Kat, Incorrigible (16 page)

He coughed delicately. “And yet it might, however, be for the best—for the sake of everyone concerned—if you did give them to me of your own free will, as soon as possible.”

“Or?” I slammed down my knife with a clatter. “Or else? What will you do?”

“I am merely thinking of your own safety, my dear. And the safety of your whole family, of course.”

I gasped and swung around, forgetting all about the other guests. “Are you actually trying to threaten—?”

“Why, Miss Katherine!” said a familiar voice behind me. “Good morning.”

It was Frederick Carlyle, looking well-rested, fresh, and
impossibly different from the man I’d known for the past week and a half. Even the graceful way he bowed now was different from the way he’d moved until last night, and the look of intelligent amusement on his face was a transformation. Even as I thought that, his eyes narrowed, and the amusement vanished from his face. He moved smoothly to place himself beside me in what looked astonishingly like a protective position.

“And are you perfectly well this morning, Miss Katherine?” he asked me blandly—but his gaze was fixed on Mr. Gregson.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Thank you.” Since the two men were still looking measuringly at each other, I added, “Mr. Carlyle, Mr. Gregson,” as an introduction.

“We’ve already met, just last night,” Mr. Gregson said, and frowned at me.

“Umm …,” I began, and then caught a ghost of a conspiratorial grin on Frederick Carlyle’s face. I decided not to mention his amnesia. Mr. Gregson didn’t deserve an explanation, anyway.

More guests were pouring in now behind us, starting with three fluttering young ladies in pastel shades, all giggling and blatantly making eyes at Mr. Carlyle. It was obvious that nothing was going to be sorted out now, so I only gave Mr. Gregson one last warning look and left the sideboard without bothering to curtsy. It was a good thing Stepmama wasn’t down yet, or she might have had a Spasm at the oversight.

I didn’t have long to sit and simmer on my own, though. Ten minutes later, a plate slammed down across from me so hard I was surprised it didn’t crack.

“What’s wrong with you?” I said.

Angeline’s back was ramrod straight, and her cheeks were flushed. “Nothing in the world is wrong with me,” she said. “I’m not the one making a fool of myself.”

“What did I do?” I set down my knife and stared at her as she sat down. “I haven’t even—”

“I wasn’t talking about you,” Angeline said. She enunciated her words as clearly as bullets from a dueling pistol, and bit off each one with distaste at the end.

“Who, then? I don’t—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, why don’t you turn around and see for yourself?”

If Elissa had been there, she would have told us both that it was entirely improper for a lady to stare, or even to look directly at any person she wasn’t partnering in conversation. Luckily, Elissa wasn’t there, so I turned in my chair and looked around without bothering to hide my interest. But I didn’t see anything worth looking at, no matter how hard I tried. Mr. Gregson was reading the morning paper; various guests I didn’t know were gossiping and eating; Mr. Carlyle was laughing and talking to the three young ladies who’d been eyeing him earlier; they were all giggling at everything he said….

“You see?” said Angeline. “He’s making a complete fool of himself.”

“Really?” I said. I squinted and looked harder, trying to understand.

As we watched, one of the young ladies reached out and tapped him on the arm. “La, Mr. Carlyle! You are wicked!”

They all exploded into giggles. I turned back to Angeline—then scooted my chair backward. “What?” I said. “They don’t seem to mind whatever he’s telling them.”

“Ha.” Angeline stabbed a kipper and glared at it. “I’m sure they do not.”

“Then …” I eyed the knife in her hand warily. “What is the problem?”

“Well, if they wish to waste their time flirting with a hardened rake, then I see no problem whatsoever,” Angeline said. Her knuckles whitened around her knife. “Why should there be any problem with that? I’m sure I don’t mind at all.”

“Good?” I tried. I scooted my chair back another inch as her glare scorched me. I tried again. “Why would you?”

Another explosion of giggles sounded behind me. Angeline’s hair nearly shot out sparks. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Gregson turn another page of his newspaper.

Inspiration struck. I pushed my chair all the way back from the table and jumped up. “I’ll see you later,” I told Angeline. “If Stepmama asks where I am …”

But I could tell she wasn’t listening.

I tiptoed all the way down the final corridor of the guest wing, ready to run and hide at the first sign of Stepmama’s approach. Other groups of ladies bustled past me on the way, looking askance at my tiptoeing walk and whispering to one another as they passed, but I didn’t care about any of them. All I cared about was getting into Angeline’s room undetected by the rest of my family.

It was the perfect opportunity. Mr. Gregson had only just begun reading his morning newspaper—an occupation that, so I’d heard, could take some gentlemen up to an hour every single morning—and Angeline was busy eating breakfast and enraging herself over Mr. Carlyle’s flirts. I might not understand what had come over her to make her so bothered by them, but I knew Angeline, so I knew one thing for sure: She wouldn’t leave the breakfast room until all three of the other young ladies did. Anything else would be an admission of failure.

As I passed Stepmama’s door, I heard the unmistakable rustling sounds of preparation. I ran the final six feet and turned Angeline’s doorknob just in time. Even as I slipped inside and closed the door behind me, I heard the next door in the corridor start to open.

Footsteps sounded outside. They paused just in front of the room I was in. A light knock sounded on the door. I froze, holding my breath.

“Angeline?” Elissa said. “Are you in there?”

The doorknob began to turn. I looked around wildly, searching for something—anything—the closet? I prepared myself to leap—

Stepmama spoke in the corridor outside. “Good morning, my dear. I heard Angeline go down to breakfast some time ago. Shall we meet her there?”

