respectable.” Eunice filled another cup and offered it across the table to Claudia. “The less said about everyone’s state of dress, the better. More tea, Jess?”
She looked in her cup. “No. I’m fine.” She was bobbing like a cork in all these undercurrents. Her head ached, of course, but she couldn’t have dealt with Claudia if she’d been chipper as a robin.
“You appear distressed. How wise of you.” [wisfonClaudia used tiny silver tongs to pick up a lump of sugar. “You’ve made a mistake, putting yourself in Sebastian’s hands. He’s an ambitious man. Aren’t you, Bastian?”
“No. But I’m a busy one. Excuse us, Claudia. Eunice. Quentin.” The Captain stood up. Something glinted in his eyes and disappeared, fast as a fish in a wave. “Jess, you’ve finished here.” He tucked under her elbow and lifted her out of the chair like she was made of feathers.
Claudia said, “I was just beginning to enjoy myself.”
“Don’t. Eunice, I’m putting her to bed before she faints in the teacups.” He pushed her ahead of him, toward the door.
Eight
HE DRAGGED HER INTO THE GRAND FRONT HALL. The laborers had taken their wood crates away and left the place empty as a platter. Sun lit up the big swag of crystal chandelier above and the silver candlesticks sitting on a side table and the cypress-wood backs of the chairs. Everything rich and fine. She was alone with Sebastian Kennett.
She searched his face for warmth or humor . . . anything to show this was the same man she’d met last night. Not a sign. Just that cold, assessing stare. It was like Captain Sebastian had moved out and left a stranger inside his skin.
She remembered the feel of him. The palms of her hands had learned ten thousand secrets about his bone and muscle last night. She didn’t want to know those things. She didn’t want to know him at all.
He escorted her, firm like, to the curve under the staircase. Not a soul in sight. It was a wonderment how they didn’t have any servants milling about this place. He pressed her to the wall, where the scrolls and flowers and leaves worked in the plaster got acquainted with her back. Lumpy and full of points, that fancy plasterwork.
He said, “You were waiting for me on Katherine Lane.”
Pitney warned her to keep away from the Lane. Doyle—canny, wise old Doyle—told her not to play games with Sebastian Kennett. Didn’t do her any good asking for advice if she wasn’t going to listen to it, did it?
She had lots of reasons for wishing her head didn’t ache. “The Lane’s free to anyone.”
“Anyone who doesn’t mind getting attacked and hit on the head. You didn’t plan on that when you were out in Katherine Lane, sticking to me like a mustard plaster.”
“Not in the slightest particular. You ever notice how life just sneaks up on you? I remember once . . . I was in Cairo, just minding my own business, and—”
“I wish to hell you were back in Cairo right now. I want you out of here.”
Well, he would, wouldn’t he, if he was Cinq? Cinq would have all kinds of secrets and skullduggery piled up in the corners of his house. “I’d figured that out, being a woman of great natural sensitivity. I was about to embark upon a humorous anecdote pointing up the general uncertainty of life and how we—”
“Stow it, Miss Whitby.” Of everyone with the Ashton family nose, the Captain wore it best. Getting glared at over that nose . . . oh, that was a proper spine-chiller, that was. If she’d been one of his sailors, she’d have set about scrubbing the decks, double quick. “The hell of it is, I can’t send you home. Whoever’s supposed to be taking care of you, isn’t. But you can’t stay here.”
She could, though.
What were the odds he kept private papers in some strongbox within a hundred feet of where she was standing? Had to be letters, maybe a journal. Could be all kinds of incriminating paper lying about. Something in this house
She looked in her cup. “No. I’m fine.” She was bobbing like a cork in all these undercurrents. Her head ached, of course, but she couldn’t have dealt with Claudia if she’d been chipper as a robin.
“You appear distressed. How wise of you.” [wisfonClaudia used tiny silver tongs to pick up a lump of sugar. “You’ve made a mistake, putting yourself in Sebastian’s hands. He’s an ambitious man. Aren’t you, Bastian?”
“No. But I’m a busy one. Excuse us, Claudia. Eunice. Quentin.” The Captain stood up. Something glinted in his eyes and disappeared, fast as a fish in a wave. “Jess, you’ve finished here.” He tucked under her elbow and lifted her out of the chair like she was made of feathers.
Claudia said, “I was just beginning to enjoy myself.”
“Don’t. Eunice, I’m putting her to bed before she faints in the teacups.” He pushed her ahead of him, toward the door.
Eight
HE DRAGGED HER INTO THE GRAND FRONT HALL. The laborers had taken their wood crates away and left the place empty as a platter. Sun lit up the big swag of crystal chandelier above and the silver candlesticks sitting on a side table and the cypress-wood backs of the chairs. Everything rich and fine. She was alone with Sebastian Kennett.
She searched his face for warmth or humor . . . anything to show this was the same man she’d met last night. Not a sign. Just that cold, assessing stare. It was like Captain Sebastian had moved out and left a stranger inside his skin.
She remembered the feel of him. The palms of her hands had learned ten thousand secrets about his bone and muscle last night. She didn’t want to know those things. She didn’t want to know him at all.
He escorted her, firm like, to the curve under the staircase. Not a soul in sight. It was a wonderment how they didn’t have any servants milling about this place. He pressed her to the wall, where the scrolls and flowers and leaves worked in the plaster got acquainted with her back. Lumpy and full of points, that fancy plasterwork.
He said, “You were waiting for me on Katherine Lane.”
Pitney warned her to keep away from the Lane. Doyle—canny, wise old Doyle—told her not to play games with Sebastian Kennett. Didn’t do her any good asking for advice if she wasn’t going to listen to it, did it?
She had lots of reasons for wishing her head didn’t ache. “The Lane’s free to anyone.”
“Anyone who doesn’t mind getting attacked and hit on the head. You didn’t plan on that when you were out in Katherine Lane, sticking to me like a mustard plaster.”
“Not in the slightest particular. You ever notice how life just sneaks up on you? I remember once . . . I was in Cairo, just minding my own business, and—”
“I wish to hell you were back in Cairo right now. I want you out of here.”
Well, he would, wouldn’t he, if he was Cinq? Cinq would have all kinds of secrets and skullduggery piled up in the corners of his house. “I’d figured that out, being a woman of great natural sensitivity. I was about to embark upon a humorous anecdote pointing up the general uncertainty of life and how we—”
“Stow it, Miss Whitby.” Of everyone with the Ashton family nose, the Captain wore it best. Getting glared at over that nose . . . oh, that was a proper spine-chiller, that was. If she’d been one of his sailors, she’d have set about scrubbing the decks, double quick. “The hell of it is, I can’t send you home. Whoever’s supposed to be taking care of you, isn’t. But you can’t stay here.”
She could, though.
What were the odds he kept private papers in some strongbox within a hundred feet of where she was standing? Had to be letters, maybe a journal. Could be all kinds of incriminating paper lying about. Something in this house
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