FF: Time After Time | Warehouse 13 | HG/Myka | NC-17 | Part 5
“Good morning,” Lord Marbury greeted Myka as she stepped into the study, a plate full of sausage and biscuits in front of him with another across the table waiting on Myka. She sat down, suddenly ravenous. Time had passed too quickly while she’d spoken with Helena. Now it was half past ten and she was starving.
“Lady Ainesworth tells me you found an interesting conversation companion this morning.”
“She is a fascinating woman.”
“Be careful there, William,” Marbury cautioned, the normal jovial tone gone from his voice. “She has a reputation you know.”
“I am aware of her reputation,” Myka bristled. “And I am also aware how often a woman’s independence is mistaken for loose morality, while a man is allowed to behave in any way that pleases him and suffer not for it.”
Marbury sat back, eyeing Myka suspiciously. “Oh, my boy… I do believe you care about this one, don’t you?”
The answer was as true now as it was in any century. “I do.”
“You leave tomorrow for safari, William. A trip months in the planning. You have obligations, to your family, to your business, to your country… I say this with your best interests at heart: keep her on the side if you must,” Marbury cautioned, “but she can’t possibly become your wife.”
Myka pushed her plate away and put her napkin down. Anger rushed through her like a flash flood, clouding her judgment with each heartbeat. She knew if she didn’t leave immediately she was going to ruin everything. “Excuse me, I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.”
Lord Marbury watched in stunned silence as Myka stalked out of the study.
Without looking back, she strode past servants cleaning and preparing for the night’s festivities, and headed out onto the estate. The fresh air did little to dissipate the heat of her temper as Myka tromped through the thick grass toward the large gardens.
How dare he think Helena wasn’t suitable for marriage? He didn’t even know her!
Myka had read plenty of Jane Austen novels, she just never thought she’d be living in one… And that thought made her stop so suddenly she nearly tripped over her own two feet.
She wasn’t living this life, she realized. She was merely inhabiting the body of the man who was. No, she didn’t know how long it would last, but she doubted the time machine would keep her here permanently. And when that happened, William Cross would wake up, with no memory of even meeting Helena, much less marrying her. He’d cry fraud, and with Charles’ reputation, and sadly, Helena’s, it wouldn’t be a leap.
Kicking at the dirt, Myka’s anger left her as quickly as it had come. She couldn’t marry Helena, but even more, she couldn’t alter the course of a man’s life so dramatically. She didn’t have that right - not when she didn’t know the permanence of her actions, or their ultimate effect.
And that led her back to a question that kept coming without any hope of an answer: How had she travelled back to 1883? Had the time machine really malfunctioned that much? Or was something else at work? Myka wasn’t certain, but she had a sneaking suspicion the Warehouse had something to do with her “excellent adventure” 128 years in the past.
When she finally started to head back for the main house, hours had passed. The walk had done her good - settled things in her mind as much as they could be settled given her circumstances, and given her a stronger resolve to try and understand why she’d been sent back to this time. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was something at least. Back inside the main house, she went to the dining room hoping to find lunch ready. Instead, she found the others had eaten and excused themselves already - everyone that was, except Helena.
“I was told luncheon would be one o’clock sharp. It seems, however, everyone else ate at noon.” She took one look at Myka across the immense table and began to laugh. “Oh, dear, Mrs. Ainesworth’s not very subtle, is she?”
“Like a mack truck,” Myka laughed, unthinking.
“Pardon?”
“Um, just an expression we have back home.”
Helena gave her a look, but let it drop. “So, I suppose we should humor her?”
“She’ll only pout if we don’t.”
“Right. A picnic then? It’s quite lovely out.”
Myka grinned. “A picnic would be nice.”
It took very little to procure a basket, a blanket, a decent bottle of wine, and enough food to feed a dozen people while the kitchen staff was busy preparing the evening’s delicacies. Like a true gentleman, Myka carried the basket while Helena walked along beside her, both of them loosening up substantially once they were outside of the prying eyes of family and chaperones.
They found a suitable place at the far side of the gardens near the large greenhouse and laid out the blanket and food as Helena described her love for poetry and literature. “Tell me your favorite writer,” Myka asked, pouring them both a hefty glass of wine.
“Hmmm… I should probably say Dickens, that is the answer of a proper lady, isn’t it? But no, I find him a bit dry. Or perhaps Jane Austen? Who I do admire a great deal, but she’s not my favorite. My favorite would have to be… Christina Rossetti.”
“Goblin Market?”
