Chapter 26
Matthew arrived at the lecture hall feeling a tad conspicuous with the wheel of double Gloucester under one arm and his wife’s reticule under the other, but if any of the gathered academics found anything amiss with his presentation, they did not say so, nor even spare him a second glance as he found his way into the correct auditorium and looked for a seat.
He spotted Abe Murphy almost immediately and raised his hand in greeting as he picked his way through the crowd, dropping down into one of the fold-out chairs with a huff just as Ezra Barnett appeared from the other direction with two glasses of wine in his hands.
“Oh! Mr. Everly,” he said, looking abashed. “If I’d have known you’d arrived, I’d have gotten three.”
“Don’t worry yourself,” Matthew said, waving his hand. “Is my wife with you?”
Ezra shook his head, handing Abe one of the glasses and taking the seat on his other side. “She went with Miss Casper to get freshened up before the lecture, but they should be arriving shortly. At least, that was the plan last I saw her.”
“Ah,” said Matthew, “and she … found you in time? For her plan?”
Ezra gave a tired little grin, running a hand over his face and giving a shake of his auburn head. “Barely. My editor isn’t happy with me, but we got it done.”
“What’s this, then?” Abe demanded, looking from one man to the other. “I’d like to be included in plotting, if you please.”
Matthew shrugged. “I don’t actually know. She was struck by inspiration and fled some hours ago. I only know it was in search of our young reporter friend here.”
“Oh,” said Ezra, coloring. “It was just a small change to tomorrow’s piece.
We had to wrest the typesetting from the letter man to do it, but it was only one little sentence, slightly altered, to announce that the bishop would be attending Sunday’s service.
I confess I don’t understand Anglican politics, but it seemed very important. ”
Matthew blinked. “Oh,” he said. “Good Lord. She is going to fill the church.”
Abe chuckled, shaking his head. “I still have no idea what’s happening,” he admitted. “But it sounds delightful.”
“I hope it will be,” Matthew said weakly, craning around again in the hopes of seeing Rosalind make her appearance.
Instead, his eyes fell on the glossy blond head of Douglas Muir.
Immediately, his mood soured.
It must have been clear on his face, because Abe twisted around too to follow his eye and clicked his tongue with distaste. “She’s not here yet,” he reminded Matthew. “We could take him outside and make a quick job of it if you still want to kill him.”
“I never wanted to kill him,” Matthew said quickly, noting the widening of poor Ezra’s eyes. “That was you.”
“Was it? I can never remember.” Abe sighed. “What if we just punch him a little?”
Matthew opened his mouth to respond but was quickly shushed as Angus Murphy arrived, Abe immediately slouching into his seat and assuming what he must have thought was an angelic countenance.
“There you are, lads,” Angus said, arriving with another double serving of wine. “I brought extra. Oh! Looks like I was right to do so.”
Matthew accepted the glass, letting the big, bearded man step over him and wedge into the seat to his left, which he had hoped would be Rosalind’s eventual location. He told himself to be gracious and drink his wine instead of fretting over seating charts like a lovesick schoolboy.
“Is Mr. Green not here yet?” he asked, just to give himself something to do.
“Oh, he arrived first,” Angus Murphy said. “My wife spirited him away backstage to meet all her lofty fellow speakers straightaway. He looked more chuffed than a stray dog in a butcher’s shop.”
Matthew blinked. In the absence of even his curate to distract him, he had no choice but to glance back at Douglas bloody Muir again.
He wasn’t there.
Matthew frowned, scanning the seats for that damned glint of pomade, and did not spot him at all. Where had the devil gotten to?
“I think I am going to go wait outside for Rosalind,” he told the others, pushing himself to his feet. “If she arrives after the speaking starts, it might be hard for her to find us otherwise.”
“Oh, good thinking, lad,” Angus said, eyeballing the cheese under the chair. “Is that a Stilton?”
He gripped his wineglass and took another long draw from it as he wove his way out of the speaking hall and back into the foyer proper. There were three entrances to choose from, and a cursory glance at them showed nothing but the faint purple glow of the swan song of dusk.
He turned to find somewhere to leave his empty glass, and by chance or luck or divine blessing, spotted Mae Casper making her way toward the auditorium.
“Mae!” he called, discarding the glass and hurrying toward her as she turned in surprise. “Hello! I thought Rosalind was with you?”
Mae Casper gave him a quick once-over with her light brown eyes and frowned, as though she was concerned at what she saw. “She is. She was,” she said. “She ran into an old friend just before we came in and told me to go ahead.”
“Ah, blast and damnation!” Matthew cursed, gritting his teeth. “Which door?”
“Oh,” said Miss Casper. “The central one, just there. Matthew, is aught amiss? Can I help?”
“No, it is … she is fine,” he said, waving his hand at her as he was already turning toward the exit. “We are seated to the left. Look for Abe.”
The doors were propped open to allow the cool breeze into the big entryway, robbing Matthew of the satisfaction of slapping one open as he made his way outdoors. He stomped a little harder than necessary when his shoe went from carpet to cobble, just to compensate for the loss.
He did not spot them immediately, searching around the decorative hedges flanking the lecture hall, his blood spiking at how calm everyone looked strolling and conversing, pleasant as you please.
Then he heard her voice.
“I really must get inside,” she was saying from behind two orange-leaved trees quivering in the wind and a marble sign identifying the building. “If that is all, Douglas.”
