Page 69 of Mistress of Lies

“He’s in the parlor, my lord. He would not be dissuaded,” Jacobs said, and the thinness of his lips showed how he felt about that. Arriving here without an invitation, without even a title or the power of Blood Working to lean on, and then insisting on waiting. It was the height of impropriety.

Samuel smiled, slightly, at Jacobs’ loyalty and devotion to order. It had only been a few weeks since he had begun living there, but already Jacobs had started to feel like a staple in his life, there in the background, always ready to help. They were starting to get a feel for each other, and even a grudging kind of respect.

“It’s all right, I’ll see him.”

“As you say, my lord.” Jacobs bowed again. “Should I send for anything?”

Samuel glanced at the clock—it was already well past dinner, and he didn’t have a damned clue what the appropriate thing to offer was. “Uh, what do you recommend?”

Jacobs chuckled, a little surprised, but if he was judging him he did a good job hiding it. “At this time? Brandy, whisky, the hard liquors.”

“Right. That would be great.”

“There are some in the parlor,” Jacobs offered, kindly. Then he stepped forward, adjusting Samuel’s cravat and smoothing down his jacket. He shot an exasperated look at the state of Samuel’s hair, but there was nothing to be done about that. “There, you’re ready.”

Samuel nodded. “Thank you, Jacobs.” Jacobs patted him kindly on the shoulder, and Samuel pressed past him towards the parlor.

Anton was facing away from him when he entered, already searching through the previously untouched cabinet of alcohol that had come with the townhouse. Well, at least that made this easier—he didn’t have to pretend he knew which liquor was which.

“Close the door,” Anton said, without looking at him. He was very focused on pouring his drink. “I don’t want us overheard.”

Samuel considered rebelling just for the hell of it. Anton did barge in on him, after all, and he’d had a very long day. But his better judgement won out. If he was here on Shan’s orders, privacy would not just be wise, but necessary. He closed the door and locked it for good measure.

“I was just at your townhouse, you know.”

“And I said I don’t want to be overheard,” Anton said, turning around. “All of the servants are in Shan’s pocket. It’s not safe there.”

Samuel couldn’t help staring. There was so much of his sister in him. From the fall of his hair to the tone of his skin. Their eyes, their cheekbones, the curve of his smile. Even the way he carried himself. It was a strange reflection of Shan, and Samuel couldn’t look away.

“Easy there,” Anton said, at last breaking the silence. “I’m spoken for.”

He flushed. It wasn’t that Anton was unattractive—his attractiveness was an objective fact—but this was Shan’s brother. “I didn’t—it wasn’t like that.”

“Ah, I see.” Anton gestured to his face. “You see her in me, don’t you? Funny how that works, being twins and all.”

“You do share some similarities,” Samuel admitted.

Anton snorted. “Trust me, it’s all in the looks. Aside from that, my sister and I are like night and day.” There was bitterness in his voice, and he downed his drink in one gulp. Turning back to the liquor cabinet, he said, “You have a great collection.”

“I’m glad you enjoy it. But why are you here?”

“Well, I’m hoping you can give me some answers, Aberforth.” Anton sipped his drink this time, his dark eyes watching him closely. “About some of the schemes my sister is planning.”

Samuel tensed. “Why would I have that kind of information?”

“I might not know all that my sister does,” Anton said coolly. “And I might be privy to more of her mind than most, but I know that she still conceals as much as she can from me for my own protection.” He clenched his glass so tightly that Samuel feared it was going to shatter in his hand. “But don’t you think me a fool, Samuel Aberforth,” he whispered, stalking closer, and Samuel felt suddenly like prey.

Perhaps he wasn’t as different from his sister as he thought.

“I don’t know why you would think I would know any more,” Samuel repeated. “I am just one of her many pawns.”

“Are you playing with me?” Anton snapped. “Or are you that foolish? I know the two of you are involved.”

Samuel could feel the burn of blood in his cheeks, and he knew that his skin was stained red. “We are not!”

Anton studied him closely. “I didn’t mean it like that, though clearly you’d like to be. Interesting.”

Turning away, Samuel suddenly understood the desire for a drink. He couldn’t, obviously, but something about Antonin LeClaire made him wish he could indulge. “We are associates, nothing more.”