Tempted By the Night (4 page)

Her stomach rebelled, and she covered her mouth again to keep from embarrassing herself.

“Too much pudding,” India declared.

No, it was something else, she realized as her hand trembled anew. It was this demmed ring of Charlotte’s. There was something wrong with it. An edge of panic raced through her, and she tore off her glove and tugged at it.

But to no avail. Where before it had been loose on her finger, now it was stuck tight. No matter how hard she pulled.

She glanced up and found her friends staring at her. Gaping really, and immediately Hermione realized she was making a terrible cake of herself.

More so than usual, she was loathe to admit. “I think I need to go to the necessary.”

Thomasin nodded, and with India on the other side, her friends guided her toward the room set aside for ladies. “You might have taken too much sun this afternoon during the archery contest.”

“Or too much pudding,” India asserted.

Thomasin then laughed. “How unfortunate you can’t become invisible right now.”

India glanced over at her. “You aren’t helping.”

“No, think of it. We could blame your disgrace on Miss Burke and claim she’s had too much to drink.”

Hermione groaned. “Thomasin, you’ve spent far too much time thinking on this, haven’t you?”

The ladies’ retiring room had already cleared by the near-hysterical announcement that, “Lord Rockhurst. He’s here. At Almack’s,” so Hermione’s less-than-noble entrance and subsequent disgrace was only witnessed by India and Thomasin. And after her initial exchange with a chamber pot, they, too, left her alone to regain her composure.

Hermione glanced at a mirror, then closed her eyes at the pale image staring back at her. Oh, what was it about the man that whenever he came near her had her sick as a cat?

Minny, how do you think you could ever marry the man,
her sister Viola liked to tease,
if the very mention of him, let alone the sight of him, has you casting up your accounts?

And if she wasn’t certain her sister wouldn’t just tease her further, Hermione would have told Viola why.

And it wasn’t because Lord Rockhurst was so handsome. No, somehow, some way she knew there was a secret mystery about him that she, and she alone, was destined to share with him.

With one hand on her stomach and the other waving in her face, she took a few deep breaths.

Yes, that helps,
she thought as she opened her eyes and glanced over at the mirror. Her color was a trifle pale, but not so noticeable as to make her look sickly.

She glanced down at her gown and with a critical eye gauged it. Dear heavens, perhaps capucine wasn’t her signature color.

Oh, that was even more vexing, for now she would have to spend the next week searching for the right color for an entirely new wardrobe, let alone have to find a way to pay for it out of her already overspent allowance.

But surely Sebastian, who controlled the family purse strings in their father’s absence, wouldn’t be such a pinchpenny in these circumstances? He’d extend her the extra funds for such an emergency. Hadn’t he fallen in love with Charlotte the night she’d worn the perfect blue velvet opera dress?

That was all she needed. The right dress.

Glancing at herself again, she felt a fortifying moment of hope. What if the earl actually adored capucine?

You can do this, Minny,
she told herself.
If he is here, that means he is going to settle down and find a bride.
He’ll look across the room tonight and fall in love with the very sight of you…

“I fear he won’t,” a voice behind her said.

She spun around, for she had thought the room deserted, but there stood a lady about her mother’s age. Hermione didn’t recognize her, but her clothes and jewelry marked her as a lady of some worth.

“He won’t see you,” she repeated.

“I haven’t the least notion—”

“Lord Rockhurst. You were just wondering if he would see you tonight. Notice you. And I fear he won’t. See you, that is.”

Hermione gaped at the woman. She hadn’t been talking aloud had she? For how else could this lady know…

“Now we haven’t much time, so you need to listen very carefully
—”

Hermione rose. “I’m sorry. Have we met?”

“Oh, how terribly impertinent of me. I’m Quince. Now as I was saying, we haven’t much time
—”

“Yes, well, Lady Quince
—”

“No, dear, just Quince. Your dear, good friend, Quince.” The lady smiled, her features marked only by a few lines around her mouth and bright, sparkling blue eyes, which seemed to glow with some inner light.

And while she might be well dressed and could possibly be related to one of the very best of families, the sister of a duke even, Hermione suspected the woman was mad. “It was lovely to meet you, ah, Quince, but I think my mother will be wondering
—”

“Heavens, I don’t remember this being so hard. I had hoped, you being a Marlowe and all, you wouldn’t be as incredulous and stubborn as Charlotte.”

Charlotte?
“You know Charlotte?”

“Of course. You are wearing her ring. At least it was hers for as long as she needed it. Then it became yours when you found it.”

