Chapter Twelve #2
She and Ashbridge headed for the back of the club, where the bar and dance floor were located.
Each of the magical clubs had worked out how to sneakily flout Forbiddance in different ways.
Holloway’s had its secret bar, and Plenus Venter its elaborately and specifically worded request for the magical menu, while Grenoble’s operated entirely out of one bar, with a password needed to receive the menu of magical offerings.
The password changed weekly, and members were advised of it through a glossy embossed card that appeared in their postbox every Friday morning at seven, with instructions to destroy it immediately upon reading.
This had always seemed a risky system to Vesper—so many opportunities for a bit of cardstock to go astray, after all—yet the Grenoble family was wealthy and powerful enough that so far the system had operated without issue.
“Bathtub hunting,” Vesper informed the bartender, who had a glimmering sheen around his hairline.
The passwords were always nonsensical combinations like this, phrases that couldn’t be accidentally spoken by someone not in the know.
A printed menu was slid across the bar toward her, and Vesper scrutinized it, considering.
Ashbridge leaned in to read over her shoulder, and she could faintly smell his cologne, something smoky and complex.
Unlike many men, he hadn’t doused himself in it, and she could catch only the occasional whiff if she turned her head the right way.
She wrinkled her nose as she looked over the menu; Grenoble’s potions had never been her favorite.
She’d always found them to have a strange aftertaste—a product of whatever Word the family used to make the magic take hold—and was not particularly fond of the effects, either.
Their specialty lay in the lowering of inhibitions, usually to more or less harmless effect—the Kick Back, for example, gave the drinker a sudden overpowering confidence in their own dancing abilities that lasted for several hours.
However, there were a couple of items on the menu that made her decidedly wary—the Pucker Up induced three-quarters of an hour of wanting to kiss anyone in sight.
Thinking it would draw too much attention to them if they both opted for alcoholic rather than magical drinks, however, she ordered a Warm and Fuzzy, the drink that, if she recalled correctly, came closest to mimicking the bonhomie and rose-colored glasses that actual spirits often provided.
It was popular among clubgoers who tended to grow melancholy rather than cheerful when drinking alcohol.
Having claimed their drinks, they made their way toward a table tucked away in a corner that would allow for some semblance of a private conversation.
Once seated, Vesper sipped slowly at her potion, and wished she’d ordered a cocktail to go along with it.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Ashbridge; he had ordered a whisky soda, which he was now nursing as he surveyed the room.
“Stop looking so alert,” she muttered.
He cut an exasperated glance at her. “I’m paying attention.”
“Do it in a less obvious way, or no one will believe you’re here simply to enjoy yourself. Have you seen me?” She gestured at this evening’s dress, a fetching concoction of white silk and a few carefully placed feathers.
“Yes. Very swanlike.”
“Swanlike. Do you know who designed this?”
“I’m going to do you the enormous favor of saving you the energy of explaining, because I assure you the name would mean nothing to me.”
Vesper leaned forward to poke him in the chest. “I can’t decide if it’s fortunate, or a complete waste that you’re handsome.”
Ashbridge went slightly pink and busied himself with his drink.
“What I meant to say is, I am obviously a delicious creature and no one is going to believe you’re not up to something suspicious if you don’t appear to be attempting to take liberties.”
“Oh?” Ashbridge raised a skeptical brow.
The gesture should have been annoying—was annoying—but that didn’t stop it from also somehow being extremely attractive.
Vesper was not scientifically minded, but she really thought that considerable energy should be spent studying the whims of the human body, which were ever mystifying and frequently maddening.
Under his gaze, Vesper attempted not to fidget—not normally something she struggled with.
She attempted a languorous expression. He frowned.
“Something wrong? Your face went all—” He broke off, and twisted his face into an expression that, dear Merlin, Vesper deeply hoped bore no resemblance to the one that had been on her own.
“You’re a terrible mimic,” she said, willing the words to be true. “I’m attempting to set the mood, if you will.”
“I won’t. We’re business partners.”
“Ha! Not three days ago you were calling me incredibly irritating.”
“Well, I’m softening in my old age.”
Vesper batted her eyelashes flirtatiously. “How unfortunate for you.”
“Stop that.”
