In which his lordship and our heroine partake of the fresh air

The marquis came to a halt on the top of the steps that led down to a sweeping crescent of lush green turf, fringed by arches dripping with roses and dotted with a little fountain trickling merrily. From up here, the entire garden was in view, an impressive vista of tall trees and a lake crowned by a bridge at the bottom of the incline. Scythe men were on the move, mowing down the tall grass that undulated in the breeze. A bit to their right, a crumbling ruin covered in ivy skillfully draw the gaze. The old stones were surrounded by flower beds where Phlox and yet more roses ruled supreme, their sweet fragrance drifting over the casual scene of pastoral tranquility that must have taken decades to achieve.

"Someone likes their roses."

"Yes, stepmother. She does nothing by halves. Whatever was growing in the beds before, she had uprooted. Only the spring bulbs survived. Oh, and phlox she likes as well. May I?"

He presented his bent elbow, and Corinna found she had no choice to put her hand under his arm and curl her fingers around it. Thus trapped by convention, she was guided down steps she could have well walked alone. There weren't all that many, and they weren't steep.

How odd, though, she should feel safe in the marquis's company rather than being chagrined or concerned. But the man now walking at her side, pointing out the sights in his calm voice, threatened to kill her if she revealed the family's secret.

"I can see you care little for our boxwood maze. Could it be that's because you're a spy?" Demoral said in a conversational tone.

She stopped, tempted to pull back her arm. "You're funning."

He looked down at her and grinned. "I'm not. Every single governess who joined us in the last three years was a spy. They're all sent by this man—what's his name again? Ah, Brewster."

From one second to the next, Corinna's knees trembled like blancmange, and a jumble of thoughts tumbled through her head.

A gentle tug at her arm made her move again, but the fog in her brain refused to lift. It was with difficulty that she found a meaningful question to ask. "What would be the purpose of such an outrageous behavior? Seriously, why should anyone spy on you, let alone me?"

"Oh, there are some people in the government who cannot understand my philanthropic 'nonsense', as they call it. I'm not acting the way they expect me to, so I must be suspicious at all cost."

The brain fog cleared. "Tell me, how is someone like you supposed to act?"

His lips twitched. "Run through the forest in furred form and spook the peasants, I suppose. Instead, I ensure that church towers are maintained, the poor are housed and fed, I care for my tenants, and—most suspiciously—I have gathered all these people under my roof, none of whom is in the usual style."

"How would that lead anyone to take you for a...uh, what is it exactly you are accused of?"

Once more, the smile tugged at his mobile lips. "We're talking treason, as you're well aware, Miss Wolverstoke, since you were sent to find evidence of my black deeds. For the records, this time I approve of Brewster's choice. The previous spies were an insult to my intelligence."

"You seem to have agents on your mind."

"Oh, I do. So do you."

The man was as tenacious as a bloodhound. Someone actually mentioned something along those lines recently, but her confuddled brain refused to remember who on Earth it might have been.

"Such a claim isn't worthy of my comment, my lord. If I understand your butler correctly, there's one person at large you haven't identified yet. You might want to start there rather than with me. Seriously, someone has sneaked into your home, and you're ignorant of that person's identity. How can it be?"

His smile faded. "Correct, and that's worrying, for sure. So far, it was only the governesses and my valets we had to watch out for. Now, it appears Brewster has upped the ante. We thought the valet was to be your contact here in the house, just as it was with the other ladies. We apprehended him once you left your bedroom. But when questioned, he had no inkling of your true identity. In case you wonder, no, he hasn't drawn any wool over my eyes."

"What a bizarre story. The circulating library has nothing like it on offer. Tell me, how can I reassure you I'm no spy?"

He sighed. "You can't. And please don't insult my intelligence, Miss Wolverstoke."

Deep in her heart, she knew that he knew. But she had to keep up the pretense until she had found a way out of this tangle.

Uncomfortably aware of his body so close to hers, she said, "You'd be insulting my intelligence if you expected me not to deny your accusations."

He laughed. "Well said. You have a way with words, but in the end it won't help you much since you're also a more than a simple spy, Miss Wolverstoke."