“You’ve read it,” Helena asked in delight.
“Yes, it’s wonderful, she’s one of my favorite writers as well.”
Helena laughed and took a deep sip of wine. “Now I think you’re just telling me what I would like to hear.”
Myka smirked, then cleared her throat:
“Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.”
“Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann’d:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.”
“Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.”
Helena smiled softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she said, “Do you know that no one has ever recited poetry to me before?”
“No one?”
“I’ve written poetry, been to readings, even helped the occasional writer or two work out a line here and there… but no one in my life has ever recited, from memory, such a beautiful verse simply for the pleasure of letting me hear it.”
Myka knew she shouldn’t, but the look in Helena’s eyes was too strong, the need in her own heart too great to deny. She leaned forward, kissing Helena softly in the warm afternoon sun. It was different, as it had to be. Different bodies, different times, and yet beneath it all was the same connection… the same magic that seemed to bind them through the ages.
Myka pulled away just far enough to look in Helena’s eyes, smiling when she saw the surprise the woman couldn’t keep hidden. “You’re not going to pull a gun on me again for that, are you?”
“On the contrary,” Helena exhaled slowly. “I’ve never felt quite so safe in my life.” Myka swallowed hard, images of fire and smoke sweeping through her mind, but said nothing. “I think I should tell you… my brother intends to ask you to be an investor in a stock portfolio that is most likely doomed to fail.”
“I thought as much,” Myka responded, her lips twitching in a wry smile. “And did he dispatch you to convince me?”
“He knows better,” Helena answered firmly. “More like, he told me to be on my best behavior so that I didn’t scare you off.”
“Do I look scared?”
“Not hardly.” Helena sighed and with regret, slid a bit farther away on the blanket. “You leave tomorrow afternoon for Africa.”
“I do.”
“And you’ll be gone for a year, I understand.”
“That is the current plan,” Myka answered.
“Am I just a weekend distraction? A bit of fun in the countryside? I prefer to know these things up front, so there’s no miscommunication.” Her tone was light, but Myka could hear the hurt beneath it.
“There is nothing about you that is ‘just’ anything, Helena. You are a woman the likes of which I have never known, and I doubt ever will again.”
More… there was so much more Myka wanted to say. A heart full of love and pain and dreams she longed to pour forth and lay at Helena’s feet. To tell her that they belonged together, deserved to be happy together, that she’d travelled a century back in time to find a way to save her. But she spoke no more than those simple words and let them be enough.
“It would have been so much easier if I’d just shot you when I had the chance,” Helena complained sardonically. “You’re a very inconvenient development. I’m not used to wanting things I can’t have.”
“Neither am I.”
“But we must… get used to it,” Helena insisted, although her tone lacked the forceful conviction Myka had heard before on multiple occasions. “It is for the best.”
“‘Better by far you should forget and smile, than that you should remember and be sad,’” Myka quoted again.
Helena took a long drink of wine. “Indeed.”
~*~
When Myka and Helena finally returned to the main house after their picnic, Lord Marbury was once again waiting. He smiled pleasantly at Helena, who read all too well that he wanted a private word with the Viscount. She excused herself, nodding once to Marbury before giving Myka one last lingering smile.
“You’re determined.”
“Not at all,” Myka countered. “She understands I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon, and that I know neither when nor if I will return. We enjoy each other’s company, that’s all,” Myka lied.
“And your earlier… outburst?”
Outburst? Myka inwardly smirked. Only the English would consider a polite “excuse me” and exit an outburst. “I do hate being reminded of what I can’t have.”
Marbury grinned. “That’s my boy.” He slung his arm up over Myka’s shoulder. “Come on, I brought a bottle of scotch with me I can’t wait until tonight to open up. We can discuss which big game you’re planning to bag first.” Myka let herself be steered toward the study, just barley catching a glimpse down one of the long hallways of Helena and Charles locked in a terse discussion before the study door closed the image away.
~*~
There were many advantages Myka had always recognized and counted herself privileged to have. Clean water, a roof over her head, air conditioning were all high on her list of things for which she was grateful. She never considered how grateful she should be for the modern convenience of a disposable safety razor, but considering she’d nicked herself no less than three times in under five minutes with the straight razor she silently vowed to write an ode to the beauty of Schick.
Another nick had her cursing and nearly knocking over the basin of water on the stand before the mirror. If she didn’t stop soon, she realized, she’d be dying a quick death from blood poisoning before the time machine could ever call her back.
