Arcane Entanglement (The Mage and His Brute #1)

Chapter 4

It was nearing sundown by the time Evander made it back to his townhouse in Mayfair. His manservant took one look at the state of his attire when he stepped inside the foyer and said something rude.

This earned Hargrove a disapproving stare from Cordelia Sinclair, Evander’s former nanny and the current housekeeper of the Ravenwood estates.

“What the devil have you been up to, my Lord?” Hargrove fussed as he divested Evander of his coat.

“I had to visit a crime scene.”

Hargrove took a sniff of the coat and curled a lip. “Was it in a cesspit, my Lord?”

“Mr. Hargrove,” Mrs. Sinclair warned in a stern voice.

Hargrove shrugged, unrepentant. “What, Mrs. S? I’m sure you can smell our Lordship’s new Eau de Latrine from where you’re standing.”

Mrs. Sinclair narrowed her eyes behind her wire-rimmed spectacles.

Evander swallowed a sigh and tugged on his cravat as his housekeeper and manservant launched into one of their daily squabbles. He was halfway to the grand staircase dominating the entrance hall when Mrs. Sinclair addressed him in a sharp tone.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten about your engagement tonight, my Lord.”

Evander mouthed a silent curse under his breath. The fact that he was meant to be attending a ball that evening had completely slipped his mind after this afternoon’s events.

He turned and directed an apologetic look at the housekeeper.

“Thank you for reminding me, Mrs. Sinclair. I’m afraid I’d forgotten about it.”

The housekeeper’s expression softened at his contrite mien. “You best make haste, my Lord. The hour is late and your partner for the ball is not known for her patience.”

Hargrove headed for Evander, a worrying glint in his eye. “Do not fret, Mrs. S. I’ll make sure he’s spick-and-span for the lady.”

Evander resigned himself to his fate as his manservant shepherded him towards his private quarters on the first floor.

Night had fallen by the time his carriage pulled up outside a magnificent, white stucco townhouse in Eaton Square. The ornate magic lamps framing the glossy, black double doors cast an enchanted light on polished brassware and the irritated expression of the beautiful, green-eyed blonde who stood waiting at the top of the flight of steps leading to the entrance.

“You’re late, your Grace,” Lady Genevieve “Ginny” Hartley snapped as Evander’s footman alighted and opened the carriage door.

Evander ducked his head and stepped out to greet her. “It couldn’t be helped, my Lady.”

Ginny’s resplendent peacock-blue gown shimmered when she descended the stairs, diamond and sapphire glinting in her ears and at her throat. Her piqued expression faded as she greeted the footman.

“Hello, Samuel.”

The young lad bobbed his head mutely, his ears flushing a delicate pink.

Ginny’s gaze shifted to the coachman. “I’m glad to see you’ve recovered from your cold, Graham.”

The older man tipped his top hat with a faint smile where he sat in the box seat. “Thank you, my Lady.”

“It appears the Duke’s help is getting more respect than the Duke himself tonight,” Evander said drily. He took Ginny’s white, silk-gloved hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“That’s because the Duke often forgets the concept of time,” Ginny retorted. She perused his outfit with a shrewd stare. “You look nice.”

Evander smiled faintly. “So do you.” He waited until she’d gathered the skirt of her gown before handing her inside the carriage. “I’m sure I’ll be the envy of every gentleman at tonight’s ball.”

Ginny preened a little as she sank into the dark green velvet upholstery covering the bench seats. “And I’m certain I shall be the envy of all the ladies, your Grace.”

After being forced to listen to Hargrove’s nagging for the state of his clothes and shoes, Evander had submitted to a long, hot bath followed by an hour of his manservant fussing as he fitted him out for the ball.

Even he had to admit the end result was rather spectacular.

The dress coat and trousers he wore had been crafted from the finest wool by his personal tailor at Blackthorne & Sons, the lapels and cuffs adorned with intricate, silver embroidery and the subtle pinstripe in his perfectly pressed trousers shimmering faintly in the light. His white dress shirt was fastened with custom-made onyx cufflinks from Madame Elise's Enchanted Emporium on New Burlington Street and his black silk cravat was held in place by a silver pin from the same exclusive boutique. Not only did they bear his family crest, a raven perched on a crescent moon, they were enchanted with protective charms and could serve as small explosive devices if needed. As for his polished, black Oxfords, they were from the same place in Pall Mall Hargrove would be sending his expensive, stained lace-up boots back to come morning.

