She glanced quickly up at him. “His intentions are honorable, my lord. I would not have allowed him to take such liberties if he had not—”
“What? Made a spectacle of you in front of onlookers who’d love nothing better than to see you fall? Yes, he holds you in the highest esteem, Affry.”
“I love him.”
“Love?” What the deuce? She was incorrigible. Virbius hadn’t risked his life for this. “You’ve known him above a week?”
“Longer.”
“What you feel for him is most assuredly not love.”
“What do you know of love?” She took a deep breath before continuing. “You seem to me incapable of it.”
“And you find love too readily.”
“What if I were to tell you that Mr. Pirithous has spoken to me already of his intentions?”
He’d kill the man. “He hasn’t asked my permission. And after tonight’s performance, I won’t let him anywhere near your person.”
“How could you?” she cried. “Are you so afraid to allow me some sort of happiness?”
“Happiness?” his voice choked on the word. The girl had lost her senses, and now her eyes glittered with unshed tears. He felt helpless against the onslaught—still he fought to make her see reason. “And what of those incidents that follow you like a bad cloud? You are not free to love, Affry. Throw off these wild fancies.”
“Euthymia prefers I live my life to the fullest!”
“Your Aunt Euthymia has never married nor desired it—though very useful in the ways of cleaning up after you, she has very little knowledge of how to keep you from trouble.”
Her voice rose. “I’m not a bit of prime blood to be reined in!”
The dance had ended. He put a hand on her arm—he hoped what she saw in his eyes would force her to see reason. “Have a care for your words. We’re not like the others.”
“Piri is to make an announcement that will tell you otherwise.”
Dash it all! Was he speaking to a Greek statue? Before Virbius could attempt to dissuade the chit, they were interrupted with the tinkling of glass near the orchestra. Piri stood at the head of the musicians, lifting a wine glass in hand.
Chapter Five
Affry felt her breath rush to her lungs as if trapped inside her. Not now. Piri must wait. Virbius looked thunderous. His gloved hand felt like steel over hers. He reminded her of a self-possessed jaguar, sleek, lean, and ready to torture his food before ripping it apart. She raised a hand for Piri to halt, but his face was resolute, and what was more, he wasn’t looking at her. Affry’s hand found her necklace instead, and she clutched it like a lifeline.
“I’ve an announcement.” Piri grinned easily, though there was a hardness behind it that Affry never noticed before. “As many of you know, I have developed a certain tendré.”
Affry could feel the attention on her now. The girl with the blue ribbon in her dark curly hair stood directly in front of her. Ariadne, was it? The jonquil spider-gauze of her gown swished as she turned on her an expression that bespoke pure hatred.
Piri’s eyes found Affry’s in the crowd, resolutely ignoring the dark shadow of her guardian standing over her. Affry should exult in the realization of their forbidden love, but she knew better. The marquess wasn’t from here—he would cause a scene.
“I have developed a tendré,” Piri continued, “…for pomegranates. Yes, pomegranate wine to be precise. I love it.”
A roar of laughter followed his words. Affry jerked in astonishment.
“Ah yes, her father.” The whispers started around her. “The smuggler.”
“It was his gift to the princess. Pomegranate wine—smuggled from the Mediterranean. Quite the insult to the prince, I say.”
Affry tried to conceal her horror. Piri cared for her. He said that he did. She had seen it in his eyes—in his kisses. Why would he do this?
The guests no longer bothered to lower their voices.
“Adonis’s child, is it?”
“His by-blow rather! Aphrodite’s her name. Shady business her birth.”
“…scheming piece of muslin. Do you see her? Setting her hooks into the marquess now.”
The marquess cast the nearest gossipmonger his more murderous looks. Affry pushed away from him with numb fingers, unable to grasp what was happening. She felt for some kind of feeling, but came up empty. The love she felt for Piri drained from her and left her with nothing.
“Affry?” Virbius turned a whisper on her.
“No,” she said. “Leave me. You were right.” He tried to touch her and she shrank from him. “I don’t need your help, Virbius. Please. Leave me.”