Distracted, she pressed a wet towel to her neck and went to answer the door without giving thought to the fact she was dressed only in trousers. When she opened the door to find Helena on the other side, the frank appraisal and approval in the woman’s eyes made Myka completely forget about her wounds.
She swallowed hard. “Miss Wells… did you need something?”
“No, but it sounded as if you did. I’ve been listening to you curse and mutter for the last five minutes. I thought you could use some assistance.”
“I…” Myka shrugged helplessly. How the hell did she explain this?
“Someone is used to a valet doing everything for them, I see,” Helena smirked. She didn’t wait for an answer but simply pushed past Myka and took stock of the hot water, the shaving foam, and the straight razor. “Right, come sit here on this footstool.” Helena tilted her head at Myka’s continued puzzlement. “No dawdling.”
Myka sat on the footstool, cautiously looking up at Helena as she tested the sharpness of the razor and grabbed the shaving foam. “Have you done this before?”
“It’s not like my brother can afford a valet,” Helena mused. “Someone must ensure he is presentable to the public.” Myka started to laugh but the hot steel of the razor on her skin made the sound catch in her throat. “Goodness, you made a mess of yourself, didn’t you? Are you taking a valet on safari, or just planning on growing a beard?”
“Beard.”
“Wise decision. Now hold still.”
Where some with a razor at their throats would have closed their eyes, Myka kept hers firmly affixed on the woman leaning over her wielding the instrument. Intelligent eyes focused, dexterous hands made precision sweeps, Helena’s concentration completely on the task at hand. And while Helena concentrated, Myka daydreamed - or maybe she remembered - a time and place far away. A free Saturday when somehow the B&B had ended up completely empty except for herself and Helena. They’d taken a bath together, indulging in slippery hands, hot water, and scented soaps. Pruned and pampered, they’d spent the rest of the afternoon in bed getting dirty all over again.
“And… done,” Helena said far too soon for Myka’s liking. The brunette wiped off the razor on a towel with a flourish. “Now, that wasn’t too terrifying, was it?”
Her body felt heavier as she stood, off balance, and again she was reminded of the difference between her own lithe form and that of William Cross. “No,” Myka breathed raggedly. “Not at all.”
They stared at each other for a long moment before an annoyed cough interrupted. Helena’s eyes flicked over Myka’s shoulder, immediately narrowing in consternation. “Charles. Did you need something?”
“I, uh… was hoping to have a moment with his Lordship. I seemed to have missed him this afternoon.”
“Uh, yes, Lord Marbury had me sequestered for several hours talking about the safari.”
“Fascinating,” Charles smiled with just a hint too much teeth. “Helena, would you mind giving the Viscount and me some time to speak?”
“No, of course not.” Helena excused herself to get dressed before the party began, giving Charles an indiscernible look as she walked out.
Charles continued to smile. “She’s lovely isn’t she?”
Myka nodded in agreement, “She is.”
“It’s a pity you’re to be away for so long. You seem to have made a connection.”
“I enjoy the company of fascinating women,” Myka said evenly, disliking his tone immensely. “And your sister is more fascinating than most.”
“A trait I hope you’ll find runs in the family, as I have a most fascinating business proposal for you, my Lord.”
Before Myka could stop him Charles had launched into his pitch. The poor man had no way of knowing, but Myka had spent her first years with the Secret Service working on financial crimes and counterfeiting. She could spot a Ponzi scheme a mile away. She let him finish, it was the least she could do. And then, she quite politely declined.
Charles blinked back at her in surprise. “I’m sorry, my lord?”
“I appreciate the offer,” Myka answered, “but I must decline. At the moment all of my capital is invested elsewhere and there’s simply not enough time to make other arrangements.”
“I must have been mistaken then,” Charles smiled, far too effusively, “I was under the impression you would be visiting First Bank and Charter in Dover tomorrow before boarding your ferry for Calais.”
“I...” Myka hesitated, unprepared for this twist. There were apparently some things William Cross hadn’t bothered to note in his journal. “I am. Nevertheless, my investments-”
“It’s a 300% return, my Lord,” Charles continued earnestly. “300%. That is an unheard of earning on the market. Guaranteed.”
“I’m sorry -”
“-it at least bears consideration,” Charles cut off, skirting the edge of propriety. “Take the night, please. Just give the offer the consideration due.”
Myka nodded. “I will take the night to consider it,” she agreed, afraid to answer any other way.
“Thank you, my lord,” Charles smiled nervously, realizing how close he’d come to overstepping himself. “I’ll leave you to complete your ablutions.”
