“Oh, let’s speak of something else.” Eleanor huffed. “I’m tired of worrying about it.” She held up her glass. “I saw that you made the paper again today. Did you really set a boat on fire?”
I grimaced. “I was merely giving my belovedspitzhunda Viking funeral. He was from Finland, you understand.” The fact that people still remembered that one rankled. It had happened nearly twenty years ago. But Henrik had deserved the grand send off. That dog had the noblest spirit I’d ever known.
“And were you pretending to ride the bronze stag in Hyde Park?” The edges of Eleanor’s eyes crinkled. “You do know it can’t take you anywhere.”
“I was merely seated upon it so I didn’t get an ache in my neck when speaking to Miss Abbott. She sat upon a large bay.” One would think I’d been shouting tally-ho and waving my chemise about my head for all the fuss it made. At the time I’d been rather impressed with myself, solving a problem creatively, creating a seat where none had existed.
Creativity tended to be frowned upon in my circles, however.
“Were you astride or side-saddle?” she asked, her lips twitching. “I want a clear picture of it in my head.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Drink your brandy.”
We sat in companionable silence, me enjoying my drink, Eleanor merely tolerating hers. But the muscles in her shoulders seemed to loosen, the tension in her face released. I considered asking about her mother again, but frankly, I had enough problems of my own. I wasn’t in the mindset to take on some of her burdens.
“The mood is most somber in here this evening.” Mr. Rollins strolled into the room and stopped before us, looking sharp in a navy blue jacket.
Eleanor popped up straight. Apparently, I wasn’t the only woman to think so.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice peevish.
The Runner arched an auburn brow. “And a good evening to you, as well.”
Eleanor stared down into her now empty glass. “I apologize. You surprised me. I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”
“Not all surprises should be unwelcome.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
I thought about scooting over, making room for him between Eleanor and me, but I didn’t want to make it too easy for him. A man should put in some effort when he wooed a woman. I had no doubt Mr. Rollins wanted to woo Miss Lynton, though I didn’t know if he would allow himself that pleasure.
Or whether Miss Lynton would welcome it.
The group of women across the room stood and drifted to the scattering of wingbacks nearer to us. They kept their gazes averted, but Mr. Rollins’s appearance could be the only reason for their change of setting. The Runner was still a curiosity, and a handsome one at that. They wanted to eavesdrop.
As I had nothing of importance to discuss, I would allow it. “Find a seat instead of looming over us,” I told him. “And we’re not somber. Merely contemplative.”
“May I contemplate as well over a drink with you?” He looked toward the bar. Bobby had yet to reappear, and it was currently unmanned.
“Help yourself.” If The Minerva Club shuttered its doors, at least I would have an impressive inventory of liquor in which to drown my woes. “The glasses are behind the bar.”
Eleanor held up hers. “Can you bring me another brandy?”
Rollins cocked his head, examining the rosiness of her cheeks, the slight glaze to her eyes. “No.” He turned on his heel and strode toward the bar.
“Did he just say no?” Eleanor blinked, her expression pinching. “The impudence.” She rose to her feet with only the slightest of sways. “The nerve.”
One of our listeners tittered behind her hand.
“The waste of time.” I jutted my jaw toward where Rollins stood behind the bar. “Instead of complaining, go get one yourself.”
“I will.” Chin lifted, Eleanor marched across the room. She had just reached the bar when one of the large windows facing the street exploded into a tiny million shards.
Eleanor screamed, turning her back on the flying glass. She dropped to her knees on the floor.
Two streaks of light cascaded in a graceful arc through the broken window and smashed onto the floor. Two separate fires blazed up, stretching toward the ceiling, before reaching for each other, becoming one large conflagration.
My brain tried to catch up with what my eyes were seeing. “Go!” I told the women who had flown to the doorway to huddle in it, eyes wide with horror. “Get out of the club. Get Bernard.”
I didn’t wait to see if they obeyed. Because as I watched, a lick of flame stretched its fingers toward Eleanor, toying with the hem of her gown. I started to move forward, pulling out my handkerchief but knowing it wouldn’t be sufficient to smother out a fire.
