The roof of the massive Queen’s style mansion at the end of Shepherd’s Lane shone like dying embers in the light of the setting sun. She could barely make out any detail as the entire façade of the house was cloaked in shadow. Then she saw movement and instinctively, she clutched her reticule and wished that she had not dismissed the driver of the hackney so quickly. Another carriage stood on the opposite side of the street, but she wasn’t sure that she could make it if another person gave chase.
“Damn you, Moon, open up!”
Zan tentatively stepped forward as the man on the mansion steps started pounding on the door and yelling in cultured accents. Closer, she could make out light hair and an expensively tailored coat. She had seen him before on occasion. The current Earl of Gasmere, the Honorable Oliver Caradon, cousin to her uncle’s last patron.
Gasmere finally noticed her as she approached the doorstep. His eyes glinted strangely in the weakening light. “Eh? Miss? What are you doing about at this hour?”
“I am here to see Mr. Caradon about a business matter.”
His gaze swept the whole length of her body, taking in her black attire. “Business matter? You certainly don’t look like his type. And I have not known Moon to take up doxies…”
Quick as lightning, Zan reached out and smacked him.
“Ow! What was that for? Do you have any idea who I am?”
“I demand an apology at once!”
“Why you…”
The front door suddenly opened revealing an elderly butler in a stiffly starched tie. He looked down at the two visitors with watery eyes. “Yes?”
“I am Miss Zan Hu,” she cut in before the earl could open his mouth. “I have a business matter to confer with Mr. Caradon that pertains to my uncle, Elliot Waterstone.”
“Miss Hu, this way. Wait here while I inform Mr. Caradon of your arrival.”
As Zan stepped through to the mansion’s foyer and the butler began to close the door, the earl blustered in, surprising the old man with his sudden strength. “And I am his cousin, Gasmere. I demand to talk to Caradon at once. It is of utmost importance.” And before the butler could stop him, he stormed down the hallway as if he owned the place.
The butler shrugged and motioned for her to follow him. “You might as well come along then, Miss Hu. I’m afraid some things one simply cannot control.”
Zan nodded sympathetically as they walked after the earl towards a thick door opened to a spacious study furnished with heavy wood furniture and plush dark carpet. She delicately sniffed the air detecting a faint pungent odor. Some sort of narcotic? She wondered.
The butler announced her and at some sign from Caradon within, the butler withdrew from the room and beckoned for her to enter. Inside, the pungent odor was stronger. There was a large hearth on one side of the room surrounded by two velvet armchairs and a small tea table. A figure sat in one of the chairs, wrapped in the shadows that the hearth flames drew around the room. Gasmere stood at the back of the other chair, glaring at Caradon and then at Zan. She could see red marks on his face where she slapped him.
“What’s that doxy doing here?” Gasmere demanded.
Zan stiffened at the affront to her honor.
“Oliver,” said Caradon in a hard, dark voice, “Apologize to Miss Hu at once.”
“But…”
“No buts, Oliver. You are behaving in an insensitive manner. Miss Hu is a respectable lady. She is here on legitimate business on behalf of her uncle who has been recently deceased.”
“Bastard!”
“As you and your family have taken pains to drill into me at every turn.”
Gasmere’s face turned a mottled purple as he muttered, “My sincerest apologies, Miss Hu. In the evening, even I make mistakes.”
Zan did not smile. “I suppose I should accept that apology since it is the only one I’m going to get.”
Gasmere gaped at her and then furiously turned back to Caradon. “This is all your fault. I want to speak to you in private about a very important matter.”
“You may speak now or not at all.” Lazy amusement laced Caradon’s voice. “I am sure Miss Hu can be trusted to be held in confidence.”
“I do not gossip, if that’s what you’re asking,” she said.
“There, Oliver, we have Miss Hu’s assurance that she will not spill your Very Important Matter to all and sundry. So what is it? A new wardrobe for your fashion conscious stepmama? Your brother’s gambling debts?”
“You really like doing this to me, don’t you,” said Gasmere as he flexed his fingers on the back of the chair, attempting to restrain himself from throwing a punch at his cousin. “God only knows why Uncle Peter let you have control of the purse strings.”
“He was my father and he knew I understood business. The legalities may not have granted me his title, but at least he saw to it that I did not entirely lose my heritage. Besides, he knew the lot of you are spendthrifts.”
