Her Quicksilver Lover: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 6 (14 page)

Slowly, he washed her there, holding the cloth against her to bring her easement. He would not let her move away. “We mean more to each other now. Any questions you have, come to me. If you cannot find me, then ask Lightfoot.”

“Is he one, an immortal, too?”

“Yes, of course. You saw his feet? They are natural to him. A mortal would not understand.” He paused and bit his lip. “There is more I have to tell you, but it’s probably better saved for another time. You have enough to absorb.” His hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face him. She draped her legs over his, her bottom nestling against his thighs, and the cloth still in place, pressing against her femininity. “I will tell you everything, I promise. But I must extract a promise from you in return.”

She waited for him to ask, but at the moment, she would do anything he asked.

“Please do not tell anyone what happened to you here today. Not even your father.”

“You’re letting me go home?” She had half expected him to tell her that he was keeping her here. As her senses returned, she had become aware that she was a problem for him. Although he had converted her, albeit accidentally, her father owned a journal, and he knew that too. She could spread the news abroad by tomorrow morning.

“Of course. I can’t keep you, unless you want to stay. But if you do, it will be as my lover.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “I will take on the role of protector willingly, but not if you don’t want it too. That must be your choice.”

“You’re offering me the position of mistress?” Some women would jump at the chance. But Joanna would not. The notion repulsed her. She would move into a different sphere, one she had no desire to enter.

“You do not wish it,” he said with a wry smile. “Then all I require is your promise to tell nobody. You are one of us now, and it’s in your interests not to tell anyone what happened here to you today.”

“I promise.” She flashed a sudden smile. “Besides, who would believe me? People would rather believe they had a nest of spies here. We need a story for the paper. Something scandalous that will push circulation up. I want to help him. He gave up a great deal for me and my mother, but he feels that he has let me down, somehow. I tell him he has not, but he refuses to accept it.”

“Why would he have let you down?”

“Because he should have had more. He was not always a journalist. He was gently born into the gentry. Once he was a Fellow at Oxford with a brilliant career ahead of him. But he fell in love with my mother, so he could do nothing but marry her. His family refused to acknowledge the connection, but he would not give her up. He could not stay in his position. They don’t allow married Fellows.”

“Does he hold Holy Orders?” Many of the lecturers and professors at universities did, so the question was a natural one.

“Yes, but only so that he could work as an academic. When we were forced to leave the college, he looked for a position, but they are hard to come by and poorly paid. A life as a country curate is hard. He said my mother and I would be better off in London.” She smiled. “He had visions of a wealthy man sweeping me off my feet.” She laughed, realising that it had happened. Just not in the way he expected. Not a way she could discuss with him. “You’re a wealthy peer. I know you’ll not be looking at me to provide anything else. I asked you to—do it.”

“Be quiet,” he said tenderly, kissing her lips. “You know nothing. But I want to give you time before you make any more plans. You may go on as you always did, or you may move in here. I understand why you would not wish to do that.”

“I want to carry on as normal,” she said. She needed that reassurance, the reminder that life went on, a chance to absorb what had happened to her before she continued.

“I believe that is best, for now. But when you leave the house in the morning, get into the cab. I’ve engaged that driver to bring you here and take you home again when your day is done. I will not have you undertaking such a walk every day.”

She laughed at him. “I’ve walked farther. I’ve been to Tyburn and back several times on a hanging day to replenish our stock.”

“I do not like the thought of you doing that.” He swished the water around and gently removed the cloth. “Come, you have soaked enough and the day is progressing. What were your hours today?”

“I was to leave at six,” she said. “Tomorrow I stay to serve dinner to the guests and I’ll leave at eight.”

He frowned. “I cannot like the idea of your working here,” he said, “but perhaps you have the truth of it. You should continue with your normal life until you have absorbed what has happened to you. However, the arrangement is only for the time being, until we work out what is best for you. You are engaged to come to my rooms every day. So when you come, we will continue with your education.” He drew her close for another kiss, and murmured against her lips, “Of course, that could mean all manner of things.”

