Darling Beast

by Elizabeth Hoyt

  His voice broke.

  She smoothed her palms over his great head, running her fingers through his hair, trying to comfort though she knew she must be failing.

  He turned his face, laying his cheek against her chest. “At least Artemis had a roof over her head and food aplenty. I lay awake for nights after I received word of our mother’s death, fearful that Artemis would be tossed into the streets. I could do nothing. Nothing. She was—is—my sister. I should’ve been able to protect her, to care for her and make sure she never had to worry, and yet I was helpless. Hardly a man at all.”

  “Shh,” Lily murmured, pressing kisses against his hair. She could taste her own tears on her lips now. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Apollo—her Apollo—should’ve had to endure such inhumanity.

  “The things they did there…” His voice was hoarse, broken. “There was a woman,” he whispered. “A poor mad thing, but she sang in such a lovely voice. One night the keepers came to do her harm and I called to them, mocking them, and they came to me instead.”

  She stiffened, her throat clenching in fear. Oh, her brave Apollo! How noble and how foolish to draw the ire of his jailers.

  “They beat me until I passed out,” he said. “That was when I lost my voice. Afterwards—after I was rescued by the Duke of Wakefield, after, when I lay abed, regaining my strength, though not my voice, I thought of her. I went back one night, but she was already gone. Some fever had taken her. Perhaps it was for the best.”

  She looked down and saw that he’d closed his eyes, though his brow was knit fiercely.

  “But I made sure that guard—the one who’d meant to harm her, the one who’d led my beating—could harm no one ever again. I dragged him from that place and gave him to a press-gang. Wherever he is now, he’s not around women. I never would’ve done that before. Bedlam changed me.”

  They had taken away something very important from him when he’d been made helpless. It should’ve broken him, being forced into chains. Yet it hadn’t.

  Even in her grief she was amazed.

  She framed his face with her hands, tilting it up so she could look in his eyes. “You survived. You endured and survived.”

  His lips curved bitterly. “I had no choice.”

  She shook her head. “There’s always a choice. You could’ve given up, let them take your soul and mind, but you didn’t. You persevered. I think you are the bravest man I have ever met.”

  “I think, then, that you’ve not met many men,” he whispered. His voice was light, but his face still held the years of tragedy.

  “Hush.”

  She kissed him, not as a lover, but almost platonically, to acknowledge all that he was. Her lips brushed his forehead, both cheeks, and finally his mouth. Softly. A benediction.

  “Let us sleep,” she said, and helped him to lie down on the bed.

  She arranged the covers over both of them and then laid her head upon his chest, listening to the beat of his heart: ba-thump ba-thump ba-thump.

  And that was how she fell asleep.

  APOLLO WOKE TO the realization that he’d overslept. When he’d worked in the garden, he’d awoken as the birds had heralded the rising sun. But here inside, in a soft bed with a softer, warm woman against his side, he found it harder to brush away the tendrils of sleep.

  “What?” Lily mumbled as he gently removed her arm from his belly.

  He’d like to linger longer. To kiss her awake and make love to her again, but it was only a matter of time before the servants descended on the room. Besides, the sooner he left, the less likely that he’d run into other guests.

  So he dressed quickly as she sighed and rolled to burrow into the warm spot he’d left.

  Apollo gathered his coat and gave a last glance around the room before bending to kiss her again on the lips.

  Her brow wrinkled ferociously and she cracked her eyelids to mutter, “Is it?”

  He smiled. Evidently she wasn’t an alert waker. “I’ll see you later.”

  Her only reply was an unfeminine grunt as she pulled a pillow over her head.

  The smile still lingered as he crept into the hall and gently shut the door behind him.

  He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to look to his right. Had someone just disappeared around the corner at the end of the corridor? Or had the movement been imagined?

  Apollo narrowed his eyes, thinking, but in the end decided that even if he’d seen someone, most likely it had been a servant at this time of the morning.

  He turned in the other direction—only to find the Duke of Montgomery watching him.

