A Dangerous Collaboration (Veronica Speedwell #4)(58)

I knew that tone. He was playing games as only Tiberius knew how. But I knew a game or two of my own, and I answered him in the same cool voice. “Your ulterior purposes have purposes, my lord. And I mean to find them out.”

“Is that a threat, my dear Miss Speedwell?”

“It is a warning,” I told him. I rose to take my leave. I opened the door and nearly fell over Stoker, his hand raised as if to knock.

His expression of shock was one I shall remember all of my life, and it was compounded as he studied me from tumbled hair to disarranged robe and bare feet peeping out from my hem. He looked past me to his brother, who lounged lazily in the armchair by the fire, and it was painfully obvious what conclusions he was drawing.

“Stoker—” I began.

He gave me a smile that was icily polite as he held up a hand. “Silence, if you please, Veronica. This is between Tiberius and myself.”

He stepped sharply around me, gave me a gentle push onto the stairs, and closed the door behind me. If his preternatural calm had not alarmed me, the sound of the bolt shooting home would have done it.





        CHAPTER





12


I dared not knock; such noise might rouse the household. But neither could I retire to my room without knowing precisely what sort of damage the Templeton-Vanes were inflicting upon one another. Stoker had the advantage of inches and weight, but the viscount was older and frequently armed. I wrapped my nightdress about my legs and seated myself on the stone step, awaiting the outcome. I harbored no illusion they were fighting over me. I might have provided the spark, but the tinder was old and dry. This battle had been brewing from the cradle, and—truth be told—I was rather glad they were finally getting on with it.

Few sounds penetrated the stout oak door. I heard breaking glass and a long groan—whose I could not have guessed. This was followed by the sound of splintering wood and an odd gurgling noise, as if someone were being strangled with the belt of his dressing gown, I decided.

At long last, silence reigned, and I rose, shaking out the folds of my nightdress. I knocked softly upon the door, and after an impossibly long time, it was answered. Stoker sat upon the hearth, covered in ashes and broken glass with a small knife stuck into his arm, while Tiberius attempted to staunch the flow of blood from his nose. One of his eyes was swollen nearly shut, and his left arm dangled at his side.

“I believe you have suffered a dislocation,” I pointed out helpfully.

“Nothing he hasn’t done to me before,” Tiberius returned with a lowering glare at his brother.

“I told you I would remedy it,” Stoker rasped. He rolled onto all fours and levered himself up after a moment, staggering only a little. Without preamble, he grasped his brother by the neck and waist and slammed his lordship’s shoulder into the bedpost, setting the joint neatly back into its socket with a growl from the viscount.

“Now, what about this?” Stoker demanded, gesturing towards the knife still quivering in his arm.

“The merest scratch,” the viscount assured him. “That knife is hardly more than a child’s toy.”

Stoker curled his lip as he tightened his fist, but before he could lay hands on his brother again, I grasped the knife by the handle and jerked it free. Stoker smothered a howl of pain, and I saw Tiberius’ eyes light with pleasure.

“Do it again. I like it when he screams.”

“Mind your manners or I will use it on both of you,” I warned them.

“How you do tempt me,” Tiberius murmured.

“Is there no end to your flirtations?” I demanded.

“Where you are concerned, never,” he assured me.

I wiped the knife blade clean upon Tiberius’ dressing gown. “I am keeping this,” I told him as I slipped it into my pocket. “I cannot trust that you won’t hit something vital the next time.”

“My dear Veronica, if I meant to wound him properly, I would have.”

“You did not have to stab him,” I pointed out.

“Of course I did,” Tiberius returned patiently. “It is a widely known fact that the mentally defective are impervious to all but the sharpest pain.”

“Oh, for the love of Christ and all his pretty angels,” Stoker began, but I put up a hand.

“Enough! I am glad the two of you have indulged in your little brawl. There is nothing like a healthy bout of coitus or fisticuffs to drain the tension out of a man. But the time to quarrel is finished. We ought to talk about the results of the séance tonight.”

Tiberius made a gesture of dismissal. “A bit of mischief, nothing more.”

“I am not certain,” I replied. “Helen Romilly seems genuinely distressed, as does Mrs. Trengrouse.”

“Of course she does,” Tiberius shot back. “She is the one responsible for keeping Helen away from the brandy snifter.”

“Not very gallant,” I reproved. “But you raise an excellent point, Tiberius. Helen seems quite upset for someone who ought to be accustomed to such things. She saw me in my nightdress and nearly levitated with fright.”

Tiberius stirred. “Did you make yourself known to her?”

“I suppose I ought to have done so, but I was afraid if I spoke she might shriek down the house or fall into a fit of hysterics. It was all most curious.”