His canines flashed in the dark as he grinned. “You must allow that these old castles will have their secrets, Miss Rose.”
“Some, I grant you.” But some secrets she was determined to uncover, particularly those that lay beneath his dark smiles and enigmatic words. And tonight, she promised herself, she would find out once and for all who and what he truly was.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Le Bal Masqué
Milli beamed at Victoria’s reflexion in the stately gilt mirror, and then shifted her gaze back to the delicate arrangement of golden locks and pretty plumes framing her face.
“There, will that do?” said Victoria, clearly pleased with the results of her handicraft.
“Oh, yes,” Milli replied with a happy sigh. She only wished the wound on her wrist did not itch so beneath the bandage concealed by her long, white glove. The bandage she had been careful to hide from her sister. Emma would only raise a breeze and cluck at her like an old hen. What if their parents were told and Mother ordered Milli back to Little rotting Snoring? No, indeed, she was right to keep this from her sister. Faugh! She was no longer a child to be coddled or chided.
Nicholas had been nothing but solicitous since that dreadful incident in the garden, so she could not very well lament the night altogether, nor could she regret following him outside in the first place despite Skinner’s warning. Despite all that had transpired. Nicholas had played the gallant physician ever since and sought her out each day to attend to her bandaged wrist himself. It was their little secret.
These romantic assiduities of his could mean only one thing. Any day now, she was quite certain, Nicholas would declare his love and make an offer of marriage. The thought was so thrilling that her cheeks flamed just to think of it. Perhaps she would even be married before Emma and Lord Winterly. How jealous her friends would be! What if she and Nicholas were married right here at Winterthurse—a winter wedding and she all in silver and diamonds.
Milli dragged her nails firmly along her inner wrist, endeavoring and failing to banish the itch. All the while she admired her gown shimmering in the lamplight. Victoria was wearing an elegant strip of gilt gauze over her eyes and, now that Milli was done twirling, came to stand behind her again, holding out a blue Venetian mask. It was framed by a spray of matching feathers and sported a dignified little beak. Only Milli’s mouth would remain undisguised.
“Shall I put it on for you?” Victoria asked, eyes twinkling.
“Yes, please!” Milli could feel herself vibrating with anticipation as the mask was fitted into place. At last, she was ready.
She turned to face Victoria and caught a strange look in the woman’s eye—something of tenderness. But it was gone all too soon and replaced by a cool smile.
Arm in arm, the two women left Victoria’s gaudy boudoir of baroque furnishings and garish dark colors and made their way down the hallway.
“Do you think Nic—Mr. Valko will recognize me?”
With a knowing grin, Victoria gave her arm a playful tap. “Even if you wore a mute mask we would all know you instantly.”
“Well, I hope I shall know him when I see him.”
“I’m afraid you shall find my cousin wears his disguise well tonight.” There was something unsettling in Victoria’s tone that momentarily quelled Milli’s enthusiasm.
Rather than allow herself to be troubled by what was likely some private jest, Milli distracted herself by studying the pale, disembodied heads watching as she and Victoria passed beneath them. Every inch of wall space was covered in dusty portraits framed in faded gilt, their wardrobes capturing the zeitgeist of their respective eras. It was uncanny how much the Winterlys resembled their ancestors—they were almost exact replicas of one another. If not for the anachronous wardrobes and outdated coiffures, she’d have sworn she was looking at the living and not the ghosts of the past. Why, Milli could almost imagine it was Victoria herself, replete with a powdered wig of towering curls and ornaments. The woman’s face gazed down at passers-by with Victoria’s elegant mien of frozen apathy and unchanging beauty. Emma and Winterly’s progeny, Milli decided, would almost certainly favor Winterly in looks and coloring, seeing as the features of his bloodline were so manifestly dominant.