Virbius left her then—he headed straight for Piri. The air stuck in Affry’s lungs strangled her now. She had to get out before she disgraced herself more by bursting into tears. Then she couldn’t be responsible for the consequences. She tried to keep back the pain until her head ached with the effort; all her emotion, her sorrow, the raw disappointment tried to find an outlet, but she fought it with everything in her. Tears—especially her tears—brought far worse repercussions than what brought them on. She forced herself to look at Piri, hoping for some misunderstanding.
His eyes were no longer on hers. “I’m sure my parents would agree most heartily… were I to ask their permission,” he said with a hard chuckle, “that it be only right to dedicate this night to pomegranates, trade, and every other blight on society.”
Affry felt the heat of his insults infuse her with a stinging, fiery passion. Dear old Piri? Dear old Piri indeed! She managed to keep the tears back by screwing up her face, but she knew it was only a matter of time before she gave into it. Emotion was uncomfortable, especially for her. It did things that she couldn’t be responsible for. Through the pain, she noticed Ariadne, the ribbon through her dark hair. Her catlike eyes narrowed at her—she didn’t smile—just coldly observed her pain. What had Affry done to deserve such loathing?
Piri set down his wine glass. His friends circled him about, laughing raucously, covering him until he became one of them. Affry had told him her every secret: her yearnings for freedom, her dreams for happiness and…and for children. Had he been laughing at her the whole time? He had. He must want to hurt her—he who had everything. Did he want to see her cry? Was that it? If she didn’t leave now, he would get his wish. Then all would be punished.
She gathered her skirts and made her retreat. She only traveled a few steps when she rushed headlong into a firm chest. Strong arms wrapped around her. She fought away with a gasp, seeing Piri’s closest friend. A slow smile crept over his cruel mouth. The Earl of Lytus’s knowing eyes were all over her—the insult of his gaze, the twist of his perfect lips seemed all carefully calculated to undo her. “Now where are you going?” he asked in his seductive voice.
She couldn’t answer or she’d make the mistake of crying.
“Surely you won’t take anything Piri says to heart, dear lady.” He sounded bored. “His declarations of love, protecting your honor? It was all in the name of a good lark. Nothing more.” Affry brought her hand to her ruby necklace, and the earl studied the jewels dispassionately. “But then what is it to him that he finally broke his young filly? Besides a few shillings, of course?”
The wager!
She tilted her chin up. Now she wished she could be more like the marquess, jaded and cold, but she couldn’t be like him. Fiery rage and burning embarrassment filled her until she trembled. She had to control herself. Her passion got her into trouble. If she didn’t have so much of it, she’d never have gotten involved with Piri in the first place. Stupid. Insolent. Reckless. Society was right about her.
She attempted to sweep past the earl, but his hand clamped to her arm, pinning her in place. He shoved her up against a wall. “No, you must not leave. Stay here with me.” Too late, she noticed the cruelty behind his slow, lazy smile. “I can see about tainting your reputation further.” His fingers tightened over her.
Biting back a scream, A
ffry elbowed him firmly in the midsection. Precisely as the marquess taught her. She listened to his answering grunt of pain and rushed heedlessly past him, quickly losing him in the crowd drunk off the Christmas festivities. She growled out a farewell under her breath, “I look forward to seeing you again, my lord—most passionately.”
The blackness of vengeance consumed her. She had to leave the ballroom now…and then what? She’d have to gain control of her emotions. That was of vital import. Then she could mull over how to exact her vengeance—besides the obvious. And of that, she knew Virbius would never approve.
Chapter Six
Virbius almost had Piri. He threw one of the boy’s laughing friends aside, feeling a restraining hand on his arm. “No, you cannot,” Euthymia cried. “I know that look, my lord. You will kill him and then what will we do? We are not in our world—here it is not the thing!” Her last words came out a desperate plea. “We have a work to do. You must leave him.”
“I’m afraid I cannot do that, my lady.”
