Brighton, 1855

As a member of the Order of the Round Table, Kendall Lake is overqualified to be investigating strange phenomena at a seaside photography studio. But since the photographer is related to the Order’s most powerful sorcerer, Kendall reluctantly boards a dirigible to Brighton.

Amy Deland is haunted by a shadow that appears in some of her recent portraits. In each case, the subject died within days of the sitting. Does she have her grandmother’s gift of foresight, or has she somehow caused the deaths?

As Kendall and Amy search for answers, their investigation draws them together in a most improper way—but it seems the evil presence in the studio is determined to keep them apart…

20,000 words

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Contents

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

About the Author

Chapter One

Southern England, June, 1855

Kendall, Marquess Lake, stood on the observation deck of the dirigible’s gondola as it flew west toward Brighton, wishing he was heading north instead. London beckoned. He’d spent far too long in the countryside, overseeing the implementation of automated harvesters at Lakeview, one of his father’s estates. The early June haying had been a trial run of the equipment before the serious harvest in the fall.

He wanted adventure, craved it. His restlessness had been aggravated by his delay in Essex to witness the wedding of a childhood friend. While Kendall understood the social obligation of marrying someday, at thirty he was in no hurry to do so, and watching a friend get leg-shackled had been more than a little discomfiting.

A man of action, a Knight of the Order of the Round Table, Kendall was more used to fighting vampyres or rogue mages than dealing with disputes between tenant farmers or partnering bridesmaids. As the heir to the Duke of Trowbridge, however, he knew he had to get used to juggling missions with estate and social obligations. Upon his grandfather’s death a year earlier, Kendall’s father had been elevated to the dukedom and Kendall to the marquisate. Kendall’s responsibilities to both family and the Order had increased substantially, leaving him little time for fieldwork. He longed for a nice, simple task like putting down a goblin invasion.

Instead, he was off to Brighton just as the middle-class tourists began to flood the seaside town, to hold the hand of the niece of one of his father’s cronies and assure her all was well. The task was one they could have assigned to a clerk rather than a Knight, but Lord Drood had been Kendall’s grandfather’s closest friend and he was the most powerful sorcerer in England, perhaps in the world. Kendall’s father tended to jump when Drood asked for a favor.

As the airship approached the town, the first outlying buildings came into view and the scents of coal smoke and salt air reached his nostrils. They flew over a few grand country estates, an old stone church, a livery stable, a tavern, an automaton factory and a country store. The airfield was right outside the town proper, and once he’d debarked, Kendall traded his goggles and cap for his top hat and tucked his belted leather duster into his valise.

Out on the street, he hired a hansom, checked the piece of paper he’d shoved into his pocket and spoke to the cabbie. “150-B Lilac Lane.”

The cabbie looked at Kendall’s expensive frock coat, superfine trousers and custom-made boots and raised one grizzled eyebrow. “You sure about that, milord?”

“Quite.” The Order didn’t make mistakes on something as simple as addresses. The files in their analytical engine databases were quite extensive and included things like the addresses of distant relations of Order members.

The driver shrugged, clicked to his ancient mare and headed toward the bustling resort town. The painted wood and pastel brick buildings reminded Kendall of Easter eggs in a basket on this hazy afternoon. The Queen’s Road was lined with candy and souvenir shops, clothiers, rooming houses and photographic studios.

Ah yes, photographic studios. As a steam tram chugged past them toward the beach, filled with sunburned tourists and local workers, Kendall’s cab turned west off the Queen’s Road, the main thoroughfare, away from the Pavilion and the other grand buildings, into a slightly less prosperous section of town.

Hmm. The farther they went, the less appealing the neighborhood became. Surely this Amelie Deland, a relative of one of the foremost Knights, didn’t live in abject poverty.

After another block or two, though, the neighborhood perked up into basic middle-class housing. The cabbie found Lilac Lane, and Kendall discovered that number 150 wasn’t a photography studio at all, but a neatly tended rooming house, probably the nicest one on a modest street, just a block or so in from the oceanfront shops of King’s Lane. So this spinster photographer he’d been sent to reassure had given her home address instead of her business. Hopefully she would be home for luncheon. If not, Kendall could wait if he had to. He tapped the toe of his boot on the floor of the cab.

“You want me to wait?” the cabbie asked.

“No.” When his business was over, Kendall could walk back to a main road and find another cab.

At the front door, he set his valise and trunk by the step and pressed the bell.

“Yes, may I help you?” A modestly dressed, middle-aged woman answered a few moments later. She had a pleasant face, showing the lines of frequent smiles and a life well lived, and blond hair fading gracefully into gray.

“Miss Deland?” He doubted it, but he’d been given absolutely no description to go on. All he knew was that Lord Drood’s niece was a photographer. This woman, though, had no chemical stains on her fingers nor hint of developing fluid to her scent. Rather, he detected furniture polish, rosewater, roast beef and fresh shortbread. His stomach rumbled.

“No, dear, I’m Mrs. Bennett, the landlady.” She beamed at him, wiping her hands on her apron before holding one out. “Mrs. Abigail Bennett, that is.”

“Kendall Lake,” he replied. He wasn’t in the mood to be milorded, and Lake was his family surname as well as his title. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Bennett.”

“Delighted, Mr. Lake. You’ll find Miss Deland around back in the carriage house. Are you here to have your photo taken?”

“No, I’m on an errand from her uncle, I believe. Lord Drood.”

“Oh, how nice. You can leave your things here in the foyer and tell Amy you’re welcome to stay for luncheon, dear.” With that she tittered like a flirtatious debutante and held the door while he tucked his luggage inside.

Kendall shook his head as he walked around the house. Amy? An awfully feminine nickname for a lady photographer. It also made her sound rather younger than the image he’d formed in his mind. Quite honestly, he expected steel-gray hair and trousers. The female descendants of Knights tended to be a little—well—odd. One theory was that the magick that ran through their bloodlines was somehow corrupted in females, and therefore erratic and unreliable.

The truth was the Order hadn’t trusted female mages since the days of Morgan Le Fey. Most of the younger Knights found that notion rather outdated, but Kendall had never taken much interest in it one way or the other. Order politics hadn’t been something he’d particularly concerned himself with. Now, though, that his father was head of the Order, he supposed he probably should.

Thinking about all of this was why he found himself standing beside the whitewashed carriage house with his walking stick raised to knock when the door opened. A mother and child, dressed in what was likely their Sunday best, whisked out the opened portal. Kendall tipped his hat and couldn’t resist winking at the mischievous-looking child of about seven.

“Goodbye, Mrs. Nutt. Lucinda.” A young woman in a simple but attractive navy day dress stood in the doorway, waving away the customers. She was hatless, with shining, honey-brown hair in a simply braided coronet. She looked up at Kendall and quirked one neat brow above a pair of remarkable eyes, so deep a blue they were almost violet, and lifted one corner of her full mouth into a half smile. “Good afternoon, sir. Why don’t I believe you’re here for me to take your portrait?” The accent was almost American, but softer and with a faint French overtone that matched the name Deland.

“Because your neighborhood tends to discourage clients with full wallets?” He found himself returning her dry tone and wry smile. A neatly lettered sign on the door said simply A. Deland, Photographer. “Or perhaps just because I’m a trifle older than the bulk of your clientele?” He’d glanced past her into the small foyer of her studio—most of the portraits hanging on the wall were of children, or families at the very least.

“True, though I do wedding and funeral portraits also, and landscapes. Perhaps you’re about to be married?” She crossed her arms under her rather impressive bust and leaned against the doorframe. The sailor-style blouse and slim hoops of her skirts allowed her more freedom of movement than the tight bodices and wide crinolines currently in vogue among Kendall’s social circle. Even in such understated clothing, he found her enchantingly feminine—except for the lines of strain that bracketed her soft lips and creased the corners of her eyes.

“Not that I’m aware of, Miss Deland.”

“And you are…?” Amusement twitched briefly at the corners of her lips.

“Sorry.” Good God, he’d been staring like a gobsmacked lad. He held out his hand. “Kendall, Lord Lake, at your service. I believe Lord Drood told you I was coming?”

Now she stiffened and for one brief moment her jaw dropped. “You’re Uncle Drood’s messenger? I was expecting someone of his generation, or possibly someone who resembled a constable. Forgive me, Lord Lake. Please, do come inside.” She bobbed a quick curtsy and backed out of the doorway to allow him to enter.

“And you’re a bit younger than I expected Drood’s niece to be.” He looked about as his eyes adjusted to the interior light. The entry room was small, with just a desk, a faded settee and two rather shabby armchairs for waiting customers. “Can you explain what the problem is? Why you wrote to him for help?”

“Actually, I’m his great-niece.” She gestured to one of two chairs then took a seat in the other. “My grandmother is his sister.”

“I didn’t know he had a sister, let alone a Canadian one. It was quite a shock to hear you existed.” He crossed one leg over the other and sat back, studying her. Her face was pale, as though she had been worrying for some time, and her fingers twisted nervously in her lap.

“They don’t speak. I believe he’d arranged a husband for her, but she refused and married for love. Once she’d wed her French émigré, Lord Drood never spoke to her again. Eventually, my grandparents moved to Montreal, where my mother was raised, and I was born. When I came to England to study, my grandmother gave me her brother’s name and direction. While relations between them are still strained, she was sure I could count on him if I encountered difficulties of a…hmm…shall we say a mystical nature.”

“And have you?”

Miss Deland shrugged. “I don’t know.” Her voice held a slight tremor. “I’ll admit to being something of a skeptic regarding the supernatural. While my grandmother always claimed to have some sort of foresight, none of the family truly believed in it. We assumed she was simply blessed with acute intuition and deductive reasoning, no more than a mild eccentricity that made us love her all the more. Then she told me about her brother, about being supposedly descended from Merlin himself… Truly, I didn’t believe it at all.” She bit down hard on her lower lip, as if waiting for him to laugh.

Kendall didn’t. He knew much more of her family history than she did. She was a direct descendant of the original Merlin, and her great-uncle was perhaps the most powerful sorcerer living. Clearly, his sister had possessed some gifts of her own, as sometimes happened with the female children of Knights. “So tell me what the problem is.”

“You’re one of the Order of the Round Table, then? Part of my great-uncle’s organization?”

Kendall nodded. “My father heads the Order, as my grandfather did before him. Lord Drood and my grandfather were the best of friends. Now will you tell me what drove you to contact him? Clearly, you’ve been in England for some time and have never done so.” The sheer number of photographs on the wall, including views of Brighton and the beach over several years, proved that.

Biting her lip, she sighed. “I’d better show you. You may wish to leave your hat and walking stick in here—I promise there’s no one to steal them.”

Amy couldn’t believe her great-uncle had sent a young, handsome peer in response to her letter. She’d expected some grizzled veteran, a servant, perhaps. Not…this. Lord Lake was the most classically handsome man she’d ever met, with the crisp sharp features of a Roman senator and the carriage of a military officer. Thick dark hair and tanned features contrasted sharply with light blue-green eyes that seemed to see right through her. His perfectly cut tweed coat probably cost more than she paid for a year’s rent.

She sensed him watching her as she led the way down a short hall into her workroom. What was he thinking?

They passed the water closet and darkroom. He didn’t seem like the sort who missed much, which made her wonder if her hair was still in place or her collar rumpled. Had she dusted this part of her domain lately? The only men who ever came back here were customers, and they were usually more worried about their own appearance than hers or the studio’s. She couldn’t remember having a man make her feel this nervous since she was a schoolgirl—if then. With four older brothers, she’d always been a tomboy, more one of the lads than a girl men paid attention to. Of course that had changed when she’d gotten older, and the resulting awkwardness was one of the reasons she’d left home for college.

In her workroom, the renovations she’d made to the carriage house were more obvious. The entire south wall, the one facing away from the main house, had been redone in glass. The shop behind the carriage house was a low, single-story affair and perched up close to the street, so it blocked very little of the southern illumination that flooded this room and her studio, which took up a full half of the structure. Two large skylights had also been added to the studio, and one in here, to make these two rooms nearly as bright as outdoors.

“Much nicer than the street would lead one to believe.” Lord Lake looked around with an approving smile.

