“How did he even succeed in capturing them?” Cecilia asked, still staring at the moon as if it was a great white house she could hijack and fly to her aunt’s rescue.
Ned took a breadstick from a basket at the center of the table. “Trickery. Afternoon tea in the village, away from the houses. A sleeping draft in the tea. All organized by a traitor in the Society’s ranks.”
“A traitor? Impossible.”
Ned shrugged. “Nothing’s impossible if you can pay enough.”
“No one would help steal the houses of their fellow Society members,” Cecilia insisted.
He gave her an amused frown. “Why not? Half of you are trying to assassinate the other half.”
“That’s different.”
Ned was quiet, trying to work out the difference on his own, then gave up and took a bite of bread.
“Who was the traitor?” she asked.
Ned chewed his mouthful, and she watched him impatiently. He rolled his eyes, trying to eat faster, and nearly choked on the swallow. Coughing, drinking wine, attracting disapproving attention from the neighboring diners, he finally managed to say, “Miss Fairweather.”
“I knew it!” Cecilia took a breadstick of her own and snapped it in half. Crumbs flew. Ned stared wide-eyed, then set down his wineglass carefully, as if any sudden movement might set her off. “Jane always was a sneak,” she said. “Her poor grandmother.”
“I don’t—”
“When is the food coming?” She frowned toward the kitchen door.
“We only just ordered. I appreciate it’s hard to wait until tomorrow, but at least know that Morvath doesn’t plan to kill the ladies.”Not right away, he added silently. “Why don’t you have a drink, try to relax?”
“I am relaxed,” Cecilia said, snapping the breadstick again. But then she laid it down on her plate and began brushing the crumbs from the tablecloth into her hand. “He told you he would not kill them?”
“Absolutely,” Ned lied.
She sighed and tipped the crumbs onto her plate, then laid her hands together on her lap. “Please excuse my shocking behavior. It has been a most exerting day.”
Ned smiled. Their gazes met, and a tremulous moment passed before Cecilia looked down, rearranging a fork on the table ever so slightly, and Ned’s smile deepened. “I’ve seen nothing shocking,” he assured her. “Do try the wine; it’s not bad.”
Cecilia hesitated. She’d never taken alcohol before and was unsure it was wise to do so now. Miss Darlington would not even let her drink Communion wine, believing it the surest way to catch rabies. But a young woman in the company of an urbane gentleman did not want to look unsophisticated; therefore, Cecilia lifted her glass and sipped.
Dry sweetness burst in her mouth. The taste was strong but notunpleasant. She took another sip and failed to dislike it. The sweetness fizzed down her throat. After a moment, she sipped again. Her lips tingled. The room seemed to soften with a mild heat.They must have lit a fire, she thought, and looked around to see it, without success.
“What do you think?” Ned asked. “Pretty reasonable for free wine, yes?”
“Yes,” she agreed, and took another, more protracted, swallow.
“Sissy,” Ned said—
“Please don’t call me that. I am not a Sissy.”
He looked at her a moment (his face swaying in the most peculiar fashion) and then smiled. “I believe you’re right. And you are not a Cilla either. Perhaps Ceelee?”
“No.”
“Leelee?”
“Certainly not. Not.” She drank the last from her glass before setting it down. Then setting it down again as the table leaped beneath it. Ned watched her hand move slowly away from the glass to touch the breadstick, then the spoons, then tap the table, before resting again in her lap. Then he looked into her eyes, holding her steady with his warm, smiling gaze.
“No,” he said. “Not Leelee but a lily. Pale and delicate and sometimes poisonous. As William Blake said, ‘the Lily white shall in love delight, nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.’”
She eyed him narrowly. “I do believe that was accurately recited!”