She was lost in him. Whatever chance she had of being impartial was shattered by the events of today.

Chapter Ten

Joanna wanted nothing more than to slip inside the house when she got home, and go up to her room. Sometimes she would go straight to bed and not see her father at all, or nod to him as he stood over the press, printing out copies for the journal. Unfortunately, tonight she had no such opportunity.

The shop was quiet, the press still, the acrid, heavy smell of ink and engine oil so familiar she barely noticed it, other than seeing the stacks of freshly printed papers tied up ready for delivery the next day. At least she would not have to help him with that. She had a story, and she would write that before she went to bed. Amidei had told her that Lady Samson was leaving her husband, in itself no great story, but it was who she was leaving him for that mattered. That story would run well, a bread-and-butter item that would sell copies, and easy to write too.

Already setting out the framework, she hesitated, thinking she might give herself the indulgence of a fresh cup of tea. Thanks to Amidei, she’d been loved, rested, and bathed, and now all she wanted was to climb into bed at the earliest possible moment.

Her father called her name. Letting out a sigh, she went into the front parlour. Patrick was there too. Joanna would have to be polite to him.

Patrick curtailed her bid to take the remaining chair by the fire by standing when she curtseyed to him and gesturing to the sofa. “Won’t you join me?”

“Of course, but I have a story to write.”

Her father waved the notion away with a careless waft of his hand. “Never mind society gossip now. Mr. Gough has some questions for you. This could lead to the biggest story we’ve ever had.” Out of sight of his patron, he waggled one eyebrow in the curious gesture she had come to understand as her father having doubts.

She slumped down on the sofa. Dressed as she was in her unprepossessing servants’ garb, she could not imagine that Patrick would detain her for long. But he smiled and laid his hand over hers in a way she felt was unnecessary. Belatedly, she recalled his talking of their betrothal. Surely he could not mean that as serious? If he did, the events of today had put her beyond that. She would not marry him now.

He raised her hand to his lips. Although his touch was not repulsive, Joanna wished he would not. It indicated a familiarity she wished to avoid.

“I have been talking to your father about our betrothal,” he said.

Her heart plummeted. “I thought that was a subterfuge.” Not quite the right word, but it would do.

“Indeed not.” He retained his hold on her hand. “I was perfectly serious. In return for our marriage, I will purchase the paper outright and engage staff to look after it. You need never concern yourself with it again.”

“You had a dowry after all,” her father said triumphantly. “I had not realised anyone would want the
Argus
before.”

“But—” Her eyes wide, Joanna stared at him in horror. “Do I have no say?”

Her father’s expression hardened. “You had no objection before. Tomorrow you may tell them at the club you are leaving and come home. We have much to prepare for.”

Tomorrow? “No, Papa, it will take longer to work out my notice—”

“Pish! Maids are ten a penny. They will replace you and think nothing of it.”

“And I will not have my wife working as a servant,” Patrick said severely. He showed no inclination to release her hand. “However, I am willing to discuss the matter of you taking a little longer in the place.”

Several notions raced through her head. Should she tell him she was no longer a virgin? That she had, in effect, taken a lover? Or that she had become someone—something—different entirely?

She’d wanted time to assimilate the changes in her life, to take them slowly. Amidei had even approved of that, and offered to bring her into his world gradually. But they were still living in different places, the one she had been used to all her life and the one she would have to live with for years to come.

Terrified of the answer, she had not asked him how long “immortal” meant, whether that alluded to the special part of her that had unwittingly entered her today, or if she could expect a normal lifetime. He’d said she would age and die, so perhaps that was it. The qualities he had accidentally bestowed on her would go on to someone else at her death.

In that case, she was living firmly in the here and now. But she felt different. Every touch, every time any one of her senses brushed another, the response was different. She saw colours brighter, heard sounds differently.

Now she was to marry a virtual stranger?

