Shannon Drake - Wicked

She finished her tea, angry. And when she was done, she made her way from the wing to the great stairway. The Earl of Carlyle was waiting for her at the bottom.

She stopped before him, chin raised, shoulders squared. “There must be some agreement between us, Lord Stirling.”

“Oh?”

“You must promise not to prosecute.”

“Because I’m bringing you into London, to work?” he inquired.

“You are using me somehow, sir.”

“Then let’s just see how useful you prove to be, shall we?”

He opened the door. “You are buying a great deal of time, and since you arrived out here of your own accord last evening, I think it’s rather chivalrous of me to see to it that you maintain your employment.”

Her lashes fell and she walked past him.

The carriage, with the man, Shelby, driving, was waiting for them at the door. She was so angry that she jerked her arm away when the beast of the castle would have helped her in. She nearly careened off the step, but, thank God, saved herself. She somewhat crashed into the forward seat of the carriage, but that didn’t matter since she was able to rectify her position before he joined her, sitting on the opposite side. He carried a silver-knobbed walking stick, and he tapped it against the top of the carriage.

As they started out, she fixed her eyes on the view.

“What is going on in that devious little mind, Miss Montgomery?” he inquired.

She turned to him. “I was thinking, My Lord, that you need a new gardener.”

He laughed, the sound oddly pleasant. “Ah, but I like my deep, dark woods and the tangle of vines within them!”

She didn’t reply, but once again stared out the window.

“You don’t approve?”

She looked at him. “I’m sorry for what you’ve suffered,” she said. “But I’m equally sorry that a man of your position should hide himself away because of that suffering when you could be doing so very much for so many people.”

“I am not at fault for the ills of the world.”

“The world is better when the life of one man, or one woman, is improved, sir.”

He lowered his head slightly. For a moment, she couldn’t even see the sardonic curl of his lips or the intense blue of his eyes.

“What would you have me do?”

“There are dozens of things you could do!” she informed him. “With this property.”

“Shall I cut it into tiny lots and divvy it out?” he asked.

She shook her head impatiently. “No, but…you could bring the children from orphanages out here, let them have just a day with a lovely picnic! You could hire many more people, have beautiful grounds, give employment to some who desperately need it. Not that it will change all the ills in society, 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.

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.”