“Oh,” said Elissa. “I suppose so.” She sounded wistful, and I wondered if she’d been hoping for a private chat with Angeline, away from Stepmama’s listening ears. If she was hoping to get sympathy from Angeline over Mr. Collingwood and her Tragic Dilemma, she’d chosen the wrong morning for it. I hoped Angeline would give her a good withering scold for her idiocy. Not that it would make any difference—once Elissa had made up her mind, no one could ever convince her otherwise.

“Pinch your cheeks, child,” Stepmama said. “You’re pale as death. Sir Neville may be at the breakfast table, you know, and you must look your best.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Elissa murmured, and their footsteps moved away together.

I stuck my tongue out in their direction as they went. Then I turned to survey the territory before launching my attack.

I would have known Angeline’s room anywhere, even without the long strands of thick, dark hair caught in the combs on the dressing table or the familiar rose-colored dressing gown that had been flung across the chair in front of it. There was already something about the whole
feel of the room that made it Angeline’s, even though she’d occupied it for less than four-and-twenty hours. Two years ago, Charles had borrowed an electrifying machine from one of his friends and brought it home to show us. Angeline, Elissa, and I had all linked arms, and he’d shot an electric current down the whole row of us, flying from one person to another in the chain. It had happened only once, but I’d never forgotten the sensation, the exhilaration and the fear of it. Now I was feeling it again.

A faint, flowery smell tickled my nose. Electricity crackled through the air, sparking off my skin as I moved. Even as I looked around, noting the tall closet with its potential as a hiding place, and Angeline’s four valises piled in the corner, the electric sparks pushed against my skin, stinging me and pushing me backward. Maybe now wasn’t the best time to do this after all. Maybe I should come back later, when Angeline was here to help me. Maybe if I went to Angeline and told her what I was doing …

What?
I shook my head hard, sending the sparks flying. I could actually see them now, ghostlike in the corner of my vision as they flashed past.

This wasn’t just the force of Angeline’s personality, frightening though that could undeniably be. No, this was magic. She hadn’t only been practicing love spells after all.

The sparks settled in around me again as I went still. They clustered around my face like buzzing insects. I
ought to leave now, immediately. I ought to forget about this. There was nothing to look for in here, anyway….

“Balderdash!” I said, as forcefully as I could. But the word came out surprisingly weakly from my mouth. It sounded uncertain.

Really, what was the point of searching Angeline’s room? I’d wanted to find the magic books, to keep them safe from Mr. Gregson; but my lie to him had turned out to be the truth. They were protected. No one could touch them. No one even knew where they were except for me; and even as I thought that, I became less and less sure of it. Maybe she didn’t have them here after all. Maybe I’d only imagined it. Maybe …

“Oh, no, you don’t, Angeline,” I said, through gritted teeth. “Not this time.”

I pushed forward through the spark-filled air. My leg seemed to weigh at least two hundred pounds. It moved sluggishly, leadenly, through air that was much too full to let it pass. I stopped, panting. I hadn’t progressed a single step. The sparks buzzed against my ears and eyes and the bare skin on my arms, pushing me backward, toward the door.

It was useless. I should just give up. I should …

Never.
I was so dizzy and angry I could barely see. Magical pressure built around me. The sparks pushed against me. My head was throbbing. But I didn’t care.

Angeline could set all the spells she wanted. She could try all her tricks. She could intimidate or make a fool of anyone
she chose. But I was her own sister. I knew her better than anyone else in the world, and I would not give in.

“I will not be fooled!” I shouted.

The air exploded around me.

I blinked and staggered back, my ears ringing. The sparks were gone. The pressure had lifted. My head was suddenly, furiously clear. It felt as if it had been scalded on the inside. It
hurt
.

I sucked in deep lungfuls of air. Slowly, gradually, I regained my balance. I stepped forward. Nothing stopped me.

“Ha!” I said, as firmly as I could. “You see?”

But I looked around nervously as I said it.

Surely Angeline wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble to set a spell that would just go away on its own if someone waited long enough. Surely? Maybe it was a trap. Maybe it was meant to lure me further.

I didn’t care. I’d come too far now to give up. And I was not going to let Angeline have the upper hand. She couldn’t chase me away no matter how many spells she threw at me.

I was Mama’s daughter too. I had every bit as much of a right to her magic books as Angeline.

I stalked across the floor and started my search.

The magic books weren’t in any of Angeline’s valises. They weren’t under her bed. But when I opened the tall closet, it took less than a minute of poking around before I found them, hidden underneath a single pile of thin
chemises. She must have depended upon the spell she’d set to hold off any investigators before they came this far.

Why hadn’t it worked on me?

I set my teeth as I reached for the magic books, waiting for the stinging sparks to return in a full attack. All I felt was the frayed leather binding of the books underneath my hand. The spell had truly disappeared.

I would have to think that through later. But not yet. Right now, it was time for me to do what I should have done more than a week ago, the first time I came across the magic books. It was my fault that Mr. Gregson and Lady Fotherington and their Order were after Mama’s magic books. So it was my duty to learn how to protect them—and protect them properly this time, not just with a spell that anyone could break through sheer stubbornness. I had a nasty feeling that Lady Fotherington—and even Mr. Gregson, for all his mild way of speaking—might prove to be at least as stubborn as I was, and just as unwilling to give up what they wanted. I really didn’t want Angeline to be in their way.