Wicked. Shannon Drake
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but—”
She broke off as he leaned forward. “How do you know, Miss Montgomery, that I don’t contribute to the welfare of others?”
He was very close to her. She didn’t think she had ever seen anything quite so intense, so silencing, so commanding and condemning as his eyes. She found that she wasn’t even breathing.
“I don’t,” she managed to say at last.
He sat back.
“But!” she said. “I know what I have heard about you. And you are one of the most powerful men in our kingdom. I’ve heard that the Queen and your parents were devoted friends. I’ve heard that you are one of the—”
“One of the what?”
She looked out the window again, afraid that she was being quite crass. But then again, she was the daughter of an East End prostitute.
“That you are one of the richest men in the country. And since you were so blessed at birth, you should be thankful. Other men have lost their families, and they cannot all be bitter.”
“Really?”
She had angered him.
“Tell me, Miss Montgomery, should murderers go free?”
“Of course not! But if I understand correctly, your parents were killed by snakes! Egyptian cobras. Again, I am sorry, but there is no man to blame for that!”
He didn’t answer then, choosing to look out the window instead. She realized then that, far more than the mask itself, he had managed to build an emotional wall around himself. He didn’t intend to speak with her anymore, she knew. And despite herself, she couldn’t force the point.
She, too, gazed out the window until they came into the bustle and jog of London and then to the museum itself. He didn’t allow her to refuse his help when stepping out of the carriage, and neither did he release her elbow as they headed for the building. Before the door, however, he suddenly came to a halt, turning her to face him.
“Believe me, Miss Montgomery, there is a murderer who brought about the death of my parents. I believe that the killer is someone we both know, perhaps even someone you see nearly every day.”
A chill enwrapped her heart. She didn’t believe his words, but she believed the fever in his eyes.
“Come along,” he said then, walking once again. Almost casually he added, “Whatever I say or do, you will go along with, Miss Montgomery.”
“Lord Stirling, perhaps I can’t—”
“But you will!” he said firmly, and she fell silent, for they had reached the great doors to her place of employment.
CHAPTER FOUR
LORD STIRLING knew his way.
Employees and visitors alike seemed to know him or of him, for many greeted him—all trying not to stare at the mask—with respect and a bit of awe. Perhaps it was his size, his height and the breadth of his shoulders, the casual and handsome way he wore his clothing. Or the way he carried himself. Or the mere fact of who he was.
“I work in a back room on the—”
“Second floor, of course,” he murmured.
They came to the section, and he immediately headed her toward the door that led to the rooms that were not open to the public. She pulled free then, nervously hurrying before him. Inside the first office, they came first upon Sir John Matthews, who was seated behind the entry desk, papers piled in disarray before him.
“There you are, at last! My dear Miss Montgomery! You know my opinion of those who cannot manage to arrive in a timely manner. I—” He broke off, seeing the Earl of Carlyle coming behind her. “Lord Stirling!” he exclaimed, astonished.
“John, my good fellow. How are you doing?”
“I…I…quite well!” Sir John said, still appearing somewhat in shock. “Brian, I’m stunned, pleased, delighted! Does your appearance here mean that you’ll be…”
Brian Stirling laughed pleasantly. “Contributing to the Egyptology department again?” he queried.
Sir John flushed a rose hue, bright against his white whiskers and hair. “Dear me, that’s not what I meant at all, really. You’re family…you…well, all were so learned in the field. To have your enthusiasm involved here again would be quite fantastic!”
Camille could see Lord Stirling’s lips curl and pleasantly so. She wondered if he might have felt a modicum of affection for Sir John at some time in his life.
“That’s kind of you, John. Actually, I was considering attending your fund-raiser this weekend.”
“Good God!” Sir John exclaimed. “Really?”
He looked from Camille to Lord Stirling, then back again, completely baffled. He shook his head, as if trying to clear it, as if their appearance together should perhaps make sense, but certainly didn’t in any way.
Stirling stared at Camille. “You will be attending—correct, Miss Montgomery?”
“Oh, no!” she said quickly. She felt a flush rise to her own cheeks. “I’m not a senior member of the staff,” she murmured.
“Miss Montgomery has not been with us long,” Sir John murmured.
“Ah, but of course you will attend, Miss Montgomery, as my escort back into a world where I might feel quite lost were you not with me.”
He wasn’t making a request. And simply because of his tone, she longed to refuse. But she was being bribed or blackmailed, whichever word fit the situation better.
Sir John stood staring at her, eyes narrowed, still at a loss as to how she had come to be in the company of such a man as the earl.
“Camille, if the Earl of Carlyle would be more comfortable attending in your company, you will be here.”
Stirling walked across the few steps that brought him before Camille, reaching for her hands, taking them into his own. “John!” he said, looking at Camille even as he addressed the man. “Please! You mustn’t make it sound as if you’re threatening the lass!”
Those sharp blue eyes of his focused on her with some humor. There was no need at all for Sir John to threaten her. She already knew that she was being threatened. Yet, along with whatever other skills he had acquired through the years, he was an excellent actor, for it appeared that he was being pleasant, as courteous and correct as his breeding should merit.
She tried to pull her hands away casually, but his grip was firm. She forced a smile. “How very kind of you, Lord Stirling. I’m afraid I should be a rather humble choice for such an evening.”
“Nonsense. We are living in the age of enlightenment. What better choice for an evening’s companion than a young woman who is not just beautiful, but intelligent and so very well versed on the subject of the evening’s passion.”
“Camille!” Sir John murmured, prodding her.
Stirling’s smile was a bit grim, and definitely amused. She longed to jerk hard on her hands. In fact, she longed to tell him that she’d rather spend the evening in an opium den with hoods and thieves.
“It’s not…the mask, is it?” he queried.
Oh, what a tone! The man was playing upon pathos now! “No,” she said sweetly. “This is the age of enlightenment, My Lord, as you have said. No man, or woman, should ever be judged by appearance.”
“Bravo!” Sir John complimented.
Apparently her tormenter decided that he wasn’t going to wait for her actual agreement. “Then, indeed, yes, John, I will attend the upcoming fund-raiser. And you may be assured that both my interest and my income