  He prevented himself from starting only by sheer willpower. “I hadn’t thought you an early riser, Your Grace.”

  Montgomery cocked his head. “What makes you think I’ve slept?”

  Apollo examined the other man. He was perfectly groomed in a bloodred suit, pumps, and clocked hose. His golden hair had been swept back into an elegant tail, the ends curled. Or perhaps his hair curled naturally. In any case, Apollo felt like a rat next to a sleek greyhound.

  Not that he cared in particular.

  “Have you?” he asked curiously, approaching the other man. “Slept?”

  A secret smile curled the duke’s lips. “I find sleep a bore—especially when I might spend the nocturnal hours in more… pleasurable pursuits.”

  “I see.” Apollo fell into step with the other man. He had no idea where the duke was headed, but he himself was bent on the breakfast room in search of strong coffee.

  God, he hoped his uncle provided coffee for his guests.

  “Morning is the best time to discover the inhabitants of a house sneaking out of bedrooms not their own.” The duke gave him an entirely too-innocent look. “As you were doing just now from Miss Goodfellow’s room. I now understand your ire yesterday at the unexpected sight of her.”

  Apollo glared. “I’ll thank you not to spread my connection to her about.”

  “Why would I do that?” Montgomery looked honestly puzzled and Apollo repressed an urge to punch the man in the nose. “What good is knowledge if one shares it with everyone?”

  Anything he answered would only provide fuel for Montgomery’s scheming, so Apollo changed the subject. “Have you discovered anything of interest in your sneaking about, Your Grace?”

  “Sneaking sounds so very… bad.” Montgomery sniffed as they descended the stairs.

  Apollo looked at him.

  “Very well!” The duke threw up his hands. “Don’t lose your temper, I don’t know if I could withstand your hamlike fists. I’ve discovered that Mrs. Jellett has a rather handsome, rather young footman she brings everywhere, that Mr. William Greaves has a valet who spent most of his youth in Newgate, that Mr. and Mrs. Warner, despite their newly wedded bliss, keep separate bedrooms—although I’d suspected that already”—the smile he gave was rather nasty—“and that Lady Herrick has a birthmark in the shape of a butterfly on her left buttock. Oh, and that said birthmark turns an interesting shade of lavender when slapped.”

  Apollo stopped in the hallway outside the breakfast room and simply stared at his companion.

  “What?” Montgomery looked irritated. “I defy any man to not take the opportunity when presented to slap a lovely arse.”

  Apollo sighed and continued walking. “Anything else?”

  The duke frowned for a moment before supplying, “Miss Royle dislikes me exceedingly.”

  Apollo arched an eyebrow. “I’d think any number of young ladies dislike you.”

  “Yes, they do,” the duke replied carelessly. “That’s not the interesting part. The interesting part is that I seem to care one way or the other. It’s rather fascinating, truth be told.”

  Apollo rolled his eyes at the man’s vanity. “You’ve collected a quantity of knowledge, Your Grace, and none of it is in any way helpful to my case.”

  “Ah, but one never knows,” the duke replied. “Knowledge has a strange way of becoming applicable at
the oddest moments. It’s why I take care to gather any and all information, no matter how trivial it may seem at first. But never fear: we’ve only been at the house party for less than a day and I anticipate more discoveries today.”

  Apollo’s eyes narrowed. “Why today?”

  “Didn’t you know?” Montgomery had that look of amusement that Apollo was beginning to loathe. “Additional guests arrived late last night.”

  And he threw open the door to the breakfast room, revealing Edwin Stump, his mouth full of toast.

  But it wasn’t Edwin that Apollo stared at. There were two other people in the room—a rather plain but gentle-faced lady and, beside her, a big man with an olive complexion, a scowl twisting his features. He had one green eye and one blue.

  Beside him Montgomery went very still before whispering, in a tone of delight, like a little boy offered a huge bag of sweets, “Oh, how utterly wonderful!”

