The Duchess War (Brothers Sinister #1)(33)

“I hate it when you two do that,” Robert groused, which was a lie. He usually loved it when they spoke like that, Violet’s thoughts piling on top of Sebastian’s, making an ungainly heap of the conversation. Now, though, it was going to prove inconvenient. He had to get rid of them before they said something dreadful.

Violet looked up. “Well, I’m sorry, Robert. You may not borrow my maid.”

“But—”

“But,” she said, brushing her hands together briskly, “I will be happy to accompany you myself.”

Robert swallowed. He tried to imagine carrying on a conversation with Miss Pursling while the Countess of Cambury looked on with avid interest.

“Second class,” Sebastian said. “I’ve never ridden second-class. This is going to be fun.”

Robert coughed heavily into his hand. “No, not both of you. Definitely not both of you.”

“You need both of us,” Sebastian said. “There are four seats. If you take Violet on her own, someone else might come and sit in the car with you. There are four seats. Surely you wouldn’t want all opportunity for conversation quashed.”

“But—”

“You know me,” Sebastian said. “I’m the soul of discretion.”

“No, you’re not. You are exactly the opposite.”

Sebastian grinned. “I’m the soul of only teasing you about things when nobody else is around to hear me. And besides, if you don’t sit with this mysterious woman, I’ll go join her myself. I believe I saw where she was.”

He was doomed. It would almost be better to simply walk away and not speak to her at all. But…

He glanced back at her car. She was staring out the window away from the station, her fingers pressed to the glass. She wasn’t contemplating anyone; she was looking into the distance, away from the high columns of the station, as if what she yearned for was far off.

“Don’t say anything embarrassing,” he said.

“Me?” Sebastian said. “It would be counterproductive to do so. I’m no student of human behavior, but as a scientific matter, noninterference is necessary in order to properly observe the primitive mating rituals of—”

Oh, God. This was going to be awful. He should never have said a word.

“I mean it,” Robert said. “If you two come, I don’t want to hear a peep out of you. Not one word the entire trip.”

“Really,” Violet said, “you know you can trust me to be circumspect.”

“I’m not worried about you,” Robert said, which was true in the relative sense. “Sebastian?”

“You can rest assured that I will not break my vow of silence until you have given me leave to do so, lest I lose my immortal soul.”

A less grandiloquent promise would have inspired more trust. Particularly since Sebastian refused to admit whether he believed in an immortal soul. Still, Robert bowed his head and hoped—fervently—that this would not turn out as badly as he feared.

THE CONDUCTOR WAS CALLING FOR ALL TO BOARD the train leaving out of Euston Square, and Minnie had hidden herself in the second-class car. The cars were almost empty, and she had her cloak drawn up to her cover her face. A look of firm disapproval usually sent any would-be traveling companions scampering for the next compartment over.

So when the door handle rattled, she fixed a grim, uninviting expression on her face. The hinges squeaked; the door swung in, and a woman stepped into the compartment.

Not just a woman; a lady. She was dressed in the dark gray of half-mourning, ribbons and bows flirting with a lavender so pale it was almost colorless. Minnie didn’t need to see the seed pearls lining her cuffs to know that this woman was wealthy and important. She’d have guessed it from the careful tucks and frills of the gown, the fabric that billowed out in careless excess, the fit of a gown that could only have been perfected through countless visits from a modiste.

What was a woman like that doing back here in the second-class cars?

Her eyebrows were drawn down; she rapped the bench across from Minnie lightly, as if to ascertain that it was indeed as hard as it appeared. Then she shrugged prosaically.

Before she could look at Minnie, a man—a gentleman, by the look of him, trousers pressed and creased, red waistcoat covered by a long traveling coat—ducked his head in. “Cobber’s lost the truck again,” he said. “And Matilda says the porter insists on loading your second crate on bottom, no matter what the markings say.”

“Oh, hell,” the woman said.

The man didn’t blink at the profanity. He simply stood aside and let her sweep out the door.

Oddly enough, that gentleman—dark-haired and dark-eyed—looked at Minnie. It was probably too late to drive these people away, whoever they were, but she glared at him anyway.

In return, he winked at her.

“The first-class cars are there.” She gestured.

He shrugged, tossed his heavy coat on another seat, and then followed after the woman.

So she was to have companions after all—and odd ones, at that.

The door rattled again. She looked up, expecting to see her strange companions—but no. Her heart dropped. Her hands burst into flame.

“Miss Pursling,” the Duke of Clermont said. “How absolutely lovely to see you.”