Myka shut the door behind him and locked it. She understood now why there wasn’t more about Charles in Helena’s files - if he’d been her brother, she wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know either.
Part Six
“Lady Ainesworth tells me you found an interesting conversation companion this morning.”
“She is a fascinating woman.”
“Be careful there, William,” Marbury cautioned, the normal jovial tone gone from his voice. “She has a reputation you know.”
“I am aware of her reputation,” Myka bristled. “And I am also aware how often a woman’s independence is mistaken for loose morality, while a man is allowed to behave in any way that pleases him and suffer not for it.”
Marbury sat back, eyeing Myka suspiciously. “Oh, my boy… I do believe you care about this one, don’t you?”
The answer was as true now as it was in any century. “I do.”
“You leave tomorrow for safari, William. A trip months in the planning. You have obligations, to your family, to your business, to your country… I say this with your best interests at heart: keep her on the side if you must,” Marbury cautioned, “but she can’t possibly become your wife.”
Myka pushed her plate away and put her napkin down. Anger rushed through her like a flash flood, clouding her judgment with each heartbeat. She knew if she didn’t leave immediately she was going to ruin everything. “Excuse me, I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.”
Lord Marbury watched in stunned silence as Myka stalked out of the study.
Without looking back, she strode past servants cleaning and preparing for the night’s festivities, and headed out onto the estate. The fresh air did little to dissipate the heat of her temper as Myka tromped through the thick grass toward the large gardens.
How dare he think Helena wasn’t suitable for marriage? He didn’t even know her!
Myka had read plenty of Jane Austen novels, she just never thought she’d be living in one… And that thought made her stop so suddenly she nearly tripped over her own two feet.
She wasn’t living this life, she realized. She was merely inhabiting the body of the man who was. No, she didn’t know how long it would last, but she doubted the time machine would keep her here permanently. And when that happened, William Cross would wake up, with no memory of even meeting Helena, much less marrying her. He’d cry fraud, and with Charles’ reputation, and sadly, Helena’s, it wouldn’t be a leap.
Kicking at the dirt, Myka’s anger left her as quickly as it had come. She couldn’t marry Helena, but even more, she couldn’t alter the course of a man’s life so dramatically. She didn’t have that right - not when she didn’t know the permanence of her actions, or their ultimate effect.
And that led her back to a question that kept coming without any hope of an answer: How had she travelled back to 1883? Had the time machine really malfunctioned that much? Or was something else at work? Myka wasn’t certain, but she had a sneaking suspicion the Warehouse had something to do with her “excellent adventure” 128 years in the past.
When she finally started to head back for the main house, hours had passed. The walk had done her good - settled things in her mind as much as they could be settled given her circumstances, and given her a stronger resolve to try and understand why she’d been sent back to this time. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was something at least. Back inside the main house, she went to the dining room hoping to find lunch ready. Instead, she found the others had eaten and excused themselves already - everyone that was, except Helena.
“I was told luncheon would be one o’clock sharp. It seems, however, everyone else ate at noon.” She took one look at Myka across the immense table and began to laugh. “Oh, dear, Mrs. Ainesworth’s not very subtle, is she?”
“Like a mack truck,” Myka laughed, unthinking.
“Pardon?”
“Um, just an expression we have back home.”
Helena gave her a look, but let it drop. “So, I suppose we should humor her?”
“She’ll only pout if we don’t.”
“Right. A picnic then? It’s quite lovely out.”
Myka grinned. “A picnic would be nice.”
It took very little to procure a basket, a blanket, a decent bottle of wine, and enough food to feed a dozen people while the kitchen staff was busy preparing the evening’s delicacies. Like a true gentleman, Myka carried the basket while Helena walked along beside her, both of them loosening up substantially once they were outside of the prying eyes of family and chaperones.
They found a suitable place at the far side of the gardens near the large greenhouse and laid out the blanket and food as Helena described her love for poetry and literature. “Tell me your favorite writer,” Myka asked, pouring them both a hefty glass of wine.
“Hmmm… I should probably say Dickens, that is the answer of a proper lady, isn’t it? But no, I find him a bit dry. Or perhaps Jane Austen? Who I do admire a great deal, but she’s not my favorite. My favorite would have to be… Christina Rossetti.”
“Goblin Market?”
“You’ve read it,” Helena asked in delight.
“Yes, it’s wonderful, she’s one of my favorite writers as well.”
Helena laughed and took a deep sip of wine. “Now I think you’re just telling me what I would like to hear.”