  LILY WATCHED FROM a chair later that morning as Stanford struck a pose and declaimed, “ ‘An’ if ever I see my daughter in such a position again, mark me well, gentlemen, I shall’… er…”

  He sneaked a glance at Lily, who didn’t have to refer to the pages in her hand. After all, she’d written A Wastrel Reform’d. “ ‘Disembowel the deceiver,’ ” she said, supplying the rest of the line.

  “ ‘Disembowel the deceiver.’ ‘Disembowel the deceiver,’ ” Stanford muttered to himself before nodding and resuming his pose. “ ‘I shall disembowel the deceiver so that ne’er again may he so deceive again.’ ”

  Lily winced. It wasn’t exactly her best line, but then she’d written the second half of the play in only one week. Her first play had taken a year to write.

  Of course, she’d burned it after that.

  “Darlings!”

  She turned at the voice and stared, hardly believing her eyes. Edwin stood in the doorway, arms thrown wide, in a new sky-blue satin suit, apparently expecting his usual welcome.

  Well, and she supposed he had cause to. Moll and the other actresses rushed to him, Moll cooing over him. Stanford and John approached more slowly, but they were equally admiring in their own way.

  Ridiculous to pout. No one but her and her brother knew that she was the real playwright.

  “Robin, sweetheart,” Edwin called, strutting toward her.

  Lily repressed the urge to roll her eyes at him. He was always careful to call her by her stage name in the company of others, even when all the other actors knew quite well what her real name was.

  She submitted to a buss on her cheek and then smiled sweetly at him. “Might I have a moment of your time, brother dear?”

  “Naturally.” He glanced about to let the other actors know what a doting older brother he was.

  “Alone.”

  The first inkling that something might not be right seemed to seep into his eyes. “Erm… certainly.”

  She rose, set down the pages, and led him into the small antechamber, closing the door quite firmly behind them.

  “What—?” he began, but she cut him off quite satisfyingly with a slap across his face.

  “Lily!” His eyes were wide and hurt, his hand to the side of his face.

  She set her hands on her hips. “Don’t you ‘Lily’ me, Edwin Stump!”

  “I don’t understand,” he tried.

  So she slapped him again. “You set the soldiers on Apollo. They might’ve taken him to Bedlam—or hanged him. All because you were miffed that he’d thrown you out of the theater.”

  “I wasn’t miffed,” he said, drawing himself up and straightening his white wig, which had become rather askew. “I was worried about your safety.”

  “My safety?” She knew her mouth was agape, but she just couldn’t help it. Edwin could be such a prize ass sometimes—and what was worse, he seemed to be under the delusion that she was a simpleton. “Are you insane?”

  “No, but he is.” Edwin backed up a step. “A deranged killer! Everyone has heard.”

  “He is not a deranged killer,” she said very, very softly as she crowded Edwin into a corner of the room. “And you know it quite well. You’re being spiteful—and you’re hurting me.”

  He’d already opened his mouth for a retort, but his eyebrows drew together at that. “What? Hurting you?”

  “Yes, hurting me, Edwin,” she said patiently. “I like Lord Kilbourne, and I find your cruelty toward him—and me—quite unforgivable. He’s here, at this house party.”

  “I noticed him just now in the breakfast room,” Edwin said sulkily. “He’s taken the ridiculous name Mr. Smith.”

  “He’s here to look for the real murderer. I don’t want you to even think about turning him in again, do you hear?”

  “I…” He gulped. “But Lily…”

  “Not even accidentally, Edwin.”

  He dipped his chin, looking a bit shocked. “Yes, very well.”

  “Good.” She turned to go because anything else she said at this point would not be conducive to a good future relationship with her brother, but Edwin caught her arm.

  “Lily…” He cleared his throat nervously. “I think I ought to warn you.”

  She looked at him and saw his forehead was shining with sweat. A feeling of sick dread settled low in her belly. Had he already told someone about Apollo? “What is it?”

