My Lord Immortality (Immortal Rogues #3)(14)

The pale features hardened at her words, and for a moment Amelia was sharply reminded of the faintly alien quality about him. It was in the elegant perfection of his countenance and the sinuous grace of his movements. He seemed somehow . . . above other gentlemen. As if there were more to him than the usual London dandies.

Thankfully unaware of her absurd thoughts, Mr. St. Ives held out his arm.

"We must speak of this, but not here. We will be more comfortable in the library."

Amelia found herself placing her hand upon his arm and allowing herself to be led from the room. Deep within her, she realized that it was certainly not proper to be alone with this man. A maiden never called upon a bachelor. Most especially when there did not even seem to be a servant about.

But neither did they sneak into homes or lie to Bow Street runners, she acknowledged wryly. It was rather too late to become missish at this point.

In silence they moved down the shadowed hall, and then with great care Mr. St. Ives turned her into a large, surprisingly cheerful library.

Consuming two floors, it possessed a lovely bay window and, far above on the ceiling, a fine rendering of Apollo pursuing Diana.

With a hint of bemusement, she regarded the towering shelves that were bulging with an enormous collection of leather bound books. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands. It seemed impossible to believe that any one man could ever work his way through such a vast number of tomes in an entire lifetime of study.

There was nothing neglected about this room, she acknowledged as she was settled onto one of the wide wing chairs. Everything was polished and gleamed with loving care. It was obvious Mr. St. Ives cared more for the privacy of his books than the more public rooms that remained shrouded in dust.

"Here you are."

With a blink, Amelia realized that her host was pressing a glass of amber liquid into her hand.

She slowly lifted her gaze to meet the simmering silver eyes.

"Brandy? Is it not rather early in the day?"

He gave a lift of one shoulder. "You are pale and clearly in need of something to settle your nerves. I believe brandy is the prescribed cure for such a malady."

Well, it could not hurt, Amelia acknowledged as she lifted the glass and took a cautious sip.

At first the smoky flavor filled her mouth and warmed her tongue in a rather pleasant manner; then, without warning, a fire blazed down her throat and hit her empty stomach with unexpected force.

"Ugh." With a grimace she pushed the glass back into his hand. "It is not much of a cure."

His lips twitched but he readily set aside the glass before settling upon the matching wing chair and regarding her with a steady gaze.

"Perhaps you will feel better if you tell me what the runner desired."

Folding her hands in her lap, Amelia sucked in a deep breath. "He came to me to warn that a young prostitute had been discovered murdered in the lane."

"You did not reveal that you had seen the body?" he demanded.

"Of course not." Her tongue peeked out to wet her dry lips. "But he said there had been a witness."

Mr. St. Ives abruptly stilled. "A witness? Who?"

Amelia discovered herself regarding her companion with a measure of surprise. There was an unmistakable edge of danger about him. A danger that was nearly tangible.

"Mr. Ryan said that it was a gentleman who was passing by the lane. He claimed to have seen a large man with dark hair with a woman. Then the runner asked to speak with William."

"I presume you refused?" he asked in rather distracted tones.

"Yes, I said William had been ill and in bed for the past few days."

Far from being shocked by her blatant lies, Mr. St. Ives gave an approving nod.

"That is well. I do not believe that William would comprehend a need for silence."

"No, but I do not think that Mr. Ryan was entirely convinced," she confessed with a worried frown. "I fear he is quite intent upon seeking out William to question him."

"A problem, certainly," he murmured.

Amelia's frown deepened. He appeared oddly preoccupied, as if he were barely attending to her words.

"What is it?"

His pale fingers tapped a restless tattoo on the arm of his chair. "It is odd."

"Odd?"

"This witness claims to have seen a man with dark hair and a woman?"

Amelia stifled a surge of impatience. "Yes."

"If it was your brother who the man observed, then who was the woman?" he demanded in low tones. "You did not find William until we were together. It is not possible that this witness could have seen you alone with your brother. So why did he lie?"

Chapter Four

Sebastian watched in silence as the young maiden pondered his words. It was obvious that she had been too rattled by the appearance of the runner to consider with clarity the claim of the witness. Now she ruthlessly gnawed her lower lip as her swift wits attempted to make sense of the insensible accusation.

A sharp, poignant desire to soothe her poor, mal-treated lip swept through Sebastian with shocking force.

He closed his eyes briefly. Perhaps ridiculously, he had hoped that the hours he had devoted to lecturing himself upon the danger of heedless passions would have rid him of the peculiar awareness that afflicted him when this maiden was near. Or at least allowed him to keep such tempting sensations at bay.