An Unexpected Peril (Veronica Speedwell, #6)

by Deanna Raybourn

Stoker was never happier than when imparting information, whether one asked for it or not. This, I had observed frequently upon my travels, is common in the male of the species.

Lady C.’s expression was one she did not often adopt, but it was sternly effective. She could not bear hypocrisy, and the notion that Stoker should be ostracized for divorce when almost every member of refined society was cheerfully committing adultery was one she found enraging.

There is nothing in natural history that is not new again every time we encounter it, no greater mystery than things that exist apart from man and with no interest in us.”

“Grandmama,” the younger woman said, but she was grinning outright and I smiled. “Gravity comes for us all in the end,” I remarked. The older woman gave a bark of laughter as she eyed my own décolletage. “Mind you enjoy those whilst you can. Make the most of them before they make their descent.” “I will,” I promised her. She gave me another nod and rolled herself away, but her granddaughter lingered.

“I mean to be a tremendously outrageous old woman in due course and I might learn a thing or two from her.”

“No, but we can. We simply need to make quite certain that Sir Hugo knows what we are about so that—” “So that when we provoke an international incident, he will be ready with the cavalry to ride to our rescue?”

I had won her over by giving her the perfect recipe for dosing her despised brother with a rhubarb concoction that would see him heaving up his guts, but the ensuing punishment from her father had swiftly put an end to our accord. Given her slightly alarming tendency towards physical violence, Lady Rose was not an enemy I cared to provoke.

railed against her. “Sent down,” I said briskly. “Again? Did she try to burn this school down as well?” “No,” I told him. “The headmistress.” Stoker blinked. “She tried to burn down her headmistress?”

His mouth curved into a smile. “Replaced by a hound,” he said lightly. But the smile did not reach his eyes, and when he turned to go, I did not stop him.

Instead, he took the fingertip in his mouth, giving it a gentle suck. A jolt of a most arresting sensation coursed through me, so much so that I was entirely incapable of speech.

I said nothing. I stepped closer, lifting my face to his as I applied a caress to a specific and wholly enthralling portion of his anatomy to assess its readiness.

“We will be discovered,” he protested. “Will we?” I breathed, trailing a kiss from his earlobe down his neck. “How very dangerous.”

“I was abusing Lady C. Your response to that ought to be one of undiluted support for my position.” “I was friends with Lady C. before you and I were ever acquainted,”

“That was different.” My cheeks were hot, beating with blood. “That was when I thought you cared about innocent victims and righting injustices.” “Or,” he said slowly, “was it when there was a possibility we might be discovered and you found yourself excited by the danger of it?”

The remedy, I had found, was movement. To hurl one’s few possessions into a carpetbag and embark for a new adventure was the only solace. To leave behind one’s woes in a damp and fogbound land, awaking in brilliant sunshine, the air heavy with spices and the promise of fresh endeavors, this was true happiness. A train bound for anywhere, a ship unfurling its sails for some new shore.

Was I always to be biting my tongue, squelching my most intrepid impulses in the name of keeping the peace? Was he? It was a chilling thought and one I rebelled against instantly.

“No, but our relationship is one of an intimate nature. Such things can be coercive upon the weaker sex,” I said demurely. “Weaker?” He choked

“My dear Veronica, any person who would consider you an exemplar of any variety of weakness wants his head examined.” “That is very kind of you to say, I am sure,” I replied, “but the fact remains that I am not entirely comfortable with the promise I made to leave this investigation alone.”

“My old nanny has a boardinghouse in Brighton that is fitted with an electric generator because she blackmailed my father into giving her half of my mother’s jewels.” I blinked at him. “She what?” He picked up his teacup again. “That is a tale for another time.”

Stoker and I continued to stare blankly at the Alpenwalders. “Perhaps if we said it louder,” the baroness suggested. The chancellor grunted in agreement. “THE PRINCESS,” he thundered, “CANNOT BE FOUND.”

“Fraulein Speedwell has consented.” “But I have not,” Stoker returned, baring his teeth.

“Mr. Templeton-Vane will not duel you.”

“I rather like the idea,” Stoker protested. “I know you do, and you really ought to examine that, but now is not the time,”

It was only in a moment of tender intimacy that he had admitted to wearing it because it was the one possession he had that I had also owned, and in the darkest days, when he dared not hope I would return his love, it was his consolation.

“I have no wish to play games with you.” “I am not the one you are attempting to deceive,” he said. “Deceive!”

