“Not at all,” he said, as he more or less had to at that point. “Any room I care much about is locked.”
“And you won’t give me a ring of keys to test me?” Miss Seymour smiled thinly. “Probably just as well.”
“Yes,” said Stephen. “I wouldn’t be sure of you passing.”
“I’ll have you know I respect privacy quite well, once I know somethingisprivate.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Stephen leaned against the mantel. He could turn the lamps on, of course, sit down in one of the chairs, and wait for the staff to come back, but somehow he was disinclined toward any of those actions. In the dim light, with him and Miss Seymour both standing, talking to her felt more natural, as if they were in some scheme together—which, in a way, he supposed they were.
It had been a long time since he’d had a partner in anything he did. His siblings and his cousins had their own interests; few other people knew exactly what he was, and those were either servants or had different loyalties as well. Miss Seymour wasn’t a realpartner, of course, he reminded himself, but he’d take what moments he could.
“Any news?” she asked.
“A little. The Americans had a gentleman resembling Ward in custody a few years ago. In Boston, it was. There was a young man bringing accusations. Breaking and entering, he said, but it never came to anything, and they released the man. It might not have been Ward. Though it did take place in…esoteric circles. Spiritualism and that. Rather a troublesome sect, too, from what little I could find.”
“What happened to him then?”
“We’ll be trying to find that out. Among other things. If he’s in London now and still interested in magic, I’ve a few places I can go with that.”
Miss Seymour nodded slowly. At her side, her long, graceful fingers played with the plain material of her dress. “This might take a while, then,” she said.
“That it might,” said Stephen. Was the girl that impatient to be gone? Not that he wanted her as a visitor, but God knew he’d treated her well enough. “I told you as much.”
“You did,” she said almost absently, and then went on in a much firmer voice. “When do you go see Professor Carter?”
“Tomorrow, most likely.” The professor had probably been right about his danger, or lack thereof, now that he had the bracelet. All the same, Stephen wanted to keep checking since Carter wouldn’t be able to sense something like the mist.
“All right,” said Miss Seymour. “I’ll go with you.”
“You’ll be doing no such thing,” Stephen said immediately.
“And why not? I’ll be with you. Then I’ll be with the professorandyou. Then I’ll be with you again.” Miss Seymour snapped her hands outward, illustrating a void between them. “There’s no time when I can say anything to anyone, is there? Besides, I’ll have to give him letters to send to my family, won’t I? Unless you want me receiving my mail here.”
“You want to sendletters,” said Stephen. He remembered and cursed the existence of the penny post.
“Of course I do. I can’t go home on Sundays now, can I? And I’m not likely to let my family think I’ve died or—been kidnapped.” Miss Seymour gave an ironic little chuckle. “Truth aside.”
“I didn’t kidnap you.” Stephen almost growled the words, though he hadn’t intended to. He could feel his control slipping: not of his shape, not precisely, but ofthisshape’s reactions and of the situation as a whole. “If you hadn’t noticed, we’re in a bit of danger—”
“And writing to my family, or seeing the professor, isn’t going to make Ward any more of a threat to you than he already is. People already know I’m here. What are you worried will happen?”
“I don’t know. I can’t know. And if you keep springing your own plans on me—”
“Oh, yes.” Miss Seymour tossed her head back, and Stephen followed the slim, proud arch of her neck with his eyes even as he heard her sneering at him. “God forbid your captive have plans. Or ties to other people. Or anything that doesn’t go your exact way.”
A few steps forward let Stephen glare down at her, a look that had gotten him through many a conversation in the past. “I’ve been very generous wi’ you so far, Miss Seymour. I’m prepared to continue that course of action, up to a point, but I’m a man of limited patience. Must you always be arguing with me?”
Her eyes flashed cobalt fire. “When you’re being unreasonable, yes!”
“Unreasonable, is it?” The words came from deep within his chest, as deep as the impulses he stopped trying to resist. Reaching out, he wrapped an arm around Miss Seymour’s waist, then pulled her forward. Now her slender form was a hair’s breadth away from him, and the anger on her face was rapidly changing to surprise. “Lass, you don’t know what unreasonable is.”
Miss Seymour’s mouth opened again. One hand grabbed at Stephen’s arm, while the other came up to his shoulder. Before she could push him away or make whatever snide comment had occurred to her, before she could say anything at all, Stephen bent and kissed her.
She froze against him for a second. Stephen almost let her go then, as the human part of him asserted itself. The feeling of Miss Seymour in his arms had his blood pounding almost at once, but he wasn’t in the habit of tormenting women. He began to relax his grip on her—
—and then her lips parted beneath his and the stiffness in her body became tension of another sort entirely. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his coat. Pressed against his chest, her breasts rose and fell rapidly; and she kissed him back with inexpert—and perhaps unconscious—hunger.
That was the end of thinking for Stephen just then.
