Page 20 of An Honorable Deception
“Well, from her bed. It’s dormitory housing.” The lady was going a bit green around the gills. “I asked the other ayahs if anyone had seen her leave, but it seems no one was up in the dormitory when she left. Well, other than...”
Yates drew in a breath. “Let me guess. Saanvi?”
Lady Alethia nodded. “It’s so unlike Samira—and that’s why I sent an inquiry to Mr. A immediately, even as I checked with the other ayah homes, especially given the note from Victoria. Samirawasthere, but she left, and there is apparently information about her that I should know, and I have to think ... there’s something not right about it. She would never leave England without telling me.”
Under normal circumstances, he would have questioned that. Because people were all the time doing things they’d “never” do. But in this particular case, the fact that someone followed Lady Alethia to James’s church and tried to silence her before she could question her friend’s disappearance added quite a bit of credibility to her claim.
Something nefarious was at play. And while it was possible that Samira had vanished for a legitimate reason—or at least willingly—and Alethia had been hunted down for something else altogether, it made more sense to assume they were related.
He capped his pen, even though he had plenty more questions to ask. “Thank you, my lady. Perhaps we can answer the rest of his questions after you’ve had a chance to rest—or tomorrow. Whenever you’re ready.”
Her eyes went wide. “Now is fine.”
“It isn’t. You’re clearly in pain, and a few hours of rest will make little difference to the search for Samira.” He stood, prepared to simply leave to settle the matter, if necessary.
His sister was giving him an approving nod. “Yates is right. We’ll send a dispatch by private courier to Mr. A later if we miss the post. But your health is of the utmost importance.”
He clamped his lips down against a grin. Private courier, indeed. “May I help you up, my lady?” He’d already carried her several times, but she probably didn’t remember that. Which was just as well. “Marigold or Zelda will help you settle, but I’m happy to be a crutch for the walk.”
She still looked ready to protest, but no one gave her any room to do so. Lavinia and Marigold both stood, talking at once, and fluttering about her. Marigold went in search of Zelda, and Yates stepped into the space at Lady Alethia’s side, offering her an arm to hold and slipping a hand behind her back when she scooted to the edge of her cushion. At the perspiration that broke out on her forehead when she gripped his arm and tried to lift herself up, he had to squelch the urge to scoop her into his arms again. It would have been quicker, and less painful.
But a bit of work was necessary for healing too. So he onlysupported her via arm and back and took as much weight as she granted him.
She was about the same height as Lavinia, with hair nearly the same shade of darkest brown too. Their eyes were different colors, and once upon a time, he would have said that they were different in more ways than that. Lady Alethia had shadows in hers that went far deeper than the three gunshot wounds. They had the look of glossed-over scars, always there but seldom noted.
Lavinia’s eyes had always been bright, light. Unfiltered. Unshadowed. When he glanced at her now, though, he realized that hadn’t been true since she emerged from her illness. When she’d begun to realize that her mother wasn’t who she’d thought. When her world began to crumble around her.
Now, their different-colored eyes looked far too similar.
Later, when they weren’t there to question him, he’d sigh over how it seemed both his guests were haunted by something. Something he knew neither he and his title nor Mr. A and his Imposters could ever hope to fix.
He knew what Lavinia’s ghosts were. He’d discover Alethia’s. And while he didn’t imagine he could fix the root causes, perhaps he could findsomeway to help. That was what made this work worthwhile. All too often they uncovered ugly truths, secrets that showed humanity for the fallen race they were. But sometimes ... sometimes they helped piece the broken bits back together. Sometimes they could protect people. Equip them with knowledge to allow wiser decisions. Sometimes they could even help restore families.
He helped Alethia as far as the door to her room, at which point Zelda took over. The older woman still trained daily on the trapeze with her husband, Franco, and she was more than strong enough to help the lady from there.
Alethia glanced up at him before he could release her.Those shadowed blue eyes sliced right through him, making his breath catch. He’d seen her across enough ballrooms to know she was beautiful, and he’d carried her up and down stairs three times already in their short acquaintance. But looking down at her now, so close, with her looking back at him, made his breath catch in his chest. Like an absolute idiot.
“Thank you.” The words were little more than a whisper, and they sounded as though they referenced more than his assistance for those few shuffling steps.
Not trusting himself to speak, given the stupid lump in his throat, he simply nodded, smiled, and relinquished her to Zelda. If he strode a little too quickly toward the stairs, who could blame him?
“Predictable.”
Lavinia, apparently. And apparently she was following him, given her quick steps behind his and that mutter under her breath.
That was fine. He was en route to the official Imposters Headquarters—his father’s old study—and she might as well get the introduction to their files. Marigold would no doubt meet them there.
But in response to her observation, he sent an innocent, raised-brow look over his shoulder. “What? The predicament with the ayah? I do confess that I find it appalling how people can vanish in London without a trace.”
Lavinia scoffed and drew even with him. “You were all but stammering like a fool when she looked up at you.”
Because thoseeyes. What was he supposed to do? “I didn’t stammer a bit.”
“You would have, had you opened your mouth.”
Which made him wise that he hadn’t, not a fool. He sent her his cheekiest grin. “Jealous, Vinny?”
“Dying of it.” She wove their arms together in a way that would have had him stammering like a fool for certain when they were sixteen. But she’d been doing it often enough in the last year that any residual effects had worn off. She leaned into his arm. “In fact, I feel faint. I may need you to carry me.”