Julien shrugged. “Because French is so much more elegant on the tongue, and it reminds Veronica that I am, unlike you, a cultured and sophisticated man. Now, do you want one or not?” he asked, pointing to the tray of crowns.

“You mean you were unsuccessful in luring her to your bed?” I asked. “One of my few failures,” he said with a mournful expression. “She thinks I am too fancy, too French. She likes plain words and plain deeds and I am not a plain man. She would be just the woman for you, my friend,” he added with a laugh at Stoker.

“We have a saying in the Alpenwald, Fraulein. Plans are jokes written by men for God’s amusement.” “That is hardly reassuring,” I told her. “It sounds better in German.”

“I cannot eat,” I told him coldly. “I cannot bend. I cannot breathe. In short, I cannot do anything for which the human body is fashioned. I am an automaton for the evening, a doll, dressed and polished for your amusement.”

“Veronica, why is there a nude sketch of you in Alice Baker-Greene’s notebook?” “Because that is not me,” I told him. “It is Princess Gisela.”

“And your idea of how to change that is to gamble and disport yourself with disreputable people?” He turned to Stoker. “Does she always speak so plainly?” Stoker shrugged. “No. In fact, she is being rather polite just now. You are quite fortunate she has not told you what she really thinks.”

“Oh, he is. We mean to marry in the spring. We shall name our first child after you if it is a boy. Or a girl. Revelstokia.”

This was Her Imperial Majesty, the Dowager Empress of Germany, Princess Royal of Great Britain. And my aunt Vicky.

A footman stepped forward, blushing for his tardiness at not announcing the newcomer as soon as he arrived. “His Royal Highness,” the footman proclaimed. “The Prince of Wales.”

“Please, ma’am. I do not want to meet him at all. Not like this.” She considered me a long moment. “Very well. Give me ten minutes. I will make your excuses and say you are unwell. Your carriages and entourage will be waiting for you out front.”

Her thin smile was once more in evidence. “That is the advantage of being an empress, my dear. I do not have to tell them anything at all.”

“She is a nasty little blackmailer.” “Your opinion of your sex is chilling,” Stoker said.

I went and opened it, expecting to find the usual odds and ends that accumulate during travel. Instead, I reared back in horror as I saw the face of a man staring up at me. “What is

“But surely the baroness of all people would not—” Stoker began. “Oh, but she did,” said a voice from the doorway. The baroness stood there, a small pistol in her hand, leveled at Stoker’s heart. “Not again,” I muttered.

He settled me as gently as he could, curving his body around mine with such innate sweetness, I might have wept under other circumstances.

“I certainly hope you do not mean to suggest this is my fault,” I began. “Suggest? No, I am stating it outright,” he told me. “I am saying it plainly. If you like, I will have it printed on the front page of the Daily Harbinger or spelt out in electric lights in Piccadilly Circus or tattooed on my backside—which, I would like to remind you, is in fact naked at this moment.”

offer me no willing succor. “I am sorry,” I said softly. “You are quite right. I did fling myself headlong into this endeavor without ever believing the consequences would come to this. And I did so knowing that you would follow. As you always do.” “More fool me,” he said into the darkness.

“Ennui.”

“How, I implore you, could any woman be bored with you? You are changeable as the weather, Revelstoke Templeton-Vane. I could no more predict your moods than I could those of a volcano. I wake each day never knowing if I will find you wreathed in smiles or taking

out your grievances on a stuffed walrus. You are the least boring man ever fashioned by Nature.”

“Do not dare,” I hissed, thrusting a pointed finger between his ribs. “Do not even think of proposing marriage to me under these circumstances.” “Then under which?” he asked, his voice lit with sudden hopefulness.

“Or is there another term for it when you kill a princess and not a king?” The sailors began to shift uneasily. “You killed a princess? That is not on. You said you had to toss these two overboard because he”—the sailor holding my arms jerked his head towards Stoker—“inflicted himself barbarously upon your daughter. But she don’t seem too ill-used to me.”

“Also, I should like to point out, I am not a rapist,” Stoker said in tones of hectic outrage. “That is true,” I agreed. “I can vouch for his character.”

“Ye’ve lied to us and tried to set us against this fellow and his lady. We’ll not harm a hair on his head, no matter how much you pay. He is one of our own.”

“You understand nothing,” she told me. “On the contrary,” I said. “I understand everything.”