“Thank you. Believe me, finding a landlady who allowed me so much freedom with renovations is worth the dubious address. Being off the main streets, I don’t get a lot of the tourist trade, though there’s some, but I do a steady business among the local residents.” She paused in front of her worktable, where supplies were laid out to touch up and mount the finished photographs. Biting her lip, she turned to look at him. “I want you to look at these three photographs and tell me if you see something odd.”

The first she handed him was a glass-plate negative, bleached and given a black velvet backing to create the positive effect. It was one of the newer styles of photography, and moderately expensive, but the exposure took only seconds and the images it created were her finest. Normally she’d have mounted it in a gilt and leather case. This one, though—she’d had to tell the customer that it was spoiled and then retake the shot.

He studied it intently. “I see an older gentleman in a chair, with three young children—his grandchildren perhaps. The youngest, gender indeterminate and about six months old, is on his knee, a girl of three or four stands beside him, and a boy of six or seven kneels on the other side.”

“Correct. Anything else?” She bit her lip, desperately hoping he saw what she had and that she wasn’t simply losing her mind. Or, perhaps, that would be the better alternative.

Lake traced one long finger across the photograph. “There’s a smear of some sort around the gentleman’s head. It almost looks as though a shadowy serpent were wrapped around him in an attempt to suffocate the man.”

“Thank you. Now look at this one.” She took back the Fredrickson portrait and handed him one she’d taken out on location at the pier, where she set up a tent once a week. Since the glass plates had to be developed immediately, when she was outside, she worked with an older calotype camera, which used treated paper for the negatives instead of glass. Once developed, the negative could be reproduced into multiple prints on heavy paper stock.

He examined the cardboard-backed print. “It’s a young couple standing by the pier. This time, the shadow seems to be wrapped about the young man’s chest.”

“Thank you. Now this one.” This final image was the one that had nearly broken Amy’s heart, and the reason she’d given in and written to her great-uncle for help.

“It appears to be a young mother with a newborn babe, but the child is nearly obliterated by a shadow. And is it my imagination, or does that shadow, again, appear to be a serpent, this time, with distinct eyes and a forked tongue?”

“You see it, then.” She sagged in relief. “Mrs. Bennett, bless her soul, didn’t see a thing except the smudge. The same is true of Johnny Lanscombe, who occasionally comes in and does watercolor tinting for me. Neither of them noticed the serpent—or the eyes. They only saw a blurred, ruined photograph.”

“That can’t be what had you sending for help.” His keen aqua eyes studied her face with the same intensity as he’d examined the images. “What else?”

Amy swallowed hard. She tapped the first photograph with one finger. “Three days after that sitting, Mr. Fredrickson died in his sleep. His face was blue, as if he’d been suffocated, but there were no marks on his body.”

Lord Lake didn’t react beyond a slight tightening of his lips. “And?”

Amy touched the calotype. “This young man? He was here on his honeymoon, with no apparent health problems at all. The day after this was taken, he died of a sudden heart attack during—errr—marital relations.”

“I see. And the babe?”

She swallowed hard. “Her name was Daisy. Daisy Merchant. Her mother, Louisa, is a neighbor and a dear friend of mine. I offered the photograph as a christening gift. Two days after the sitting, Louisa woke to find Daisy utterly still in her cot. The physician has no idea of the cause of death.”

“I’m sorry.” One powerful hand settled on Amy’s shoulder. “Have there been others?”

Amy nodded. “Six, total, in the last two months—some friends, others strangers.” She handed over the other photos. One was of an older woman alone in the studio with the snake around her chest, one was of a middle-aged couple at the shore with the shadow serpent around the woman, and the last was an outdoor shot of a large family with the shadow nearly obscuring a young boy. “It’s gotten so I’m terrified to work. But I can’t explain why when I try to cancel appointments, and some clients, like Mrs. Nutt, won’t take no for an answer.”

“And have you looked yet at the photos from that sitting? I thought the woman had a parcel in her hand.”

Amy nodded. “The glass plates have to be developed immediately, so I do it while the customer waits. There were no shadows in this one.” To Amy’s immeasurable relief.

“Have you ever experienced episodes of precognition? Vestiges of your grandmother’s supposed foresight?” He eased himself down onto the stool Johnny used for tinting photos.

“No, never.” She’d tried to think back on that angle herself and came up with nothing. “That would be the easiest idea to bear—that I’m just seeing something that was already destined to happen. My real fear, though, is that I’m somehow causing these deaths by taking the photographs. I don’t think I could live with that.”

“I understand.” His absurdly handsome face softened. In his simple brown trousers and tweed coat, without the cane and top hat, he seemed somehow even larger, more dominant than he had before. Instead of intimidating, though, she found him almost unbearably attractive.

“We’ll get to the bottom of this somehow,” he promised. “I do know some people who can run some tests to get an idea of whether or not you’re precognitive and channeling it through your work. First, though, I’d like to rule out the idea that what we’re seeing here is an actual spirit.”

“And how will we do that?” She perched on her own work stool, bringing her face up, more level with his.

“I know people,” he answered. “Just as there are those with the ability to see the future, there are also those able to detect and speak to ghosts.”

A bell chimed above the table and Amy sighed. “We’re being summoned for luncheon. That is, I am. I’ll assume you stopped at the front door and Mrs. Bennett invited you to stay. The woman’s calling is seeing that as many people as possible are well-fed.”

“She did. Judging by the scents wafting out of her kitchen, she’s good at it, too.” He stood and held out his hand. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all. You won’t find a better meal at the Bedford Hotel. More elegant, perhaps, but not tastier.” She took hold of his hand and let him help her down from the stool. He’d left his gloves with his coat, so their bare flesh touched. The warmth of his skin sent a shiver down Amy’s spine.

He picked up his gloves, hat and walking stick as they passed through the reception room, but didn’t put them on. Instead, he took Amy’s arm as they crossed the small garden to the back door of Mrs. Bennett’s house.

The meal was no less delectable than Miss Deland had promised, and despite his expectations, Kendall found himself enjoying the company. Aside from Miss Deland, the lodgers included a pair of elderly sisters, a bookseller who’d apparently left his assistant in charge of the shop so he could return home for the afternoon meal, an ex-soldier with one mechanical arm, and a retired merchant marine.

“While my home may be too simple for your refined tastes, Lord Lake, I’ve one room vacant if you’re in need of a place to stay the night.” Mrs. Bennett passed him the platter of succulent slices of beef for the third time, batting her eyelashes and all but simpering. “I keep my male and female tenants strictly segregated, of course. Ladies are on the second story, gentlemen on the third.”

“And in the attic.” Sergeant Peterson helped himself to another serving of cauliflower. “Though that’s just me. I keep a small workshop up there, a hobby to keep me busy. Little automated toys for the local children and such. Clarence here sells a few in his bookshop.”

“Yes, they’re quite clever,” Miss Deland agreed. “I keep some in the studio to entertain children while they’re sitting for a portrait.”

“At any rate, my lord, the vacant room is right beneath my workshop,” said the sergeant. “And since I rarely tinker at night, you needn’t worry about noise.”

“Thank you.” Kendall nodded at Peterson and smiled at the landlady. “I hadn’t really thought too far ahead—I suppose I was planning on getting a hotel for a day or two, but this would suit nicely.” Being close to Miss Deland would certainly make his investigation easier.

“You haven’t said what brings a marquess to our humble establishment,” said Mr. Saunders. The elderly sailor’s keen eyes skewered Kendall from a leathery, wrinkled face.

“Miss Deland’s uncle is a friend of my family,” he answered easily. As an agent of the Crown, he often had to think up explanations on the spur of the moment. Though he could lie without a thought, it was generally best to stick as close to the truth as possible. “He’d heard I was going to be nearby and asked me to stop in and check on his niece.”

“Why, Amy, I didn’t even know you had an uncle here in Britain.” The red-haired Sergeant Peterson turned to look at her with a vaguely proprietary air that made the hairs on Kendall’s neck stand up.

“And he’s acquainted with nobility no less.” One of the Misses Stapleton—Kendall couldn’t tell them apart other than one wore blue and the other pink—simpered. “I don’t think we’ve ever had a lordship join us at the table, have we, sister?”

“Oh, no,” agreed the blue-clad twin. “Never, ever, sister.”

Kendall almost missed the giggle that Amelie suppressed. It was clear she was fond of her fellow lodgers, even if she was probably from a somewhat more rarified background than the others—assuming the American branch of the Drood family was anywhere near as wealthy as the British one.

“He’s my great-uncle, actually, Sergeant.” She laid her fork aside, while the men, for the most part, continued eating. “I finally came around to writing him, at the behest of my grandmother in her last letter.”

“And thus was I dispatched to assure she was in good health and good hands.” Kendall nodded toward Mrs. Bennett. “Which I can see she clearly is.” Now if only they could finish this interminable, albeit delicious, meal so he could get on with his work.

It was nearly an hour later when Kendall escorted Miss Deland down toward the shore, to the King’s Lane, where he’d been told the nearest public teletext machine could be found.

“You honestly believe this person can speak with ghosts?” she asked. The late afternoon was pleasantly warm for June, so she didn’t wear a cloak or shawl. She’d added a white straw bonnet, tied beneath her neck with a navy scarf, and her white-gloved hand lay neatly on his elbow.

“I swear on my honor, he really can.” Clive Garrett, one of the Order’s employees, wasn’t a full Knight, with the attendant spell-casting abilities and combat skills, but he was also a powerful medium.

Amy—he’d started to think of her the way her housemates did—sighed and shook her head. “I’m still not sure I believe in any of this.”

Kendall chuckled. “Sometimes neither do I, and I’ve been in it my entire life.”

The waterfront hotel was one of the smaller ones, but it did boast a public teletext chamber, and after a small bribe to the operator, Kendall was able to obtain exclusive use of it for an hour. Amy sat quietly in the small waiting room while he sent the first message.

In just a minute or so, the machine dinged and began to spit out a roll of tickertape with the typewritten words “CG unavble. Ckg for altvs. T.”

“Damn.” He looked over at Amy’s expectant face. “The medium I asked for isn’t available. My father’s searching for someone else. We may be here a while.” The Duke of Trowbridge himself had responded, suggesting things were busy at the London headquarters.

She gave him a whisper of a smile and set down the magazine she’d been perusing. “I’m a photographer, my lord. I’m good at holding still for long periods of time.”

“Kendall,” he said, somewhat to his own surprise. “My name is Kendall, and I’d be honored if you’d use it.”

“Kendall, then. And I’m Amy, but you already knew that.”

“It suits you—Amelie seems a little too staid and proper for an independent artist like yourself.” He gave it the French pronunciation and was proven right when she graced him with a smile rather than correcting him. Her face, always pretty, became stunning when she smiled, and he had a moment of panic when he realized he could become rather addicted to trying to coax her to do so. He consoled himself with the thought that the attraction was purely physical. Perhaps he should have accepted the offer from the hungry bridesmaid last week. It had clearly been too long since he’d been with a woman.

“I always thought so. Aside from that, when I came here to study, the other students distrusted the French Canadian import. Deland is common enough and pronounceable enough, but the more English nickname made fitting in a bit easier.”

“So why England? One would think Paris, or even New York, for art school.” Talking to her reminded him that she was related to Drood, and therefore utterly off-limits.

“Having visited both London and Paris with my family as a child, I found I preferred England, though I couldn’t say precisely why. I went to a small girl’s school in Kent, as it was before Lady Lovelace and others opened the universities to women.”

Kendall nodded. It had only been in the past two years that Lovelace College had been opened at Oxford, allowing women to enter and study the sciences and engineering. As Lord Babbage’s partner in developing the analytical engine, Lady Lovelace had had a profound effect on the status of females in the professions. A similar college at Cambridge had soon followed.

Amy continued, “By then, I’d fallen in love with the English seaside. I came to Brighton to apprentice with Mr. Constable, and here I stayed. My grandmother claims I’m a throwback to her side of the family.”

“Yes, well, that may be true in more ways than you thought if what your camera is showing us is some kind of foresight.” Kendall couldn’t rule out the possibility.

“Lord, I hope it is.” Her hands remained settled in her lap, but her whitened knuckles gave away her nervousness. “I’m giving strong consideration to closing my studio and switching exclusively to landscape photography. There are several shops here in town that will sell my prints for me. The tourists buy them to take home as souvenirs.”