With her sister now foremost in her mind, Milli was reminded that Emma was likely still hiding away from Lord Winterly. Thus she and Victoria would first stop to retrieve her hen-hearted sister before continuing downstairs. However, it was only Boudicca that occupied Emma’s chamber when the two women entered moments later. Bemused, Milli turned to leave, or would have done so had not a vicious yowl suddenly erupted from her cat.
Startled, Milli spun around to see Boudicca’s back arched and her fur bristling with rage. But it was not Milli to whom the cat’s blazing eyes were transfixed, it was Victoria. The cat hissed and spat, its little face contorted in a hateful rictus. It gave another sharp complaint before bolting under Emma’s bed. Victoria’s dark brows twitched in annoyance.
“Feckless cat,” said Milli, wagging her finger at Boudicca who could still be heard hissing under the bed.
Victoria gave a sniff. “Dreadful creatures, cats. I much prefer the company of canines.”
“Not I,” replied Milli with a troubled frown. She closed the door with one last admonishment for the cat and then bent her course towards the foyer.
The scene that greeted Milli below was one of fanciful splendor and dark mystery that instantly banished all thoughts of Boudicca’s abominable discourtesy. The walls and floor were dressed in eerie gossamer, glowing lamps, crystal vases, and monochrome sprays of tall roses. Such strange decor leant a surreality to what was otherwise an intimidating entrance hall.
On a sort of small podium in the ballroom sat a mysterious harpist in her blank mask and ornate gown. The music was like a mass for the dead, yet beautiful withal. Milli found herself staring, rapt, at the graceful movements of the woman’s delicate hands. Soon another woman joined her, almost identical except that her mask covered only the upper half of her face. She seemed to float up onto the platform and as she did so she began to sing. Her nightingale voice complimented the harp exactly, the heart-rending beauty of her soprano echoing softly around the room and filtering through the glass doors.
When Milli finally blinked the enchantment from her eyes, it was to find Victoria had slipped away. Milli wandered among the cloaked strangers and masked beauties and finally spied her friend disappearing into the mirrored colonnade. Victoria sent Milli a wink over her shoulder and then slipped out of view.
Milli hurried past the frozen grins until she found herself suddenly surrounded by towering mirrors. She twirled and giggled to see her many reflections so frightfully disfigured. In one mirror her body was stretched like some queer bird with a long neck and in another curved mirror she appeared a sinister homunculus.
The sound of Victoria’s laughter, carried along by the curved glass, instantly spurred Milli into action. She lifted her skirts and, with an answering laugh, gave chase, her retinue of hideous reflections doing likewise. When she giggled they did the same, though the answering echos sounded far stranger, more brittle, than when they had left her own lips. When she whirled about they did so too, mimicking her like a sea of macabre marionettes of all shapes and sizes.
At last, she emerged into the conservatory, her cheeks flushed and the niggling pain of her wrist forgotten. Here too some otherworldly magic had transformed the glass rotunda. White and black marble statuary—forest gods and weeping angels—filled the room, all surrounded by tall, potted rose bushes rank with leaves and dark red petals. Hundreds of tiny lanterns glowed overhead and beyond them, far beyond the panes of glass, the stars and the moon festooned an indigo sky.
The furniture that had occupied the room before was nowhere in sight. Milli had never ventured into the solarium during the day, for Victoria was adamant the bright light would give her unsightly freckles. The woman was almost single-minded in her efforts to preserve her complexion, and wh
atever vigorous habits and beautifying balms she employed, they were clearly doing their office, for Victoria was a woman of unrivaled beauty.
Unrivaled in beauty and fleet of foot besides. Where on earth had the woman disappeared to? It appeared that Milli was quite alone in the conservatory, save for the marble statues. One statue in particular attracted her notice, a black satyr with long horns and large hooves. He was tall and broad of chest, his torso naked and his lips curved with handsome villainy. He seemed to be beckoning to her with an outstretched arm frozen beside a cluster of roses. He was naked but for the fur that covered his loins and legs. More’s the pity, thought Milli with a giggle.
