The Lord and the Banshee (Read by Candlelight #13) - Gillian St. Kevern Page 0,2

your next closest descendant. Is Mr Leighton’s health in question?”

His throat tightened. “No. It was just a thought.”

Morley inclined his head. “Anything else, Lord Cross?”

He shook his head. “That’s all.”

Morley glanced out the window. “We appear to be approaching the next station. I shall leave you to the journey—oh, one last thing.” He took a paper-wrapped package from his briefcase and placed it on the seat beside Thomas. “The parcel you requested I remove from the safe.”

His neck clenched tight. Thomas swallowed with difficulty. “Thank you.”

Morley’s eyes rested on the package. Thomas had not altered his will in over a decade, and the cigar case had been stowed in the safe almost as long. He was too discreet to ask about either. “I’ll draw up the papers concerning the park and order a survey at once.” He picked up his briefcase. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Alone at last! Thomas exhaled. Short as the interview with his lawyer had been, he’d struggled to apply his attention to Morley’s words. He picked up the package.

The cold metal of the cigar case was tangible through the paper. Thomas ran his fingers over it, tracing the pattern on the lid. He could see the contents as clearly as he had the night Julian presented Pip and himself with a conundrum they’d yet to solve: the still beating heart of a fairy lord.

The package was heavy in his hands. According to Pip’s research, the heart might confer immortality. But fairy gifts always came at a terrible price.

What if the price of saving Pip was losing his love? Or worse—changing him beyond recognition? Thomas weighed the package. Pip would not die. He would not allow it. But this… It did not hurt to have a hidden ace.

The train stopped at Birmingham to refuel.

Julian was not waiting on the platform. Thomas walked up and down the platform, scanning the waiting passengers. As the porters loaded more and more luggage onto the train, a faint doubt entered his mind. Surely Julian wouldn’t ignore his summons?

Julian was no longer a child. He was a young man with very definite ideas about his freedom. The surest way to rile him was to tell him to do something. Thomas had a policy of avoiding anything that might sound like a demand. Julian seemed to appreciate his restraint. On the rare occasions he asked Julian to do something, his adopted son obeyed promptly.

Thomas turned to make another circuit of the platform, almost colliding with a dark-haired man wearing a plum coloured suit and an extravagant cravat better suited to a regency buck than a modern gentleman. He too scanned the platform. Not finding the person he sought, he stepped towards the train, smacking into Thomas.

It was only luck that he saw him in time to brace for the encounter. Thomas kept his feet and his hat. “I beg your pardon!”

The young man wheeled backwards. “Watch where you’re going, you old fool!”

Old fool? “The fault is yours, you impudent scamp.” Thomas thrust his walking stick towards the Regency relic. “Until you grow eyes in the back of your head, I recommend you look in the direction you intend to walk. Speaking of your vision, I suggest you consult an optometrist. Surely no man would choose to leave his house wearing so ridiculous an outfit.”

A man lowered his suitcase to listen to their altercation. Thomas glanced around. He saw more curious stares. The last thing he wanted. With a parting glare, Thomas left the man on the platform. He might have embarrassed himself, but he had this consolation: if Julian was in the station, he could not have failed to hear Thomas’s voice.

The train whistle sounded its unearthly cry. He heaved himself back onto the train with a grunt. He shuffled down the corridor towards his carriage with a sinking sensation. Julian was not coming.

As the train pulled out of the station, a thought occurred to him. Thomas opened the door, hailing the guard. “Was there an earlier train to Liverpool?”

The guard nodded. “Yes, sir. Two expresses and a local.”

“Thank you.” Cross made his way back to his reserved carriage. Probably Barnett had not specified the train when notifying Julian. He’d find Julian in Liverpool.

He opened the door to his carriage to discover a thin man with fine ash-blonde hair and country tweeds closing the train window.

Cross pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do not tell me you entered the train via the window.”

Julian glanced at him, clicking the window shut. “I wasn’t intending to