“Can you make a living with that?” He didn’t know for sure if her side of the family was as rich as Lord Drood, and her neighborhood certainly wasn’t a wealthy one.

She shrugged. “My paternal grandparents left me quite comfortably settled. I stay at Mrs. Bennett’s out of affection and because she allowed me to totally renovate the carriage house. My work is for my own satisfaction, not necessary for my survival.”

The teletext bell dinged and another strip of tickertape began to emerge. Kendall lifted the end and began to read. “‘Ldy N & Nell at RR stn tmrw noon.’”

“Oh, Christ.” He typed back acknowledgement and an agreement to pick them up at the station.

“What’s the matter? Is no one available?” She tilted her head and gazed at him in concern.

“Oh, they’re sending someone.” He shook his head and held out his hand. “We’re to pick them up tomorrow at the railroad station.” Lady Northwood preferred not to fly, so of course they’d take the train.

“Them?” She took his arm and fell into step beside him. “Do they work as a team?”

“No. The medium in question simply isn’t old enough to travel without her mother.”

Chapter Two

It took Amy a moment to register that remark. She stared at Lord Lake—Kendall—with her jaw hanging. “They’re sending a child to investigate a potentially lethal spirit?” Of course she whispered, since tourists bustled all around them as they stood in front of the hotel.

“Miss Eleanor Hadrian is the adopted daughter of a Knight. She’s fifteen or sixteen, I believe. Quite proficient, I’m told.” He looked none too happy about the idea either. He guided Amy toward the steps down from the street to the waterfront promenade. “Since we’re here, perhaps you can show me where the tourist photographs were taken.”

“Right down near the Chain Pier,” she told him. They wove among the tourists and barrows and tents. “Sergeant Peterson built me a steam barrow to carry my equipment and a small canopy. It even has feet rather than wheels to accommodate the steps.”

“Very thoughtful of him.” Kendall’s tone was utterly neutral. “Are you and the sergeant…an item, perhaps?”

“What? No, of course not.” While Michael Peterson was a nice enough young man, and relatively attractive despite his missing arm, he was far too…traditional for Amy’s taste. He’d hinted in that direction a time or two, but she knew he’d never tolerate a wife or even a lady friend with a profession of her own. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Just something in his demeanor. Whether you believe so or not, the man has a definite interest in you, Amy.”

“I’ve never given him any reason to. I’m not looking for a husband—or a lover, for that matter. Certainly not unless I find one who understands my need to work.”

“Your photography is a part of you—not just the way you make your living—is that what you mean?” He spoke as if he actually understood. “I’ve a cousin who’s a concert pianist. She feels much the same way. Her husband has learned to cope, so I imagine there are other males out there who can adapt.”

“If you happen across one, send him to Brighton,” she replied. “But I’m not going to hold my breath. I’m happy with my life the way it is.” Except—in the last few hours, she’d realized there were parts of the male-female relationship she wouldn’t mind exploring further. Kendall Lake did something funny to her insides in a way no other man ever had. He made her think of things, wish for things, that could certainly never be. He was a marquess, for heaven’s sake, and the heir to a dukedom. No good could come of imagining herself in his arms, his lips upon hers.

Another few dozen yards down the promenade, she stepped out of the main walkway. “This is where I typically set up my equipment when I work down here.” She sketched out with her toes in the sand where she placed her tent, her barrow and her camera. After placing Kendall in her usual spot, just behind where the camera should be, she took up the position where she posed her subjects, with the famous pier in the background. She always made sure the massive structure was off to the side, so it didn’t overpower the photograph and detract from the tourists who’d paid for their portraits at the beach.

“And if I have a queue of customers waiting, it forms from here, along the walkway.” She tapped her imaginary barrow. “I keep the forms here, a few samples and a small basket of toys to entertain the children while they wait. My cashbox, plates and spare camera are kept inside the barrow.”

“So two of the six portraits in question were taken here, correct?” He studied the area carefully, stepping off the promenade to sift some of the sand through his fingers and seeming to sniff the salt air.

Amy nodded. “One last week, one about a month ago. The first time, I’m ashamed to say, I didn’t think it was anything but a tragic accident. A small boy fell from the rocks and drowned, the same day as the portrait was taken.”

“On an average, how many photos do you take here each week?” He looked past her toward the pier.

“Ten or twelve, perhaps, during the height of the tourist season.” She hadn’t stopped to analyze numbers in a while. “Up until a few weeks ago, when the weather warmed, maybe five to eight. In the off season, I only set up for a few hours, and fill in the extra time with my landscapes and more studio portraits.”

He paced the small area restlessly. “So the shadow is only touching a very small percentage of your subjects. Is there anything you can think of that links those customers?”

“Nothing—and believe me, I’ve tried.” She’d lost sleep every night since she’d realized there was a pattern between the spoiled photographs and the unexpected deaths.

“Hmm. I’d like to take a closer look at your studio.” He held out his arm and she took it again. “One more question, though. You said you have to take the outdoor photographs back to your studio to develop. How do you get them to the clients?”

“Usually, they come pick them up at the studio the next day. In some cases, I drop them off at their hotels, though I charge a little extra for that service.”

“So how did you discover that two of your subjects had died?”

“You saw the picture of the large family with the boy.” It had been one of the earliest photos where the shadow had shown up, and as usual, it had only appeared in one negative. She always took a sheet of four and chose the best to print. “There was an uncle in the group. He stopped by to pick up the finished photograph, and he thanked me, as it was the only one his brother would have of his youngest son. With the couple, I stopped by the hotel and was informed of his death by the clerk. Most of the staff of the local hostelries know me, so he told me more than he possibly should have.”

“And the other four were all local individuals?” he murmured in her ear as they walked back toward Lilac Lane.

The intimacy made her nervous, but she was determined to remain professional. “Yes. Some old, some young, some in solo portraits, some part of groups.” Did he think she hadn’t looked for patterns? “One week there were two, other weeks there have been none. Little Daisy’s was the most recent.”

He dropped his arm so her hand slid from his elbow down to be caught in his. He entwined her fingers with his and squeezed gently. “Which is when you contacted your uncle?”

“That’s right. She was only six weeks old.” Mrs. Bennett and another neighbor had taken up a collection for Daisy’s funeral—a ceremony that would be etched in Amy’s heart for the rest of her life. “I have to know I didn’t somehow cause her death.”

“We’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise.” His lovely blue-green eyes gazed into hers with such determination and sincerity that she couldn’t help but believe him. “One thing I know already, Amy. You can’t blame yourself, or believe me, you’ll drive yourself mad. Bad things, terrible things, do happen in this world. Perhaps something evil has attached itself to you, but that doesn’t mean you’re at fault.”

He was so close so he could whisper the words without being overheard. She could smell the peppermint stick they’d shared down at the beach, and a trace of good tobacco that clung to his coat, along with the citrusy scent of his shaving lotion. She bit her lip, uncertain of how to deal with the tumbling sensation in her belly or the way the rest of her body was responding to the nearness of this man. Parts of her actually ached and her corset seemed too tight across her breasts. When had she turned in to such a wanton? Was it because he was titled and handsome, or merely because he was saying what she wanted to hear?

Back in Amy’s studio, Kendall opened all of his supernatural senses, looking for something, anything, able to house the kind of evil entity that could be working through a camera lens. The effort was somewhat psychically draining, but he could usually pick up a whiff of spells, or a feel for any supernatural presence. This one, however, was being unusually elusive. He examined each of her cameras in minute detail while Amy watched—her eyes wide, her lower lip caught between her teeth and her knees drawn up beneath her on the velveteen settee she used for sittings.

“I sense something in this place,” he said finally, running his hand through his hair. “But damned if I can tell what it is.”

Her eyes twinkled briefly and he caught himself. “Beg your pardon for the language, Amy. It’s just…”

“Frustrating?” Her wry little smile told him she knew just how he felt. “And you needn’t worry about the swearing. Not only did I grow up with four older brothers, but I live in a house with both an ex-soldier and a retired sailor. I doubt you could come up with anything I haven’t heard.”

“Four older brothers? No wonder you moved to another continent to pursue your work.” He took a seat beside her on the settee and scrubbed his face with his hands. “I’m sorry. I can’t identify a thing. We’ll see if Nell can find any ghosts in the place—though they’d have to be attached to you personally, or to one of your cameras, in order to follow you to the shore. You don’t have any enemies who died recently, do you?”

“I don’t know that I have any enemies at all.” She rested her chin on her up-drawn knees. Her arms wrapped around them to hold her hoops in place, so all he could see were the tips of her high-button shoes. Why did he find that so endearing? “Rivals perhaps, other photographers, other girls at school. I’m a bit too blunt and sarcastic to have ever been among the most popular crowd. But actual enemies—I can’t think of anyone I’ve angered to that extent.”

“I’d have said straightforward and witty.” He couldn’t resist teasing her, even though her situation was a difficult one. It simply pleased him to make her grin. Up close he could see she had just a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and he had the most ridiculous urge to kiss each and every one of them.

“Ah, but I’ll bet your mother raised you to be polite. Mine calls me stubborn and snide right to my face.”

“Governesses, actually. My mother follows the tradition of being more involved with her social obligations and her charities than with rearing her offspring.”

“I’m sorry. I know I choose to live away from my family now, but I can’t imagine not being close to them while I was growing up.” Her smile grew fond and contemplative. “Even when my brothers drove me crazy, I knew they’d protect me with their lives. That’s one of the reasons I moved away. They were too protective, almost smothering. And though we had nannies too, of course, my parents spent time with us every single day. Even now they visit me at least once a year, and I’ve gone back to Canada for all of my brothers’ weddings and for a handful of christenings since then.”

Kendall sighed. “Whereas, my only sister and I are fond of each other but see each other only when the parents summon us both. She’s married to a fine, staid Member of Parliament and is ferociously involved in being a political wife.” He hadn’t talked about himself this much in years, but something about Amy made her easy to talk to. Unconsciously, he’d moved closer to her on the cushions, so now his thigh brushed her hoops. “Since I work for my father, I’d say he and I are close now, more so than we ever were when I was young. He was gone a lot, of course, on missions.”

“It must be difficult.” She laid one hand on his. “Your mother must have constantly worried.”

“She did, at least to some degree. They’re fond of each other in a rather conventional British sort of way.” He sighed. His parents led such totally separate lives, but they did care for one another and their children, he supposed. “Theirs was never an extravagant love match, though. I’m not sure I believe in those—at least I think they must be the exception rather than the rule.”

“That’s such a gloomy outlook on life. My parents are still besotted with one another after more than thirty years of marriage, through raising five children and losing two as infants, and through business ups and downs. Even my grandparents on both sides remained devoted until separated by death. I can’t imagine marrying anyone I wasn’t head over heels in love with. It’s sad when people settle for less.”

He wanted to pass off her belief as naïveté, but perhaps she was right. He hadn’t always believed in lasting love, but in recent years he’d met a few couples who seemed to have found it, forcing him to rethink his position. “Which explains why you’re a solitary businesswoman at the ripe old age of what—twenty-four?”

“Twenty-six, thank you very much.” She wrinkled her pert little nose. “And you? I’d guess eighty based on your careworn expression, but when you perk up you seem much younger. Thirty-five, perhaps?”

“Thirty.” He couldn’t resist tapping that nose with a fingertip. “Not so ancient.”

Her breath caught at that incidental touch, and so did his. He became excruciatingly aware of the fact that they were alone together in her locked studio. He shifted, crossing one leg over the other to conceal his body’s rather obvious response.

“Do you… That is have you…?” He swallowed hard, trying to get his voice, at least, back under control. “Do you have any further appointments scheduled for the next few days?”

Amy shook her head with a sigh. “No, Mrs. Nutt was the last one I couldn’t convince to cancel. If you hadn’t arrived today, I’d have left town on a sudden family emergency or something. I’ve really no idea what else to do.”

Kendall patted her arm. “I’m sorry I don’t have the answer, but we’ll keep searching until we do. If Nell doesn’t find anything tomorrow, we’ll run up to Cornwall and visit your great-uncle, cameras and all. Perhaps he’ll have a better idea. He’s certainly the greatest sorcerer living today.”