They waited until the footman had closed the door and they were underway before relaxing. The sleek, black four-wheeler was enchanted not only to provide a perfect environment and riding experience for its passengers, it was also equipped with a privacy spell that prevented anyone outside from spying on the conversation taking place within. There was even a button that could render the windows opaque, adding another layer of intimacy to the interior.

“I heard about the incident this afternoon,” Ginny said as the elegant townhouses and leafy streets of Eaton Square flitted past the window. She frowned. “Is that why you’re late?”

Evander dipped his head.

Ginny was a secret informant for the Met Police and the Arcane Division, her connections in high society as well as her contacts in the London underworld affording her access to crucial intelligence that had helped him and his colleagues foil many a serious crime.

It was a rare and unexpected occupation for a woman born the eldest daughter of a viscount.

When her father died after squandering the last of the Hartley family fortune to gambling debts eight years ago, a then seventeen-year old Ginny begged an aunt to help her debut in London high society in a bid to support her young siblings. Instead of putting herself on the marriage mart like many had assumed she would, she defied convention by becoming the most sought after courtesan in the city within a couple of years, her beauty, intelligence, and sharp wit attracting wealthy and influential men who sought a suitable companion to share their evenings with during the London season.

Life as a high-end courtesan offered Ginny a far more opulent and freer lifestyle than marriage ever could. Not only did her profession allow her to follow her many intellectual and physical interests, including business ventures that made her a pretty enough sum to make sure her family would never be in need of money, they also granted her access to a world that was the exclusive privilege of aristocratic men. It was why she was loathe to marry, despite the many proposals that had graced her doorstep.

They’d met five years ago, when Evander had been forced to seek a high born lady with whom to attend a mandatory royal banquet, shortly after taking on the title of Duke of Ravenwood. He had been leery of the introduction by an acquaintance at first, convinced he would have to fight off the advances of a cunning young woman who would no doubt see him as the proverbial golden goose that he was.

The reality had turned out to be the complete opposite of what he’d expected and he’d been shocked by how much fun he’d had in Ginny’s company. They’d attended several gatherings over that summer and, once it became clear they shared many common interests, had become fast friends.

One of those passions was their ambition to bring about justice for the magicless, a mission Ginny was as devoted to as Evander, so much so they were in the minority of nobles in London who counted thralls among their household staff and in their business holdings.

“Is it true that a dark mage attacked you?”

Ginny’s voice stirred Evander from his contemplations.

He met her steady gaze. “Yes. Rufus and I suspect he’s the murderer.”

Ginny frowned. “Why on earth would the perpetrator return to the scene of the crime?”

It was a question that had occupied Evander’s thoughts on his way home that afternoon. He suspected he wasn’t going to like the answer when he finally figured it out. Lights outside drew his gaze, distracting him for a moment.

They had passed Knightsbridge and were approaching Hyde Park Corner. The coachman guided the horses onto Piccadilly.

With its brightly illuminated shops, restaurants, and clubs, it was London’s most fashionable street and a beacon of aristocratic privilege. Magic crystals bobbed inside the glass orbs atop the street lamps, providing ample lighting for the nobles enjoying the evening air.

It was a far contrast to the cheap gas lamps and oil lanterns in the slums a few miles away.

“Things will hopefully become clearer once we know the identity of the victim,” Evander told Ginny quietly.

He didn’t mention the vial he’d discovered in the alley. With everything that had happened that afternoon, he’d forgotten to hand it over to the Arcane Forensics Division.

Evander frowned.

Hopefully, Brown and the other alchemists might have an idea what’s inside it after I meet with Rufus to take over the case tomorrow morning.

The carriage veered south on St. James’s Street and entered the heart of aristocratic London. The grand facade of Ashbrooke House soon came into view, the tall, multi-paned windows of the magnificent Georgian mansion glowing prettily in the night where it overlooked St. James's Square.

The queue of carriages bringing guests to the ball had all but died down. Evander and Ginny were greeted by a score of footmen in Ashbrooke livery as they pulled up in front of the grand portico over the main entrance.

Muted sounds of revelry reached them when they disembarked and proceeded up the steps.

“Ready to brave the lion’s den?” Evander said as the doors started swinging open.