She had flung herself atop the Earl and the intensity of that moment still sang in her blood. There had been so much power between them as their bodies locked together in an intimate embrace, which, if she were honest, had not been fuelled only by the overwhelming hold of the Deceiver energy. Even now, standing on the road above the beach, the memory of his arms around her brought a wave of heat across her skin. She found the lever on her parasol and pulled down the canopy, trying to distract herself from the disturbing images. Had she not just vowed to reject these wayward emotions?
With the parasol folded and her composure back in place, she turned her attention to the arrival of Ignatious Pike. He was taller than she had expected — the downhill perspective must have skewed her reckoning — and if he had stood straight, he would have been almost Lord Carlston’s commanding height. He did not, however, have the Earl’s breadth of shoulder nor his air of strength. Still, his breath was unhurried even after his rapid climb and he moved with some agility. The man was more athletic than his spindly, round-shouldered frame suggested.
He bowed to Carlston. ‘My lord.’ A cool glance took in Helen. ‘My lady, we are not yet acquainted. I am Ignatious Pike, Second Secretary to the Home Office.’
Helen stared at him, taken aback. Was he grossly ill-mannered, or did his position allow him to sidestep the conventions of polite introduction? She looked across at his lordship, knowing he would see the question in her eyes. His answer came in the flick of one eyebrow and a wry cast to his mouth: Acknowledge him. So it was the latter: the man had some kind of status.
‘How do you do, Mr Pike,’ she said, and found his gaze had narrowed into shrewd evaluation.
Two could play at that game: she met his close scrutiny with her own. It was difficult to place an age upon him. His face had a wizened quality, but his cold blue stare was bright, and his pasty skin still had the tautness of youth. No more than thirty, Helen guessed, and that was all she could glean from his sharp features. Usually she could read a person’s truth within their face — it was one of the Reclaimer abilities — but this man was even more closed than his lordship.
He allowed a wintry smile of triumph to touch his lips: he had seen her attempt, and her failure.
‘Mr Pike, I believe you are already acquainted with Lady Margaret and Mr Hammond,’ Lord Carlston said.
‘Yes.’ Pike afforded the brother and sister a quick nod, before turning back to his lordship. ‘No doubt you know why I am here. You are requested to return to London immediately to meet with Lord Sidmouth. He has now been apprised of the Dark Days Club and its activities.’
‘Hopefully he will not be as corruptible as Mr Ryder,’ Mr Hammond said.
Pike turned a hard look upon him. ‘Mr Ryder made the necessary decisions to contain the damage created by Benchley and to protect the Dark Days Club from public knowledge.’ The hard look travelled to his lordship.
‘I think we all know that those necessary decisions were more yours than Mr Ryder’s,’ Carlston said. ‘You certainly know how to survive, Mr Pike.’
‘Your lordship gives me credit that I am not due.’
Carlston made a small sound of disbelief. ‘Has our new Prime Minister been fully apprised of the Dark Days Club as well? And the current situation?’
Pike let the question hang between them for a moment, his icy smile appearing again. ‘Lord Liverpool has been fully briefed, and I assure you, he gives Lord Sidmouth his full support.’
‘I would not have thought otherwise.’
Although Carlston’s tone was pleasant, Helen heard the draw of steel within it. The two men, it seemed, were stepping back into an old battle.
Pike crossed his arms. ‘Neither of them is convinced by your evidence that a Grand Deceiver has arrived in England.’
‘Not convinced?’ Helen exclaimed. ‘But the Deceiver who attacked me said he served a Grand Deceiver.’
‘They are Deceivers, Lady Helen,’ Pike said with a note of condescension in his voice. ‘They manage to live as humans and fool us all. Deception is their nature.’
‘And yet we saw a number of them working together at Bellingham’s hanging,’ Carlston said. ‘You know that is out of the ordinary.’
‘It is,’ Pike allowed. ‘But nothing in the archives even hints that such an occurrence points to the arrival of a Grand Deceiver.’
Carlston drew a breath through pinched nostrils. ‘Then what about Lady Helen herself? She is a direct inheritor; the Reclaimer daughter of a Reclaimer mother. That, at least, is documented.’
The wave of a thin hand dismissed his lordship’s words. Or, Helen thought, maybe it dismissed such a female lineage.
‘If I remember correctly, that archive only states that a direct inheritor has powers beyond a normal Reclaimer, to stand against all that may come.’ Pike looked inquiringly at Helen.
She felt obliged to shake her head: she had not yet exhibited any extra powers. A small mercy in her opinion; she was having enough difficulty with the ones she already had.
‘To stand against all that may come,’ Pike repeated. ‘Not a Grand Deceiver in particular; such a creature is never named. We cannot chase phantoms, Lord Carlston, especially with the Luddites rioting through the country and Bonaparte across the channel.’ He drew himself up. ‘You are expected at Lord Sidmouth’s house to dine this evening, my lord. I suggest you start your journey as soon as possible.’
He gave a small bow, his eyes meeting Helen’s again for an odd, intense moment, then he turned and walked back the way he had come, looking neither to the left at the sea, nor to the right at the handsome row of houses. Mr Pike, it seemed, had not the time or inclination for a beautiful view.
Lady Margaret lifted her shoulders as if struck by a sudden chill. ‘Horrid man.’
‘Why does he not believe you?’ Helen asked Lord Carlston. A jab of pain in her hand drew her attention to the fact that she was holding her parasol like a club, the lever biting into her palm. She eased her grip.
‘Because it is I who brought the news,’ he said acidly. ‘Ignatious Pike is the bureaucratic heart of the Dark Days Club and its senior officer, yet he just delivered a summons that could easily have been carried by one of his underlings. So why did he make the journey?’
‘Good point,’ Mr Hammond said. ‘Perhaps it was to acknowledge you as the new leader of the Reclaimers.’
‘No, he is here on some other business,’ his lordship said. ‘But what, I wonder.’
Mr Hammond pulled his fob watch from his breeches’ pocket. ‘He is right about one thing. If Sidmouth expects you tonight, that does not give you much time to get back to Mayfair. It is already near eleven thirty.’
Helen calculated the journey. It had taken her and Lady Margaret seven hours to travel to Brighton, but that had been in a coach-and-four, using the ill-matched teams that went for hire at the posting inns. His lordship had driven down in his curricle, a far lighter equipage, and he kept his own thoroughbreds stabled at the inns for each change. He could possibly make it back to London within five hours. Still, it would mean he would most probably not start his return to Brighton until the following morning.
The thought brought a small slump of disappointment. She had begun to look forward to her training. The long hours under his lordship’s tutelage were never easy — he gave no quarter — but the challenge was exhilarating, and it took her away from Lady Margaret’s reminders of her duty.