With an effort, she kept her senses together and forced herself to reason as the Joanna Spencer of yesterday.

Patrick offered marriage, where Amidei offered nothing but his bed. For a woman of her age and situation, she should jump at the chance of wedding a man like Patrick Gough. He was young, handsome, and possessed of a fortune that was at least respectable.

But she did not. He might as well have serpents writhing about his head for all the interest she had in him.

As if reading her mood, Patrick released her hand, after bestowing one more kiss on it. “We will talk of this privately, Joanna. No doubt you are used to considering yourself single, but I will strive to change your mind. In the meantime, there are other matters I wish to discuss.”

The fire crackled, sending a shower of sparks out, but for once her father had set the guard before it, and they fell harmlessly on to the hearthstone. Above, the clock struck seven. She had left the club at just after six, sent on her way with kisses, and packed into the cab with the same driver as this morning.

Even the brief thought of Amidei’s touch and his care for her warmed her. But she could expect nothing more from him, and to his credit, he had not intimated that there could be. If they continued as lovers, it would be until he found a wife, or until they tired of each other.

This man was offering her marriage. She should by rights snatch at it, but she was reluctant. Heated by the remnants of her first love affair, confused by the drastic changes in her body, Joanna wanted time to assimilate.

She paid attention to what Patrick said next. Although handsome, her would-be betrothed was dressed simply in a dark red coat and buff waistcoat, much more suitable for the city. A huge contrast to the elaborate, expensive outfits her lover preferred. Before she’d met Amidei she would have said she preferred Patrick’s more manly style, but now—no. What he wore, how he carried himself was part of Amidei himself, and she could not separate it from him in her mind. Therefore, she preferred it.

She was just infatuated with her very first lover, that was all. Amidei would introduce her to her new life, then move on. Would she throw this man away for a chance with him, one that would probably never happen?

Fool that she was, she would.

“Would you like to know the reason I do not ask you to leave the club immediately?” Patrick asked. He chafed her hand warmly.

“Yes, please.”

“Because I think there is more to be discovered there. I am more than ever sure it is a centre for sedition and spying. I have discovered more. The man you saw, the one with the misshapen feet? He spent a great deal of time on the Continent. Nobody knows how he got there and back again, which to me suggests clandestine activities. But I want abundant proofs before we strike. We do not want even one of them to escape our net.”

“I’ve written an article,” her father said. “It will go out in the morning issue. It casts suspicions, just enough to let the owners know we are aware of their activities.”

“You named the club?” she said, alarmed.

He shrugged. “It is obvious from the article. I will set watchers tomorrow.”

“And that includes you, Joanna,” Patrick added. “Of course, if you feel you would rather not, then I will take you to a safe place.”

“You have a safe place?” Everything he said added to the warning bells ringing in her head.

“Naturally.” He glanced at her father, who nodded. “I would not have you in danger, even though I don’t think you do have any problems, as long as you are careful and circumspect.”

At least she had some reassurance, though she suspected her father had imposed that condition. That glance in his direction was telling. The two men had discussed the issue, and told her what her part in it would be. They had not waited to discuss the matter with her, or ask for her opinion.

Well, they would get it anyway. “I have seen no evidence of sedition,” she said, “much less treason. I cannot believe there are traitors at the Pantheon Club. What proof do you have?”

Patrick bestowed a gracious, indulgent smile on her. “Abundant, I assure you.”

“But what?”

He shook his head, and this time the look he exchanged with her father was patient and understanding, a smile quirking his mouth, delivered with a shrug. “You wish to see it? I have letters, cyphers, and even a written confession or two. We are ready to present them to the public, but in order to encourage the circulation of the journal, we will let a little more out every day. We will destroy the Pantheon Club, and its owner.”

She should stay, if only to see these proofs. “That sounds more like revenge than the act of a government agent.” She was sure of that, her opinion firming as he spoke.

