Free Accursed by Amber Benson

inwardly for having done so. “Who in God’s name—” he began.
    But he was silenced by a gasp of shock that came from one of the other guests—a stocky, middle-aged woman called Mrs. Northrup—as the “old man” turned the handkerchief so that the assembled guests could see the greasepaint that covered it.
    Sophia gave a cry of her own, her pale cheeks crimson with anger.
    “John Haversham,” she croaked out, “how dare you! How dare you! I shall have words with your mother!”
    Marjorie Winterton gave a sharp giggle, then quickly covered a mischevious smile with her hand. William gaped openmouthed as “Lord Delwood” wiped away the rest of the greasepaint, revealing a handsome young visage. The now much younger Mr. Haversham turned away for a moment as he pulled something large and pliable from his mouth—a set of very realistic-looking teeth, which he dried with a napkin.
    When he turned back, he spoke to Tamara.
    “You will have to forgive my cousin Sophia. She, too, is of a delicate nature, I am afraid.”
    Sophia’s eyes flared, but this time she held her tongue. Her anger was too raw to give polite voice, William supposed. Haversham paid no attention to her rage. Instead he continued to address Tamara, doing so with an impish grin.
    “These were a gift from a dear American friend, who found that his invention of vulcanized rubber could be put to good use in the improvement of mankind.”
    “I can think of nothing of more import to mankind than the gift of rubber teeth,” Tamara responded archly.
    Haversham tossed her a wink before dropping the dentures into her hand. William watched with some amusement as a bright crimson blush came to his sister’s throat.
    “Yes, I had a feeling that these might be of keen interest to you especially, Miss Swift. I’ve heard tales of your grandfather, and about your curiosity concerning the art of stagecraft. These should enthrall you, no doubt.”
    Tamara nodded, smiling mischievously herself now. “Oh, indeed, sir. My curiosity is certainly piqued.”
    William just stared at his sister, all traces of amusement having evaporated. This man was a rogue, and Tamara was actually flirting with him.
    Marjorie Winterton stood up abruptly and called for everyone’s attention. “Thank you very much, John, for such an entertaining diversion. If only my Thomas were here to enjoy it, the evening would be perfect.” She paused, giving Haversham a quick nod. “Please, everyone, take your seat, so that we may begin. I think you shall all thoroughly enjoy the treacle tart.”

    D INNER WAS SUMPTUOUS. It began with raw oysters and proceeded through a course of bouillon. There were fried smelts and then sweetbreads, neither of which Tamara fancied. But the main course—quail with truffles and rice coquettes—was the equal of any dish she had tasted in ages. By the time the fancy cakes and coffee were served, Tamara felt herself under the spell of John Haversham. During the elaborate meal she had quite enjoyed the attentions of the dramatic newcomer. He was an entertaining dinner companion: smart, witty, and very, very attractive. She liked the way he posed his slim, powerful body so casually in his chair, his hands lying on the tabletop, oblivious to etiquette.
    As she sipped her coffee, she stole a glance at him. Haversham was talking animatedly to Marjorie’s weak-chinned brother-in-law, Reginald. Tamara studied his face. She liked his strong jaw, and the way his brown hair was a bit ruffled at the top, as if he had just been out in the wind. His eyes were dark gray, and the lashes were long and thick like a woman’s. There was still a bit of greasepaint on his chin, but she didn’t mind the effect. Indeed, it added to his mystique.
    Reginald must have noted her interest, for he gave her a knowing, gap-toothed smile. Thus caught, she quickly turned her attention back to her own plate.
    Tamara had always found Reginald a bit unsavory. Sometimes, when he thought she