Whisper of Jasmine by Deanna Raybourn Read Free Book Online

of us who dream about living large, it doesn’t matter what you do to us. You can stick us in dry little careers like law or business or make us wives and mothers, but we will always find each other. Like calls to like, my boy, no matter how much you try to fight it. There’s a rougarou in you.”
    “What’s that when it’s at home?” he asked mildly. Talking to Delilah was always like trying to capture lightning in a bottle.
    “A rougarou is a wolf-man. He’s the dark thing Louisiana parents terrify their children with to make them behave. He comes for all the bad little boys and girls and gobbles them up, but if you’re really bad,” she leant closer, pitching her voice low, “really, really bad, the rougarou turns you into one of his own.”
    “And you think I’m bad? Really, Delilah, you are too much.” Quentin looked genuinely offended and Delilah laughed again, leaving one of her trademark crimson lipstick prints on his cheek.
    “No, not really. But I do think you’re keeping secrets. You’re up to something, Quentin. I can smell it on you just like I can smell wildness on Evie Merryweather. That girl’s going to kick over the traces one of these days and do something so breathtakingly audacious it will be the making of her.”
    “In that case, perhaps it’s best if we don’t meet,” Quentin put in smoothly. “In spite of your fancies, I promise you I am the very picture of staid respectability.”
    “You keep saying it, doll. Maybe one of these days you’ll persuade yourself but you’ll never convince me.” She nodded towards the corner where Tarquin stood polishing his spectacles as he paged slowly through a book on fossils. “Although if you spend much more time with that fellow Tarquin, I might be forced to change my mind. I know he’s your friend, but I don’t think I’ve ever met a duller man in my life.”
    “Oh, Tarquin’s all right,” Quentin protested.
    “He’s a blancmange in human form,” she said waspishly. “Now, go entertain him before he brings down any of my guests. Give him some punch, for heaven’s sake, or introduce him to Jack,” she added with a nod towards a devastatingly handsome young man who was attempting to juggle fire in the sitting room. “Jack could have gotten Victoria herself to crack a smile.”
    * * *
    Quentin collected a fresh cup of punch and made his way to Tarquin.
    “What did our delightful hostess want?” Tarquin asked softly.
    “She wanted to know why you are such a miserable sort,” Quentin told him, his eyes dancing with amusement. “She called you a blancmange in human form.”
    Tarquin didn’t smile, but there was an unmistakable air of satisfaction about him. “She’s no idea how hard it has been to cultivate dullness. My family are notorious for eccentricity. Pretending to care about fossils has nearly ossified my brain.”
    Quentin passed over the punch cup. “She was hoping a bit of New Year’s cheer might brighten your mood. And she thinks you ought to make the acquaintance of young Jack over there,” he added with a significant flick of his eyes towards the fire juggler.
    Tarquin rolled his eyes. “If she only knew. I spend half my time avoiding Jack.”
    “How many times has he asked you for a job tonight?”
    Tarquin sighed. “Three. He’s beginning to lose his touch. At Christmas it was seven. Of course that was a family house party and he rather had me cornered. I promised his mother I would do everything I could to put him off, but honestly, I don’t see how I can refuse him much longer. He’s got all we’ve been looking for.”
    “Just like young Starke,” Quentin said.
    “Precisely.”
    The clock on the mantelpiece began to chime, and the party guests shrieked and toasted and kissed. Jack had just managed to set the sitting room curtains alight to raucous laughter.
    Quentin raised his glass. “To 1915, old man. I hope to God we know what we’re doing.”
    Tarquin watched Jack stamp out the flames and