Chapter 11 Lovely to Lure a Man to His Death
LOVELY TO LURE A MAN TO HIS DEATH
Temple’s carriage came to a smooth stop a little more than a half hour north of London.
Diana barely noticed the time passing. Sybil liked to talk, and she’d sat herself right next to Diana, across from Temple, shoulder to shoulder.
Then she’d proceeded to link their arms together like they were old friends and ask more questions than Diana could answer.
All of them about transcendent magic and the ton.
Diana should have been on edge, worried her talent would slip through her still slender wall of control. But Sybil was so very friendly, the edge had soon smoothed out. Nothing but blue afternoon skies as the road they traveled narrowed into an increasingly navy blue evening.
Temple leaned against the squabs and folded his hands behind his head with the slightest grin tipping his lips up. Oh, he was satisfied, smug even. That smugness spoke of machinations. He was using Sybil as a weapon, likely because he knew how effective she was.
But Diana couldn’t be angry with him. Sybil leeched away all anger, tossed it out the coach. Here was magic, true magic, in the easy laughter of a woman who had likely never met an enemy.
And in the way Temple helped Diana down from the carriage.
Warm, steady hand, wrapping her arm up in his.
A barrier had been broken between them. All those circles around the square she’d kept it up, but the evening spent together in her room, reading books and basking in soft laughter, even softer touches.
Innocent touches, almost shy. Odd after their interaction had been so very intimate.
Nothing shy in his touch tonight. Now he clasped her to his side with confidence, every move… proprietary, commanding.
He tried to tug her inside, but she’d frozen in the gravel path that led up to the small house beyond a rolling lawn.
The night was falling deep blue around them, but the house glowed a summery white.
Several large, rectangular windows gleamed with light, the bottom row and the door with fanlight glowing beneath barely visible arches.
A simple home, a… smiling one. And all around it, dancing like glamoured candles at a ball… magic.
“What sorcery is this, my lord?” she demanded.
“Sorcery?” He scowled. “None. What are you going on about?”
Sybil pushed between them, striding toward the house. “You are thick as a brick, brother. She means this.” She held her arms out wide, a gesture to the lawn, the house, the lights.
“What is this?” Temple grumbled.
“The fairies you’ve hired to illuminate this lawn,” Diana said. They were everywhere, low to the grass, high in the air, hovering over flower beds near the front of the house, lining the gravel walk and setting the door aflame, all of them a soft, golden, bobbing glow.
“Oh, the lights?”
“Yes, my lord, the lights. The fairies.”
Ahead of them, Sybil opened the door, briefly flooding the lawn in more light, light somehow filled with laughter. “Welcome to Nickleby House,” she cried before slipping inside and closing the door, no doubt to prepare her family for what was to come.
Temple had brought a woman home.
A momentous occasion, no doubt. She should not have agreed to it. She did not want to give the man hope.
Give herself hope.
“The lights aren’t fairies,” Temple said, tugging her toward the house.
“They’re similar to the ones found in London’s streetlamps.
Metals alloyed for maximum reflectivity.
But unlike London’s lamps, these lights possess magnetic properties as well.
” He squatted, his trousers pulling tight across his thighs, and plucked a ball of light from the air.
“There’re magnets in the ground below them.
Like poles make them float.” He held the glowing orb out to her.
“A windy day wreaks havoc on them, though. Haven’t figured that part out yet. ”
She took it with careful fingers, held it in the palm of her hand. “You made these?”
“My father’s design. I’ve helped here and there. I’m more interested in electromagnetic induction.”
“Who what now?”
He laughed, a low thing like thunder, and plucked the orb from her hand. “Ever heard of Michael Faraday?”
“I’ve not.”
“You will if you stay in this house longer than a half hour.” His words a challenge as he squatted and put the orb back in its place. It bobbed for a moment before finding a nest in the air.
“They’re beautiful. I’ve never considered the… beauty of alchemical devices. Only their practicality.”
“Not an unusual perspective.” He pushed open the front door, and the light from inside almost blinded her.
“We’ll soon cure you of it.” He nudged her through first then followed, and his heat and strength settled at her back as his hand settled on her shoulder.
A welcome anchor because there were now… nine, ten sets of eyes on her?
Oh God. She’d never had this many people look at her all at once. Not even during her debut. She’d been so very unremarkable beneath her uncle’s glamour, the ton’s collective gaze had glazed over and looked away as soon as it hit her.
