Wicked. Shannon Drake

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      She remained impassive and forced her voice to an even level as she asked Ralph, “Just how did Tristan manage to run afoul of the Earl of Carlyle?”

      Ralph finished his gin with a shudder, sat back and looked at Camille. “He had it in him to…well, to waylay a carriage from the north.”

      Camille sucked in air, staring at him with dismay. “He meant to rob someone, like an ordinary highwayman? He might have gotten himself shot—or hanged!”

      Ralph squirmed uncomfortably. “Well, you see, that wouldn’t have happened. We never got that far.”

      Hurt, as well as dismay, suddenly filled her. She had a job now! A perfectly respectable job. Work that filled her with fascination and paid quite decently. She could support the two of them—and Ralph—decently, if not in the lap of luxury, without his resorting to any criminal trickery.

      “Pray, tell me, what prevented the two of you from getting your fool selves killed?” she demanded.

      He squirmed in the badly upholstered seat once again. “Carlyle Castle,” he said, his eyes downcast.

      “Do go on!” she said.

      His lashes flickered and he said defensively, “It’s because Tristan does dote on you so, Camie, that he seeks another way to set you up properly in society.”

      Camille stared at him, anger growing in her heart, then dissipating. There was simply no way to explain to Ralph that she would never be a part of “society.” Perhaps her father had been a nobleman; perhaps the fellow had even married her mother in some secret ceremony. The ring she had worn had been testament to a man regarding her mother with at least enough affection to invest in a fine piece of jewelry.

      The world believed that Camille was the child of a distant relative of Tristan’s, a man knighted for his gallantry in Her Majesty’s Service in the Sudan. But it wasn’t the truth. And there would never be such a thing as a socially prominent marriage, or a season or anything resembling the like. And if she pushed too hard, the truth would be discovered.

      The truth was not attractive in the least. Her mother had been a prostitute; she had died in Whitechapel. Once upon a time, she had surely had dreams of a different life. But she had fallen in love and been discarded in London’s East End, disinherited and penniless. Whoever Camille’s father was, he had long disappeared by the time she was nine years old. And Tess Jardinelle died in the same streets she had worked. If Tristan hadn’t come along that day…

      “Ralph,” she said with a heavy sigh, “please, just explain.”

      “The gates were ajar,” he said simply.

      “They were ajar?” she demanded.

      “All right…they were locked. But there is a break in the wall, and it seemed quite tempting to an adventurer such as Tristan.”

      “Adventurer!”

      Ralph flushed but did not revise his adjective. “There were no dogs about. It was early evening. There are stories about the wolves that prowl the forest, but you know Tristan. He thought that we should just venture in.”

      “I see. Just to enjoy the grounds and the moonlight?”

      Ralph shrugged uncomfortably. “All right. Tristan believed there might be some trinket…just to be found on the ground, which might fetch a fortune if sold to the right people, in the right places. That’s all. It was nothing heinous or evil. He believed he might find something that wouldn’t even be missed by one so great as the Earl of Carlyle, and that might still bring about a great deal of money when sold—properly.”

      “Black market!”

      “He wants the best for you. And there is that young man at the museum who has shown such an interest!”

      Camille could not help but roll her eyes. He was referring to Sir Hunter MacDonald, a “consultant” to Lord David Wimbly and the titular head of the Antiquities section, due to his experience at Egyptian digs and, no doubt, the vast amounts of money he had contributed to the museum.

      Hunter was attractive. He was quite dashing, really. And he’d earned his knighthood in the service, as well. Tall, charming, well-spoken and broad shouldered. Yet, though she did enjoy his company, she was careful. Despite his allure, his continued flattery and attempts at something closer, she never forgot the circumstances of her birth. Many times she had imagined her mother, alone and beautiful, trusting in just such a man, her heart outweighing and denying all logic and reality.

      She knew Hunter was interested in her, but there was no future there. No matter what his compliments and kind words, she was certain that she was not the type such a man would bring home to his mama.

      In her life, she would accept no less than a real commitment. There could be no such thing as falling head over heels in love, or letting passion rule her mind. And Camille meant to keep her pride, dignity—and position—at all costs. The thought of losing her employment at the museum was one she refused to entertain, and it was why she was determined to be so careful now.

      “I want no young man, Ralph, who is not interested in me for myself.”

      “That’s well and good, Camille. But we are living in a society that seeks pedigrees and riches.”

      She nearly groaned aloud. “A record of arrest and time served, or a guardian with an address such as Newgate, would not give me riches or a pedigree, Ralph.”

      “Oh, come. Please, Camille, we intended nothing really evil! Outlaws and highwaymen have become quite famous and revered in legend for stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. We just happen to be the poor.”

      “And outlaws and highwaymen have dangled from ropes far too many times!” she reminded him, eyes flashing. “I have been trying, with the patience of a saint, one might say, to explain to you both that stealing is not just considered to be evil, it’s illegal!”

      “Ah, Camie girl!” Ralph said miserably. His eyes fell to the table again. “Might I have another gin?”

      “Certainly not!” Camille said. “You’ve got to keep your wits about you, and finish this story so that I know what can be done! Where is Tristan now? Has he been taken before a magistrate? What on earth will I ever be able to do? And if Tristan was caught…?”

      “He pushed me back behind the trees and allowed himself to be taken,” Ralph said.

      “So he has been arrested?” she said.

      Ralph shook his head. He bit his lip and told her, “He’s at Carlyle Castle. At least, I think he’s still there. I came as quickly as I could.”

      “Oh, dear God! They’ve surely had him taken to some jail by now!” she exclaimed.

      To her surprise, he shook his head once again. “No, you see, I heard the beast.”

      “Pardon?”

      “He was there. The Earl of Carlyle was there, riding this massive, black, very evil-looking steed! Huge, it were! And he was shouting to his men, telling them that the trespasser must be held, and that…”

      “And СКАЧАТЬ