  He swallowed. “Richard Perry, Baron Ross is here.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  For at the heart of the labyrinth was a wild and beautiful garden. Vines climbed over tumbled stones, so worn they might’ve fallen millennia ago. Gnarled trees twisted between the stones, branches thrust upward and covered in emerald leaves. At the center of the clearing lay a still, blue pool with small white and yellow flowers scattered along its mossy bank. But the monster lay there as well, sprawled half in the pool, his blood dyeing the waters red…

  —From The Minotaur

  Apollo strode into the drawing room where the actors had decided to put on their play. They were gathered there, Moll Bennet at one end with her arms raised as she spoke her lines. She glanced at him as he entered, winked, and jerked her head in the direction of a small door to the side of the room.

  He nodded as he changed his course for the door. He and Moll had become friends the night before when he’d talked her into abandoning the room she shared with Lily.

  He could hear voices as he drew near. Lily saying, “… Indio…” and Edwin hissing in reply.

  Apollo pulled the door open sharply and Edwin Stump nearly fell into his arms. He pushed the man back inside, stepped in, and shut the door behind him.

  Lily was in the corner, looking rather pale, but he kept his gaze on Edwin. “Say one word about me or my past and you’ll—”

  Edwin held up his hands defensively. “No need, my sister has already made all the threats.”

  “Has she?” Apollo stepped closer because he didn’t like how Lily looked. What had her weasel of a brother said to her? “I’m sure she was most thorough, but I still wish to make myself clear. Whatever she might’ve threatened you with, know this: I don’t like you. Hurt her or me and you’ll regret it to the end of your days.”

  Edwin’s Adam’s apple bobbled in his throat. “Quite. Yes… erm… that’s very clear, I think.” He darted a glance at Lily and for the first time Apollo saw a trace of regret in the man’s face. “But you must know I’d never do anything to hurt my sister.”

  “Do I?”

  Edwin glanced down. “Perhaps… there’s something you should know.”

  Apollo narrowed his eyes, not trusting the other man a whit.

  “Lily told me that you’re looking for the man who might’ve murdered your friends. That is, I suppose, if you didn’t do it yourself.”

  “I didn’t,” Apollo bit out.

  Edwin blinked rapidly, backing into the wall. “Yes, of course, we all know that, don’t we, Lily?”

  She sighed, speaking for the first time. “He didn’t, Edwin.”

  His brows knit as if her calm assuranc
e confused him. “All right, all right. It’s just that I saw you come into the breakfast room with the Duke of Montgomery.”

  “So?” Apollo said. “His Grace is helping me.”

  Edwin shrugged, looking shifty. “But is he, though?”

  “What do you mean?” Lily frowned. “Do speak plainly, Edwin, please.”

  “I’m trying to!” Oddly he looked wounded by his sister’s words. “The duke likes to collect information—things other people would rather keep hidden.”

  “You’re saying he’s a blackmailer,” Apollo said.

  Edwin grimaced. “Nothing that unrefined. More of a manipulator, perhaps. But it doesn’t do to let one’s secrets fall into his hands.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Apollo replied drily.

  “I think you haven’t realized you’re already in his hands,” Edwin shot back. “He knows you’re an escaped murderer—” He held up his hands as Lily sputtered a protest. “Yes, all right, an accused escaped murderer. What reason does he have to help you when he has such a hold over you?”

  “I have no money,” Apollo replied. “He had nothing to gain from me.”

  “Don’t think that you have only monetary things to lose,” Edwin said. “Some things of value have no price.”

  Apollo felt a bead of sweat run down his spine. Without taking his eyes from the other man, he instinctively held out his hand to Lily.

  Lily clasped his fingers and stared at her brother, her face shuttered.

  “I’m trying to warn you,” Edwin huffed and actually turned to Apollo for help.

  Apollo raised one eyebrow at him.

  “Very well.” Edwin drew himself up with martyred pride. “If you’re quite done with me?”

  Apollo waved at the door, but made no move to step aside, making Edwin brush nervously against him as he went for it.