CHAPTER
19
We moved slowly, as much from the blanketing fog as from Stoker’s injuries and Eddy’s inebriated fatigue. Now that the excitement of the flight had ebbed, stiffness had settled into our bones. Our footsteps flushed a few pairs of lovers trysting in alleyways and the occasional transient settled for the night under a bit of accommodating shrubbery. More than one bobby gave us a penetrating glance, but no one stopped us, and as we crossed by, the bells of the Church of the Immaculate Conception in Mayfair struck the hour of four in the morning.
“I quite forgot,” Eddy said sleepily, “where are we bound?”
“My brother’s house,” Stoker told him.
“Oh, indeed?” Eddy blinked to wakefulness. “And why are we going there? Is Lord Templeton-Vane expecting us?”
“Not that brother,” he said shortly.
He led us to a peaceful square a few streets from Tiberius’ address, where the houses were a little more modest but no less expensive. Keeping to the shadows, we slipped down the area stairs to the small, discreet entrance for domestic endeavors, waiting whilst Stoker rappedsoftly at the door. After a long moment, a butler appeared, dressing gown rigidly tied and nightcap so tidy I wondered if he slept standing up. He opened the door with a scowl, but at the sight of Stoker, he reared back in astonishment.
“Mr. Stoker! Good evening, sir,” he said with a bow from the neck. “Is everything quite all right?”
“It will be, Dearsley. Would you please rouse Sir Rupert and let him know I am here.”
“Certainly, sir, but would you and your party not be more comfortable in the drawing room?” he asked.
A small smile played about Stoker’s lips. “I rather think a bit of discretion is in order,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper.
Dearsley bowed again. “As you wish, sir. I will be but a moment. May I offer you or your companions refreshment?” He eyed Eddy, who was weaving conspicuously on his feet. “Perhaps a little strong black coffee?”
“After you’ve wakened my brother,” Stoker told him.
“Very good.” Dearsley hurried away and Stoker and I went through to the kitchen, settling Eddy on a chair, where he promptly nodded off again.
It was only a moment or two later before the master of the house appeared, Dearsley close behind.
“Stoker, what the devil—oh, I do say, pardon me, Miss Speedwell. I did not see you there.” In contrast to his butler, Rupert looked decidedly askew, his dressing gown obviously tied in some haste and his silvering chestnut hair disordered. He smoothed it down as he spoke, and tugged his dressing gown closed over his bare shins, but not before I noticed that he—like Tiberius and Stoker—had rather fine legs.
“Good evening, Sir Rupert—or should I say good morning?” I asked pleasantly.
He eyed my costume with its rather exuberant display of bosom and immediately jerked his gaze away, blushing furiously. “Stoker, I do hope you have an excellent reason for keeping Miss Speedwell out and about at such an hour,” he said.
Stoker’s only reply was to point to Eddy, slumped and slumbering in his chair. Sir Rupert looked once, then gave a start, peering closely at the sleeping prince.
“Is that—”
“Yes,” Stoker told him.
Rupert sniffed deeply. “Has he been—”
“Yes, to excess, but it was entirely understandable under the circumstances,” I assured him.
Sir Rupert’s expression was pained. He gestured for Dearsley to close the kitchen door and set to making the coffee before turning once more to us. “I do not mean to be insulting, you understand, but I do hope you will forgive the indelicacy of the question: did you, by any chance, abduct this young person?”
“We did not,” Stoker assured him.
“Although hewasabducted,” I pointed out. “But not by us.”
“We liberated him,” Stoker added.
“It was the least we could do,” I put in. “He was at least partially abducted because of us.”
“I don’t know about that,” Stoker argued. “I think they would have taken him if we hadn’t been there, although it certainly played perfectly into their scheme to kidnap us together.”