Corinna's legs did that blancmange thing again. "What are you talking about now, my lord? For sure, I have no panthers lurking in my soul."

"No, but you command powers beyond the reach of an ordinary human, otherwise Amanda in her panther form wouldn't have trusted you."

Oh?

"I'm not familiar with the changelings' capabilities, my lord."

"You wouldn't be. You simply have to accept that I'm telling you the truth."

That was...inconvenient. He might be bluffing, but Corinna harbored some serious doubts on that front. Her case was looking blacker by the minute, darker than the mass of gray clouds that had swallowed the sun. A chill breeze sprang up, and she shivered.

The marquis regarded the sullen skies. "I fear we're in for a downpour. Let us return to the house. I suggest you decide before we get there. I need to have clarity on whether I'm walking with a friend or a foe."

"And what would influence your decision on that front, Lord Demoral?"

The smile he tossed her had too many teeth in it. "An honest statement from your side, and a little help for my cause."

Corinna wanted to retrieve her arm, but slender fingers hard like iron held on to her hand.

She stopped, and this time he let go of her arm. "May I ask what you mean by that?"

"First, you answer a very important question. Who or what are you?"

The mocking had left his voice, and the planes of his handsome face had shifted into a stony mask.

Frantic thoughts rushed through her brain, careened about, and left without leaving much of a mark.

She had to do something. Give him something, without telling him everything.

He knew about Brewster. He knew she wasn't a mere mortal. No, he wasn't lying or making things up.

But he wasn't aware of her criminal career. The High Toby was a hanging offence. Even someone was open minded and free-spirited as the marquis couldn't tolerate such an outrage.

Especially if it was committed by a woman.

"I'm waiting for an answer, Miss Wolverstoke." Demoral pulled a timepiece from his pockets and dangled it in front of her nose. "Tic, toc. Time waits for no one. Nor do I."

"And then what?" Her throat was so dry, the question came out as a croak. Sudden anger flamed in her cheeks. He was only another man who used his power to jerk her around.

Corinna plucked a leaf from the laurel behind her back and rubbed it between her fingers.

"I would prefer not to go to extremes," he said, his voice a soft purr.

That did it. She called up her skylles and took a step closer, until their chests almost touched. "Quite honestly, I find you intolerably rude."

He quirked a brow.

"Yes, I do. First, you throw wild accusations at me. Then you threaten me. My lord, you are no gentleman."

To her not insignificant surprise the hardness in his face vanished, and he burst out laughing.

Corinna toyed with her skylles. How far could she go? It was a shame she had almost no knowledge about changelings. Well, he had told her to her face she wasn't a mere mortal, so even if he caught her doing something peculiar, he wouldn't be surprised. And with a bit of luck, she might vanquish the blasted man and get back in the driving seat.

She let her skylles drift, fairy fingers of consciousness that wove a pattern around the marquis, still smiling and wiping his eyes.

Demoral started and wrinkled his fine nose. His eyes flashed bright green.

"Ah." He slashed his arm through the air and ripped apart the gossamer veil of power she thought only she could see.

Corinna pulled her consciousness back into herself.

That didn't go so well. As she feared, he had spoken the truth, and changelings could indeed sniff out the likes of her. But now she had revealed her true nature, he might be more inclined to believe what he saw—or sniffed—was all that was there.

Admiration rang in his voice when he said, "A hedge witch. What a delightful surprise. You're a gift from heaven. Someone with your powers can definitely help me."

Corinna sighed. "I thought I was supposed to have been sent by a Mr. Brewster, not by divine intervention. You really need to make up your mind, my lord. Go ahead, then. What is it you want from me?"

"I want you to find the missing traitor. With your mind-traveling skylles, that should be easy."

"My lord—"

He raised his hand. "We'll be having a soirée for our servants tonight. Everybody will be there. Come with me, I will explain."

A soirée for the servants? Who would be serving them? Surely not his lordship. Demoral Park for sure was the most bizarre place.

1682 words of 27500. The 20 K threshold is somewhere in this chapter. 

This chapter is dedicated to @zonderzorg who usually writes historical novels, but for this ONC chose something entirely different. Interested in dating portals? Like your food? Search no further than his contribution to ONC 22!