Arcane Entanglement (The Mage and His Brute #1)

Chapter 5

“Fear not, your Grace.” Ginny removed a delicate mother-of-pearl fan that matched her gown from her silk reticule and snapped it open. “I shall do my best to keep you from getting ambushed by madames keen to marry off their young charges to one of London’s most eligible bachelors.”

Evander groaned at her teasing tone. “And I shall endeavour to stop any unwanted suitors from making advances towards you, my Lady.”

They shared a small, secretive smile.

It was an arrangement they’d come to a few years ago, when they realised they could help each other avoid getting pestered by all sorts of unsavoury individuals keen to gain their favours at social events. It was a pact that had proven to be especially helpful in their line of work, when they’d used their rumoured status as lovers to infiltrate gatherings so as to spy on suspects or approach potential business partners.

They entered a marble foyer lit by a grand, crystal chandelier and were greeted by their hosts.

“Duke Ravenwood, Lady Hartley. What a pleasure it is to see the two of you,” Lady Ashbrooke said with a warm smile as she came forward. She kissed Ginny affectionately on the cheek.

Ginny beamed. “You look lovely, Lady Ashbrooke.”

Lady Ashbrooke’s eyes twinkled. “So do you, Lady Hartley. That dress is simply ravishing.”

Emmeline Ashbrooke carried herself with a beauty and grace that belied her fifty odd years. She was a renowned enchantress, famous for her ability to create stunning illusions, and could charm any room she entered with her wit and presence.

The distinguished gentleman beside her kissed Ginny’s knuckles and shook Evander’s hand.

“You look well, Ravenwood.”

Evander bobbed his head. “Thank you for the invitation, my Lord.”

Percival Ashbrooke was as tall as Evander and had a stately bearing that matched his high-ranking position in the Ministry of Arcane Affairs. With a keen intellect and a strategic mind, he was a powerful earth magic mage and a trusted advisor to the Queen.

A faint frown wrinkled the older man’s brow.

“Terrible affair in the slums last week, eh?”

Evander knew he was referring to the riot that had recently rocked Whitechapel. It was one of several incidents to have taken place since the summer and was yet another sign of the growing hostility thralls felt towards the powerful nobles who ruled over them, yet knew nothing of their daily plight.

Lady Ashbrooke gave her husband a sharp look.

“You promised not to discuss work tonight, my dear.”

“I’m sorry, dearest,” Lord Ashbrooke said sheepishly.

Lady Ashbrooke’s expression eased fractionally. She turned to talk to Ginny.

“See you in the smoking room later?” Lord Ashbrooke took the opportunity to whisper to Evander out of the corner of his mouth.

Evander nodded as the Ashbrookes’ next guests arrived.

Lord Ashbrooke was bound to question him about the current affairs of the Arcane Division when they were in private, especially the disturbances involving the slums. Evander’s mission tonight was to subtly gauge the waters in turn and see if his suspicions about the House of Lords were correct.

He and Ginny left their hosts and moved past portraits of long dead Ashbrookes as they proceeded to the ballroom.

It was a magnificent space that occupied the entire rear of the house. The gilded mirrors lining the walls reflected the light from the numerous chandeliers dotting the coffered ceiling. Magical fireflies danced above the guests’ heads, producing a sparkling radiance that bathed the room and the assembled nobles milling around the polished parquet floor in a golden glow.

A piano quartet played quietly in a corner.

At the far end of the room, tall French windows opened onto a terrace overlooking mature gardens, a space for guests to cool off and take in the night air.

And for some to venture into the grounds to engage in illicit encounters under arbors and behind bushes.

Evander’s mouth twisted at the wry thought. Alas, his role as Special Arcane Investigator kept him so busy these days he’d all but forgotten the last time he’d engaged in a tryst. Not that he could do so in present company.

His taste in lovers was different from most men.

They took the champagne flutes a footman offered them and began navigating the ballroom, Ginny’s hand resting lightly on his arm.

“Who’s your mark tonight?” Evander murmured.

He nodded at several distant acquaintances with the polite, detached expression that had earned him his reputation as the Ice Mage.

“Lord Aldous Fairfax.” Ginny smiled coquettishly at one of her many admirers and blissfully ignored the glower directed at her by his wife. “We met at a business gathering last week. I intend to approach him about my new venture.”