She wagged her finger at him. “You may grin all you like, Bacchus, I have no intention of dancing with you.” But he merely continued to hold out his hand to her, so she finally relented with another giggle. “Oh, all right then, but just one dance.” With that she approached him and stretched her hand up to place it over his palm. Then, holding onto it, she began twirling beneath him as though he was spinning her around. Had her brains not been so thoroughly rattled about by the dancing, she might sooner have noticed she was being observed.
She halted instantly and snatched her hand away from the silent satyr who was still wearing his lustful grin. Oh, to be caught dancing with a statue like some Bedlamite! Milli straightened her skirts and glared at what she had first mistaken for another statue. But this was no statue.
Notwithstanding his unnatural stillness, there was no mistaking the force of life he exuded.
“You must think me as daft as a brush,” said Milli by way of a greeting.
“Not at all,” he replied, emerging from the branches and roses. “A delightful little sprite, perhaps.”
Milli swallowed, unable to suppress the unease that he stirred to life as he emerged into the lamplight. He was exceedingly tall and handsomely dressed, his black mantle nowise disguising his athletic frame. But his mask was something altogether sinister. His entire face was covered so that she had no idea who he was. Long, branch-like antlers (the very same she’d mistook for shadowed rose branches) jutted up from the black head mask. If not for the antlers, she might have presumed him to be some sort of predatory minotaur—half beast, half man. As it was, he gave the impression of some wild forest deity.
“Ah,” said Victoria, suddenly appearing by her side, “I see you’ve discovered my cousin.”
This was Nicholas? How extraordinary, for she had not recognized his voice at all. Not surprising as it was muffled by the mask. Or perhaps he was desirous of disguising even his voice tonight; he had spoken low and in something of a graveled, unfamiliar tone.
“Mr. Valko?” Milli felt herself relax. “How frightening you look.”
But it was Victoria that replied. “No more than any other night.”
He merely shrugged, though Milli suspected the ire she sensed in him was sparked by Victoria’s comment.
“Oh, don’t be tedious, Cousin,” said Victoria, giving him a light tap on the arm with her fan as she sauntered past him. “This night of all nights we may truly be ourselves.” She shot him a pointed look before she withdrew.
It was a strange thing to say, but then Milli had always considered her friend to be rather eccentric. Rich people generally were. Milli knew she ought to follow Victoria from the conservatory, but she was torn between observing convention and desiring a moment alone, unchaperoned, with the man she intended to marry.
Milli decided on the latter recourse and seated herself on what appeared to be the only bench in the conservatory. It was bathed in moonlight and partially bowered by roses. Milli glanced up through the glass overhead at the full moon cresting the battlements—the largest moon she’d ever beheld. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” she said. For a moment it held her in some mesmeric sway.
The sudden appearance of the forest god, seating himself beside her, drew her back to herself. “Yes,” he replied, turning to face her.
She felt her cheeks burn with pleasure under his gaze. Only a little of the lantern light seemed able to penetrate the bower, and for the most part his mask was shadowed. He must have been aware of her aversion to it, for he soon removed it and sat glaring down at it. He was so beautiful, she was hard pressed to draw breath in his company.
They sat in silence a long while and in all that time Milli wondered why he hadn’t yet kissed her. Tonight, of all nights, was the perfect night for illicit romance. Why, even her prudish sister had been thoroughly kissed since they’d been here. Milli studied what she could of his face and wondered if it was shyness that kept him aloof. He didn’t seem shy to her, but perhaps he hid it beneath that veneer of silent brooding.
Well, if he wouldn’t kiss her then perhaps she ought to take matters into her own hands. To that end, Milli leaned in and shut her eyes before she could think better of her next move. He tensed instantly beneath her touch, his lips hard and unresponsive beneath hers. When nothing happened, her lids sprang apart, her eyes wide with growing dread. With stinging coolness, he was watching her make a fool of herself. She retreated, mortified. How had she mistaken his detachment for shyness?
