For with Sebastian, there could be no middle ground. He would have all of her or nothing. Even now, Clara knew the truth of it.
Dawn broke, red as old roses fading into the grayish blue sky. The sounds of the world filtered into the drawing room—the rattle of a carriage on the street, a boy hawking newspapers, the faint whistle of a bird. Sebastian scrubbed a hand over his roughened face, pulling himself from a brief, restless slumber. His eyes burned.
“Mr. Hall?” A footman paused in the doorway, bearing a silver tray. “A note arrived for you.”
Sebastian pushed himself upright as Giles crossed the room. He took the folded letter. His name spread across the front in a ribbonlike, feminine hand. Clara.
The footman straightened, slanting his gaze over Sebastian’s rumpled clothes and unshaven features. “Shall I draw you a bath, sir, or would you prefer to break your fast first?”
“Just bring me coffee, Giles.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sebastian put Clara’s letter on his lap and stared at it with the sense that it contained a message of great import.
Giles arrived with a tray and poured coffee. Although the footman didn’t speak, Sebastian was aware of his exasperation. In fact, he was growing accustomed to the faintly critical demeanor surrounding his brother’s staff.
He couldn’t blame them. Alexander had been so proper, even rigid, in the way he ran his household, his life. He always appeared for breakfast precisely at seven, clean-shaven, impeccably dressed. The staff’s schedule accorded with his predictable, daily habits.
Since Alexander and his wife left for St. Petersburg, Sebastian had come to live in his brother’s Mount Street town house. The staff was still adjusting to the rather radical change in routine.
So was Sebastian. He thought he’d want Alexander’s vast house to himself, but the bloody place was so magnificent, replete with plush furniture, velvet curtains, priceless paintings, that Sebastian felt like a blemish marring an expanse of flawless skin. And nothing here was his; these quarters were fit for royalty.
He grabbed the letter and broke open the seal. Bits of wax fell to his lap as he opened the page and read the short message:
Dear Mr. Hall,
I would like to request your presence at Blake’s Museum of Automata at three o’clock Thursday afternoon. There is a matter of some urgency I wish to discuss.
Yours truly,
Mrs. Clara Winter
A matter of some urgency…?
Could she have found the plans already? Was today Thursday?
He shook his head to clear his mind. Yes. He’d told Clara yesterday about the plans, so there was certainly time for her to have found them. But if she had, he knew a woman as clever as Clara would not relinquish them without expecting something in return. He suspected he would find out at three o’clock exactly what that something was.
Sebastian shoved away from the chair and went upstairs. He rang for a bath, then washed and dressed in a fawn-colored morning coat and silk cravat. As he headed back down for breakfast, the doorbell rang.
Waving the footman away, Sebastian went to answer it. A dark-haired man stood outside, his eyes keenly intelligent behind wire-rimmed glasses, his woolen greatcoat buttoned up to his neck.
Sebastian stared in astonishment at his brother Darius.
“Hello, Bastian.” Faint amusement crackled across Darius’s expression. “Are you going to invite me in or leave me standing here?”
Any other time, Sebastian would have greeted his brother with an embrace. Now, as he remembered the pain of recent months, followed by Darius’s implacable certainty that Sebastian would do as he requested—which proved to be the truth, owing to his new infirmity—anger bubbled into his throat.
“What are you doing here?”
“I arrived two days ago,” Darius said, his voice the cool blue of a lake undisturbed by waves. “I think it’s best if Rushton doesn’t yet know I’m here, so I’m staying at the Albion for the time being.”
Darius shed his greatcoat, then moved past Sebastian into the drawing room. With no other choice, Sebastian stalked after his brother.
“What are you doing here?” he repeated, closing the door behind them.
“I thought you’d have found the cipher machine plans by now.”
Sebastian twisted his neck to the side, tempted to tell Darius exactly what he could do with his blasted plans. “No.”
Darius’s penetrating gaze raked over him. Sebastian fought the urge to shift with discomfort, knowing well the assessments and conclusions locking together in his brother’s analytical mind.
To deflect that assessment, he asked, “Have you heard from Nicholas of late?”