Back In Time

Chapter 21: In Which The Stranger Is Revealed

Thankfully, Mr. Brandon was too much a gentleman to remark on my speedy get away tactics and was content to walk quietly beside me once we made it to the gardens. I cleared my throat as we began our leisurely stroll, ready to get down to business. I wasn't getting any younger. I technically wasn't getting any older either, but that's beside the point. I was in a hurry to get some information.

"Tell me, Mr. Brandon, have I missed out on any intrigues here at court?" I asked, looking up at his face. He smiled slightly.

"I daresay your bit of news shall create more of a sensation than any other goings on of late," he said in a jovial tone. I laughed a little, trying to stay in character. While I wasn't opposed to a good old-fashioned glamour every now and again, I didn't like to do it when it wasn't really necessary. I would definitely be able to get all the info I needed out of Mr. Brandon with a little polite conversation. Or brain picking, if that didn't work. Drawing upon my southern manners, I decided to go with polite conversation first.

"I cannot say that I was surprised by his proposal. I have seen the way he looks at me sometimes when he thinks I shan't notice," I glanced up at him, hoping shan't wasn't too much. He seemed like he was on board, so I ploughed forward. "I do believe he was more nervous of my brother and his reaction than he was of mine. Though I could have told him that Eric would not have minded. Neither of them are as subtle as they wish to believe," I informed him, thinking that was apparently the understatement of the year according to the info I'd just siphoned out of Anne's brain. I still couldn't believe Eric would slip like that, but I had to remind myself that he wasn't the thousand-old mastermind I knew. He was just a poor little five hundred-year-old mastermind. Ok yeah, doesn't seem like that big a difference in terms of years. Five hundred should be old enough to know better but still. He had a lot to learn.

Mr. Brandon chuckled before responding. "Well, I must admire the man for his prowess. No doubt he'll be relieved that he received your answer, what with the charming devil we received here at court last eve," he told me as we rounded a bend. My senses were on alert.

"Oh?" Charming devil received at court last eve. Anne with vampire blood in her system. I was such a good detective, I didn't even have to detect. Clues just came to me of their own free will.

"Yes, unfortunately I can't recall the man's name at the moment," he said, brow furrowed. I jumped into his head, hoping for an image before remembering that he was not a visual thinker. "Though I'm sure we'll see him back around again, said he was here on business but I'm having trouble recalling what it was he did. Didn't get to talk to the chap much myself, he was surrounded by ladies most of the night. Though he spent a good deal of time with Anne. Perhaps I'll inquire of her," he said, more to himself than to me. In his mind, he was annoyed that he couldn't remember more details. There was no evidence of glamour there, though. He honestly just couldn't remember.

"I take it he was not an Englishman?" I inquired politely. If he were here on business, it was probable that he was foreign. Then again, if he was the mystery vampire, that could likely be a cover.

"No, certainly not. Dark features and lots of silk with a pronounced accent. Spanish, I believe. Perhaps Italian. Or Portuguese," he chuckled. "Those languages all sound the same as far as I can tell and from what I've seen, they favour the same styles as well!"

I laughed on cue, mind racing to think of any dark featured vamps I knew ages 500 and over. I wasn't coming up with much.

"Roguish, too, the lot of them!" I threw back at him, hoping that was true. He nodded, still chuckling a bit.

"As surely you would know, my dear Miss Northman," he conceded. I was confused for all of a second before I remembered that I was supposedly visiting from Spain, where my family was running an export business. I suddenly felt a little compassion for Eric's French slip up, realizing how hard it must be to constantly keep up a cover. Still, though, he'd had 500 freaking years of practice.