“And I suppose now that I’ve made contact, I should make an effort to meet him. I feel like a very delinquent relation for not having already done so.” She bit her lip again and he tapped that with his finger, too, stopping her from abusing the tender flesh.

“Yes, he’d like to meet you. He’s a little intimidating, but I think you’ll get along just fine.” Kendall knew he shouldn’t but he let his hand linger on her face, tracing her cheek and the line of her chin. “He’s actually quite a pleasant old man, once you get past the fact that he could turn you into a newt.”

“He can do what?” she started to shriek, then burst into laughter when his shoulders began to shake. “Oh, you’re teasing me, aren’t you?” She smacked him lightly on the shoulder with one hand, which gave him the perfect opportunity to slip his arm around her waist and tug her closer, until she tumbled into his lap.

Magick? Fate? Simple attraction? Kendall honestly couldn’t have told anyone why he did it. He just knew pulling her close was something he needed to do. The next was kissing her senseless.

Her slight squeak of surprise when his lips closed on hers allowed him to escalate the kiss rather more quickly than he otherwise might. Sliding his tongue into her mouth was the most natural thing he’d ever done.

Amy stiffened slightly as if in surprise, before softening against him. Her fingers dug into his upper arms, holding him close rather than pushing him away. After a little while, she began to mimic his actions, her own tongue darting and exploring alongside his.

Her backside in his lap put just enough pressure on his groin to tantalize, but not enough to relieve the building tension. Her curves were protected by layers of clothing and the rigid boning of her corset, so running his hands along her spine and sides became an exercise in frustration as their lips and tongues slid together. Their awkward position, however, left her hoops pointing straight upward, giving him unexpected access to her legs beneath her skirts. He’d slid one hand up under her petticoat along her thin silk stocking-covered calf and was beginning to cruise up the rounded curve of her thigh when she gasped, breaking the kiss and allowing reality to crash in to Kendall’s consciousness.

Kissing a gently bred young woman was a dangerous pastime at best. Shoving his hands under the skirts of Lord Drood’s great-niece was just asking for a quick trip to the altar—if not some even more unpleasant fate.

“I’m sorry,” he began, his voice husky as she slid off his lap and straightened her clothing. “I didn’t mean…” What? He had meant to kiss her. He just hadn’t planned on it. What the hell was the right thing to say?

A bell in the studio chimed, identical to the one in her workroom, and she gave a brief, shallow laugh. “Of course you didn’t mean…anything. Neither did I. As far as I’m concerned, the last ten minutes never happened. Agreed?”

“Of course.” He stood and bowed slightly as he helped her to her feet. What had he done? Confusion and disgust for his own behavior gnawed at his gut. “Anything the lady wishes. What about the bell?”

“Supper, as I’m sure you’ve guessed. Just give me a few moments to…compose myself, if you don’t mind.” She fussed with a strand of her honey-brown hair that now hung loose, shining and straight, nearly to her hip. When Kendall nodded, she darted through the work area, presumably to the lavatory. Kendall walked over to a mirror on the wall opposite the window, straightened his suit and smoothed back his hair while he worked to get his breathing—and the rest of his unruly body—back under control. Finally, he waited for her in the reception room until she emerged, cheeks still flushed, but otherwise unruffled.

With a deep breath, he took her arm and led her back to the main house.

Chapter Three

Thank heavens for Mrs. Bennett. The phrase echoed through Amy’s mind as she sat down to supper across from Kendall at Mrs. Bennett’s crowded table.

What in the world had she been thinking to kiss Kendall—Lord Lake—like some wanton hussy? Granted, she was a career-minded woman of twenty-six, and she’d been kissed before, but never, never, like that. If he hadn’t caught himself and stopped, how much further would she have let him go? He was a marquess, the son of a duke, who would expect his wife to be a social asset, content with balls and teas and managing a household. She worked with her hands and wanted to continue to do so. To placate her parents, she’d had one Season in Montreal and learned that social chitchat bored her to tears. Yet, something about being close to him made her lose all sense. Clearly, when it came to Kendall, Amy was in over her head and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to swim.

Kendall was deep in a conversation with Sergeant Peterson about the soldier’s mechanical hand, which, though government issue, he had refined until it was a work of art. Seated between the Stapleton sisters, Amy let their discussion of the qualities of various wools and dyes for knitting wash over her as she tried to regain a grip on her sanity. Mostly, she couldn’t drag her attention away from the man across the table.

“Amazing how well you’ve managed to articulate the fingers for fine detail. The wires are controlled by the nerves in your upper arm?” Kendall appeared genuinely interested in the sergeant’s work.

“Yes, they’ve been surgically attached, so the base unit of the arm isn’t detachable. I can, however, swap out the fingers for specific tools if necessary.” Peterson beamed, enjoying the attention. He rolled up his coat and shirtsleeve to show off the elaborate network of bronze plating, iron “bones,” copper wiring and pneumatic pistons. A large ruby ring in an intricate gold setting was set into the actual framework of the middle finger. Four smaller sapphires had originally flanked it. But now there were two on one side, and only one plus an empty setting on the other. Amy wondered when that had happened. It had been there the last time she’d paid any attention to the ring.

“Is the ruby—I assume it’s a gem and not glass—a part of the structure or merely ornamentation? It’s an excellent piece. Indian?”

Amy had wondered that herself—why the man wore such an obviously valuable ring on his mechanical hand rather than his flesh-and-blood one. Moreover, why hadn’t he sold it? The square-cut, flawless stone and the gold setting together would probably pay for a modest house on a street like this one.

Peterson nodded. “It’s a souvenir of sorts, from a hellhole outside Calcutta—a reminder of my glory days, as it were. I removed it from the body of the bandit who took my arm, so it seemed apropos to build it into the prosthesis rather than wearing it normally.”

“I understand,” Kendall said. “I spent some time based out of Bombay. Lost a number of good friends, some to enemy soldiers, but more to wandering brigands.”

“You were military?” Peterson looked up and down Kendall’s expensively clad form with one eyebrow raised. “Officer, I assume?”

Kendall shook his head. “Diplomatic attaché, actually. As an only son, I was asked rather pointedly not to purchase a commission, but I did manage to get myself in the thick of things a time or two—which I’d rather my mother not know about.”

“Don’t blame you there, old chap.” Peterson laughed, but there was no warmth in it. Some sort of challenge was brewing. “Best to keep some things from the ladies’ ears. Right, Saunders?”

The old sailor chuckled and rubbed his bristly white mustache. “Aye, that it is, boys. Still, the fair sex deserves to know what goes on in the world. Did my share of fighting, too, you know. Pirates, mainly. Not so different from bandits on horseback or today’s airship marauders.”

“Weren’t you at Trafalgar, Mr. Saunders?” Amy never tired of hearing his stories, even if they were the same ones over and over. “That wasn’t fighting pirates, now, was it?”

“No, that was a proper battle—proper nightmare it was. Midshipman, I was then, if you can believe it—sixteen years old and just promoted from cabin boy. Fifty years ago, now.” With that, he was off, taking the conversation away from any possible confrontation between the two younger men.

If only she could transfer her attention as easily. Honestly, all she could think about was Kendall’s kiss. If they didn’t solve the problem so he could return home soon, she was liable to find herself in a very great deal of trouble.

Kendall paced restlessly in his small but pleasant room at Mrs. Bennett’s. He’d spent another hour after supper going through Amy’s equipment and her studio, and he’d found nothing new. Nothing but a vague, oily sense of unease on the back of his neck. He could tell there was something here, something malevolent, but nothing he’d encountered before. Quite honestly he longed for something simple, like Mr. Saunders’s pirates or a blood-sucking vampyre. Anything he could simply fight.

Knowing Amy was asleep in the room right beneath him wasn’t helping ease his mind. Kissing her today had been a mistake of phenomenal proportions. He almost hadn’t stopped. Kendall had never been particularly impulsive. Even during his rebellious days in India—two short years between university and his formal Order apprenticeship—he’d planned his moves with excruciating detail. What was it about the delectable Miss Deland that made him act so out of character? Whatever it was, he’d be on guard now to make sure it wasn’t repeated. The last thing he needed was to find himself leg-shackled to a woman as curious and independent as Amy. She’d tear apart his carefully constructed world and be off taking photographs without bothering to pick up the pieces.

The floorboards over his head creaked. Peterson was up there tinkering with his toys, from the sound of it. There was something about the man that bothered Kendall, though it may have simply been the sergeant’s determination to claim Amy as his own. Half a dozen times during luncheon, Peterson had made offhand remarks about ladies who shouldn’t be forced to labor for a living, and how the delicate sex was designed to keep home and hearth instead. Though he’d only met her today, Kendall could have told the man that was the last way to win Amy’s regard. She didn’t consider her photos a labor—they were an extension of her very soul. Giving it up—which he knew she was considering if he couldn’t solve her problem—would wound her deeply.

He heard Peterson walking and then the creak of the attic stairs. Mrs. Bennett had mentioned that she left bread, cheese and sliced meats in the cold box in the kitchen, so her tenants could help themselves to a midnight snack if need be. This would be a good time, Kendall decided, to spend some time chatting with the sergeant. He’d taken off his coat and cravat, but for raiding the kitchen, shirtsleeves would be fine. He grabbed his cigar case and walked out into the hallway, just in time to see Peterson at the stair landing.

“Heading down for a snack, are you? Mind if I tag along? Thought I’d grab a bite and step out back for a smoke.” He waved the leather traveling case. “Join me?”

“Why not?” Peterson motioned for Kendall to join him. “I’m sure you’re used to just ringing for a meal whenever you’re hungry.”

Kendall shrugged. Peterson appeared to have a grudge against Kendall’s wealth, but he wouldn’t be the first. Public school hadn’t been a dream for the grandson of a duke, especially when he’d been forbidden to use his Knightly abilities to defend himself. “Sometimes. Others, I fend for myself. Depends on where I find myself at the time. Right now, I live in rooms in London with one manservant. I don’t wake him up every time I want a drink or have to piss.” He lived on his own because living with his parents made him insane. He much preferred his privacy to his mother’s social whirl, and maintaining an entire townhouse for one person was simply stupid.

The two men made their way to the kitchen where they made thick sandwiches of the roast beef left over from luncheon and poured mugs from Peterson’s small cask of ale, which Mrs. Bennett allowed him to keep in the cold box. They took their bounty out to the garden, and after eating, each smoked one of Kendall’s cigars.

“So how did a soldier end up working with automatons?” Kendall leaned back in his chair and puffed on his cigar. “Were you a military mechanic?”

“No, just a hobby.” The other man inhaled deeply. “My father was an inventor, always building something. He died shortly after I left the service, left me all his tools. I was adrift, with nothing else to do, so I started tinkering with my hand, trying to make it work better.”

“Well, you’ve done a bang-up job. Can’t say I’ve ever seen a better one.” Kendall puffed out a ring of smoke. “And you say your workshop is up in the attic?”

“It is.” Peterson gave the smug nod of a man proud of his craft. “Care for a look?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Looking around up there was exactly what Kendall wanted.

“Come along then.” Both men stubbed out their cigars and returned their beer mugs to the kitchen. Then Kendall followed Peterson up an exterior staircase to a small but neat workshop under the eaves.

Nothing. Kendall neither spotted nor sensed anything awry in the workroom. There was no trace of magick in the attic, nor on any of the tools or toys. The only thing, in fact, to give off any trace of power was the man’s mechanical hand, and having a spell or two set on a prosthesis wasn’t uncommon if you could find someone to cast it.

Finally, Kendall said goodnight and made his way down to his own room. Lost in thought, he didn’t register the woman curled up in the single armchair by the window until after he’d closed and locked the door.

“Amy? Is something wrong?” Her light brown hair fell to her waist in a single thick braid and she wore a soft velvet dressing gown over a high-necked white nightdress. Kendall immediately imagined her stripped of her prim nightwear and sprawled across his sheets. Hopefully the bed didn’t squeak too badly. He shook his head in an attempt to clear that image from his brain. “What brings you here at…” he checked the small clock beside the bed, “…quarter past midnight?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” she said in a whisper. “Though my room would be better. Clarence Milton—you know, the bookseller—has the room right next to yours, and his hearing is keen. Mine is beside the Stapleton sisters, who can’t hear a thing once they remove their amplification buds.”