Myka smirked, then cleared her throat:
“Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.”
“Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann’d:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.”
“Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.”
Helena smiled softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she said, “Do you know that no one has ever recited poetry to me before?”
“No one?”
“I’ve written poetry, been to readings, even helped the occasional writer or two work out a line here and there… but no one in my life has ever recited, from memory, such a beautiful verse simply for the pleasure of letting me hear it.”
Myka knew she shouldn’t, but the look in Helena’s eyes was too strong, the need in her own heart too great to deny. She leaned forward, kissing Helena softly in the warm afternoon sun. It was different, as it had to be. Different bodies, different times, and yet beneath it all was the same connection… the same magic that seemed to bind them through the ages.
Myka pulled away just far enough to look in Helena’s eyes, smiling when she saw the surprise the woman couldn’t keep hidden. “You’re not going to pull a gun on me again for that, are you?”
“On the contrary,” Helena exhaled slowly. “I’ve never felt quite so safe in my life.” Myka swallowed hard, images of fire and smoke sweeping through her mind, but said nothing. “I think I should tell you… my brother intends to ask you to be an investor in a stock portfolio that is most likely doomed to fail.”
“I thought as much,” Myka responded, her lips twitching in a wry smile. “And did he dispatch you to convince me?”
“He knows better,” Helena answered firmly. “More like, he told me to be on my best behavior so that I didn’t scare you off.”
“Do I look scared?”
“Not hardly.” Helena sighed and with regret, slid a bit farther away on the blanket. “You leave tomorrow afternoon for Africa.”
“I do.”
“And you’ll be gone for a year, I understand.”
“That is the current plan,” Myka answered.
“Am I just a weekend distraction? A bit of fun in the countryside? I prefer to know these things up front, so there’s no miscommunication.” Her tone was light, but Myka could hear the hurt beneath it.
“There is nothing about you that is ‘just’ anything, Helena. You are a woman the likes of which I have never known, and I doubt ever will again.”
More… there was so much more Myka wanted to say. A heart full of love and pain and dreams she longed to pour forth and lay at Helena’s feet. To tell her that they belonged together, deserved to be happy together, that she’d travelled a century back in time to find a way to save her. But she spoke no more than those simple words and let them be enough.
“It would have been so much easier if I’d just shot you when I had the chance,” Helena complained sardonically. “You’re a very inconvenient development. I’m not used to wanting things I can’t have.”
“Neither am I.”
“But we must… get used to it,” Helena insisted, although her tone lacked the forceful conviction Myka had heard before on multiple occasions. “It is for the best.”
“‘Better by far you should forget and smile, than that you should remember and be sad,’” Myka quoted again.
Helena took a long drink of wine. “Indeed.”
~*~
When Myka and Helena finally returned to the main house after their picnic, Lord Marbury was once again waiting. He smiled pleasantly at Helena, who read all too well that he wanted a private word with the Viscount. She excused herself, nodding once to Marbury before giving Myka one last lingering smile.
“You’re determined.”
“Not at all,” Myka countered. “She understands I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon, and that I know neither when nor if I will return. We enjoy each other’s company, that’s all,” Myka lied.
“And your earlier… outburst?”
Outburst? Myka inwardly smirked. Only the English would consider a polite “excuse me” and exit an outburst. “I do hate being reminded of what I can’t have.”
Marbury grinned. “That’s my boy.” He slung his arm up over Myka’s shoulder. “Come on, I brought a bottle of scotch with me I can’t wait until tonight to open up. We can discuss which big game you’re planning to bag first.” Myka let herself be steered toward the study, just barley catching a glimpse down one of the long hallways of Helena and Charles locked in a terse discussion before the study door closed the image away.
~*~
There were many advantages Myka had always recognized and counted herself privileged to have. Clean water, a roof over her head, air conditioning were all high on her list of things for which she was grateful. She never considered how grateful she should be for the modern convenience of a disposable safety razor, but considering she’d nicked herself no less than three times in under five minutes with the straight razor she silently vowed to write an ode to the beauty of Schick.
Another nick had her cursing and nearly knocking over the basin of water on the stand before the mirror. If she didn’t stop soon, she realized, she’d be dying a quick death from blood poisoning before the time machine could ever call her back.
Distracted, she pressed a wet towel to her neck and went to answer the door without giving thought to the fact she was dressed only in trousers. When she opened the door to find Helena on the other side, the frank appraisal and approval in the woman’s eyes made Myka completely forget about her wounds.