“Not at all. But why should a man not feel angry when his country is being betrayed? All I ask is that you don’t tell d’Argento yet. I don’t imagine you see much of him, in any case. You do not, do you?”

What could she say to that? She tried an evasive answer. “Why would I? He’s a magnificent creature who passes through the club a few times a day. Naturally he never enters the women’s section when it is open, and as far as I know not when it is closed, either.”

“Are you concerned mainly with the women’s rooms?” He was sharp, pouncing on her answer.

Relief cautiously seeped through her. He had not chosen the right question, at least in this instance. “The maids serve the ladies and the footmen attend to the gentlemen. I tidy some rooms, lay the fires, and carry the tea trays. I will also serve dinner or breakfast at times. It depends what I’m required to do.”

Patrick frowned. “I do not like to think of you doing those things.”

“It’s honest,” she said, bridling. “It is better than other work. Before you came, we ran the paper between us, my father and I.”

Her father cleared his throat, his not-so-subtle way of warning her she was not to say any more. She ignored him. “All this talk of a great story and sedition and so on, it’s fancy, castles in the air. I’m collecting society scandals, that’s all, and we can keep the journal going on those. They hurt few people, and we are careful to ensure the facts are there. If we do not, we are careful to report it as rumour.”

“Rumour can sometimes do more harm than the truth,” her father pointed out.

She could not deny the truth of that. “We kept more serious accusations out until we knew more. We should know, sir, you should give us the proof.”

“I have seen them,” her father said. “That should be enough for you.”

Normally it was, but trouble churned its way through her stomach, making her glad she had not eaten for a few hours. Something was wrong here. The two truths did not work together. After today, she knew why the club was in existence. It was not to disseminate government secrets. It was to provide a safe haven for immortals, people who were outnumbered and different enough to want to meet with others of their kind.

Before she left the club this evening, Amidei had taught her a trick, a way to conceal her inner thoughts from people. She was to think of her mind as a mirror. A powerful being would see this, and could shatter through it, but the simple defence would serve and it was an easy technique to learn. He promised to teach her a more durable way another time. He’d also said she had a natural barrier which would help, something she was unaware of, but which made her glad. All those years she had not known there were beings who could read her mind like a book, she had been somewhat protected. “It will hurt if someone tries to force you. Like a very specific headache in one part of your mind.”

She felt that now. Maybe it was a headache, but a piercing pain, as sharp as a needle, lanced through her head on the left side, front to back. It left her as soon as it arrived, leaving a dull ache in its wake. But she could not give up now. He had not shattered the imaginary mirror, or she would have felt open and vulnerable.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath.

“Is there anything wrong?” Patrick asked her.

“Just a headache. I’ve had a long day.” When she opened her eyes, he was gazing at her sympathetically, so much that she wondered if he was responsible.

He is a loyal and honourable man doing his duty.

Where had that thought come from? Or was it her all along? The thoughts were definitely the kind she would have, except for her growing suspicions about Patrick. She should have talked to Amidei about him today, but what with the change she’d undergone, and the fever, and the lovemaking, she hadn’t had time. Hastily, she dismissed the mental visions her thoughts brought to mind.

He pressed her hand. “I’m so sorry. Perhaps we should leave this for another day.”

“Perhaps so,” she said with relief.

“Let me take you to your room.”

Alarmed, she glanced at her father, but he lifted his hand. “Make sure it is only to the door.”

At least she had that. Her father was acting strangely. Usually he was the first person to safeguard her good name. To allow a man to escort her to her bedroom door was far from customary. Since her mother was dead, he acted as her chaperon when needed, which admittedly was not very often.

“I would like to see the written proof of the spying,” she protested. Patrick got to his feet and held out his hands. She put hers in them, and rose, trying to keep a reasonable distance between them.

She left the room on his arm, having no way of deterring him. The stairs would not allow two people to pass side by side, so he was forced to follow her. She felt his eyes on her all the way up, a proprietary expression she did not like. She had not given herself to him, she’d been told.