“He–he kissed you?” Helena blurted.
“And you didn’t…er…” Calliope tipped her empty wine glass.
“Faint?” Percy said wryly. “No, I’m pleased to say I remained on my feet.”
“How was it?” Helena asked, her countenance rapt with fascination.
“It was…” How did someone describe heaven? “Wonderful,” she said succinctly. “It was wonderful.”
“But Mr. Black kidnapped you,” Calliope said as she reached for the wine bottle. “Isn’t he, well, the bad person is all of this?”
“He is a thief,” Percy acknowledged. “And a criminal. And a rogue. But…”
“But?” Helena prompted.
Bringing her legs to her chest, Percy wrapped her arms around them, her empty glass dangling loosely from her hand. “But he didn’t treat me as if I was some broken, helpless thing,” she said quietly. “He was sweet, and compassionate, and at times he seemed to understand me better than I understood myself.”
“He sounds…very nice,” Calliope said with a quick glance at Helena.
“Very nice,” Helena repeated.
“I know how ridiculous I must sound.” Percy leaned her head on the sofa and gazed at the ceiling. “How trite it all must seem. Like a plot from one of those romantic books you so adore, Calliope.”
“Those books are the height of literature,” Calliope said defensively.
“They are quite good,” Helena agreed. “I’ll admit I was skeptical, until I read–what was it called?”
“Pride and Prejudice,” Calliope supplied.
“Yes, that’s it. Pride and Prejudice.” Helena grinned as she sipped her wine. “Mr. Darcy can come call upon me any day.”
“What about Stephen?” asked Calliope.
Helena waved her hand in the air. “I’m head over heels for him, of course. Everyone knows that. But I believe we can all acknowledge that we’d lift our skirts for Mr. Darcy.”
“I found him rather pompous,” Calliope said with a shrug.
Helena gasped. “You take that back!”
“Everyone is entitled to their own opinion.”
“Not if they’re wrong.”
Before her friends could dissolve into fisticuffs over a fictional character, Percy stepped in to play peacemaker. “You are both blessed with wonderful men who are so incredibly lucky to call you their own. Surely, that is a better romance than any book.”
Helena pursed her lips. “Stephen is lucky, isn’t he?”
“As is Leo,” Calliope said happily. Then she saw Percy’s wistful expression, and her smile faded. “You’ve truly come to care for this Mr. Black, haven’t you?”
“Yes. I…I love him.” As a dull flush settled at the top of her chest, Percy looked at Calliope, then at Helena. “Unfortunately, he’s made it painfully clear that he doesn’t love me.”
“Because he sent you home to us?” Helena asked.
When her throat swelled, Percy could only nod.
“But…maybe he did that because he loves you,” Calliope said earnestly.
“I concur,” Helena said with a toss of her head. “If everything you’ve told us about your Mr. Black is true, and we’ve absolutely no reason to doubt that it is, then it’s obvious he is crazy about you. It’s also obvious he thought he was doing what was best for you.”
Percy bit her bottom lip. “And if what’s best for me is to be with him?”
Calliope and Helena exchanged another glance, this one notably longer than the last.
“Then you are going to have to tell him that,” said Helena.
“Maybe you can write him a letter,” Calliope suggested.
“And send it where?” Lucas hadn’t exactly left her with a forwarding address. He’d covered the windows of the carriage when he kidnapped her, and covered them again when he sent her back. She’d tried to keep track of the twists and turns they’d taken on the way to Berkley Square, but she had soon lost sense of her surroundings until the carriage came to a halt in front of Helena’s townhouse.
“We’ll figure it out,” Helena assured her.
“But first,” Calliope put in gently, “you need to rest and recover. You’ve been through an incredible ordeal. Once you’re feeling like yourself again, we can pursue the matter of Mr. Black…if you still want to, that is.”
Percy wasn’t oblivious. She heard what her friends were saying…and what they weren’t. They thought she was tired, and overwhelmed, and her feelings for Lucas would fade as soon as she felt like herself again. But she knew her own heart. And she knew it wasn’t soon to change.