She swallowed hard. “Miss Wells… did you need something?”
“No, but it sounded as if you did. I’ve been listening to you curse and mutter for the last five minutes. I thought you could use some assistance.”
“I…” Myka shrugged helplessly. How the hell did she explain this?
“Someone is used to a valet doing everything for them, I see,” Helena smirked. She didn’t wait for an answer but simply pushed past Myka and took stock of the hot water, the shaving foam, and the straight razor. “Right, come sit here on this footstool.” Helena tilted her head at Myka’s continued puzzlement. “No dawdling.”
Myka sat on the footstool, cautiously looking up at Helena as she tested the sharpness of the razor and grabbed the shaving foam. “Have you done this before?”
“It’s not like my brother can afford a valet,” Helena mused. “Someone must ensure he is presentable to the public.” Myka started to laugh but the hot steel of the razor on her skin made the sound catch in her throat. “Goodness, you made a mess of yourself, didn’t you? Are you taking a valet on safari, or just planning on growing a beard?”
“Beard.”
“Wise decision. Now hold still.”
Where some with a razor at their throats would have closed their eyes, Myka kept hers firmly affixed on the woman leaning over her wielding the instrument. Intelligent eyes focused, dexterous hands made precision sweeps, Helena’s concentration completely on the task at hand. And while Helena concentrated, Myka daydreamed - or maybe she remembered - a time and place far away. A free Saturday when somehow the B&B had ended up completely empty except for herself and Helena. They’d taken a bath together, indulging in slippery hands, hot water, and scented soaps. Pruned and pampered, they’d spent the rest of the afternoon in bed getting dirty all over again.
“And… done,” Helena said far too soon for Myka’s liking. The brunette wiped off the razor on a towel with a flourish. “Now, that wasn’t too terrifying, was it?”
Her body felt heavier as she stood, off balance, and again she was reminded of the difference between her own lithe form and that of William Cross. “No,” Myka breathed raggedly. “Not at all.”
They stared at each other for a long moment before an annoyed cough interrupted. Helena’s eyes flicked over Myka’s shoulder, immediately narrowing in consternation. “Charles. Did you need something?”
“I, uh… was hoping to have a moment with his Lordship. I seemed to have missed him this afternoon.”
“Uh, yes, Lord Marbury had me sequestered for several hours talking about the safari.”
“Fascinating,” Charles smiled with just a hint too much teeth. “Helena, would you mind giving the Viscount and me some time to speak?”
“No, of course not.” Helena excused herself to get dressed before the party began, giving Charles an indiscernible look as she walked out.
Charles continued to smile. “She’s lovely isn’t she?”
Myka nodded in agreement, “She is.”
“It’s a pity you’re to be away for so long. You seem to have made a connection.”
“I enjoy the company of fascinating women,” Myka said evenly, disliking his tone immensely. “And your sister is more fascinating than most.”
“A trait I hope you’ll find runs in the family, as I have a most fascinating business proposal for you, my Lord.”
Before Myka could stop him Charles had launched into his pitch. The poor man had no way of knowing, but Myka had spent her first years with the Secret Service working on financial crimes and counterfeiting. She could spot a Ponzi scheme a mile away. She let him finish, it was the least she could do. And then, she quite politely declined.
Charles blinked back at her in surprise. “I’m sorry, my lord?”
“I appreciate the offer,” Myka answered, “but I must decline. At the moment all of my capital is invested elsewhere and there’s simply not enough time to make other arrangements.”
“I must have been mistaken then,” Charles smiled, far too effusively, “I was under the impression you would be visiting First Bank and Charter in Dover tomorrow before boarding your ferry for Calais.”
“I...” Myka hesitated, unprepared for this twist. There were apparently some things William Cross hadn’t bothered to note in his journal. “I am. Nevertheless, my investments-”
“It’s a 300% return, my Lord,” Charles continued earnestly. “300%. That is an unheard of earning on the market. Guaranteed.”
“I’m sorry -”
“-it at least bears consideration,” Charles cut off, skirting the edge of propriety. “Take the night, please. Just give the offer the consideration due.”
Myka nodded. “I will take the night to consider it,” she agreed, afraid to answer any other way.
“Thank you, my lord,” Charles smiled nervously, realizing how close he’d come to overstepping himself. “I’ll leave you to complete your ablutions.”
Myka shut the door behind him and locked it. She understood now why there wasn’t more about Charles in Helena’s files - if he’d been her brother, she wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know either.
Part Six