Kendall nodded. He’d noticed the small devices in the ears of both the elderly sisters, so he gestured back toward the door, but Amy shook her head.

“This way,” she whispered, and then unlatched his window. “Peterson insisted on having an outdoor staircase, as he’s apparently afraid of fire. Your room and mine both open onto it.”

He got a lovely view of her dressing gown stretched tightly across her rounded derriere as she nimbly climbed out the window. His cock pointed the way as he followed her, only slightly discouraged by the cool midnight breeze while he descended the wooden stairs and clambered into her room behind her.

Her room was essentially a feminine version of his. Modestly sized bed, a desk and a single comfortable chair, though her wardrobe and bureau were larger, probably to accommodate a woman’s more extensive clothing needs. It also had the personal touches his borrowed quarters did not—brushes, a small porcelain dog and a jewelry chest on the bureau, photos on the walls that had to be of her family, and a silver filigree inkwell on the desk. The gas lamps had been turned down low, and a single oil lamp burned softly on the bedside table.

Amy pulled out the desk chair and sat, gesturing toward the armchair. She kept her fingers tightly twisted in her lap, her lower lip caught between her teeth as Kendall eased himself down into the armchair. “What can I do for you, Amy?”

Her shoulders straightened and she drew in a deep breath before looking up, into his eyes. “Are you married, Kendall?”

Ah. This afternoon had unnerved her too. He could understand that. “No. Nor engaged, nor even walking out with someone. That doesn’t make my actions this afternoon appropriate, but you needn’t worry that we were betraying anybody.” No one but Amy herself, at least.

“Thank you. That is a relief.” Still, her nervous posture didn’t relax. “Kendall, can you tell me? Why did you kiss me? Surely if you were simply in need of a woman, you could find someone to…sate your appetites.”

Now he was the one squirming in his chair. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, knowing the posture would hide his body’s reaction to this line of discussion. This was the last thing he wanted to talk about, but he supposed she deserved some sort of explanation. “It was a spur-of-the-moment impulse,” he began carefully. “It had nothing to do with me being ‘in need’ and everything to do with you.”

“There’s no need to sugarcoat things, Kendall.” She shook her head. “I know I’m nothing spectacular to look at.”

“You’re not the perfect fashion plate,” he admitted, smiling when her eyes flew open at his bluntness. “A bit more curvy than is strictly the thing, but most men tend to prefer that. And your freckles are enchanting. Surely you know you’re a damned appealing woman?”

“Thank you.” Even in the dim light, he saw her flush and she once again nibbled on her lower lip. “Was it a momentary thing, then? Or do you still find me attractive?”

Kendall groaned. “Far too much for my peace of mind. In fact, we really shouldn’t be having this conversation, especially in your bedroom. I’m trying to remain a gentleman, but it’s difficult when you’re sitting there in your nightclothes.”

“Truly?” Her broad smile nearly lit up the room.

“Truly.” How could she not realize her appeal to the male sex? He was tempted to stand up and let her see the effect she had on him.

She wet her lips with her tongue and his problem grew even larger. “Then, since you’re not attached, and you are attracted…” Her deeply indrawn breath pressed her full, unbound breasts against the fabric of her dressing gown, and Kendall swallowed hard. “I wonder if I can ask you a favor.”

“Go ahead.” His voice came out thick, nearly choked.

“I’m twenty-six and likely to never marry,” she said in a low, husky voice. “I was wondering if, perhaps, you could teach me a thing or two, about…sexual relations.”

Kendall stared at her and blinked. His brain couldn’t keep up. All rational thought was being pushed aside by his cock leaping for joy at the very idea.

“I’m sorry.” She sighed and squeezed her eyes shut. “I shouldn’t have assumed you’d be interested. Please forgive me.”

“What,” he managed to growl, “makes you think I’m not interested? I said I was trying to be a gentleman. This isn’t exactly…”

“Proper? No, I’m afraid not.” She grimaced and wrapped her arms around her waist. “It’s just…I’ve never felt anything like I did when you kissed me today, and I want to know more. Since I don’t plan to marry, there’s no one to be hurt.”

“Are you certain of that?” His willpower was vanishing rapidly. “There can be consequences to this sort of thing, you know.”

“Oh. I’d assumed you might have some sort of…preventative.”

She was trying to kill him. Either his brain would explode, or his other head would. “I don’t exactly carry those in my pockets on a mission.”

“No, of course not.” She glanced down at her hands a moment, before looking up again. “I may be inexperienced, but I did go to art school, and the other girls did talk. I believe there are…alternative activities we can engage in, ones that don’t carry the same risks.”

“Jesus Christ.” In a flash, he’d envisioned those full lips of hers wrapped around the head of his aching erection. She really was trying to kill him. But she was right. There certainly were ways they could bring each other satisfaction without risking pregnancy. Perhaps then he’d be able to think about the mission instead of being fixated on Amy’s lush breasts.

Amy couldn’t believe she’d gotten up the courage to proposition Kendall, but when he assented with a sharp nod, her heart sped up to the point where she thought it might burst from her chest. He was such an honorable, forthright man, she really had expected him to say no.

He stood and held out his hand. “If you’re sure about this, come here.”

The armchair was right next to her bed. When she reached his side, the backs of her legs were up against the mattress. She took his hand and he cupped her chin with the other.

Gazing up into his eyes, she spoke the words. “I’m sure.”

He made a soft noise deep in his throat as he bent and took her lips. This kiss was even more demanding than the one in her studio. He pressed deep, gave her no quarter as he took control. His whole body was as rigid as steel against hers and when she leaned into him, she felt the press of his sex against her belly, even through their layers of clothing. She could no longer doubt that Kendall genuinely did want her, and that knowledge was as arousing as his kiss.

His hand slid from her cheek to tangle in her hair, loosening the braid she’d plaited when getting ready for bed. His other hand dropped hers to circle her waist. Her breasts were swollen and tender where they pressed against his chest and a steady ache pulsed between her thighs, where she felt herself growing damp. While she’d read enough to know this was normal, every sensation was magnified beyond anything she’d ever imagined.

“Stop thinking so hard, my sweet,” he murmured as he trailed his lips from hers over to her ear. “The idea is to feel, not to think.”

Feel. She could do that—just give herself over to the pleasure of his strong hands and warm mouth. She tipped her head to let his tongue trace the shell of her ear, barely noticing that his other hand had undone her braid and smoothed her hair down her back. Her own hands gripped him tightly, one on his shoulder, one at his waist, clutching handfuls of his fine linen shirt. Unable to resist, she tugged the tail of his shirt up out of his trousers and laid her fingers along the warm bare skin of his back.

“You’ve been smoking,” she murmured as he nipped at the tendons of her throat. His shirt held a distinct tang of tobacco. “And drinking ale.”

“Mmm-hmm.” He brought his hands around to untie the knot of her dressing gown. “And you’ve washed up with honeysuckle-scented soap and lemon water. Along with your mint tooth powder, it’s a surprisingly erotic combination.”

Amy couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. “I’ll take your word for that. You’ve a keen nose, my lord.”

“Call me that again, and I’ll stop.” He bit her earlobe playfully and slid his hands inside her dressing gown to push the velveteen off her shoulders. “In the bedroom, I’m only Kendall. And yes, keen senses run in my family, and in yours, I imagine—the better for our enjoyment.”

“Kendall.” She stood perfectly still, maintaining eye contact as he unbuttoned her nightgown from chin to just below her breasts. It felt good to say his name.

When he ran out of buttons, he brushed one side off her shoulder and dropped his gaze to her bared flesh. “As lovely as I’d imagined.”

“They’re too large,” she objected softly. The other girls at school had left her no doubts about that. Though to be honest, men did tend to stare at her there—perhaps the other girls had merely been jealous.

Kendall laughed. “They’re no such thing.” He picked up one heavy breast in his hand as if weighing it and brushed his thumb across her puckered nipple. “I love how it overflows my hand, a bounty of perfection. Strawberries and cream, my favorite combination.”

That slight touch made her gasp and she instinctively arched toward him, pushing herself further into his hand. Lightning flashed between her nipple and her sex, making her soften and tighten at the same time. She wasn’t sure she could continue to stand.

Kendall seemed to understand. He massaged her breast lightly, using his other hand to push aside the other shoulder of her gown. With a shimmy of her hips, the white cotton pooled on the floor at her feet. Naked now, she should have been cold, but she wasn’t at all. Instead, it seemed as if she were burning from the inside out, warmed by the heated approval in Kendall’s gaze.

“Turn around and pull back the covers,” he instructed in a low, raspy voice. “I want to see you from behind.”

Obediently, Amy did, bending over the bed to turn down the quilt and blanket. She couldn’t help swishing her fanny just a little and was gratified to hear Kendall moan.

“Now lie back against the pillows.”

She heard the sound of buttons popping as he removed his own shirt. Anxious to watch him disrobe, she did as she was told.

He was beautiful.

Well aware that such a term shouldn’t be used to describe a man, especially one as overtly masculine as Kendall, she still couldn’t think of a better one. His broad shoulders tapered to a slim waist with rippled, defined stomach muscles. A light coating of dark curls swirled across his sculpted chest, circling flat, dark nipples and narrowing to a line that bisected his stomach and disappeared into his trousers. As he unbuttoned those, it became apparent that the arrow of hair continued all the way down.

All the while he undressed, his turquoise gaze remained pinned on her, exciting her even further.

“Have you ever seen a naked man, Amy?”

She nodded briefly. “Once, in an art class. He was slim and young, with almost no hair on his chest—nothing like you.”

“Was he aroused?”

“No.” The poor model had been embarrassed and had remained flaccid throughout the session. She’d never seen an erect penis before, and her mouth watered at the knowledge that she was about to see one any second now.

Before he dropped his trousers, Kendall paused and bent to remove his walking boots and socks. When he stood, he raised one eyebrow. “Still sure? I’m not ready to marry yet, Amy. You need to know that. This is a purely physical encounter.”

“Yes.” She’d never been so certain of anything in her life. “I understand, and I’m sure.”

“Then spread your legs for me, sweetness. I want to see that you’re as aroused as I am.”

Biting her lip against an unexpected shyness, she did as he asked, splaying her thighs so her sex was open to his view.

“I can’t see in this light. Are you wet, Amy?”

She felt the flush that heated her face and breasts, but she nodded anyway.

“Test yourself with your fingers and tell me.” His hands still rested on the lowest button of his trousers, teasing her with his near-nakedness.

Could she do this? Yes. To have this night with Kendall, she could do whatever he asked. Slowly she lowered one hand to her center and slid her fingers through the slick petals of her sex. Then she held them up so they glistened in the gaslight. “I’m very, very wet, Kendall.”

“Oh, hell.” He lunged toward her, caught her hand in his and slowly licked her fingers, one by one. “You certainly are, Amy. This is going to take even more willpower than I thought.”

“To be with me?”

“No, sweetheart. To not be with you, in the most primitive manner possible.” He let go of her hand and shoved his trousers and smallclothes down to his ankles with no further delay. She gazed at him, soaking in the sight of his rampant erection jutting from a halo of dark curls. The dark red tip pointed up toward the ceiling and bobbed as he moved to lie on his side, next to her on the bed.

“May I touch you?” It was a struggle to keep her hands to herself.

“Of course.” He rolled to his back and laced his hands behind his head. “Explore to your heart’s content.”

His skin was warm and smooth on his shoulder, the hairs on his chest crisp and springy. His nipple beaded when she rubbed it, much like her own were doing as they brushed against him during her explorations. The muscles beneath were hard and firm, even as she moved her hand down to his stomach, bypassing his groin to feel the solid mass of his thigh, then the bones of his hip. “I’d love to photograph you like this, though I’d never be able to let another living soul see the image. You’re a work of art in your own right, Kendall.”

“Not compared to you.” His hot gaze affirmed his words.

Finally, she trailed her hand inward, wrapping her fingers around his penis, feeling the velvety skin over solid flesh and the thick veins pumping beneath her hand. Kendall moaned.

“Does this hurt?” She smoothed her hand up and down.

“In a way,” he answered thickly. “Would you like me to show you what I mean?”

“Yes.”

“Then lie back, sweetheart, and let me show you.”