“That has nothing to do with it! We are entitled…”
“To nothing. I haven’t seen any of you work for a single cent.”
Gasmere gritted his teeth. As Caradon patiently waited for his cousin to tell him what he wanted, Zan noticed a small bronze censer smoldering on a shelf of the bookcase. Discretely, she pulled off a glove and reached into the small bowl to draw out some resinous powder on her finger tips. The smell was quite strong, strong enough to slightly muddle any other scent in the room.
“Well?” prompted Caradon.
Gasmere straightened his spine. “Lady Penelope wishes for your attendance to her autumn soiree.”
“You know as well as I do that Lady Penelope should send an invitation to me like anyone else. Why the personal visit?”
“She believes that it is time for you to get married.”
“She wants to match make, I gather? Tell her to save her efforts. Your father’s second wife has no sway over me. If she thinks that I will marry a pliable girl of her choosing in order to control me and the purse strings, she is sadly mistaken.”
“Is your mind so mercenary and cold?” demanded Gasmere. “We are your relatives! We have your best interests at heart, how ungrateful you may be.”
“You may be my relative by blood, cousin, but Lady Penelope is not. Nor is she to you. I wonder, what does she have over your head to make you come over here at this time of the day? You have surely not made any effort to come out of the way to befriend me in the past.”
“You are insufferable,” Gasmere declared. And then he turned on his heel and exited the room in angry strides.
Zan wiped her resin-stained fingers on her dress and donned her glove again as she wearily watched Caradon lean over to the small tea table to pour himself a glass of wine. “You are indeed lucky, Miss Hu, for not having any relatives who hound you at every step.”
“I do not have any living relatives, Mr. Caradon.”
“None even besides your uncle? My condolences then. Please have a seat and tell me what brings you here.”
Gingerly, she took the armchair across from Caradon, sitting at the edge with her back erect. Closer, she could make out his features, the ruffled black hair and the eyes slitted as he studied her. His tie dangled undone around his neck and the buttons at the top of his shirt undone in a somewhat alluring yet alarming déshabillé.
Zan stared at his bare throat and the thought that she was alone in a room with a not-quite gentleman flitted through her mind. Perhaps paying a call to Caradon so late in the day was not such a good idea. “It is about my uncle’s arrangement with you. About you being his patron.”
“What about it?”
“Well, since my uncle’s passing, I was wondering if you would still continue the agreement.”
“I couldn’t very well continue it since he is no longer here, can I?”
“No. But I would be hoping, Mr. Caradon, that you would continue that same agreement with me.”
He was silent for a long moment as he took a sip from his glass and his gaze shuttered, hiding his eyes from hers. He appeared as if he had gone to sleep, but the prickling hairs at the back of her neck told her otherwise.
“Will you be continuing your uncle’s work, Miss Hu?”
“I could,” she said slowly, “But I have my own studies. And my uncle’s area of expertise isn’t necessarily mine as well. I would rather continue my own chemical studies. The Academy has supported the identification of compounds in our natural world as something that is scientifically necessary.”
“Of course,” he replied sounding rather bored, but something sharp and keen ran underneath his tone as he shifted in his seat so that he was leaning slightly forward. The fire from the hearth reflected from his dark gray eyes like silver sparks. “But could you not pursue your uncle’s line of inquiry as well?”
“It would be possible, but difficult. My uncle had an agreement with the Museum—all of his experiments and any notes that he would have left if he had not destroyed them already belong to them now, to be archived. I would have to work from memory. Is your agreement contingent on the fact that I must continue my uncle’s research?”
His lips curved in a dark imitation of a smile. “Miss Hu, the agreement wasn’t contingent on anything except that the work had scientific value. In my conversations with Elliot Waterstone, he often impressed upon me the merit of your work. So I don’t see any reason to not continue the agreement.”
She let out a breath she had not known she had been holding. “That is good news, then.”
“You do realize though, that the agreement I had with your uncle included a stipulation that I be able to drop in at any time to look in on the progress?”
She nodded, remembering the times that Caradon had visited the laboratory once every month to check in on Uncle Elliot. Hopefully, he would continue that same, infrequent routine. She was sure he had interests elsewhere that were more important for his attendance. “Of course.”
His smile widened into a lethal grin and Zan thought her heart stopped for a moment from fear. Or maybe something else. “Excellent. I will come by around, say, the afternoon and we will have a talk about your future plans.”