Euthymia brought a hanky to her eyes, dabbing at them. That stopped Virbius in an instant. She looked a wreck. “My poor little Affry,” she mourned. “I can’t bear it—you must go to her. I’ll take care of this.” She cast a disdainful look at her laughing guests. “I don’t know why they would treat my girl so poorly.”
Virbius knew why. As much as he disliked to admit, it was not Affry’s scandalous behavior that made her the talk of the town—she was a beauty. Never mind her guinea gold curls. The dark lashes over impossibly deep blue eyes—resembling the goddess she was named for; but she was so far above everyone in society that none could hope to compare. Well, it seemed the jealous tabbies had their revenge. The look on Affry’s face when Piri taunted her with her father’s smuggling made Virbius’s stomach turn.
“I had thought a Christmas party would be just the thing.” Euthymia sniffed.
Virbius ran a hand through his hair, upsetting his valet’s careful ministrations. “Why try to live in this society? We are not like them.”
“I had hoped some normalcy would do you poor dears some good,” she cried. Virbius watched her, torn. “Of course we must continue our Christmas festivities.” She gave a firm nod. “My true friends will come to our rescue. Then you shall see.”
Virbius groaned, but he knew it would stave off the scandal Euthymia so ardently feared.
“I’ve half a mind to throw the rapscallions out.” He heard her say. Virbius turned hopefully and Euthymia wagged a finger at him. “I believe my niece Mia will be just the thing. She’ll know what to do. As soon as she arrives, she’ll put everything aright. She’ll lead the carols and serve the Christmas pudding.”
Virbius recoiled at the thought. “No. no.” He couldn’t stomach the highhanded redhead. His only comfort was that Affry’s cousin was ensconced so far in the country she’d be hard pressed to reach them in this snowstorm. “I’ll handle this myself.”
Euthymia arched a brow at him. “Yes, yes, I daresay you are correct. I’ll put order to the festivities at once—such an insult will not be taken lightly.” She waved him away. “Now go. Search the libraries, Affry’s bedroom, the kitchen, the sculleries. You know what happens when Affry is in a passion.”
Hang it all. Why did Euthymia not remind him of it sooner? The woman had completely recovered now that she had made him ill with worry. He stalked the opposite way, hoping Affry wouldn’t be too difficult to find in this monster of a house.
Chapter Seven
Ruined. Ruined! Flinging herself against the doors, Affry entered a narrow world of squalor, peeling paper, and worn carpet. Affry felt more comfortable in the servant’s quarters than she did in the ballroom. She had always been a pauper at heart. Interesting that society should guess it instinctively. After this, she wouldn’t see another invitation to a ball or soiree. No more going about in society. No more morning visits. No more pretending to be something she was not.
That should please the marquess.
She followed the maze of halls down the stairs, not knowing where to run this time. After her father’s exploits, she never believed she could find love in a society that hated her. Not until Piri. She forced her thoughts elsewhere. There lay pain.
Her slippers slapped over the flagstone floor in the kitchen. A footman edged past her, carrying a roasted pheasant. As soon as he saw her, he bobbed his head in quick successions and escaped up the stairs. A slew of servants bustled around the long kitchen table, preparing sauces, jellies, and Christmas puddings. A smoke blackened stove made up the length of the far wall. Plates of cakes and sweetmeats were arranged prettily on serving dishes, ready to be carried out to the party. The French Chef worked at the fireplace, adjusting the spits. After a nudge from a ragged boy, the man looked up. “Oh non, why is young miss in my kitchens? C’est la femme du diable!”
Affry felt a sob escape her. Calling her a devil in any language seemed to be the fashion of the hour. Swiping a Queensware candlestick from the collection at the table, she left the kitchens and rushed through the scullery to find the cellar door.
It was locked. Fortunately, her father had kept an extra key in a hidden panel near the door—it was another of dear poppa’s diversions: secret tunnels, secret rooms . . . secret past. She choked on another sob, not able to get the door open fast enough for her liking. Throwing her shoulder against the hard mahogany door, she flew onto the first step of the cobbled staircase and almost lost her footing. Taking a deep breath, she eased the door shut behind her. It wouldn’t do for anyone to follow her.
