The White Hornet by Celine Jeanjean

Author:Celine Jeanjean [Jeanjean, Celine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-10-07T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 21

Rory got ready, her senses straining to detect any sounds of someone coming to see her.

Not someone—Rafe. Surely he would come—to wish her luck, to check on her, to… something.

Rory was ready, and still no knock at the door. She stood like an idiot in the middle of the room, waiting.

She jumped half out of her skin when someone knocked and rushed over.

Her stomach sank—it was Cruikshank.

“You ready, lovey? We should get going.”

Rory squared her shoulders as she followed Cruikshank out.

Get ahold of yourself, and put all that business out of your head. She wasn’t about to mess up tonight over Rafe’s weird behaviour. If he wanted to act all distant, that was his decision, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it.

But tonight was too important to mess up. Rory found herself growing cold and calm—just like Rafe had been, in fact. Cool, confident, capable.

She and Cruikshank made their way to Simeon’s house using Cruikshank’s spider and going via the rooftops. Meanwhile, the others used the steam carriage, driven by Rafe, to act as a decoy and attract the attention of anyone surveilling the house.

Rory was dressed for a night at the House of Bel, and in spite being huddled down behind Cruikshank, who took the brunt of the wind and snow, she was half-frozen when they reached Simeon’s place.

By the time Cruikshank dropped her off a few doors down, the cold and the importance of the evening had banished any remnant of Rory’s hurt and confusion over Rafe.

“Good luck, lovey,” Cruikshank said. “And be careful.”

“I’ll be fine.” Rory made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “It's just gonna be a bunch of wealthy people sitting around drinking too much.”

“Still. Be careful. We know too little about this White Hornet to take chances.”

“Don’t fret. I know what I’m doing.” Rory turned to leave.

“Um, Rory, aren’t you forgetting something?”

Rory sighed and turned back. She was cold. She wanted to get inside, and she was growing tired of having everyone fussing over her. “What now? Cruikshank, I’m cold, and I told you—”

Cruikshank tapped her goggles.

“Oh.” Rory felt sheepish. She took the goggles off and handed them to Cruikshank, squinting against the snowflakes fluttering on the wind.

“Glad you know what you’re doing, lovey,” Cruikshank said, a teasing smile in her voice.

* * *

Rory knocked twice at Simeon’s door.

A butler opened the door, frowning at the sight of her. He looked past her shoulder, no doubt looking for her carriage.

“Tell Simeon to hurry up,” Rory said, bustling in. She only just managed to stifle a groan of relief on being back in the warmth. “He said eleven, and it’s past eleven now, so he should be ready.”

“I’m sorry,” the butler intoned, “but you are?” Rory was amused to notice that he spoke much like the butler at their place—slowly pronouncing each word as if it were a precious diamond. Maybe this was something butlers were taught, probably at the same school where they learnt that snooty, slightly judgmental expression.

“I’m Samara Bogats. Your employer has an appointment with me.

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