She loved Lucas.
She loved him.
The only question that remained was whether he loved her in return…and how the devil she was supposed to find the Devil of Duncraven.
Chapter Eleven
Percy looked for Lucas for two weeks. It was useless. He was a ghost. As invisible as air. And after she’d gone everywhere she thought he might be and still couldn’t find him, she went in search of someone who could.
It was pouring rain and half past midnight when she snuck out of the house. Helena was fast asleep, dreaming of wedding bells, no doubt. She’d kindly delayed her wedding to Stephen until the autumn. “It’ll be prettier then anyways,” the countess had said with a flippant toss of her head.
But Percy knew the truth.
Both Helena and Calliope were worried about her. Oh, they hadn’t spoken as much in so many words. But she’d seen their concerned glances. Their raised brows. Twice she’d even caught them whispering together. She had told them repeatedly that she was fine, but they didn’t believe her. She could hardly blame them. After all, she wasn’t fine. And she wouldn’t be fine, until she tracked down Lucas.
The hackney driver believed she was jesting when she told him she wanted to be taken to Seven Dials. She doubled his fee for the trouble, and soon found herself inside a crowded tavern called the Fox and Bull.
It wasn’t difficult to locate Artemis Bishop. She was the only woman there.
And she was standing on the bar.
Singing.
Squeezing between two drunken sailors, Percy waited until the voluptuous blonde had finished her ballad and climbed down.
“Excuse me,” she said, her voice bold where it once would have been soft. “I need to talk to you. About a mutual…friend.”
If Artemis was surprised to see her, it didn’t show in her expression. Pulling a handkerchief out from between her breasts, which were on full display courtesy of the corset she wore over a plain white shirt, she dabbed at her perspiring brow before tossing the handkerchief onto the bar.
“How did you get here?” she asked, yelling to be heard above the crowd.
“What?” Percy yelled back.
“I said, how did you–come on. This is no place to chitchat.” Taking hold of Percy’s arm, Artemis dragged her to a table in the rear. There was a man sitting there, but one glance from Artemis, and he immediately scurried off. “Walk into my study,” she said, gesturing to the now vacant chair with a grand sweep of her arm. “I’ve been waiting for you to show up.”
“You have?” Drawing off her hood, Percy flicked a quick glance behind her before she sat down.
“Indeed. You just won me five shillings. I bet one of Molly’s girls I’d see you before the end of the month,” she explained at Percy’s bemused stare. “And here you are.”
“Why would you make such a wager?” Percy asked.
“Because you’re in love with the Devil of Duncraven. Obviously.” Crossing her legs, Artemis flagged down a barmaid and ordered two ales. “Haven’t had any luck finding him, have you?”
“No,” Percy admitted, drumming her fingers on the edge of the table. “I haven’t.”
“And you won’t. Not unless he wants you to. Quite elusive, our Lucas. Cheers,” said Artemis when the barmaid returned promptly with their ale.
After a moment’s pause, Percy picked up her tankard and took a sip. Why not, she t
hought? When in Seven Dials, and all that. But no sooner had she tried the brew than she immediately regretted her decision.
“Oh,” she gasped, her eyes watering as she slammed the ale down. “That tastes horrible.”
“Like horse piss,” Artemis agreed. “But it gets better towards the bottom.”
“I believe I’ll take your word for it.” With a shudder, Percy nudged her tankard aside. “Ms. Bishop–”
“Absolutely not.” The blonde’s nose wrinkled. “It’s Artemis if you wager a cuff upside the head, and Art if you don’t. Bishop is reserved for my enemies, which I don’t think we’re going to be. Are we, Your Grace?”
“Just plain Percy is fine.”