“Diana,” Temple said, squeezing her shoulder and leaning low to speak near her ear, “this is my family.” He straightened. “Family, this is Diana. Miss Smith.”
Sybil groaned. Loudly. The roll of her eyes was just as loud.
The older gentleman near the back of the crowded entryway seemed to vibrate.
He wore a smile so bright it rivaled the floating orbs in the lawn.
His face was shaped the same as Temples, though more lines creased it, and while his thick hair still possessed signs it had once been Temple’s color, it was now more white than anything else.
He shouldered his way to the front of the crowd—an easy enough task for a man as big as him—and spread his arms wide when he stood before Diana.
“It is a marvel to meet you!” He wrapped her in a hug.
And Diana almost died. Hugs. This family hugged. Her family had never hugged. She could not remember being hugged more than twice in all her life, and now she was being hugged by a near stranger after having hugged that stranger’s son the night before. It was strange, but… nice.
“Father,” Temple rumbled, “do not suffocate her.”
Temple’s father released her, and Diana felt… a little sad about it.
Not that she had time to feel sad about anything or to feel anything at all. Other than overwhelm.
Because the room had erupted into total chaos.
The older woman near the back clucked. “Temple, dear, that was not a proper introduction. Do try again.”
“I’m Hell,” a boy and a girl said from the side of the room.
Ominous, that.
“Should have thought through those names.” The older woman shook her head, years of regret in the brackets around her mouth but much mirth, too.
“Helen and Helios,” the older man explained. “Fine names. They’re imps. Pay them no mind.”
Two younger girls were clapping and chatting so quickly into one another’s ears, their conversation sounded like squawking birds—high-pitched and incomprehensible. A young boy pulled on Temple’s arm, and when Temple bent down to listen to him, he whispered, “Can I show her my trick with the wires?”
Temple ruffled the boy’s hair. “I’m sure she’d like that.”
A tug on Diana’s skirt dropped her attention to the floor right in front of her.
A child stood there, looking up at her with a hard, unblinking stare.
“That’s Ajax,” Temple whispered. “Do not make any sudden movements. He’s feral.”
“Aaah. Yes. Good evening, Ajax.” Diana dipped a slow and meticulous curtsy.
The room hushed.
And Ajax sniffed, loud and long, dragging his wrist under his nose and holding her gaze the entire time. He shifted his attention from her to his wrist, then he wiped whatever he found there in a long line down her skirts.
A communal inhalation seemed to suck the air from the room. Everyone held their breath. Except for Ajax, who peered at Diana, waiting.
“Thank you?” Diana said.
The boy grinned and ran off, and the room exhaled in a rush. The older man who must be Temple’s father grasped her arm and pulled her into another room. The crowd broke apart as she was pulled through it, its members dispersing to various corners and tasks.
Temple’s father sat her in a comfortable chair near a window. “For air, dear. We can be quite suffocating. Don’t want you to faint.”
“She’s fine, Charles,” the woman called from another room. “Don’t fuss.”
Temple took up residence beside Diana’s chair, one hip popped out to rest against the windowsill.
He crossed his arms over his chest and suppressed a smile.
“Diana, this is my father, Mr. Grant. The woman worried about fussing and regretting her life decisions is my mother, Mrs. Grant. You know Sybil. The imps are Helios and Helen. The snot receptacle is Ajax. You seem to have won his approval.”
Mr. Grant frowned. “She’ll need a new gown, Temple. To replace this one. I’m not certain even thorough washing will cleanse it.”
Temple pointed to two girls playing cards in a corner. “The chatterboxes are Althea and Artemis. I’ve another brother, Hesperus, but he’s not here. Busy with his apprenticeship in Germany. I think that’s everyone.”
“There are certainly a lot of you,” Diana said. Her head felt a bit dizzy. “And I notice a theme. In naming.”
“Ah yes,” Mr. Grant said. “Martha has a fixation. But you fit right in, my dear. One of us before you even knew it. Meant to be.” He beamed, hooking his thumbs into his braces and rocking back onto his heels. “Excellent work, Temple my boy. But you’ve never settled for less than excellence.”
Temple grunted.
Diana looked up at him and whispered, “It’s merely a name. How can he know I’m anything close to excellent based on a name?”
“My father is a quick judge of character. And an accurate one.”
“Temple!” His mother’s voice carried across several rooms.
“Coming!” Temple yelled back. He patted Diana on the shoulder and left her.