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Catching his cousin’s worried gaze, he nodded. “Explain.”
“It happened three days after you left. Started in the library, suspiciously enough.”
“What started in the library? You’re talking in riddles. And I’m up to my ass in bloody riddles.”
“A fire, Aidan. No one knows how it started, though I have my guesses. Guesses I thought it best to keep to myself when people started asking questions. The place went up like a damned box of tinder. Destroyed everything. There’s a bit of one wall left standing. A few charred chimneys. That’s about it.”
Aidan swallowed back the choking knot of rage. “How many perished?”
“None, thank the gods. They all got out. I’d been caught up in a night of gaming with some friends. Won more than I lost so I stayed later than usual. Didn’t make it home until almost four. Arrived to find the place engulfed in smoke and the fire spreading fast. If I hadn’t—” he let that thought trail off into awkward silence.
“The uncanny O’Gara luck at play?”
Jack shrugged. “Not so lucky for you.”
He thought of the drain on his bank accounts to maintain a town house he rarely visited, the stifling atmosphere of Dublin society where the name Kilronan had become synonymous with bizarre and outrageous half-believed tales of murder, sedition, and financial ruin. By now even Miss Osborne must have decamped for greener pastures.
It was his turn to shrug.
“No one knew where you’d hared off to,” Jack continued. “I started a story about an unplanned trip to visit your Lancashire estates. Then we hired a chaise and headed here. Figured you’d show up sooner or later. We’ve been kicking our heels for weeks, unsure whether you were alive or if that creature Lazarus had tracked you down after torching your house.”
“We?”
Jack cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I was concerned, you see. And she’d been such a help already.”
Aidan didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. “You didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t bring her here.”
“Don’t get your breeches in a twist, Miss Roseingrave’s not here anymore.”
The long face accompanying this statement revealed more about the relationship between Jack and his Amhas-draoi paramour than Aidan cared to know.
“She’s been called away. A messenger arrived a few days ago with a letter and off she went with nary a backward glance.”
“Poor Jack, his lady bird’s flown the coop. Was it you or the diary she decided wasn’t worth the effort?”
“Very funny, but if it’s as Cat said, you may be thankful of Helena’s help. Tell me the gods’ honest truth. Did you really”—Jack shook his head in disbelief—“summon—”
“Yes, Jack. Yes. I summoned an Unseelie. Let it take me over. Almost died. Still feel a jagged piece of it within me.” He pulled a cheroot from his pocket. Lit it with an unsteady hand, singeing his fingers on the candle flame. Inhaled, the smoke filling his lungs. Easing the cramps within a chest squeezed beneath a stoning weight. “And what did I accomplish with this selfless act of heroism? Not a damned bloody thing!”
Disgusted, he tossed the cheroot on the fire. “Cat informs me that she’s seen the monster. Seen him and allowed him to creep away with hi
s tail between his legs. And what happens when he returns, because he will return? Do I summon another Unseelie? Perhaps this one will succeed where the last failed. Do I hand over the diary and pray Lazarus doesn’t rip my head off just for fun?” His hand drummed frantically against his thigh as he stalked the room. His mind a torrent. “What the hell would you have me do?” Falling into a chair, he raised his gaze heavenward. “What the hell does she want from me, Jack?”
A long pause followed before Jack answered, “Did we change conversations?” His voice sounded on a confused note. “I thought we were speaking of the Domnuathi and your continued survival. What’s Miss O’Connell got to do with it?”
Aidan shut his eyes against the remembered glare of loathing in Cat’s eyes, her expression like a punch to his gut. “I’ve lost her, Jack.”
“Why do I feel as if I’ve come to the play after the intermission and left my damned program in the retiring room?” His cousin’s response was typical Jack and almost brought a smile to Aidan’s lips.
Almost.
Cat measured the perimeter of her chamber. Thirty steps by forty-four. The same as when she’d calculated it an hour ago. And the hour before that.
Sunlight moved across the floor in wavering lines. Climbed the papered walls. Slid over the needlepoint coverlet. Shone against the dark woodwork.
She plotted. Pistols? Too dispassionate.
Clouds moved in from the west. Rain followed. A slow, drizzly mist adding a moldy dankness to the chilly air. Depressing an already depressed mood.