“Just plain Percy,” Artemis repeated. Resting her elbow on the table and her chin in the palm of her hand, she studied Percy with sharp blue eyes and a spider’s smile. “I don’t think there’s anything plain about you, is there? I always wondered who would have the pleasure of bringing the devil to his knees. I’ll be the first to say that I wouldn’t have put my money on a shy, pint-sized duchess. Lucas never struck me as the blueblood type. But you’re different, aren’t you? Not the usual sort of toff. Which is fitting, I suppose, as Lucas was never the regular sort of thief. His heart has always been too soft. If it were me, I would have turned you over to Glastonbury without a second thought.” Artemis sat back in her chair and jerked her shoulder in a careless shrug. “Nothing personal.”
“Um…” Percy wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say to that. “So you’ll help me locate him?”
Artemis rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that what I just said? I’ll need fifty pounds. That’s what I should have gotten from your friends, and practically a bargain for true love.”
“Done.” Percy had all of six shillings on her person, but she wasn’t about to quibble about the price. She’d find a way to pay up. After she found Lucas.
Just thinking about seeing him again was enough to have her heart pounding against her ribcage. How dearly she’d missed him! In such a short amount of time, he’d become such a large presence in her life, and now that he was gone, it felt as if he’d taken the air in the room with him. She couldn’t breathe for wanting him. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat.
And she knew, she knew, there was every chance he would turn her away.
But she had to try.
She had to.
“All right then, come on.” Artemis chugged the rest of her ale, swiped her hand across her mouth, and stood up. “Let’s be on our way.”
Percy blinked. “Right…right this second?”
“Were you planning on a certain date?”
“No, I…” Suddenly nervous, Percy swallowed hard and pushed her chair back. “I’m ready.”
“Good, because the sooner we get all this romantic nonsense over with, the better.” Artemis made a face. “It’s giving me a headache.”
Rain lashed at the windows and pummeled the roof in a torrent of water as Lucas sat in front of the fireplace nursing his second glass of gin. He’d downed the first in a matter of seconds, but he wanted this one to last him well into the night. God only knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, and given a choice between tossing restlessly on his bed while thinking about Persephone, and sitting in front of a warm flame while thinking about Persephone, he was inclined to choose the latter. Bloody hell, but he missed her.
He missed the sound of her laughter.
He missed the smell of her perfume.
He missed the shape of her smile.
With Persephone gone, the world around him was dark and gray and barren. There was no joy to be found, even when he buried himself in his work. Because every job he took only served to remind him of her. And how empty his life was without her sunshine to light the way.
His arms ached to hold her. His mouth ached to taste her. And his heart…
His heart was in bloody shreds at his feet.
The only thing that kept him going, the only thing that kept him from drowning in bottles of gin instead of the two glasses he allotted himself each night, was the knowledge that she was happy. She was safe. She was where she belonged.
Lucas frowned when he heard a knock at the door. Bessie was long gone, the maids with her, and he wasn’t expecting anyone. Especially not here, at his private residence.
Picking up the pistol that was never far out of reach, he held the weapon in one hand and his drink in the other as he padded silently into the foyer. There was another knock, louder and more impatient than the first. Eyes narrowing, he drew back the hammer on the pistol with a deliberate click.
“Who is it?” he growled.
“Open the damn door and find out,” a familiar voice replied.
He slowly lowered his gun. “What the hell are you doing here, Artemis?”
“I’ve brought you a present.”
“Couldn’t it wait until morning?”
“You’re up, aren’t you?”
“Sod off.” He started to walk away. Artemis Bishop was just another reminder of Persephone. A reminder he didn’t want, or need. But before he had made it to the foot of the stairs, Artemis picked the lock and flung the door open, allowing a gust of wind and a sheet of rain into the foyer. Enraged at her audacity, he spun around, prepared to shoot her out of pure spite…but the sight that awaited him stopped him cold.
No.
It couldn’t be.
“Persephone?” he said, his voice little more than a croak.