Evander had missed the meeting at the mercantile guild. He’d been up in Yorkshire, busy consulting on a case involving a cursed artefact.

He took a sip of his drink. “Does this concern your enchanted soap factory idea?”

“Yes. Fairfax owns a few enterprises that can source the raw materials I will need.” Ginny’s eyes gleamed. “He is rumoured to be a skilled alchemist himself. He will make a good partner.”

Evander was conscious of the avid stares they were drawing as they meandered to a table laden with roast meats, oysters, truffled paté, and various other expensive delicacies. They’d been the subject of many an extravagant rumour over the years. It seemed that unless something especially scandalous happened at tonight’s ball, they would be the subject of fresh gossip fodder come morning.

Ginny’s mouth curved in a beatific smile as they helped themselves to some entrées. “If looks could kill, I would be as dead as a doornail right now.”

Evander gave her a quizzical look.

“Our favourite rumourmongers are in attendance,” Ginny said wryly. “Twenty feet. Your seven o’clock.” She turned so Evander would have a reason to look in that direction.

He picked out the couple glaring at them straightaway.

Hector Thompkins was a young nobleman with a reputation for dark proclivities and for wasting his family’s fortunes in gaming houses and dens. Standing beside him was Lady Amanda Vane, a woman who had used scandal and strife to climb the social ladder.

Having each been respectively spurned by Ginny and Evander when they’d sought to make romantic advances towards them during the previous season, the pair were now seemingly hellbent on bringing them down in the eyes of the aristocracy.

In a society where gossip and scandal still counted as powerful weapons and where even the most baseless rumours could ruin lives and reputations, it was a dangerous game to play indeed.

Unfortunately for them, Ginny was more skilled at it.

“Lord Thompkins and Lady Vane appear to be in a particularly murderous mood tonight,” Evander said lightly. “What did you do to them?”

“Oh, nothing much.”

Evander arched an eyebrow, not in the least bit fooled by her innocent tone. “Really?”

Ginny finished the last bite of her roast beef and horseradish finger sandwich and dabbed her mouth delicately with a lace handkerchief.

“I may have inferred that Lord Thompkins has developed the pox on his genitals and that Lady Vane is partial to riding well-hung horses.”

A man on the other side of the table choked on a canapé.

Evander gave Ginny a stern look. “That’s low, even for you.”

Ginny shrugged. “They started it first.”

Evander couldn’t help but smile faintly at her unabashed mien. An evening with Ginny was never boring.

They filled up on more finger food before heading into the crowd.

Ginny brightened a few minutes later. “Ah. There is Lord Fairfax.”

Evander followed her gaze to a tall man with silver-streaked hair standing next to a potted plant.

“Oh hell and tarnation!” Ginny cursed with her next breath. She grasped Evander’s arm and pulled him behind a column, startling a portly, middle-aged couple.

Ginny eyeballed them until they moved away. She scowled in the direction of Lord Fairfax. “He’s been cornered by that Wentworth shrew.”

Evander had already spotted the cause of her concern. Lord Fairfax was currently engaged in conversation with a stout matron with steely grey hair who’d been hidden from view by the leafy fronds of the fern.

Lady Agnes Wentworth was one of London’s most notorious matchmakers.

Evander had fallen victim to one of her matrimonial snares in the past and was keen not to experience such unpleasantness any time soon. The older woman wasn’t a fan of Ginny and had been at the source of the vicious rumours that had branded the young woman as little more than a glorified prostitute when she first gained a reputation as a high end courtesan.

Evander was one of a small number of people who knew that Ginny was incredibly particular about who she allowed in her bed chambers. No amount of money could convince her to sleep with someone she wasn’t attracted to. And the odd men who had tried to be forceful in their amorous advances soon discovered that Ginny’s physical interests lay beyond horseback riding and a game of croquet.

“Judging from Fairfax’s glazed expression, the subject matter Lady Wentworth is currently discussing is boring him out of his mind,” Evander observed warily. “Maybe we should leave them a moment. Lady Wentworth is bound to lose interest soon.”

Ginny’s expression darkened behind her fan. “Care to bet?”

Evander’s stomach sank.