“But I don’t want to,” she said, pouting, before taking pity on him and taking a sip of her drink. “I can’t be the first woman who’s ever tried to flirt with you,” she added after a moment.
“Flirting is one thing. You’re deliberately trying to provoke me, just to see what sort of reaction you’ll get.”
When he put it like that, Vesper did not like how childish it made her sound.
“I’m not trying to provoke you,” she objected.
“You simply seem so unmoved by me that—” She broke off suddenly, a thought occurring to her.
“You’re not… involved with someone, are you?
” She didn’t know why this possibility hadn’t crossed her mind before; Ashbridge was handsome, intelligent, and seemingly unimpressed by her many charms. It would make perfect sense.
“No,” he said, the word a bit curt. He took a sip of his whisky soda, then lowered the glass, grimacing slightly. “I—there was someone, a few years ago. I thought we’d eventually marry, but she… well, she didn’t think that I loved her enough for that.”
“And did you?” Vesper asked, curious.
He met her eyes. “No,” he said simply. “She did me a favor, really—took me a while to realize it, of course. But I suppose it made me a bit wary. If I could have been so mistaken, thinking I was in love when it was mere fondness…”
“Better to mistake fondness for love, than to actually fall in love with a man who had a wife at home,” Vesper said ruefully.
His gaze darkened. “You’re not… still in love with him, are you?”
Vesper managed a laugh. “No. It was years ago, when I was young and an idiot—more of an idiot than I am now, I mean,” she added, smiling.
He didn’t smile back. “You’re not an idiot,” he said quietly. “You’re extremely clever, actually, even if it seems like you don’t want anyone to notice.”
Vesper blinked, never having thought of it in precisely those terms. The thing was, she had realized of late that she did want someone to notice—her family, in particular. But she’d spent so long being flirtatious, flighty Vesper Holloway that it seemed rather difficult to change course now.
“Is this man—the bounder, I mean—is he the reason you’re not—er—” He broke off suddenly, looking a bit sheepish.
“Were you about to ask me if he’s the reason I’m not married?” Vesper asked, amused. “How Victorian of you, Ashbridge.”
He tugged at his collar. “Sorry. I meant, more, that you don’t seem to be looking for anything… serious.”
Her smile faded. “No,” she said quietly. “He was the first heartbreak, but it was the last one that really hurt—a thoroughly decent man whom I loved quite desperately, and who simply realized he was in love with someone else.”
“He was a fool, then,” Ashbridge said, meeting her eyes.
And Vesper—who realized, all at once, that it had been years since she’d spoken of this with anyone, even her family, or Hazel—suddenly felt uncomfortably exposed.
This time, she was the one to look away, Ashbridge’s steady gaze suddenly more than she could bear.
She took a long sip of her drink. Feeling his eyes on her as she drank, she lowered the highball glass a bit.
“You know, it’s a little unnerving when you do that,” she said, her voice tart.
“Well, I personally find it a little unnerving when a woman I’m theoretically supposed to be keeping from harm is drinking something that seems carefully designed to make it more difficult to do that.”
“You are a wet blanket, aren’t you, Ashbridge?” She was trying to annoy him, in the hopes that it might distract him from everything that she’d just revealed about herself, but his gaze on her was knowing, as if he saw right through her.
“Forgive me for wanting to make sure you get home in one piece,” he said dryly.
“In case you weren’t aware, I do run my family’s club and manage to make it home in one piece most evenings, last I checked.
And, furthermore, I’m not a complete idiot, and am aware of why we’re here.
I deliberately selected the drink that I thought would have the least effect on me.
Almost as if I were being cautious and hoping that I might accomplish something this evening other than having a row with you.
” Her tone was sharper than the situation warranted, and she took another sip, avoiding his eyes once again.
This was what came of sharing her feelings, she thought: She was behaving like a complete ninny.
Ashbridge’s expression was difficult to read. After several seconds’ silence, during which he regarded her steadily while she made rather a show of being absolutely absorbed by the jazz band occupying the stage in one corner, he said quietly, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“You—what?”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, patient. “You’re right. I was—well, I wasn’t treating you like an equal partner in this investigation, which I know is what we agreed you would be.”
“A man is apologizing to me. I never thought this day would come.”