She gathered her skirts and raced the rest of the way down the steps. It was cold and damp below, and blessedly deserted—possibly the only place in her aunt’s country house presently so. All sounds of the party were obliterated by the stone walls. Lifting the candle, she saw the light flicker over the crates her father smuggled in from his journeys. Now that her father was gone, she couldn’t bear to open them. Affry brought the candle up, the soft glow spreading over the casks of pomegranate wine her father brought from the Mediterranean. His smuggling had proved her undoing.
Affry set the candle on the ebony table in the center of the room. There were no chairs, so she leaned against the cold stone wall and slid to the floor. She couldn’t indulge in these hysterics. Wouldn’t. Not here. Not with all the guests above stairs to feel the wrath of her pain—no matter how hateful they were. And if she did? Well, this would be the safest place for it.
She covered her face and took deep breaths. In. Out. Over and over, trying to keep her mind off the scene in the ballroom, reminding herself what happened when she gave in to a fit of the vapors. Her hand went to the rubies in her necklace, six in all on a delicate golden chain. They were smooth and round. She concentrated on her father. He cared for her. He did—no matter his indiscretions. Auntie Euthymia loved her, too. Despite society gossip, Virbius had stood by her side—his eyes hard, condescending, blaming her for sins she was unaware she possessed.
No, that was not a cheerful thought. Since the moment she met him, Virbius had always possessed such self-confidence and purpose—that with his brooding good looks. It had been such a shame he was a boor…and so far above her reach. Gaining his approval proved an impossible task. Piri had been such a godsend. Her happiness should’ve erased all thoughts of Virbius…and still nothing could quite dissolve the image of Virbius’s expression when she had first opened the door to him. As if he were arrested by her mere presence…then along with everything else, she lost that too.
A tear slid down her cheek followed by another. She gasped, dashing them away, but more replaced them. And then came the sobs. She couldn’t contain them. Her hurt escalated at one thought—there was something wrong with her—it wasn’t just her father’s scandals. Affry was somehow put together all wrong. She wasn’t made for this world. Even cheerful Piri despised her for reasons she couldn’t fathom. The laughs of the horrible tabbies in the ballroom came back to haunt her, the narrowed eyes of Piri’s possible betroth
ed. Affry would never find the love she craved. She cried harder and behind her heartbroken cries, she heard it—the familiar hissing. It was too late. Her head lifted at the sound.
Winged black shadows drifted from the air like smoke, their hair twisting and coiling from their heads as they took form—it sounded horribly like a nest of vipers. The thought of what she had done left a hollow pit in her stomach and set her to crying again. Virbius would think her the worst kind of simpleton for bringing the furies back again.
Behind the three monstrous figures of the furies, the wailing of dead souls echoed her pain. It was always like this. Ever since her father’s death, Affry couldn’t dissolve into tears or the world she knew ripped open like fabric. Just as it did now. The air glittered like water behind the opening, yawning wider and wider, threatening to drown her in its nothingness. What followed was worse, because then the foul creatures of the underworld came for her.
These were the incidents that followed her like a plague.
Through her tears, Affry’s fingers curled into a fist. She’d fight this too—she’d welcome anything that made her forget about her failure in the ballroom.
Bat-like creatures shot through the air past the shoulders of the furies. Their screams shrill and terrible like witches caught in a fire. She made out humanlike features on their faces the closer they came. Harpies.
Affry ducked, fighting the layers of skirts free from her leg and unsheathed the knife strapped around her thigh and frilly underclothes. The weapon was dipped in Hydra’s poisonous blood—if Virbius could be believed.
One of the harpies landed against her stomach, knocking the breath from her body and ripping at the flimsy material of her dress. She plunged her knife, hilt deep, into its fleshy neck. Shrieking, it fell into a limp heap at her feet. The others came at her from the sides to box her ears soundly with hefty wings, but instead she dropped, balancing her hand on the ground and sliced their underbellies. Screams echoed back at her, their hot blood wet on her hand.
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