Reluctantly, she let go and lay back against the pillows. Kendall leaned over her, braced on one elbow, and kissed her lips. His other hand traced a line from her throat down to her breast, cupping it in his hand. Moments later, his lips followed. Amy gasped as he caught her peaked nipple between his lips and sucked.

“Kendall.” She caught his head between her hands and held him there. Nothing had ever felt so good, though the ache between her legs only intensified. She shifted her hips, wanting something, but not sure what. Now, she thought, she understood what he’d meant.

“That’s it. Just relax and enjoy.” He moved to her other breast, laving it with the same thorough attention. When he began to suckle, his hand slid down to the apex of her thighs, cupping the nest of damp curls and pressing softly. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes.” The whisper was all she could manage. She lifted her hips into his hands, trying to arch her breast deeper into the heat of his mouth at the same time.

Then his fingers began to move, and she was lost. His thumb found a knot of nerves she’d only vaguely known existed, and he carefully slipped one thick finger between her folds. She bit down on her lip to keep from crying out as her body began to move of its own accord, following the in-and-out rhythm of his hand.

“Let go.” His breath whispered across her damp nipple, making her shiver, which pushed his finger just a little deeper into her core.

Something inside her shattered. Shards of light and sensation coursed through her veins and behind her eyelids.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. He kept up his caresses but slowed and gentled them as the waves of overwhelming pleasure subsided. When her eyes finally opened, he smiled. “Better?”

“Amazing.” She wet her lips and struggled for breath. “But what about you?”

“I’ll survive,” he said, showing that generous spirit she liked so much. “Believe it or not, just watching and touching you gave me a great deal of pleasure. Or, if you’d like, you can return the favor in much the same way.”

“I think I’d like that very much.” She reached down and grasped the solid thickness of him, relishing his shudder.

“In a moment.” He slid up the bed until he leaned over her again. This time his kiss was gentler, though no less intense. By the time they paused for air, she was tingling again and hungry to learn more of Kendall.

“Now.” He rolled to his back, and Amy propped herself on her elbow beside him. He took her hand in his and showed her how he liked to be touched—how firm, how fast. His whispered instructions were punctuated by kisses. Finally, his back bowed up off the bed as he climaxed.

Amy couldn’t help running her fingers through the thick fluid that covered his stomach and chest, even lifting her finger to her lips to taste, remembering how he’d tasted her. She must have made a face at the bitterness, because Kendall laughed.

“I’m told it’s an acquired taste.” He pulled her face back down to his, kissing her again. “Thank you. That was magnificent.”

“I’ve never felt anything like that,” she admitted.

His low laugh shook the bed. “You can manage that with your own hand for yourself, you know. It doesn’t take a man to provide you satisfaction. Sometimes taking care of oneself can be a lot safer and less emotionally complicated.”

“I see.” She supposed that did make sense. Now that she’d experienced an orgasm, she wouldn’t want to do without for the rest of her life. She grinned and kissed him on the nose. “Thank you for that lesson, too.”

Later, lying awake in bed after Kendall had crept back up the fire escape to his room, Amy stared at the ceiling. He’d been so patient with her, so kind—masculine and dominant, yet thoughtful all at the same time. He’d made her laugh and shudder with passion. She’d never met anyone like Kendall.

Amy took a deep breath and bit down on her lip, still swollen from his kisses. What in heaven’s name was she doing? The answer was unmistakable. Falling in love with Kendall Lake.

Chapter Four

Facing Amy across the breakfast table without giving away any hint of the previous night’s intimacy strained even Kendall’s social skills. Her hair was tightly braided and wrapped into a knot at the nape of her neck, and she wore a pale green muslin walking dress with her usual narrower hoops. Kendall couldn’t help remembering the feel of that silky hair skimming across his skin, or the sight of her generous curves, unbound by proper clothing, quivering as she took her pleasure. When Sergeant Peterson flirted with her, Kendall had to resist the urge to drag Amy to his side and beat his chest like a gorilla.

It was with some relief that Kendall finally followed Amy to her studio shortly after the morning meal. He wanted to take one more look around before they fetched Lady Northland and Nell from the train.

“Can you think of anything connecting those six subjects?” he asked her again as he examined her spider-legged barrow. “Something they said, something they did, anything to separate them from your other customers?”

“As if a six-week-old infant said anything? Honestly, I’ve been over and over this in my head. Three of the victims were children of varying ages, one was an old man, one a middle-aged matron and the other was a healthy young bridegroom. Two females, four males, some local, others from out of town. Most were of modest means, but one family was quite wealthy. I can’t think of one single thing to connect them, other than that damned snake appearing in the photograph.”

“It isn’t your fault, Amy.” God help him if she began to cry—he was growing too attached to her for his comfort already. If he had to hold her…well, he couldn’t be sure he’d be as strong as he was last night. Technically, Amy was still a virgin, and he was going to make sure she stayed one, even if it killed him.

That gave him an idea. “I want you to take my photograph.”

Amy stopped going through the stack of images on her work desk and stared at him, jaw hanging. “Are you insane? Do you want me to accidentally kill you?”

He shrugged. “How about this, then? Walk me through a typical sitting, up to the point where you actually expose the plate. I come in to the reception room. What then?”

“All right.” She followed him into the other room and pretended to greet him at the door. “Thank you for coming, Lord Lake. Please have a seat.”

He did, and she sat across from him in a chair, a notepad on her lap. “What kind of portrait are you hoping for? Glass or paper? Formal, with a solid background, or something more relaxed, perhaps with a painted backdrop? Sitting or standing?”

Kendall took in each of her questions. “The backdrops—those weren’t the same in the problem photos, were they? What about the chairs or sofas?”

“No. And I don’t take either of those to the beach.” She tapped her pencil on the pad.

“Then just pick one at random, and let’s move on to the next step.” He stood.

“Very well. There’s a lavatory, if you’d like to freshen up before we start.” She pointed toward that door.

Kendall shook his head. “I’m fine.” He followed her into the studio and watched as she slid a solid brown backdrop into place and positioned a single chair in front of it.

“Have a seat.” She made suggestions as to his pose and adjusted the curtains and mirrors for lighting, then stood behind her camera. “Hold very still now please. And…snap.” She pretended to click the shutter. “I’ll do that two or three more times, if needed. Then, if you’d like to wait, I can have them developed in a half an hour or less, and you can be on your way.”

Kendall shook his head. Not one thing she’d done, said or touched had triggered any of his Knightly senses. He had absolutely no idea of what was happening here, and helplessness didn’t sit well with him at all. He was still angry at himself as they walked down to the King’s Road to catch a cab to the railway station.

“Kendall, I’m sorry if I’ve said something inappropriate.” Amy sat across from him in the cab and studied his face, her deep blue eyes wide with concern. “I’m not very experienced at the etiquette for this sort of thing.”

He reached out and squeezed her hand where it rested on her knee. “You’ve made no missteps, sweetness. I’m simply frustrated by this business.” And perhaps a little concerned about being shown up by a ghost-seeing girl not yet out of the schoolroom. He wanted to be the one to solve Amy’s problem, though he knew he was being utterly irrational.

Amy’s nerves grew as they waited on the platform for the first-class passengers to disembark from the train. One group emerged from the first car, but it was too large and boisterous a family to be the pair they were expecting. Or so Amy thought, until the lovely blonde, just a few years older than herself, hailed Kendall by his first name. She held a dark-haired toddler in her arms and half a dozen other children swarmed about her.

He smiled and stepped forward, his hand on Amy’s waist propelling her with him. “Caroline. Did you have to bring half of London with you?”

“I tried to sneak away, but when this lot heard we were going to the beach, they insisted.” She leaned over and kissed Kendall’s cheek. “Since Wink and Tom are both down from Oxford, we decided to make it a family outing. They’ll take the others to the shore and check into the hotel, while Nell and I come along with you.”

Amy swallowed hard. “We’re going to need a few more cabs.”

The woman laughed and handed the toddler off to another, this one perhaps eighteen or twenty. She was stunning, tall, with auburn curls, and just a moment earlier, she’d hugged Kendall enthusiastically. An enormous bronze mechanical dog sat by her side, head cocked as if it were listening.

Freed from hugs, Kendall put his hand back on Amy’s waist and faced the blonde. “Amy, let me introduce you to the Hadrian clan. This is Caroline, Lady Northland. She’s a particular favorite of my grandmother’s, so the Hadrian brood can often be found at Lake family gatherings.”

“Pleased to meet you, my lady.” Amy curtsied awkwardly.

“Caroline, please. These are my children.” She waggled her fingers at the mass. “And our foster son, Sir Thomas Devere.”

Amy shook hands with an impossibly tall youth who gave her a wicked grin.

“My daughters, Winifred, Eleanor and Sylvia.” Lady Northland pointed to the auburn-haired young woman, another, somewhat younger girl, with the dusky skin and dark eyes of the subcontinent, and a blond angel of perhaps three. “And my sons, Piers, Jamie and Will.” The elder two appeared to be in their early teens, one copper-haired and one fair, while the last was the dark-haired toddler she’d just handed off. She followed that by introducing two governesses, a driver and a footman.

Amy blinked.

“They’re a lot to take in, aren’t they?” Kendall whispered with a laugh. “They’re formidable allies, though, even some of the little ones.”

Somehow, the chaos was managed, and Amy found herself in a cab with just Kendall, Lady Northland and the middle girl—the one whose ancestors were clearly from India or thereabouts.

“Merrick will meet us at the hotel tonight,” Lady Northland told Kendall. “Perhaps you and Miss Deland can join us for supper?”

“I think that would be fine. Amy?”

Amy shrugged helplessly. “Fine, my lady.”

“Please call me Caro. Really.” The other woman shared a wry smile. “Now, before your brain explodes, let me explain a few things. My husband, Merrick, works with Kendall, and the families are old friends—as is your uncle, by the way. My older four are adopted. I didn’t have Wink when I was twelve or Nell at fifteen. Tom is a Knight-in-training and would have been adopted with the others if he wasn’t a baronet in his own right. Each of them is gifted, in their own way, and Nell here has the ability to see and speak with ghosts. Hopefully, we can be of some assistance.”

“That would be…wonderful.” Amy shook her head. “And your husband doesn’t object to this? I can’t guarantee that there won’t be some danger.”

“I trust Kendall’s judgment and his ability to defend us. Not that either Nell or I are utterly helpless. Both of us are acquainted with self-defense.” Her smile twisted into a grin. “I haven’t been ‘my lady’ for too many years. I was originally the governess to this brood.”

That explained a great deal. Amy sat back and listened as Kendall explained about the phantom serpent in the photographs and the subsequent deaths. “I can’t find a thing in her studio,” he finished. “But there is some vague sense of a presence, which is why I was hoping a medium could help.”

“I can’t perform an exorcism, but I can certainly spot a ghost if there’s one present,” Nell agreed.

“It’s not a spell,” Kendall said with a shrug. “Or a curse. I’d be able to sense those. All that leaves is some kind of entity.”

“We’ll know shortly.” Caroline turned to Amy. “So tell me, how do you like working as a photographer?”

Soon, they climbed out of the cab and Amy led the others to her studio. After a brief tour, Nell shook her head. “There’s nobody here.”

Her mother frowned. “I’d swear there is. I agree with Kendall. I feel…something. And it’s definitely malevolent. But I can’t pinpoint what or where.”

Caroline stood beside the shelf where Amy kept the toys Sergeant Peterson made to entertain her subjects and picked up a clockwork horse that whinnied and pranced. “Wink would love these. She’s studying to be an engineer, but mechanical animals are her first love.”

“Mum, drop that right now!” Nell screamed and ran across the room. She grabbed the toy from her mother’s hands and threw it as far as possible across the room. “Mum, go outside. Now.”

“Nell—” Caro began to protest, but she did start moving.

“It’s after the baby,” Nell said hoarsely. “Get out.”

At that, Caroline clasped her hand over her stomach and ran from the studio.

“It’s still here,” Nell said in a near whisper. “I don’t think it can go very far from the pony.”

“What does it look like?” Kendall stood beside the girl, his hand on her shoulder, his walking stick raised, though there was nothing visible to strike.

“A black serpent, but the eyes are human, or once were.” Nell stared fixedly at the toy on the floor. “It’s pulling back in—I don’t think it can reach any of us.”

“Is it a ghost?” Amy asked, coming to stand behind the girl.

