Now he would be away for a day. Probably two.
Two days without the chance of touching him.
She coughed, shocked by the thought. Could she not even last five minutes without her mind taking a lascivious path?
‘I shall make London by evening, and return Sunday afternoon,’ Carlston said, confirming her estimate. Yet she heard something in his tone that made her observe him more closely. He was uneasy in a way she had not seen before.
He turned to address her, once more the stern instructor. ‘While I am away, I want you to start reading the Romford book on alchemy — pay particular attention to the binding rituals — and practise your male disguise. The pitch of your voice is coming along well, but your gait needs a lot more work. Mr Hammond, I trust you will assist Lady Helen and deal with any other issues that arise?’
Mr Hammond straightened. ‘Of course, sir.’
‘I take my leave then.’ Carlston bowed, then plainly bethought himself of something else and turned back to Helen, his eyes finding the touch watch around her neck. ‘When I gave that to you, I am sure I told you not to wear it on your person.’
‘You said not to wear it on a chain.’ She hooked the cord around her thumb. ‘See, it is on silk. And you said the enamelling was made of glass and would insulate —’
‘I said the enamelling may insulate the metal underneath from creating a pathway for a Deceiver’s whip-energy. But do you really want to take the chance?’
‘No.’
‘I thought not.’ His tone sharpened. ‘Carry it in your reticule, and listen more carefully.’
Helen pulled the cord over her head, opened the tiny purse and dropped the dangling watch inside. ‘You wear yours,’ she muttered. Even to herself she sounded like a sullen child.
‘I wear mine in a specially prepared leather-lined pocket in my breeches. As far as I know, ladies’ gowns do not have pockets. Until they do, or you are wearing your own breeches, carry the watch in your reticule. For once, do as you are told.’
Helen stiffened at the unfair criticism; she did everything she was told.
He pressed his fingers hard into his forehead. ‘I beg your pardon, Lady Helen. Forgive my ill humour. I clearly misled you regarding the effectiveness of the enamelling.’ With that, he strode away in the direction of his lodgings.
They watched his progress up the hill, each silent and unmoving as if his departure had somehow suspended them. At the corner of Camelford Street, he paused and looked back at them, then was gone.
‘He is far more ill-tempered than usual,’ Mr Hammond said.
‘It is just weariness,’ Lady Margaret said quickly. ‘They place too much upon him. It is a strain.’
Helen glanced at her; she was half right. Lord Carlston was weary and strained, but not only from the burden of his responsibilities. It was also the constant battle against the Deceiver darkness that shadowed his soul. She had seen the canker within him; had felt its corruption spreading, sapping the light from him, creeping a little deeper into his heart every time he reclaimed another Deceiver offspring. Yet he would not stop. Was it duty that compelled him to such risk, or something else?
She laid her hand on her chest where the touch watch had hung. There was only one known way to cleanse a Reclaimer’s soul: by pouring the darkness into another Reclaimer and destroying them instead. It had been Benchley’s despicable solution, but neither she nor his lordship would ever resort to such a heinous act.
She turned her gaze back to the empty street corner where his lordship had stood only moments before. Yet what would happen if Lord Carlston finally descended into the tormented madness of a poisoned soul?
She closed her eyes. Yes, what then?
Chapter Two
Mr Hammond was first to break the pensive silence. ‘Even after all this time, Pike holds a grudge,’ he said, offering his arm to his sister.
‘What did you expect?’ Lady Margaret replied. ‘He will always hate Lord Carlston.’
Shaking off her sense of dread, Helen put up her parasol again and considered what had just passed between his lordship and Mr Pike. They seemed to dislike each other in equal measure.
‘What has caused such animosity?’ she asked as they started down the hill.
The brother and sister looked at one another. Mr Hammond gave a tiny shrug, as if to say, what is the harm? ‘Have you heard the name Sir Dennis Calloway?’ he asked.
‘He was another Reclaimer, was he not?’
Mr Hammond nodded. ‘And a friend to his lordship. He was killed four years ago by an Unreclaimable.’
‘Unreclaimable?’ Helen had not heard the word before.
‘It is as the name suggests,’ Hammond said. ‘A Deceiver offspring who is too affected by the vestige within it to be returned to humanity. Some are highly promiscuous, some are prone to fits of violence, and some are just insane. Apparently the Unreclaimable was a small woman and Sir Dennis underestimated her strength and cunning. Pike was his Terrene at the time.’
‘Really?’
Helen could not picture the thin, stooped Pike as a Reclaimer’s guard and aide. Terrenes were usually chosen for their large size and natural strength, like Lord Carlston’s man, Mr Quinn, or her own maid and Terrene-to-be, Darby. Their build was essential as it was a Terrene’s duty to wrestle their Reclaimer to the ground and force him — or, indeed, her — to release the lethal energy captured from a Deceiver. It was a difficult task at the best of times, made even more dangerous by the seduction of the deadly power. A Reclaimer would kill to keep it.
Helen had only shared the Deceiver’s whip-energy with Lord Carlston but could still feel an echo of it in her flesh. Faith, it had been like the sun coursing through her veins, so bright and hot and triumphant. Their bodies entwined within the delight —
‘Lady Helen?’ Lady Margaret’s voice broke through the heady sensation. ‘Are you quite well?’
Helen felt heat rise to her cheeks. She had been lost again in the memory of that power rushing through her body. She smiled, covering her disorientation. ‘Pike does not look like a Terrene.’
‘He used to,’ Lady Margaret said. ‘He was almost as big as Mr Quinn. But when a Reclaimer dies, the alchemical bond he had with his Terrene declines. Within a year after Sir Dennis’s death, Pike lost all of his enhanced abilities — his speed and strength and that wondrous accelerated healing — and became the man we see today. A shadow of what he once was.’
‘It must have been a wretched experience,’ Helen said.
She knew herself the exhilaration of that extraordinary physical power; how devastating to have it drain away.
‘The loss has certainly made him bitter, especially towards his lordship,’ Mr Hammond said. At Helen’s querying glance, he added, ‘Pike blames him for Sir Dennis’s death. He says Lord Carlston knew Sir Dennis was not up to the task but did not heed Pike’s request for assistance.’
His sister sniffed. ‘That was not the case at all.’