In which our heroine and his lordship are at odds

Unsure whether her queasiness resulted from the batteringher consciousness had taken, or the disconcerting emotions projected by Lady Demoral, Corinna withdrew into herself. She wasn't looking forward to telling his lordship about her discovery. Even if she had no clue what exactly was going on, it no doubt spelled Trouble with a capital T.

Trouble she was experiencing in spades already, no need for more.

Theoretically, domestic strife at Demoral Park wasn't her concern. Let the marquis untangle the knots of which there seemed to be aplenty, his shoulders were broad enough to carry the weight.

On the other hand, simply fleeing the hall and its exotic occupants wasn't on the cards either.

First of all, Brewster would expect insight, and so far there was nothing she was willing to give him. Amanda's secret—if it was a secret to Brewster—would not get the wretched man off her back. He wanted dirt on my lord. And said nobleman wouldn't let her slip the leash so easily either.

Oh, what a muddle.

Corinna rubbed her aching temples. With her mind swimming like it did, she stood no chance of forming plans. She'd eat something, and then retire to her room, ball or no ball.

She rucked up her skirts and slipped from behind the curtain into the corridor.

"Not so fast."

Haversack stepped into her peripheral vision. There was an expression on his smooth face she couldn't read, but if pressed, she'd say contempt seemed to be the correct word for what she beheld.

Contempt for what? She hadn't even reported anything yet.

"Miss Wolverstoke, his lordship will see you in the green salon. Now."

"Yes, there's something he must know."

Haversack quirked a brow. "I'd rather say, there's something he does know, and it makes him mightily upset. But this is between you and him, I daresay." His gaze found hers. "I'd like you to know, Miss Wolverstoke, that I am disappointed myself. Very disappointed. I hadn't thought this of you."

What the...? The man had no right to talk to her like that. He came across as a decent person, and if she didn't like him outright, she at least respected him. But he was a servant, and servants—unless they knew one from infanthood like Mrs. Tuckles did—weren't in a position to speak of their betters in such a fashion.

You're a servant yourself.

Fuming, she bit back the retort prickling on her tongue, and followed her tormentor's solid form to the room she had left not so long ago.

As if reading her thoughts, the big grandfather clock at the other end of the corridor struck two.

That late? Mental espionage appeared to be rather time-consuming. Uneasiness took Corinna's throat in a good grip. Heavens, what happened while she was busy reading people in the ballroom? Had this all been a ruse to get her out of the way?

Haversack raised his chin at the door. "He's waiting for you inside. I hope you have a good explanation, otherwise..." He shook his head.

"You seem to enjoy playing the mystery man."

"Says the mystery woman. Lord Demoral was willing to trust you. He thought highly of you. But this?"

"That is quite enough, Haversack. You're presence isn't needed anymore." Corinna turned her back on the butler, raised first her chin and then the train of her dress, and entered the green salon with somewhat shaky knees. Nor could she do anything about the sense of dread feathering her throat when the atmosphere of the place tugged at her mind.

Something had changed, but what and why she couldn't tell.

Father always advised her to ride carefully over rough ground, and to judge by his lordship's flushed cheeks and flashing eyes, this ground was as rough as it could get.

On the other hand, no matter what changed Haversack's and Demoral's view of her person, it would most likely take heavy artillery to blow up their convictions.

Take them by surprise, had been Robin's motto, which seemed much better suited to the obstacles she was facing.

"Your lordship, I discovered something disconcerting."

He glared at the contents of a wooden box he must have been examining. "I didn't give you permission to speak."

Whoa. Such an attitude required heavy artillery and a cavalry unit.

Corinna placed her hands on her waistline, ignored Mrs. Tuckles' voice in her mind that warned her about ladylike behavior, and let rip.

"If you must know, I don't care a piffle about your permissions. You sent me out to spy, and spy I did, much to my personal detriment. Let me tell you, I find your toddlerish mood swings somewhat astonishing."

He scowled. "Do you really? I warned you. There are certain things I won't be able to tolerate. But you had to defy me, didn't you?"

With that, he pulled something from the box. Something red, something that twinkled and shone in the light thrown by the gas brackets mounted on the walls, their soft hiss filling the room.

The stolen jewels.

Her pistol came next.

The urge to explain herself weighed heavy on Corinna's tongue. The next instant, she considered denying ownership, feigning surprise.

No, it wouldn't do. Retreat wouldn't save her, insulting the man's all-to-obvious intelligence wouldn't either, only a frontal attack might yield an advantage.

There was so much insecurity attached to the conditional form in the English language.