Nell shook her head. “Not like any I’ve seen. It was, I think, but it’s been…twisted somehow. I think we need Lord Drood to handle this.”

“Amy, did any of the subjects who died play with that horse?” Kendall asked without turning to look at her.

“Yes. I don’t know how I could have forgotten. In each of those groups, someone picked up the pony and played with it. Even the honeymooners—the man was intrigued and studied the horse while they waited their turn. Louisa played with it to get Daisy to settle. It is the one thing that connects all six. It is my fault they died.”

“No. You didn’t do this.” Now Kendall did turn and put his hands on her arms. “It has to have been Peterson. I knew there was something wrong about that man.”

“The snake is back inside the horse,” Nell said. “We need to seal it up in something until Lord Drood can do something about it.”

“I have a metal cashbox,” Amy said. “We could seal the seams with wax, once it’s inside.”

Nell nodded. “And don’t touch it when you’re putting it in. I think touching it is what lets the spirit out.”

“Nell, is your mother all right?” Kendall looked out the window to where Caro watched them through the glass. “Can you be sure the serpent didn’t hurt her or…”

“The new baby? No. The serpent bites, and it hadn’t yet. I think…maybe it seeks out the most vulnerable person within reach. It circles them, like you saw in the photos and then it sinks in its fangs. It had started to circle Mum’s middle and was rearing up like it was about to bite when I threw it. It was angry, as if it hadn’t finished what it wanted to do.” She swallowed convulsively.

“Miss Eleanor Hadrian, you can watch my back anytime.” Kendall patted the girl’s shoulder. “Now perhaps we should go to your mum, make sure she’s all right.”

Caroline sat on a bench in Mrs. Bennett’s small garden, pale but steady.

“I’m fine.” She pointed back at the studio. “Now go do what needs to be done.”

Back inside, Amy ran to fetch her cashbox, dumping the change still inside into a heap on her desk. She grabbed a candle and some matches and laid the open box on the floor beside the horse. “Should we check the other toys?”

Kendall nodded. “I’ll handle them. Nell, the first sight of anything coming out, you let me know, all right?”

One by one, he lifted the other half-dozen toys, but each time Nell shook her head.

“Fine,” Kendall said. “Let’s seal this thing up.” He used his walking stick to slide the toy into the box, and then to close the lid. Amy lit the candle and began dribbling wax over the lock.

“Amy, you have a safe, right? Let’s stash this thing in there until your uncle can get here.” He hooked his walking stick handle through the handle on the cashbox and lifted it like that, carrying it into the back of the workroom where Amy kept her small fireproof safe.

Once the heavy lead door was locked, Kendall and Amy went back outside to join Caro.

“We hadn’t even told the children about the new one yet,” Caro confided as they walked back toward the house. “But Jamie, bless him, has visions, and apparently he told the others, or Nell wouldn’t have known. Keeping secrets in a family like this is next to impossible. Life is never dull around the Order, but it’s good to be even an indirect part of something that does so much good.”

“I’m sure it is,” Amy agreed.

Caro paused and turned to face Amy directly, putting a gap between them and the others. “Kendall’s a fine man. Even if he wasn’t wealthy or titled, a girl could do much worse.”

“But he can do far, far better.” Amy held out her hands, nails chipped, fingers stained with developing chemicals. “Can you see these as the hands of a duchess? While I may have the pedigree, I don’t have the temperament to live in his world. I’m a photographer, nothing more.”

Caro laughed gently. “And I was a bastard-born governess. Yet here I am. Lord Drood is a powerful man within the Order, who can open a lot of doors, and Kendall’s parents carry a lot of weight in society, his grandmother even more. If you care about Kendall, don’t give up too easily. The families within the Order get away with a certain degree of eccentricity.”

“I only met him yesterday.” Though that didn’t really matter. It had been the same for her parents and her grandparents. Love at first sight was a Deland family tradition.

“Sometimes a day is all it takes.”

Kendall paused at the door to the house and waited for the women. “I don’t think you should go inside until we’ve apprehended Peterson.”

“Can you really arrest a man for making possessed toys? Are we certain he did it on purpose?” Amy bit her lip, still having a hard time accepting that the sergeant had done such a despicable thing.

Kendall gave her a grim smile. “You’d be surprised at the authority vested in the Order. But I don’t want to try to take him alone, not with a houseful of innocent bystanders. I’ll take you and the others to the hotel and come back with a couple policemen.

Amy wanted to argue, but she agreed that Caro and Nell needed to be away from here. It seemed they wouldn’t leave without her, so she found herself being bundled off to the Bedford Hotel, Brighton’s foremost accommodations.

Tom and the footman had gone with Kendall to consult with the local constabulary, taking the massive clockwork dog with them. It galled Amy to sit and wait, but she did, taking tea in a private sitting room with Caro and her older children, while the little ones napped nearby. This was why she hadn’t planned to marry, she reminded herself, even while she was fascinated by what she learned about the Hadrian family and the Order of the Round table. She hated being relegated to sitting and waiting. When Kendall stopped back and asked Nell to come help pack up Peterson’s belongings, Amy began to silently think of ways to punish him for leaving her behind.

Peterson, damn, him, was nowhere to be found. Kendall questioned the other residents of the boarding house and found none of them had seen the man since breakfast. Kendall talked Mrs. Bennett and the Stapleton sisters into checking into a hotel—at his expense—on the pretext of a toxic chemical spill in the attic. They’d promised to notify the bookseller on the way and take him as well. Only Mr. Saunders saw through their ruse and remained behind.

“Knew the blighter was up to no good.” The grizzled veteran helped box up the contents of Peterson’s workshop, under the strict supervision of Tom and Nell. Nothing else of interest was found. It seemed his source of power was with him, wherever he was. Interestingly, the scrap on his workbench looked more like he’d been making jewelry than mechanical toys. Whatever it was, Kendall got a sick feeling from touching the scrap gold—similar, if not nearly as potent as the one he’d gotten from the horse. Nell shook her head—there was no phantom, though the man was certainly up to no good. But where was he? And what did he plan to do next?

Finally, Nell was returned to her mother, and Saunders and a constable were left to watch the house and send word if Peterson approached. Kendall, Tom and an older inspector went to check the rail and dirigible stations. All Kendall could think of was that he couldn’t let the bastard get his hands on Amy. This wasn’t even about duty or his work. It had become personal.

Bloody hell, when had he gone and fallen in love? And in just one night?

Suddenly, even the idea of marriage and children sounded a whole lot better than living without her. In less than twenty-four hours, his world had turned upside down.

Chapter Five

Amy walked along the beach promenade with a young boy on either side of her, one extolling the virtues of the local steam tram, while the other, a far more serious lad, peppered her with questions about the processes of photography. The Hadrian children never seemed to slow down, but she found herself enjoying their company.

“Jamie, I’d be happy to take you for a ride on the tram, but first we have to return to your family with these ices.” Each of them carried a tray of shaved-ice treats. “Piers, I find the calotype is still the best for outdoor photography, as you don’t have to carry your developing equipment and chemicals with you, but you’re right, it lacks the detailed clarity of glass-plate negatives.”

“I need to use the retiring room,” Piers said suddenly as they passed that public convenience. “Can you hold my tray for a moment, miss?”

“Of course.” She had two hands. When Jamie decided to join his brother, however, she was forced to find a table to set the trays down on to wait.

“Amy, there you are.” She looked up to see Sergeant Peterson striding toward her.

“Sergeant, what are you doing down here at this time of the day? I didn’t think you cared for the sun and sand.” Her heart pounded—she wished Kendall was here. How could she lure the man someplace where the constables could take him? Above all, she had to protect the boys.

“Looking for you.” He strode up, grabbed her hand and before she could stop him or jerk away, he’d jammed a golden ring around her finger, a modest sapphire glinting in its center.

“Sergeant—Michael—what are you doing? Let me go.” She wrenched at her wrist, but her hand didn’t seem to want to obey her command—it remained limply held in his.

“You’re coming with me, Amy. You’ve been a very naughty girl and need to be punished.” He tucked her hand into his elbow and she found herself walking alongside him, up the steps and away from the shore. She tried to stop, but her feet simply wouldn’t obey her—it was as if he’d taken complete control of her body—except for her stomach, which was threatening to rebel at any moment.

“Where are we going?” She could talk, it seemed, in a low, decorous voice, but not loudly enough to call for help. “What have you done to me?”

“Merely speeded up our courtship, my dear. I was worried you were becoming too entranced by that lordling. So I finished your engagement ring rather sooner than I’d expected. Do you like it?”

It was an attractive ring, simple and elegant with its clear blue, perfect stone. In other circumstances, she’d have loved it. “It’s disgusting.” Pain lanced through her throat, as if it were being constricted by a giant hand.

“There, there, be nice. You won’t like the consequences if you’re not.”

“Why are you doing this, Michael? Why not just court me openly if you were interested?” Perhaps the use of his first name would make him more amenable.

“Because you never paid attention to a damn thing besides your stupid photographs,” he growled. When they reached the King’s Road, he hailed a cab and bundled her inside, giving the name of one of the more moderate hotels toward the far end of town.

Amy tried to say something to the cabbie but found herself strangled again, as if by one of those invisible serpents. She waited until the cab was moving, and then asked pleasantly, “So how are you controlling me, Michael? Is it one of your serpent spirits? Is it linked to the ring you gave me?”

“How do you know about the serpents?” he demanded, jerking her closer to him. His dark eyes were crazed and she wondered if he was using opium or some other drug. “Did he see them?”

“They showed up in the photographs,” she snarled. “And every time, someone died.”

“You were meant to blame yourself.” He shook her, making her teeth rattle. “Stop pursuing such an unnatural profession for a female—especially when you don’t need the money.”

“I love my work,” she told him. “It feels perfectly natural to me. Why would I want to give it up? Clearly, you don’t know me at all. What is it you want from me?”

“To marry me, you stupid bitch.” He kissed her then, forcing his tongue inside her mouth, and she didn’t have enough control over even her jaw muscles to stop him. He tasted vile—of uncleaned teeth and cheap tobacco and stale beer. The combination made her stomach, already queasy, lurch, and she began to gag. He pulled away and pushed her head down just in time for her to vomit over the edge of the cab instead of on the two of them.

Then she felt something like fangs sinking into the base of her spine and her stomach settled—in fact, she couldn’t feel a thing from the waist down.

“Are you going to kill me?” A strange, floating sensation filled her head. “Is that what this has come down to? Poisoning me with one of your phantom snakes?”

“Poisoning you? Oh, no, no, my dear. This serpent is an entirely different sort. He doesn’t slay. He controls. I’m not going to kill you, Amy. I’m going to marry you and have all that lovely money to call my own.”

She wanted to laugh but couldn’t. Even speech was beyond her now.

“I earned this power, you know. One of the other stones is fire. My arm wasn’t cut off, but burned off, inch, by inch until I talked. Then they threw me out in the cold, expecting me to die. But I lived and snuck back in at night, slitting every single throat. Once I put the ring on, I knew it was meant to be mine.”

So torture and the ring’s evil power had corrupted his mind. That would have been nice to know earlier. She was conscious of the cab stopping and of walking beside him toward a room, but it was all hazy, like a dream. Somewhere beyond the dream, she thought longingly of Kendall.

Sitting in the police house, Kendall, Tom and Everett, the local inspector, had nothing so far. There was no trace of Peterson at any transportation depot, including the livery stables, not even the residual oily feel of his magick. Restless and angry at feeling helpless, Kendall leaped to his feet when a young boy ran in the door.

“Jamie, what is it?” Tom was on his feet right beside Kendall, catching hold of his foster brother’s arm.

“The blighter took Miss Amy,” he panted. “I caught hold of the back of the cab and followed.”

“Where is she?” Kendall was already grabbing his hat and stick. His pistol was primed and in a holster at his belt. Everett and two uniformed constables were right behind him.

“The Parthenon Hotel.” Jamie rattled off the street name and number. “Couldn’t see what room, but she was walking kind of funny—sort of like one of Wink’s animals.”

The men, including Jamie, piled into the police coach. Kendall knew the Hadrian children too well to bother arguing. Merrick had found them as a group of street children successfully fighting vampyres some four years earlier. Any one of them, even the girls, could handle themselves in a fight.