Milli was just preparing to leap from the bench and flee to her room, when she felt a firm grasp upon her wrist. She turned, bemused, to find that his eyes were now anything but cool. They were piercing and lambent beneath the moonlight. They were in fact so arresting, so uncanny, that she stilled. Without warning, he pulled her to his side and covered her mouth with his. She was so shocked by the unexpectedness of the kiss that it instantly overshadowed all thoughts of the preternatural glow she thought she’d glimpsed in his eyes.
When the shock passed, she closed her eyes and sank against him. Her lips parted on a sigh. He lost no time deepening the kiss and released her injured wrist, his hand gliding up her gloved elbow. As his fingers slid behind her head, angling it for better access, her flesh erupted into ripples of pleasure. Lips against lips and hands against bare flesh—it was glorious and heady. Every spark of contact, every caress of his lips and tongue, bestirred another deeper sensation—an ache that coiled in her belly and flooded her loins.
His breathing intensified and her heart rate spiked as he gave vent to the fervor that had been kept leashed until this night. Would that she’d known such passion had been simmering beneath his chivalrous smiles and amiable manners. Literature had not prepared her for this!
She followed suit and dragged her teeth over his lower lip. For her boldness she received a gratifying groan deep in his throat like a growl. It resonated in her very bones and she was only a little disturbed by it, inhuman as it was. But nothing short of his suddenly sprouting fangs and biting her would induce her to shatter this rhapsodic moment. Her answering moan of pleasure, however, had quite the opposite effect on him. He stilled and drew her hands gently away from his chest where they had found purchase.
Milli watched him, chest heaving, as he turned away and made short work of placing his mask back over his face. She had wanted to look into his eyes again. She had wanted to see there what she herself was feeling, but the moment was now lost and she was left to imagine what she would.
She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, still moist from the kiss. Wet with passion; wet with something else too. There was a slight coppery tang in her mouth which, she supposed, accounted for the faint throb in her underlip where he’d employed his teeth and loosed his ardor. She smiled, delighted by his loss of control.
“Come,” he said, rising from the bench. The inscrutable mask was once more back in place. “You ought to be dancing with more than just the satyrs and beasts of this garden.”
“Yes,” she replied, “I did hear tell of a ball somewhere hereabout.”
“I believe I know the way.” And with that he pulled her up and with a light squeeze of her hand, a secret reassurance, he lead her from the conservatory.
Oh, what a pair they made, subsumed into the wicked hall of mirrors. He a beast and she his most willing prey.
Chapter
Thirty-Five
The Sick Rose
My Dear Mary,—I have searched the looking glass and found myself aghast at the misshapen darkness therein. Aghast because I am by no means as repulsed by what I see as I used to be. Perhaps that is because I am without my spectacles again and can no longer trust what I see; how then can I trust what I feel is real? Ever your purblind cousin,
Emma.
The vampyre moved with fluid grace beside Emma in the quiet of the lamplit corridor. From beneath her lashes she caught the golden glint of a pin secured at his neckcloth. Emma made to pull her hand from the crook of his elbow, but he held her fast, denying even the smallest distance between them.
“We’re going the wrong way,” she said. The ballroom lay in the opposite direction to the one he was taking.
His lips twitched. “There is only one way tonight.”
They passed the dining hall and turned down another corridor, one that took them past the tapestry room and the billiards room. At length, they entered the old armory where those peculiar Blades of Heaven resided, as well as the mysterious double doors that guarded the castle’s underbelly. The doors stood as before, reposed in their pitted iron brackets, but tonight two silent sentinels were stationed either side of them. These guards were attired not in their habitual livery but in dun, wax-covered robes, black gloves, and wide-brimmed hats, beneath which protruded long, stork-like leathern beaks. Plague doctors! Their glass eyes and awful bills gave her dreadful pause. To her mind there was little else more disturbing than plague doctors. Except vampyres, of course. Their movements were preternaturally synchronized and swift as they opened the ancient-looking portal into the under realm. The doors growled against the flags.
Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1) Page 24