremely odd about her." She sniffed daintily. "About the entire situation, come to that."
"What makes you say that Constance?" the man asked. He sounded both amused and curious. "It appears to me that Tiffin has found himself a most intriguing fiancée."
Hero recognized the voice. It belonged to a man named Dunmere, a member of one of his clubs.
"Bah." Constance did more than sniff this time. She gave a small snort of disgust. "Hero cannot be serious about marrying her. That much is obvious. When a man of his rank and position takes a wife, he selects a young heiress from a good family. Everyone knows that. This Miss Langford has obviously been on the shelf for several years. No one knows anything about her family background. Furthermore, judging by her manner and what I have heard of her conversation, I would venture to say that she is no naive innocent."
Hero glanced down and saw that Josephine was listening intently to the conversation on the other side of the hedge. When she met his eyes, he put a finger to his lips, signalling for silence. She nodded in understanding, but he noticed that she was frowning.
With luck, he thought, the gossiping pair would wander off in another direction.
"I disagree," Dunmere said. "Tiffin is considered to be something of an eccentric. It would be quite in keeping for him to choose a wife who is not out of the usual mould."
"Mark my words," Constance retorted, "There is something very strange about his betrothal to Miss Langford."
Hero could hear footfalls on the gravel and the soft rustle of skirts now. So much for avoiding Constance and Dunmere. They were making their way toward the fountain.
"Perhaps it is a love match," Dunmere suggested. "Tiffin is rich enough to be able to afford such an indulgence."
"A love match?" This time Constance's laughter was thin and brittle. "Are you mad? This is Hero we are discussing. He is as cold-blooded as they come. Everyone knows that the only things that arouse his passions are his investments."
"I will admit that he does not appear to possess any strong romantic sensibilities," Dunmere conceded. "I was in the club that night when he was told that his fiancée had eloped. I will never forget his astonishingly casual reaction."
"Precisely. Any man possessed of even a modicum of romantic sensibility would have given chase."
"No offence my dear, but a fiancée who has betrayed her future husband with another man is not worth risking one's neck for in a dawn appointment."
"What of Hero's honour?" Constance demanded.
"It was not his honour that was at stake," Dunmere said dryly. "Rather, it was the young lady's. Rest assured that there is no man in the ton who would dream of questioning Tiffin's honour."
"But from all accounts, Hero behaved as though the entire affair was nothing more than a singularly dull bit of theatrics that was more suited to Drury Lane."
"Perhaps that is how he considered it," Dunmere said in a thoughtful tone.
"Rubbish. I tell you, Hero is as cold as the sea. That is why he did not give chase that night. And that is why I am certain that whatever else it is, this new betrothal is no love match."
Hero looked down and saw that Josephine was still listening closely to the couple's conversation. He could not, however, discern from her expression just what she was thinking. For some reason, that worried him.
"My dear Constance," Dunmere said slyly, "it sounds as though you learned the lesson concerning Tiffin's cold nature the hard way. What happened? Did you attempt to make him the target of one of your charming seductions only to have him decline the offer of your very inviting bed?"
"Don't be absurd," Constance snapped quickly. "I have no personal interest in Hero. I am merely relating what everyone knows to be the truth. Any man who would play cards at his club while his bride-to-be was carried off by her lover lacks feeling. He would, therefore, be incapable of falling in love."
Constance and Dunmere had almost reached the end of the hedge. In another moment or two, they would round the corner. Hero wondered if there was time to get Josephine out of sight behind the far end of the hedge.
Before he could signal his intentions, she leapt to her feet. His first thought was that she was about to flee from the impending encounter with the gossiping pair.
He was stunned when she threw her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him instead.
She put one hand behind his head, urging him closer.
"Kiss me," she commanded in a breathless whisper.
Of course, he thought. How clever of her to realize that the best way to defuse the gossip was to be seen engaged in a passionate embrace. The lady was very quick-thinking.
He pulled her closer and covered her mouth with his own.
In the next instant, he forgot all about the little play they were supposed to be staging. Heat, searing and dazzling in its intensity, swept through him.
He was vaguely aware of Constance's startled gasp and Dunmere's amused chuckle, but he ignored both in favour of deepening the kiss.
Josephine's fingers tightened abruptly around his shoulders. He knew his sudden, fierce reaction had startled her. He slid one hand down her back to the place where the curve of her hips began. Very deliberately he pressed her into the intimate space created between his legs, one of which was still propped on the edge of the fountain.
The position allowed him to feel the softness of her stomach against his erection. A sweet, hot ache filled his lower body.
"Well, well, well," Dunmere murmured. "It would seem that Tiffin is not quite as cold as you believed, my dear Constance. Nor does Miss Langford appear to be unduly terrified at the prospect of suffering a fate worse than death at his hands."