Corinna clapped slowly, her heart rattling like a drum. "Bravo, bravissimo. So, you distracted me with your shenanigans in the ballroom, only to conduct a strip search in a lady's bedroom. I congratulate you on your superior stratagems. Fine petticoats I own, don't I?"

Even if Demoral said nothing, the murderous green of his blazing eyes spoke volumes. There was an odd feral scent in the room, that made her want to bolt from the room, from the hall, away into the night.

Panthers had night vision. She didn't, so bolting wasn't an option.

"I'm sorry to say your plans didn't quite work the way you intended them to," she added for good measure.

"Tell me about my intentions, Miss Wolverstoke, I'm all ears." His voice was oddly calm and smooth.

"Your servants aren't guilty of any crimes, but you knew that already when you sent me on an a fool's errand. However, it might so happen I found your traitor. That's assuming there is one, of course."

A shadow of doubt flitted over Demoral's stony countenance, before it hardened once more.

"There is one for sure. Nor did I wish you to fail. That list was real."

His gaze dropped to the jewels, which he grabbed and shook with his fist. "As is this. When you stumbled into my library I immediately knew we'd met before, I just couldn't place you. How was I supposed to recognize a common thief in the guise of a lady of quality gone spy and acting the governess? I knew there was something you were hiding from me even after you admitted to your paranormal nature. I scented deceit on you."

Corinna willed her shaking legs into movement, stepped up to the desk and flung the man what she hoped would turn out a suitably scathing look.

"As far as olfactory prowess is concerned, you certainly have the upper nose on me, my lord. As to your morals—not much so. Being a changeling it would behoove you to practice more tolerance to the unfortunates of this world."

He ground his powerful jaws. "How dare you—"

She placed her hands on the desk and hit him with what she knew to be her best scowl.

"Judge you? Oh, I don't judge you, my lord. You, however, are guilty of such a crime. Is your moral superiority such that you can tolerate the thought of a genteel person joining the ranks of the muslin company but if she were to be highwayman...woman to win the money she needs to feed her family she's committing an outrage? Is that it? Or do you shirk from criminals in general? Why? Do people involved in such dastardly deeds sully your lily-white mind? Or, heavens forbid, do they endanger comfortable bridge-evenings with your friend the magistrate? Tell me, I'm all ears."

He jumped up. Combubble it all, gone was the height advantage.

"You are...forgetting yourself."

She poked a finger at his disheveled shirt. "No, my consciousness is all back in one place, thank the heavens. Which reminds me of something. If I were you, I would have a closer look at the Dowager Lady Demoral."

The marquis went deadly white in the face. Slowly, he sat.

"What are you trying to tell me?"

"Not another word, until I know where I stand with you."

He barked a laugh. "Stand and deliver, most likely, Miss Wolverstoke. You will hang, you know that yourself. You might as well do so with a clean conscience."

A fury more lethal than anything she had ever known rose in her chest.

"The capital punishment is for robbery with violence. I never used violence, if you must know."

"No, you shoot at people."

"I only ever shot in the air. And not because of my lousy focus. I'm considered to be an excellent shoot. However, there are no deaths on my conscience. Recently, one or two of my victims got away because they refused to stand when I told them."

He quirked a brow. "You can't succeed in that vein of business if you're not willing to take lives."

"Not for long, no. But with all those outriders, soldiers, and constables shooting up like mushrooms 'tis a doomed trade anyway."

Demoral sank into his chair and buried his head in his hands.

Corinna pushed on her advantage. "I never hurt a hair on your head—apart from your pride, perhaps—and you're well aware of that."

He shook his head and looked up. "No, it won't do. For the time being we'll have to lock you up in the wine cellar—I don't trust you not to sneak out of your room. Tomorrow, I must contact the magistrate. How could I have been such a fool. I should have followed my instincts, and not..." He shook his head again and groaned.

Nobody would lock her in the wine cellar. It was the outside of beyond.

But not only was he a man, he also was a changeling, and had all the advantage on her—or did he?

The door to the green room stood open, and one reason for its name was apparent even with the darkness reigning supreme outside.

Trees whispered, plant stalks hushed, and there was the moist scent and trickle of water—ah, the fountain at the foot of the steps.

Moisture powered her skylles and it would help her do what needed doing.

His lordship should never have trifled with a hedge witch.

See, here's his lordship, still looking happy. Let's see how long that lasts, shall we? 

This chapter is dedicated to fellow ONC author @Evergreen_Ebony and her "Roseview High Rumor" Teen fiction contribution to the contest! 

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