Courting Magic (Kat, Incorrigible #4)(3)

Under the weight of my glare, the red-haired man lowered his quizzing glass, but the annoying grin remained plastered to his face as he elbowed the young man beside him. The blond only shook his head, his face still flushed.

“If I may…?” Mr. Gregson sighed. “Miss Katherine Stephenson, may I introduce the Marquess of Lanham…” He nodded to the blond young man. “…And the Honorable George Packenham. Both Mr. Packenham and Lord Lanham come from families of long distinction in our Order.”

“An honor, ma’am,” said the blond Marquess. He managed to jerk a bow without looking at me, which I found impressive.

“A pleasure,” said Mr. Packenham, and gave me another smirkingly improper look as he bowed. It made me feel like a snail had slimed along my skin.

I gritted my teeth and swept as proper a curtsy as I could manage with the pin-studded muslin, pricking myself twice along the way. It didn’t improve my mood.

“If we could hurry?” I said. “I am expected back, you know.” As grateful as I was for the well-timed respite, the truth was, Elissa had begged for months for this tedious modiste’s appointment, and was paying a sizable bonus for it to be held at her own house rather than at the modiste’s shop. Worse yet, Madame Fontaine had already been forced to postpone her all-important visit three different times across the past two weeks. If I missed her when she finally did arrive, there would be no chance at all of having even one ballgown made in time for my début, no matter how much money my sisters threw at Madame Fontaine and her assistants.

And if Mr. Packenham didn’t stop looking at me as if I were wearing my nightclothes, I might be tempted to perform one of the nastier magic workings on him—which would be a very poor way to start my social début.

“Indeed,” Mr. Gregson agreed, “time is of the essence. I have a rather urgent mission, Katherine, regarding a rogue illusionist moving in good society. I hope that you and all three young gentlemen involved may be able to work together to effect it.”

“I can hardly wait…now,” said Mr. Packenham. He slid me a wink that made me want to punch him.

The Marquess stiffened until he looked as if he’d been carven out of aristocratic ice. Clearly, he didn’t share Mr. Packenham’s delight.

I looked around the Golden Hall, which was shining, vast and empty. “Three?” I said. “I only see two gentlemen.”

Mr. Packenham snorted. “That’s because there only are two gentlemen involved,” he said. “There may be one more fellow involved in this caper, but from what I’ve heard, I’d hardly call him a gentleman, eh, Lanham?”

The Marquess’s icy mask cracked as he opened his mouth as if to respond…then closed it again after a quick glance at Mr. Gregson.

Aha. The Marquess definitely agreed with his friend, but he wasn’t foolish enough to say so in front of the Head of our Order. In other words, Mr. Gregson had laid down the law to them both before I’d arrived.

The message didn’t seem to have sunk in with Mr. Packenham. “I certainly never expected to mix with the lower order in the Golden Hall, of all places. If m’mother knew, she’d throw a fit! But since this rascal’s somehow managed to weasel himself along—”

“Ahem.” Mr. Gregson coughed again. “In fact, we are deeply grateful for his assistance, as we could hardly complete our mission without it. But before I explain the details, I had better bring him here and perform official introductions.

“Or rather…” He nodded to me, his thin mouth easing into a half-smile. “I shall perform two introductions, but not three. I believe he and Miss Stephenson are already old friends.”

I frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

But Mr. Gregson had already blinked out of view.

Whoever this ‘rascal’ was, he clearly wasn’t a member of our Order, as he didn’t have a portal of his own to the Golden Hall. I couldn’t imagine that I would know him, either—Stepmama was as snobbish as a duchess, for all the good it did her—but at least, unlike the two male Guardians in the Hall with me, I wasn’t likely to swoon from the overpowering shock of coming into contact with someone from a lower class.

I waited impatiently for the next few moments, as the Marquess visibly did his best not to look at me, and Mr. Packenham did nothing but look me up and down. I could almost feel the time ticking away, like a scratching at my skin, as my sisters waited for me back in Elissa’s townhouse. My fingers tightened against my muslin skirts.

Of course, Mr. Packenham was the one who broke the silence. “I say.” He let out a snorting chortle. “Do you come here often?”

I gave him a look of utter disdain.

The Marquess cleared his throat, still without looking in my direction. “Miss Stephenson, perhaps…that is, the weather outside…your opinion…if you have one…?”

I always had an opinion.

But before the Marquess could tangle himself up even further, Mr. Gregson reappeared with his back turned to us, holding the arm of a young man whose well-worn brown coat strained across his broad shoulders. His back was turned, too, but it was only too easy to see why his invitation had created so much chaos in the stuffy Order. Not only was his ancient-looking coat made of an obviously inexpensive fabric, but his brown, wavy hair was—to be generous—only serviceably cut. It certainly hadn’t been arranged in the fashionable styles of either Mr. Packenham or the Marquess.