Artemis glanced between them, her smile smug. “My work here is done. Enjoy yourselves. And Percy, don’t forget my fifty pounds.” The thief-taker slipped away into the night, leaving Lucas staring at Persephone as if she were an apparition.
Part of him believed she was.
He was dreaming, he decided as he gazed at her standing there in the doorway, her hair a wet tangle around her pale, beautiful face. Except no dream had ever been as sweet as this. Then she shivered, and that small, unconscious tremble drove him into action.
Whipping off his jacket, he wrapped it around her shoulders before he scooped her into his arms and carried her straight into the parlor. Firelight cloaked them in a cozy orange glow as he sat directly on the floor, wanting to bring her as close to the warmth as possible.
“I…” Lucas’s words locked in his throat. Gone was the devilish rogue who always had a wry quip, no matter the situation. He had been replaced by a man who held the woman he loved, and he’d never felt more vulnerable. Or more terrified. Having let go of Persephone once, he didn’t know if he could do it again. Except he also knew he couldn’t keep her, which was the real reason he’d been avoiding her. Not for her happiness and safety.
But for his own.
Saying goodbye to her had almost killed him.
If he had to do it again…if he had to do it again, he might as well be dead.
“What are you doing here, Persephone?” He stroked her hair. Her back. Her thigh. Everywhere and anywhere he could reach. She sat cradled on his lap, her head resting on his heart and her knees drawn to her chest.
“I kept trying to find my way back.” Clinging to his shirt, she burrowed into him. “I searched all of London. You just…disappeared.”
“We both agreed–”
“No,” she said fiercely. “You decided for us. I never wanted to leave. So, I went to Seven Dials to find Art and–”
“YOU DID WHAT?” he roared. As fear the likes of which he’d never experienced flooded through him, Lucas leapt to his feet and pulled Persephone to hers. His hands clasped her shoulders, and he resisted–barely–giving her a shake. “Are you out of your bloody mind? There’s no worse or more dangerous place in this entire damned city!”
She angled her chin. “I survived. I’m not helpless.”
“No one said you were helpless. Stupid, perhaps. But not helpless.” As he imagined all the things that could have happened to her, Lucas closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Promise me you’ll never go there again.”
“
I’ll promise, on one condition.”
“Which is?” he asked warily, opening his eyes to discover her jabbing a finger at him.
How different she was now from the meek, frightened rabbit she’d been all those weeks ago on the night they first met. Or maybe…maybe she wasn’t so different after all.
Her spirit had always been there. He’d seen it even then. Bruised and battered, but not broken. Even under the harshest of conditions, Persephone had never allowed herself to break. Was it any wonder he was in love with her?
He’d fallen for her frailty, and her strength. Her timidity, and her stubbornness. She was all he could have ever asked for…and nothing he deserved.
Raising her hands, Persephone carefully placed them on either side of his face, her thumbs resting in the corners of his mouth. Her violet eyes were luminous. Her ivory skin, bathed in firelight. Her lips a solemn line he longed to kiss. “I will give you my promise, if you give me a promise in return. Do not let me go, Lucas. Ever again.”
“Don’t ask that of me,” he said raggedly. “Anything else, and it’s yours. The moon, I’ll find a way to get it. The stars, they’re yours. But not that. Please, Persephone. Not that.”
“Why?” Her dark brows drew together. “Ever since I was a young girl, all I wanted was to love someone. And to be loved in return. I’ve found that with you. I think…I think it was always meant to be you.”
His jaw clenched beneath her palm. “It’s not that simple.”
“Because you’re a thief and I’m a lady?” She smiled when he scowled. “A person’s title does define their character. I should understand that better than anyone. I realize I am still married to Glastonbury. Maybe one day I’ll find a way to change that, but–”
“I don’t care if you’re married to the bloody king of England. You’re mine.”
Damn it.
He hadn’t meant to say that.
He shouldn’t have said that.
But the idea of some part of her still being connected to that monster…
Desiring the Devil of Duncraven (Secret Wallflower Society Book 3) Page 9