“It damn well fucking does,” said Wesley. “She’s also a direct descendant of the fifteenth-century Duke of Valemount. Perhaps she’s here to spy on behalf of her uncle. Or perhaps we’ve had the wrong Valemount all this time, because it might interest you that Lady Nora has a well-known penchant for traveling. After she lost her father, she’s been almost exclusively abroad. Mesopotamia. Egypt.Morocco.”
Sebastian’s eyebrows went up. “Gwen and Ellis think Hyde’s disappearance might lead to Tangier.”
Wesley spread his hands. “Maybe it’s just another coincidence,” he said dryly.
Sebastian frowned, watching Lady Nora out of the corner of his eye. “You know a lot about her.”
“Knowis too strong a word, but we’ve met. My third cousin Lady Tabitha tried to match us once, right after the war,” Wesley said wryly. “I think Lady Nora was even less interested in me than I was in her.” He cleared his throat again. “And look.”
A tall man with a walking stick was joining Lady Nora. He seemed older than her, perhaps, although he had a full beard and thick glasses like Rory’s that made his age hard to place. He was sedately dressed in unremarkable black tie and wore a bowler hat, even indoors.
Lady Nora seemed to know the man well, conversing with him quietly as they began to walk through the corridor between tables to the arched entrance to the saloon. Sebastian kept his gaze forward as they approached in his peripheral vision, two rows of tables over. “You don’t know her companion?”
“I do not,” Wesley said. “There is, perhaps, something familiar about him, so I suppose it’s possible we’ve attended the same event at some point or another. But I don’t know who he is, and I’m now wondering quite fervently if either he or Lady Nora could be a paranormal.”
If Sebastian had had his magic, he could have reached out with it right then. He would know instantly whether they had auras, which would weaken under his magic and send them tumbling to the ground—or if they had magic, which would be neutralized under his enervation.
Before he’d realized he was going to do it, Sebastian was reaching for his magic, anticipating the rush that had been with him for almost twenty years, the stampede of wild horses charging through him.
But there was nothing.
The stable was empty; his magic was gone.
Sebastian’s shoulders dropped. It hurt more this time, like reaching for a lover and finding an empty bed because they’d left you in your sleep.
He reached for his water with an unsteady hand, trying to keep the loss off his face as Lady Nora and her companion continued past their table without pause.
Wesley’s gaze was on Lady Nora and the man. “He’s got a pipe pouch in his jacket pocket; you can see the outline.” He touched his own jacket, right over his heart, rubbing his hand across his chest distractedly. “The first-class smoking room is on A-deck. A man with a pipe might reasonably be found in there after dinner.”
Sebastian nodded.
This was also a British ship, not an American one, which meant the smoking room would have drinks.Sebastian wasn’t a paranormal anymore—there was nothing stopping him from matching Wesley’s whiskeys, if he wanted. It was time to stop believing there could still be a chance of his magic activating. Time to stop lying to himself.
“Guess that’s where we should go next,” Sebastian said, and tried to pretend his heart didn’t hurt.
Chapter Seven
The smoking room was paneled in dark mahogany, the wall’s carvings accented with mother-of-pearl under an intricate ceiling. There were several card tables, and club chairs upholstered in burgundy leather. Attendants in black tie flitted about the space, serving drinks and bringing cigars.
Wesley picked a pair of chairs in a deep corner, where they could watch the room and the door. Sebastian had seemed a bit subdued during dinner, even declining dessert despite his fondness for sweets. Being off food might have been expected if Wesley’s dining companion had been Rory Brodigan, but the seas were calm and Sebastian didn’t suffer from seasickness. Wesley thought they had put the issue of reputation to rest; maybe once they were alone again, he could tease out whatever was eating at Sebastian.
An attendant came by with a box of cigars. “Drinks, gentleman?” he said, offering Wesley the box.
Wesley grabbed a cigar at random. “Whiskey neat.”
“Same,” Sebastian said, shaking his head at the cigars.
Wesley carefully kept his face blank. No one ever owed him or anyone else an explanation for why theywere or weren’t drinking. But Sebastian’s abstention had seemed like it might be due to a lingering hope that his magic was still around.
Maybe Sebastian had given up even that.
Wesley didn’t comment on it. Nor did he comment on the second whiskey, as they chatted together in the corner of the smoking room and watched for Lady Nora or her male companion to enter. The whiskey was strong and the pours generous; Wesley would need to pace himself if he wanted to keep his head.
So when Sebastian not only ordered a third, but made his a double, Wesley cleared his throat. “You’re sure that’s what you want?”
“Why?” The smoking room was dim, but Sebastian’s eyes were shiny enough already to reflect the low lights, and there was more color in his cheeks than usual.
“Just thinking of the last time you drank two whiskies,” Wesley said nonchalantly. “Perhaps you don’t recall? You passed out on the floor of Shepherd Hall and I had to put you to bed.”
