Chapter 2
It was a rare occurrence when one caught a sighting of Blaze Jagger.
Viveca had, on a few occasions, over the last couple of years.
But always in the wild—like at a racecourse—never in her own establishment.
Blaze Jagger in Sirens Circulating Library.
Fancy that.
She remained where she was, but allowed her eyes to follow him out of the Classics room and into Newspapers and Periodicals. Then he was through another doorway and gone.
But, criminy, he was a man who attracted the eye.
Tall and long-limbed—rangy—he moved with an ease that called to mind an African cat one could pay to see prowling about the grounds of the Tower of London.
And his mode of dress certainly pulled one’s attention.
Clothes of the best quality and tailoring—fitted to his rangy body to perfection, in fact—but that they drew the eye in the first place would’ve been the original sin in the eyes of society.
A gentleman’s cravat was to have been white, not chartreuse paisley to match one’s waistcoat and pocket square.
But there—Blaze Jagger was no gentleman, was he?
In fact, he fit to perfection anyone’s description of an upstart East End rogue who’d acquired a fortune in London’s underworld.
Yet he was as handsome as anyone’s ideal of a gentleman, with his sable hair that peeked out from below his top hat and curled just above his collar; his firm, expressive mouth that was quick to smile; his dark, straight eyebrows above opaque gray eyes fringed with dense black lashes. There were the dimples, too.
And the massive diamond stud in his left ear which sparkled and expressed an ineffable essence of the man that only heightened his attractiveness. Viveca couldn’t quite explain it, but she knew it was objectively true. Some things simply were.
In a manner of speaking, she was linked to him, too. For, two years ago, Gabriel and Tessa had sold him a large chunk of The Archangel—the gaming hell they’d built from the ground up—when they’d become a duke and a marchioness, respectively.
To characterize 1822 as a wild year was a vast understatement.
Further, it was the year Viveca had gone from Miss Viveca Siren to Lady Viveca Calthorp, which had been no small adjustment to her life, to say the least.
Still, her view of the world and the way it worked held firm and remained unaltered.
That was the important part.
Anyway, Blaze Jagger…here…in Sirens.
She stood a bit staggered, in truth. Since she’d only ever seen him from afar, they’d never been introduced. She was merely the younger sister of his business partners and further a lady, and Mr. Jagger was a…
Actually, she wasn’t sure what he was.
A man about town—a known fact.
Interesting—undoubtedly.
Handsome—empirically true.
Magnetic.
His magnetism was something one couldn’t understand from afar. Rather, one had to experience it within touching distance to feel its full effect.
She glanced at the book in her hand. Thucydides’ History of the Peloponnesian War.
The wrong book.
So, she knew one thing more about Blaze Jagger.
She dragged a stool from the Philosophy section and reshelved the book, then returned to her duties, which were light at this late time of day. Only a few straggling patrons remained. Sirens would be closing within the hour.
At the front desk, Mrs. Dunlevy was checking the columns of books lent against the members who borrowed.
She was a stickler for timely returns. Viveca wasn’t sure they could do without Mrs. Dunlevy, who was both administrator for Sirens and housekeeper for Viveca and Saskia personally.
She glanced up with a fierce expression, which was just how Mrs. Dunlevy’s face looked.
Really, she was a love. “Mr. Dumbarton’s return of Volume Two of Scott’s Kenilworth is three days overdue, and Mrs. Morse has been asking for it both morning and afternoon.
Delinquency with the volume two of a novel is most egregious, Lady Viveca. Most egregious.”
“Oh, criminy,” said Viveca. “I’ll ask Saskia to have a firm word with him.”
No one liked being on the receiving end of a firm word from Saskia.
“Please do,” said Mrs. Dunlevy, nodding with approval. “The reputation of Sirens is at risk.”
Surely, the matter didn’t go that far, but Viveca knew to handle it with as much gravity as if it did. “Mrs. Dunlevy,” she asked, for she had an altogether different matter on her mind, “did Sirens acquire a new member this afternoon?”
“Three,” she answered, nodding approvingly and reaching for the membership register. “Let’s see…” As her finger skimmed down the columns, she recited the names. “A Mr. Oliver…Mrs. Rafferty…and Mr. Jagger.”
Ah.
“And…” Oh, how to ask this question without too much specificity… “What do you make of our new members?”
“Well, Mr. Oliver is a quiet sort, as you might expect, and Mrs. Rafferty was discreetly inquiring about our romance offerings. And Mr. Jagger…well.”
“Well?” Viveca was going to need more than well.