When they reached the faux-classical, middle-class hotel, Jamie scrambled to the top of the coach, ready to call out if he spotted Peterson trying to leave the building. Kendall, meanwhile, strode to the front desk with Everett beside him. “We need to see your guest registry from this morning.”

The clerk blustered, but after Everett prodded a bit, he handed Kendall the register. Unfortunately, no Peterson was listed. Kendall threw the list down in disgust. “Look, I need to know about a patron with red hair, military bearing and a mechanical left arm.”

“Oh,” said the clerk with a smile. “You mean Lieutenant Michaels. He and his wife checked in this morning.”

“Wife my arse,” Kendall muttered. “What room?”

“And we’ll need the key.” Everett’s tone left no room for argument.

The clerk nodded and handed over a key with the number 209 on it.

“Is there a balcony for that room?” Kendall didn’t like the idea of leaving Peterson an alternate way out.

The clerk shook his head. “He asked for one, but there were no private balconies available. Just a public one at the end of the hall.” He produced a map of the hotel and showed Kendall and Everett where the potential escape routes were located.

“There’s a roofline for the porch running right under that window,” Tom pointed out from over Kendall’s shoulder. “I’ll go that way.”

Kendall ignored the raised eyebrows of the policemen and nodded. “I assume you have a pistol. If it becomes a hostage situation, only shoot if you’re sure you won’t miss.”

“These two gentlemen are agents of the Crown,” Everett assured the clerk, who was gasping like a landed fish. “They know what they’re about. Thornton, you climb like a monkey. You’re with Sir Thomas.”

The younger constable nodded and followed Tom, while Kendall and Everett climbed the steam-powered main staircase at a run, skipping over the revolving steps two or three at a time. Bailey, the other constable, was assigned the cage lift, to make sure Peterson didn’t exit that way while they went up the steps.

Outside room 209, they paused, weapons drawn, while Everett inserted the key and then Kendall kicked open the door.

Kendall took in the scene in an instant, his heart lurching in his chest. Peterson lounged on the bed while Amy stood in the center of the room. Her eyes were glazed and vacant, staring straight ahead as she untied the front laces of her corset. Her hair was down and her dress already lay in a pool on the floor. She didn’t even start or look up when the door crashed in.

What the hell had Peterson done to her?

“Amy, stop,” Kendall called. He strode into the room, his weapon fixed on Peterson.

“She won’t listen to you,” the sergeant said evenly, sitting up straighter but not bothering to stand. “Amy, dearest, take the knife and hold it to your throat.”

Kendall hadn’t seen the hunting knife on the small dresser beside Amy’s hand. Moving as jerkily as an automaton, she picked it up and held it against her smooth, white throat.

“No!” Kendall lunged toward Peterson. “Stop it. Now.”

“Press harder, darling. Oh…and show him the ring.” He shook his head as if Kendall was being a particularly thick child.

Amy pressed harder with the knife and blood welled from the small cut on her neck, sending tendrils of horror down Kendall’s spine. She held out her left hand, displaying a poorly fashioned gold ring set with a single sapphire—just like the one missing from the ring on Peterson’s mechanical hand.

“What have you done to her, you bastard?”

Peterson chuckled. “You’re too late, my lord. We’re already married.”

“In what? Twenty minutes?” Everett gave a disgusted snort. “What about the banns, the license, the vows? It can’t be legal.”

“The license was obtained some time ago—I had to test the control phantom on someone, and a government clerk seemed utterly expendable. The parson was easier—he happily accepted a bribe. Lovely Amy signed the papers, and now she and her pots of money are all mine.”

A red haze swam before Kendall’s vision. There was no way in hell that this man was going to lay so much as a finger on Amy. Perhaps if the man were dead, she’d be freed from the compulsion she was so obviously under. He saw Tom lining up a pistol shot from the corner of his eye and kept talking, hoping Peterson would stay focused on him and Everett.

“Killing me won’t work, by the way,” Peterson said with a long-suffering sigh. “It takes some time to gain control of the serpents. She’d die of starvation or forget how to breathe on her own before you could determine how they work and set her free. And now, here’s another one of the set, just for you, inspector.” He popped one of the two remaining sapphires from his ring and hurled it at Everett. “This one isn’t designed to poison or control. This one goes for blood.”

Almost immediately, Everett yelled, as blood spurted from his thigh, dark and thick. He tried to fight off the invisible force, but soon another wound appeared, high on his shoulder.

Peterson plucked out the last sapphire and threw it at Kendall, but missed and it struck the constable behind him. Bailey crumpled. “He’ll sleep until I tell him to wake up.”

The stone. Kendall whispered a quick spell, took aim and fired his pistol at the gem lying far too close to Everett’s foot, just as the inspector began to sag. The bullet struck the gem and shattered it.

Peterson screamed in pain.

Everett passed out and fell onto Bailey behind him.

Kendall stepped up to Amy and took her hand. “Fight it, sweetheart. You can do it. There’s magick in your veins, remember. Fight for yourself, for us. I love you and I’m not going to let him take you from me.” Meanwhile he began to ease the ring from her outstretched hand.

“No,” Peterson shrieked. “Cut deeper, bitch.”

Several things happened at once. Kendall grabbed Amy’s hand with the knife and wrenched it away from her throat. A shot fired through the window. The bullet struck Peterson in the throat and he fell, gurgling.

Immediately, the light came back on in Amy’s eyes. She dropped the knife, yanked the ring off her finger and flung herself into Kendall’s arms.

Chapter Six

Amy clutched Kendall’s hand tightly as she sat in the Hadrians’ private sitting room at the Bedford Hotel. He squeezed back every so often, as if reassuring himself that she was actually there.

The legalities had been sorted out. Her marriage to Peterson had been proven invalid on several grounds. First of all, she’d only signed the papers under duress. Secondly, the minister had been found, drunk, and had been just as easily bribed to swear the so-called ceremony had never taken place, especially since he hadn’t bothered to file the forms with the government.

Peterson’s body had been dealt with by the constables. Constable Bailey had woken up as soon as the sapphire that had hit him was destroyed, and poor Inspector Everett was resting in a hospital, already demanding to be released, despite being weak from blood loss. The remaining gems had been destroyed.

Now it was Amy’s turn to fill in the blanks, to explain everything to her assembled group of saviors. Tom, Caro and all but the youngest of her children listened eagerly.

“Apparently, the bandits he fought in India belonged to a specific cult,” she told them all. Michael had bragged a good bit while she’d been under his control, wanting her to see how clever he was. “They would trap the spirits of their enemies in the stones, but the ghosts were corrupted into the serpents you saw in the photographs. Each phantom only had one power, and the larger stone was the master of the others. The wearer of the ruby could command the spirits in the sapphires. He placed one in the toy horse, with the power to poison. It killed everyone it bit—including poor little Daisy Merchant. I can’t believe he ever imagined I could forgive him for that.”

“Go on, dearest.” Kendall squeezed her hand again. “And remember. None of this was your fault. You can’t blame yourself for Peterson’s mental illness. He may have been possessed by the so-called master stone. It would explain why a decorated soldier became so twisted.”

“Somehow, he learned that I had money, and he began to covet it. He wanted me to give up photography, and then he assumed I’d marry him, since he was the only relatively young, single man I knew. I suppose he assumed I’d be desperate for a husband if I wasn’t spending all my time on my so-called hobby. When you arrived, he panicked and escalated his plan.”

He lifted her hand and kissed it, sending a curl of warmth through her belly. “That’s where he went so horribly wrong. You’re not marrying anyone but me.”

Ignoring all the others in the room, she looked up at him. “I though you weren’t ready for marriage.”

“That was before I met you.” He kissed her deeply, heedless of their rapt audience.

“Did I hear someone mention marriage?” The door opened and two men walked in. Amy turned her head to see a tall, dark-haired man make a beeline for Caro, sweeping her up and into his arms. This had to be Lord Northland. “Not marrying off our children without me, are you, darling?”

An older man followed him, his keen blue eyes seeking out Amy. One silver eyebrow lifted when he saw her in Kendall’s embrace.

Kendall flushed and stood, bringing Amy with him as the elderly man approached. “Amy, I’d like you to meet your great-uncle, Rhys, Marquess Drood. Drood, meet your great-niece Amelie—otherwise known as my fiancée.” Oh, hell. He hadn’t actually asked her yet. Kendall wished himself down through the floorboards for his own presumption.

Lord Drood bowed over Amy’s hand and studied Kendall skeptically before giving them a wry smile. “You’re just like your grandmother, aren’t you, girl? Ten minutes with the right man, and that’s that. Not a doubt in your mind.”

Amy smiled back. She was going to like this old codger. “I suppose I am, my lord. But my grandparents were happily married for nearly fifty years. I could do a lot worse than to follow their lead.”

“True enough.” He patted her hand, then passed it back to Kendall. “And you, young man, know exactly what I’ll do to you if you don’t treat her right. Don’t you?”

“I’m aware of that, sir. And you know my own mother and grandmother will make sure of it, until Amy’s parents can get here from Canada for the wedding.”

“This is going to be a logistical nightmare, isn’t it?” Amy turned to Kendall and looked up in panic. “My parents, brothers, nieces and nephews flying over, Mrs. Bennett and the others from Lilac Lane, all mixed together with your family…a duke, two duchesses and all the rest. Kendall, are you sure you want to go through with this? I don’t know anything about being a wife, let alone a peeress.”

“I’m sure.” He got down on one knee in front of all of them. “But it’s occurred to me that I forgot to properly ask.”

Jamie cheered and Piers whistled, while Wink and Nell clapped.

“Amelie Deland, I love you. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

“And my photography?” She was going to say yes eventually, of course, but she did want to hear his thoughts on her work. He wouldn’t make her stop, would he? He had to know how much photography was a part of her soul.

He smiled up at her. “I’d rather you not keep regular business hours, so we can travel together, but we’ll sort something out, sweetheart. I’d never keep you from pursuing your art.”

“Then all I can say is yes.”

It was much later—far later—when Kendall finally got Amy alone for a few minutes. They’d sent off airmail letters to her family and teletexts to his, setting in motion what was bound to be a circus of wedding preparations. To say his parents were elated would have been putting it mildly. His grandmother was already planning to turn over a full wing of Trowbridge House, the massive family home in London, to the two of them.

Now, he’d sneaked into Amy’s hotel room via the adjoining balcony and found her sitting cross-legged on her bed in her nightdress, brushing out her hair.

“Hello,” she said with a smile. “What took you so long?”

“You were expecting me?” He crossed the room to sit beside her and take her in his arms.

Amy chuckled, and the sound filled him with joy. “Silly man. Why do you think the window was unlocked?” She touched his cheek and gazed at him with love and laughter in her eyes. “I have faith in you, Kendall. I always will.”

“You know they’re all going to do their best to keep us apart until after the wedding, right?”

She nodded, twining her arms around her neck. “And with so much family to consider, it isn’t going to happen for a month or two. I don’t want to wait that long.”

Kendall grinned. “Then it’s a good thing I stopped by the chemist’s earlier.” He tossed a small parcel from his coat pocket onto the bed. “I love you, Amy. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say that enough.”

“I love you too. Now stop talking and show me.” Her kiss let him know he was in for the adventure of a lifetime.

About the Author

Cindy Spencer Pape is an avid reader of romance, fantasy, mystery, and even more romance. According to The Romance Studio, her plots are “full of twists and turns that keep the reader poised at the edge of their seat.”Joyfully Reviewed said her “colorful characters and plot building surprises kept me spellbound,” and RT Book Reviews says her “characters are appealing, and passionate sex leads to a satisfying romance.”

Cindy firmly believes in happily-ever-after. Married for more than twenty years to her own, sometimes-kilted, hero, she lives in southern Michigan with him and two teenage sons, along with an ever-changing menagerie of pets. Cindy has been, among other things, a banker, a teacher and an elected politician, but mostly an environmental educator, though now she is lucky enough to write full-time. Her degrees in zoology and animal behavior almost help her comprehend the three male humans who share her household.

Cindy loves to hear from readers. To contact her, or for more about Cindy and her books, you can find her on her website, www.cindyspencerpape.com, or her blog, www.cindyspencerpape.blogspot.com.

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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9153-3

Copyright © 2011 by Cindy Spencer Pape

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