“Oof, why so chilly, Rozzy?” the man returned, his voice lilting and teasing as Matthew drew closer. “I thought you were fond of me.”
“Do not call me that,” she replied softly. “We were friends once, Mr. Muir, but it has been several years, and we are both of us happily married now. It is no longer appropriate to take such liberties.”
Matthew paused, a chime of sanity breaking through his bloodlust. He stood where he was, blinking away the visions of the throttling he had been entertaining all the way across the landing as his mind remembered that his wife was very competent all on her own, thank you very much.
“Happily, is it?” the man purred. “To that stodgy vicar? I know you were forced into that. It was all over the papers.”
“I have never been forced into anything in my life,” she returned with a little sniff. “I chose Matthew with my eyes open and my heart willing. And yes, I am very happy.”
Muir scoffed so sharply that Matthew could see the shape of his face without so much as moving a single toe.
“I’ve been trying to find a time to speak to you,” the bastard told Rosalind. “I’ve visited that church a dozen times now, but your precious vicar is always there keeping watch over you so that I cannot get a moment for a private reunion. I’ve missed you, Rozzy. Surely you’ve missed me too?”
“I have no desire to wound you, Douglas, but no,” she said gently. “I have not. Our friendship ended abruptly and painfully for me, and I only wish to leave it in the past where it belongs.”
“Oh, come now,” he cooed, the leaves rustling as he moved behind that barrier. “Yes, I married another girl, but it doesn’t mean I was not fond of you as well. And look, now that you are similarly shackled, perhaps we might renew our … friendship, without the complications of potential ruin?”
Matthew felt his bones click, clashing against one another as he struggled not to move, not to charge forward and do the murder he had just insisted was not his desire.
For a moment he could not move, but the sound of a sharp slap, of skin striking skin, brought him out of his paralysis, his skeleton sagging a little in release.
“Do not ever speak to me again,” Rosalind hissed. “If you do, I shall write to your wife immediately and inform her of what you’ve just said to me.”
“Rozzy,” he whined, chuckling as she pushed her way out of the enclave and into the open. “Be reasonable!”
She stormed into view, her cheeks pink and her little hands balled into fists. She didn’t immediately see Matthew standing there, but when she did, the relief on her face was enough to soothe every concern left within his body, perhaps with credit for future concerns to boot.
Muir emerged after her, grinning like the pink splotch on his cheek was a love bite and he was mere moments away from making a grab at her skirt, but paused when he, too, noticed Matthew’s presence, his grin fading to a smirk.
“You see?” he said to Rosalind. “He is always watching you.”
“Matthew,” she said softly, as though she were unsure what he had heard.
Muir chuckled, adjusting his cuff link as he glanced over Rosalind’s body with a lingering up-and-down examination before cutting his eyes to Matthew. “Don’t fret, parson. She was just being a good girl. She’s always been such a good girl.”
Matthew nodded, taking a step forward to pat Rosalind reassuringly on her shoulder, meeting her eye for a moment to relay that his anger was not at all directed at her.
Then he turned toward the professor, gave him a friendly little smile, and decked him square in the jaw.
He went down easier than Matthew would have expected for a man of his build. Perhaps he just hadn’t been expecting it. Regardless, he crumpled there on the glossy cobbles, dazed and blinking with a little line of blood on his perfect, clean-shaven jaw.
They did not linger to find out if he had further commentary on the encounter.
Instead, Matthew walked back to his wife, touching her face gently to ensure she was well, and then took her hand to lead her back into the building, away from this filth and any discomfort he had caused her, his heart still pounding in his chest.
“Matthew,” she whispered as they crossed into the lobby. “Matthew!”
He finally heard her, shaking himself out of the odd, instinctive force that had been driving him forward up to this point. He turned to her and saw her staring at him, those hazel eyes glimmering in the light of the candle-laden chandeliers that hung from the ceiling.
The doors to the lecture hall had been pulled shut, meaning they had likely missed the opening remarks already, but Rosalind didn’t seem to notice.
She was just gazing at him like she’d never seen him before. Rapt. She pulled him toward the stairwell that led to the mezzanine, just long enough to get them into shadow, even though no one much was milling about the entry room anymore.
“Your mother’s lecture,” he said, his voice gone gritty and thin.
“I’ve been to a thousand of my mother’s lectures,” she returned, her voice still so soft and sweet as she reached up to touch his face, examining him, stroking at his cheeks and his temples. “And I’m sure there will be a thousand more.”
She pushed herself up onto her toes and crashed her lips into his, pulling at her grip around his jaw and neck so that he would meet her in her fervor, so that they would collide as firmly as she could demand.
He gasped at the suddenness of it, at the fury, and she used the opportunity to slide her tongue into his mouth, her hands sliding down over his chest and pushing him back into the wall of the stairwell.
“Matthew,” she breathed. “Matthew, my love.”
He caught her, running his hands over her waist, over the curve of her backside, pulling her into him and welcoming this unexpected but delicious onslaught.
She pulled back for a moment, blinking up at him with a wicked little smile. “What if we just went home?” she said. “I am so very tired. What if we just went home?”
“Do you want to go home?” he asked her, still pinned to the wall, utterly and completely willing to give this woman whatever she wanted.
“Yes,” she said. “Take me home.”
She pulled away, letting him take her hand, and just before they stepped out of the shadows, she tugged him once more so that he would turn to her.
“Make haste,” she said. “I am wearing my pink corset.”