Ducal sister or not, Hermione started to edge toward the door. This woman was utterly nicked in the nob. But her next words stopped Hermione cold.

“You made a wish, just as she did. Certainly it is problematic that it involves
him,
and I daresay Milton is none-too-pleased over this, but we’ll do the best we can to avoid those complications.”

Hermione’s confidence that she wasn’t going to throw up again fled. “You mean Lord Rockhurst?”

Quince flinched. “Please don’t say his name aloud.”

“Whyever not? What is wrong with the Earl of Rockhurst?”

Now it was the other woman’s turn to look positively green, and Hermione thought better of continuing the subject lest the woman react the same way Hermione did at the very mention of the earl.

If there was any comfort in all this, it was that she wasn’t the only person in the world who cast up her accounts over Lord Rockhurst.

Quince had turned and was glancing at the door, her fingers twined around her reticule strings as she worried them nearly into a knot. “If only you’d wished for something more sensible. I do believe Milton is right, this has all the potential to go very ill indeed.”

Hermione glanced down at her gloved hand, where beneath the gold silk, the odd little bit of jewelry sat tightly around her finger. Perhaps she could just give the lady Charlotte’s ring and be done with the matter. She doubted her friend would mind because she’d never been all that attached to it anyway.

But after tugging off her glove, she found the ring was still tight around her finger. Tug as she might, she couldn’t get it off. And for a moment, she swore the ring warmed and trembled on her hand, as if mocking her attempts to dislodge it.

“This is ridiculous,” Hermione said, pulling her glove back on. “Charlotte never told me of any wish.”

The lady let out a huffy little sigh, the feathers tucked into her hair fluttering like a trio of impatient exclamation marks. “Of course she didn’t, for you would have thought her as mad as you think me. Now about your wish—”

“I never made any wish,” Hermione replied, as certain as she was capucine was her perfect color, that is until her words from a few minutes earlier came whispering back into her thoughts like a spring zephyr.

I wish I were a phantom from sunset to sunrise….

She glanced up at Quince to find the lady nodding encouragingly at her. “Yes, yes, your wish.
To be unseen.
The sun will set any moment now, and you must be prepared for the transformation. There are some rules and things you’ll need to consider, especially in light of the other part of your wish—”

Hermione had stopped listening after she’d said “to
be unseen.” Glancing at the door, she knew she needed to go find her mother, who would surely be able to place this woman and see that she was returned to her family…or Bedlam.

But when she went to take a step, she found herself wavering, trembling with a strange power. And unbidden, her gaze rose to the small window set high in the alcove, where the pink sky gave all the evidence that one needed that the late-spring sun was making its lazy descent into the horizon.

In the pit of her stomach, a slow, tangled coil began to unwind—as if being pulled to awaken by some unseen hand.

“This can’t be true—this is utter madness,” Hermione said, taking a quick glance at the mirror and trying to appear calm and composed, patting distractedly at the ribbons in her hair, if only to hide her growing panic. “I suppose Thomasin and India put you up to it. The wish was their idea.”

“It might have been their idea, but you are the one who gave it life. So you can either listen to me now or in a few moments, when the transformation takes place.”

Mad,
Hermione decided. Transformation, indeed!

“Oh, if only Charlotte were here,” Quince said. “She’d be able to convince you that I am not some mad sister of a duke.”

Hermione flinched.
How was it that this woman knows my every thought?

“Because you are wearing the ring,” Quince replied. “My ring, actually. Well, not quite my ring, but it was
mine once. Though that’s neither here nor there. Truly all that matters is that you made your wish, just as Charlotte did, and now it is about to come true.”

“Whatever are you talking about? Charlotte never mentioned this wish nonsense. She inherited this ring from her Great-Aunt Ursula. It is nothing but a poor trinket.”

“Poor trinket!” Quince paced in front of her. “You have more power on your finger than a hundred kings. And you scoff.”

Hermione stripped her glove off and held her hand out. “If it is yours, then take it back.”

“Take it back, she says!” The lady laughed. “As if I could do such a thing. How I wish I could, for this wish of yours is bound to have repercussions.” She sighed and patted Hermione’s hand, then pushed it away. “It will not come off until your wish is fulfilled. Or you disavow it.” She paused for a moment. “Why don’t we try that.”

“Try what?” Hermione asked.

“Disavow your wish,” Quince told her. “All you have to do is say, ‘I don’t want this wish any longer.’ Or something to that effect.”

Anything to make this woman happy, Hermione thought. “I no longer want my wish.”