“If you must know, Lady Viveca, he’s too bold by half.” Mrs. Dunlevy looked as if she were only getting started. “Quite a bit of flash about him with all those diamonds and sapphires—”
“Sapphires?”
“You never saw a sapphire so big as what he’s got on his pinky ring,” whispered Mrs. Dunlevy, leaning across the desk. “Like as not stole it off an Indian raj.”
“I see.” Viveca was disappointed not to have noticed the sapphire pinky ring.
“And see that you do, Lady Viveca,” said the other woman, nodding. “See that you do.”
Mrs. Dunlevy was repeating phrases.
The matter of Blaze Jagger was, indeed, serious.
Mrs. Dunlevy leaned so far across the table she looked in danger of tipping over. “A lady has been known to be irresponsible with her virtue around a fellow like that.”
It was only with great effort that Viveca was able to keep the smile that wanted airing suppressed. But the lift of a single eyebrow wouldn’t be denied—nor would a single question. “Is that so, Mrs. Dunlevy?”
The woman snapped to and straightened at once, her cheeks blooming a telling pink. “I’ve read Mr. Richardson’s Clarissa.”
Viveca nodded, solemn. “A warning to us all.”
“Indeed.”
Viveca gave one last nod and returned to the Newspapers and Periodicals room, finding Saskia already there. This was the room their daily patrons used the most, and as such, it was the room that accumulated the most mess and required the most tending.
“I see you’ve already tidied up.”
Saskia glanced over her shoulder as she draped a newspaper over the yesterday’s news rack. “It was light traffic today.”
As Saskia was only a year older than Viveca and their hair color was a near match—with Saskia’s being a bit browner than Viveca’s—most people thought them to be twins at first glance. Viveca supposed the fact that they spoke and thought nearly identically would forward that notion, too.
Saskia straightened and swiped the back of a hand across her brow. “Care for a spot of tea?”
“Desperate for one,” said Viveca.
Tea with Saskia after the library closed was her favorite part of every day as they related both business matters and gossip about the members. For such quiet folk, readers engendered a decent amount of drama during the course of a day with their peccadillos and such.
As was their usual routine, they made their way through the rooms, ensuring each had been vacated before moving on to the next.
Once the library was clear, they gave Mrs. Dunlevy leave to lock the front door, then made their way to the kitchen, which they shared with the staff—Mrs. Dunlevy; Mrs. Stanton, their cook; and Alice, the housemaid—the latter two of whom were presently out shopping, which meant Viveca and Saskia would be preparing their own tea.
No matter. They weren’t the sort of ladies who couldn’t tend their own needs. In fact, as they’d only been ladies these last two years, they could wholly take care of themselves.
As was their custom, Viveca managed the edible portion of tea—she’d been dreaming of a slice of Mrs. Stanton’s honey cake all afternoon—while Saskia put the kettle on. “Three new members joined Sirens this afternoon,” said Viveca, feigning nonchalance.
“Oh?” asked Saskia as she spooned loose tea into the teapot.
As her sister sounded mostly uninterested in the subject, Viveca could safely ask her next question. “What do you make of a member who doesn’t know how to read?”
Saskia glanced over her shoulder and met Viveca’s gaze for confirmation. “Truly?”
Viveca nodded.
“And he—she?”
“He.”
“He paid for a membership?”
“Through the year and then some.” Viveca had noted as much when Mrs. Dunlevy had shown her the membership register.
A second ticked past before Saskia lifted an indifferent shoulder and said, “It’s his squandered money, I suppose.” She resumed tea preparations.
Viveca did, too, except it was a half-hearted effort, at best. The thing was Blaze Jagger yet tickled at the back of her mind.
It wasn’t simply that he’d become a member who couldn’t read…
or that he was handsome and possessed of a flashy sensibility…
or a man of hard-won wealth…or plainly intelligent… or magnetic.
He was a man unlike any she’d ever met.
And as far as Saskia went, Viveca would be keeping that man’s name to herself for the foreseeable future.
Saskia poured boiling water over the tea and the kitchen’s air went suddenly bright with a spicy aromatic fragrance. “Is that Tessa’s newest blend?” asked Viveca.
Saskia nodded as she lowered into the chair across the kitchen table. “It’s kadha from India blended with black tea.”
Viveca blew across the surface of her teacup before taking a testing sip. “Mm, wonderful. Our sister has become a rather committed connoisseur of tea.”
Saskia snorted, a habit of hers that she’d refused to break after having become a lady.
Viveca approved.
After all, if one didn’t hold fast to oneself, what did one have in the end?
Saskia had her unwavering support to snort all she liked.
“Well, we Sirens…” began Saskia.