They arrived back at German Place just as the distant church bell marked eleven o’clock. Most of the houses were dark, but as they clattered past their own dwelling on the way to the mews, Helen noted the drawing room windows. Their shutters were still open, the room lit for occupancy.
‘They are awaiting our return.’
‘There is nothing to worry about,’ Mr Hammond said, his voice pitched low. He turned the gig into the narrow side lane that led to the stables. ‘We have our story prepared. Just stay with the truth except for anything to do with Lowry.’
They handed the mare and gig to the young groom on duty and made their way to the house in silence. Garner collected their hats in the foyer, advising that they were expected in the drawing room. Stay with the story, Helen chanted to herself, and led the way upstairs. Yet the prospect of lying outright to his lordship dried her mouth and set her heart racing. Lud, she hoped Hammond was in a better state.
As they approached the doors, someone began playing the pianoforte — a Beethoven piece — and playing it well. Not Lady Margaret’s usual choice of composer or her style of play, which sometimes had an unfortunate thumpety-thump rhythm. No, this was an elegant and sensitive rendering.
Geoffrey, stationed outside the room, opened the doors, but Helen stopped on the threshold, brought to a halt by the person at the pianoforte. Delia. Of course; how could she have forgotten that her friend was musical, although it seemed her skill had increased tenfold since their seminary days. She made a charming vision too: the candelabrum set upon the instrument lit her loosely dressed hair into a celestial pale gold shimmer and brought a pearly glow to her skin. She was dressed in pristine white muslin, a row of glass beads around the low neckline catching the flickering light and drawing the eye to her creamy décolletage.
Lord Carlston sat on the sofa opposite, one elbow propped on the gilded arm, his chin cupped in his hand. All of his attention seemed to be upon Delia, the ever-present knit of pain between his brows for once eased. Helen felt her body lock. Right then, Delia was beautiful; she had conjured that alchemy that blended confidence and expertise into breathtaking transcendence. In the same instant, Helen knew that she, herself, stood in gentleman’s garb, tall and awkward, with no expertise in anything.
She drew in a ragged breath. No, wait; his lordship’s eyes were fixed upon Delia, but it was plain his thoughts were not. In his ease, she could read his expression and it held such tenderness and sorrow that it could not have come from Delia’s transfiguration or the music alone. Was he thinking about his missing wife? Surely such pining and regret could only belong to her memory.
‘You are back,’ Lady Margaret said over the music, rising from the sofa.
Delia stopped playing.
His lordship turned, the effect of the piece still soft in his eyes. So much sweet tenderness; how would it be to have such a look truly directed at one?
‘Lady Helen!’ He cleared his throat, a flush on his skin. ‘How went it?’
She could not answer, momentarily overwhelmed by the pulse that thundered in her blood. Lud, was she to be undone by a glance that belonged to a ghost?
‘It went very well,’ Mr Hammond said, ushering her further into the room. ‘A triumph in fact.’
Without further invitation he launched into the abridged account of their excursion: the slow farmer’s cart, the crowded inn, the heat, the confrontation with the Deceiver —
‘I beg your pardon?’ His lordship lifted his hand, stopping Mr Hammond’s flow. There was no tenderness in his face now. He addressed her abruptly. ‘Did Mr Hammond just say you approached a Deceiver by yourself?’
Clearly she had done something wrong. ‘I saw him through my lens in the taproom. He was skimming, but taking energy from only two people and I could see they were beginning to suffer. The woman particularly — she was quite inebriated.’
‘But he was skimming, not glutting?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘But from only two people.’
‘Lady Helen managed it well,’ Hammond said hurriedly. ‘You would have been impressed by the way she used the watch to deliver a jolt of that electric energy.’ He gave a slightly nervous laugh. ‘He was out of there like a scalded —’
‘Are you telling me that Lady Helen engaged the creature physically? By herself?’
Helen looked sideways at Mr Hammond; he was rapidly digging a hole for them both. She saw him brace himself.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But I was right behind her.’
‘Which would have amounted to nothing whatsoever if the creature had decided to attack.’ His lordship paced across the room, still keeping his distance. ‘I cannot believe this, Hammond. How did “take a drink in a tavern” translate to “engage an unknown Deceiver”? I thought I could trust you to ensure Lady Helen’s safety. Instead you urge her into premature danger.’
Hammond turned his head as if his lordship’s accusation were a physical blow. Still, he said, ‘You wanted her to take more initiative. To overcome her natural diffidence.’
‘Initiative is very different from recklessness. Or negligence, for that matter.’
Hammond stiffened. ‘Do you imply that I have been negligent?’
Helen stepped forward. ‘No, it was my fault. I did not tell him what I was going to do. It was a spur of the moment decision.’
His lordship whirled around. ‘Which makes it even worse.’ He dug his fingers into the bone above his temple, the knit of pain back between his brows. ‘How many times have I said that you must always approach an unknown creature with caution? Did you have a strategy in mind if it decided to attack rather than run?’
She had not even given thought to the possibility, and he saw it in her face.
‘God Almighty!’
Helen winced at the violent blasphemy. Nevertheless, he was not being fair. ‘You told me yourself that it is unlikely a Deceiver would attack a Reclaimer in a public place. Besides, I saw you chase out that Deceiver, Mr Jessup, from Almack’s in exactly the same manner. Your Terrene was not beside you then.’
He waved away the defence. ‘It is not the same. I have known Mr Jessup for years. We had our battle years ago and he knows I am the stronger. He would not dare raise an energy whip against me.’
‘The Luxure in the tavern had not glutted; it had no whips,’ Helen said quickly.
‘A Deceiver does not need energy whips to inflict damage upon us. Especially an untrained Reclaimer like yourself. As soon as you stepped out of that tavern, you were vulnerable. Was the stableyard full of people? The road to Brighton crowded with carriages?’
She stared down at the carpet; there had been many opportunities for an attack. ‘No.’
‘That Deceiver could have come at you in any of those places, and without the support of a Terrene you could have been killed.’ He paced back across the room, the heel of his hand pressed against his forehead. ‘You could have been killed and then where would we be?’
‘Well, she was not killed, or even attacked,’ Lady Margaret said. ‘Surely we can be thankful for that.’ She walked over to him and laid her hand on his arm, her voice dropping. ‘The pain is back, isn’t it?’