Page 44 of Rules for Ruin

Effie joined Miss Compton at the shelf. She didn’t have to feign interest. Old books were a subject of fascination to her. “May I?” she asked.

Miss Compton granted her permission with a flick of her white hand. “If you wish.”

Effie carefully extracted one of the tall books from the shelf. The medieval binding was sewn on with some manner of cord. It was infinitely fragile in her hand as she opened it. The book’s thin vellum pages were equally fragile—as delicate as butterfly wings. She handled them with care, turning to the book’s first page. It contained a small illumination. Time had faded it, but the image of a man, a snake, a raven, and a lion was still discernable. The illustration was surrounded by handwritten text.

Effie had been taught enough Latin at the Academy to decipher some of the words. “It’s a translation of Aristotle’s Historia Animalium.”

Miss Compton lifted her brows. “I wouldn’t know.”

Effie turned another dry page and another, examining the images and the words. A faint fragrance stirred from within the bindings. The smell of ash, smoke, and leather. And something else.

It was a scent Effie knew, but couldn’t seem to recall. A trace of dusky floral intrigue, edged with the unmistakable sweetness of decay.

“Where did your father find such treasures?” Effie asked.

Miss Compton was occupied in smoothing her skirts. She cast the book a disinterested glance. “They’ve been in our family for generations.”

“Hmm.” Closing the book, Effie slowly returned it to the shelf. Whatever the fragrance was that had tugged at her memory, it was of little consequence at present. She had a more important mystery to solve. “I’m astonished your father doesn’t keep them in his study,” she said, “as precious as they are.”

“It would hardly be convenient for guests to view them there,” Miss Compton replied as though Effie were a half-wit.

“Oh?” Effie gave her young hostess a suitably guileless look. “Is his study so far removed from the rest of the house?”

“It’s adjacent to his bedchamber.” Miss Compton moved toward the door with sharp impatience. “If you’re quite finished?”

Effie’s mouth curved into a slow smile. “Not quite. But don’t worry. I shan’t keep you any longer.” She followed Miss Compton into the hall.

Miss Compton looked back at her with grudging civility. “If those old books truly interest you, you may come again another day. My father wouldn’t mind it, and I daresay you and I will be seeing more of each other during the season. The connection is scarcely avoidable.”

Effie registered the insult, but took no offense from it. She must have a reason to return here, and no number of balls or dinners would ever provide sufficient enough excuse. For that, she needed to cultivate an acquaintance with Compton’s daughter. “I should like that very much,” she replied.

She and Miss Compton returned to the salon. By that time, the gentlemen had joined the ladies, along with dozens of other guests who had come expressly to hear the music.

Effie didn’t see Gabriel in the crowd. Nor could she find Lord Haverford. She presumed they had already taken themselves off to have their discussion about St. Giles.

That was one problem dealt with.

She accompanied Lady Belwood to the drawing room for the musical portion of the evening. Best to keep near her hostess for this part. It was less risk than sitting with Miss Whitbread or Lady Lavinia, either of whom might take undue notice when Effie slipped away.

The Comptons’ large, Japanese silk–papered drawing room had been transformed for the event. The doors between it and the connecting room had been thrown open, making one enormous, high-ceilinged space. Row upon row of upholstered chairs were arrayed around a makeshift stage on which stood a piano and a harp. Two footmen at the entrance of the room distributed printed programs to each of the guests as they entered.

Effie urged Lady Belwood to a pair of straight-backed chairs near the exit.

“So far from the stage,” Lady Belwood said. “Should we not sit closer?”

“No indeed,” Effie replied, taking her seat. “These chairs are perfect.”

Lady Belwood appeared doubtful, but she didn’t argue. Sitting down beside Effie, she opened her program. “Oh, look! Miss Compton is singing ‘Com’è bello! Quale incanto.’ ”

“How delightful.” Effie opened her own program, perusing the order of pieces to be performed. Four young ladies were preceding Miss Compton with lighter works, and several more would come after her, singing both classical and popular pieces in solos and duets.

Glancing up from her program, Effie scanned the crowd for Lord Compton. She found him by the door on the opposite side of the room. He appeared just as solemn and respectable as on the previous occasions they’d met. There was no sign of the monster lurking within. Except…

Except that earlier, when he’d come to greet his daughter in the salon, he’d given Effie the same variety of ominous, glittering look he’d bestowed on her at the ball and at Hatchards. A look that only seemed to increase in heat each time Effie crossed his path.

Whatever else he was hiding, Lord Compton couldn’t hide he was attracted to her.

It wasn’t a crime in and of itself. Still, it was something.