Quince looked around the room, as if she expected the walls to open up and some great cacophony from the heavens to fill their ears, but nothing happened except the wheeze of the orchestra’s instruments as they started to tune their pieces and begin the evening’s entertainment. “Oh, we’ll just have to try again once
you’ve changed. Then you’ll be more likely to have some conviction to your words.”

Conviction to her words? Hermione started toward the door. Her only conviction at the moment was that this woman was in need of help. “Perhaps there is someone I could call for you?”
Like your neglectful caretaker at Bedlam.

Quince caught her by the arm and held her fast. Her other hand pointed at the window, where the sky was now a deep crimson. “Remember, even though you will be unseen, you can be touched, trampled, and harmed. You must be careful.” She paused and tapped her fan to her lips. “Invisible, invisible. ’Tis been a long time since anyone cast such a wish, but I do believe there is more to tell you, but I fear my memory isn’t as good as it used to be.” After a few more taps to her lips, she added, “Oh, yes. Anything you hold or wear will be just as you are, unseen. And remember, at sunrise, you will find yourself visible again, so I suggest being home well before then.”

“This is utter nonsense,” Hermione declared, trying to tug herself free. She wasn’t going to listen to another moment of this poor lady’s ravings. As if a wish could turn a person invisible.

But one thought nagged at Hermione. Gave some credence to her doubts.

Charlotte.
Charlotte’s wish. Hadn’t Charlotte undergone a remarkable transformation, nearly from the moment she’d received this ring? Charlotte’s metamorphosis from forgotten spinster to Society’s most brilliant Original had been like something out of a fairy tale.

Like a wish come true.

No, it couldn’t be. How could a ring have such power? Her panicked gaze flew first to Quince’s, and the lady nodded toward the window, where the sun was finally slipping beneath the horizon.

As the last fiery hue fizzled, Hermione swore the fire and heat invaded her soul. Her ears filled with a terrible noise, like a violent fire burning out of control. Her hands flew to her ears to stop it, but the roar only grew louder. She wrenched her gaze from the window to the mirror and saw the final proof of Quince’s madness.

For indeed, one moment she stood before the mirror, in all her evening finery, poised and ready for Lord Rockhurst’s admiration, and the next, she faded from sight.

“My dearest Lady Walbrook,” Quince said, sliding up beside the matron, taking her hand, and giving it a familiar squeeze. “How lovely to see you again. Such a stunning gown. It sets off your coloring perfectly.”

As Quince expected, the countess smiled, albeit a bit flustered. “Thank you. Thank you so much,” she said. Rather than reveal her dilemma—that she had no idea who Quince was—she continued in a rambling, innocuous fashion. “When I saw the fabric, I knew I couldn’t live without it. That, and Madame Claudius’s exquisite skills were sure to make it the perfect gown for such evenings.” Lady Walbrook leaned over. “Terribly crowded tonight, don’t you think? I do believe the patronesses are trying to wedge in just anyone these days.”

“Quite so,” Quince agreed. “I actually came over to see you, for I have a message from your daughter.”

“Hermione?” Lady Walbrook said, glancing around. “Wherever is she?”

“I fear she became ill in the retiring room.”

Lady Walbrook snorted. “She heard Rockhurst was here and tossed up her accounts, I daresay. Well, there’s no use standing about, I might as well fetch her home.”

She went to step around her, but Quince caught her in time. “There is no need. Your son was kind enough to see to it already. Neither of them wanted your evening ruined.”

“Griffin!” Lady Walbrook complained. “That scamp was most likely only too delighted to flee. But poor, poor Hermione! Whatever am I to do with her?” Her lacy fan fluttered in her hand, and she sighed as the music began to play and couples moved toward the dance floor. “Oh, I suppose I must stay now, if only to have a full account of the evening. Oh, there is Lord Hustings’s mother. I suppose she’ll want to know why Minny isn’t here to dance with her son. I’ll have to think of something—” She started to flutter off, but then stopped and turned. “I thank you, Lady…Lady…”

“Just Quince, madame,” she told the countess. “Just plain Quince.”

Lady Walbrook nodded and continued into the crowd, even as a hand reached out and plucked Quince back into the shadows.

“Nicely done,” Milton said.

“Whatever are you still doing here?” she asked.

“I had thought you were off to fetch my ring.” His handsome features turned to stone. “That is, until you let her make a wish.”

“I let her—” Quince sputtered.

Milton wasn’t done, but this time he tugged her deeper into the shadows and lowered his voice. “Do you realize what she has wished? What this could mean?”