Page 562 of Flirting with Darkness

Ghost gave her what he hoped came across as a coy, teasing smile. “I have family from there,” he conceded. “I do not suppose you have connections to the Hastings family?”

“We do,” the aunt said primly. Her dark eyes grew more piercing. “Strange that I wouldn’t know of you, Jonathan. I thought I knew all in that family. If not by face, then certainly by name.”

He felt a flicker of relief.

The families weren’t so close then.

His usual cover should work.

“It’s Jon actually, ma’am. And I come from a part of the family that now lives in the Americas,” he explained, reciting his practiced lie. “My mother lost her husband and wished to come back just a few years previous.”

“Why does she not travel with you?” the aunt asked.

“She’s no longer with us, ma’am. Taken in the most recent cholera outbreak in London, I’m afraid.”

For the first time, he saw a different reaction in those dark eyes.

Perhaps because that time most of what Ghost had said was true.

His mother did die of cholera.

She died much earlier, however, in the Whitechapel outbreak of 1854, when Ghost was only eleven.

“I am very sorry to hear that, Jon.” That time, Charlotte Astley sounded almost like she meant it. “Many fell from that terrible pestilence. I have cousins who were lost back in fifty-four. As well as in the upper country.”

Ghost nodded sympathetically.

He almost meant it, too.

“I am terribly sorry to hear that, Ma’am,” he said gravely.

“Are you going to this thing in the barbarian lands?” she demanded next, her voice a touch sharper. “This thing in the wilderness outside St. Petersburg?”

In that moment, Ghost had to fight not to smile.

Still, he found himself liking Charlotte Astley a bit more now.

“I am,” he admitted. He went on in the same tone, as if he regretted it as much as her. “Family obligation, I’m afraid.”

“For us as well,” she said, clucking softly.

Her words grew openly sour, but for the first time, her rancor didn’t seem aimed at Ghost.

“I suppose all of us must take the knee from time to time,” she said. “If only in the name of international relations.”

“I suspect that is true, Viscountess,” he responded.

When the pause stretched a breath longer, Ghost bowed again.

“Very pleasant to meet you Viscountess,” he murmured to the older Astley. He used his deepest his bow for the aunt. His voice grew slightly less formal for the niece. “Very pleasant to meet you as well, Miss Astley. I do hope you both enjoy your dinner.”

He was already backing up.

When the Viscountess acknowledged his manners with a reluctant-seeming nod, he smiled at her politely, coming slowly out of the bow.

By the time he fully straightened, he had already nearly reached the train car’s door.

He would not be having sex tonight, he decided.

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