So Still The Night

by Kim Lenox

  “The young woman in black,” Edward murmured. “She’s your new viscountess, is she not?”

  Pride diffused through Mark’s chest. “We were married just last week.”

  His Grace nodded. Slowly his eyebrows lifted. “You . . . er . . . travel a lot, don’t you?”

  “No.” Mark scowled at the notorious womanizer and narrowed his eyes. “Hardly at all, anymore.”

  The prince took hold of Mark’s shoulder and walked him toward the ladies. “Care for a glass of champagne?”

  That evening, after races and all their associated festivities had ended, a rented carriage conveyed Mark and Mina toward London. She dozed against his shoulder, exhausted by the day’s activity. A bump in the road jarred her awake and she glanced up. A telling tension drew the skin tight at his temples and jaw.

  “You don’t feel well.”

  “No.”

  “Are there voices?”

  “Only one.”

  “What can I do?” she whispered.

  “Nothing, Mina. There’s nothing you can do.”

  Mark reached up and grasped the bellpull, a signal to the driver. Through the speaking tube, he provided an address unfamiliar to Mina. By the time they coursed through a neighborhood just south of Mayfair, night purpled the sky. The carriage turned down a short avenue, lined with immense homes. Heaping piles of wood beams and rubbish lined the pavement, as if every house on the street were under renovation. Eventually they slowed in front of the largest. Light spilled from the front windows.

  “Where are we?” Mina asked as Mark assisted her down the stairs.

  “Home.” He led her up a paved walkway. “At least for the night.”

  His discomfort had intensified, as evidenced by the gaunt draw of his cheeks and the shadows under his eyes.

  Mr. Leeson, whom she hadn’t seen since the eve of their failed departure from London, clambered down the front steps. “You’re here. Why didn’t you send word? I’m not ready.”

  “Show Mina the house,” Mark rasped, his voice like gravel. “See that she has whatever she needs.”

  Realization flickered across the older man’s features. “Oh, sir. Yes, of course.”

  Mark took off across the lawn.

  “Where are you going?” Mina followed him, trotting alongside him to keep pace. Her petticoats and skirts thrashed about her legs.

  “For a walk.”

  “I’ll go with you.” She reached to touch his arm.

  “You can’t.”

  With a dig of her soles against the grass, she veered forward and planted herself in his path. “I don’t want you to be alone.”

  He stopped, grasping her by the shoulders hard enough to make her wince. “But I am alone in this. No matter how I want things to be different, I have to do this alone. You were right when you said we were too different, Mina. I should never have brought you into this. Not in the way I did. I just thought, in all my arrogance, that I could make it work. For now, I just want you to be safe. I want you to go into the house with Leeson and stay there until it’s all over. He will protect you.”

  “Why are you talking like this, Mark?” Mina blinked away a rush of tears. “As if we are saying good-bye? What’s different now?”

  Mark pressed a curled fist against the side of his head. “I can hear her, louder and more furious than ever before. I can smell her rancid scent in my nose.”

  His words pained her—tortured her. He hurt, and she wanted to stay with him. “I’m not saying good-bye to you like this. I won’t go in that house, and I won’t stay there, not after everything we’ve—”

  He lunged, seizing her face between his hands, and kissed her. Suspended there, her toes barely touching the grass, Mina felt the intensity of his emotion and his adoration for her pour through her lips, her throat and into her chest. With a groan, he pushed her away.

  “Stay.” He backed off, giving her the flat of his palm.

  “Mark . . .” She followed.

  “Damn you, Mina,” he bellowed. “I said stay there.”

  The shouted words shocked her, sucking the air from her lungs. Stricken and pale, she stood fixed in place, paralyzed, as he retreated, to vanish around the corner of the house.

  “It’s best that you do as he says, child,” counseled a gentle voice. Leeson stood a few feet behind her.

  “Is he gone? Forever?”

  “Surely not. Don’t fret.”

  His words did not assure her. Had Mark lost his hope? Numb, she followed Mr. Leeson up the stairs and into the house. Even at this late hour, carpenters sawed and hammered. They cut wood moldings and fit them into place. Painters slathered the walls in a smooth coat of white. Leeson led her from room to room, chattering about wallpaper and carpet selections, and how the house was a blank slate and she could pick anything she liked. The entire structure had been refitted with gas illumination, so in every room he twisted the valves, as if to prove to her they worked. But no matter how valiantly he tried to distract her, she did not care about the house. Mina could think only of Mark.

  Leeson urged her up the center staircase. “Once all is right in the world again, and your mind can turn to thoughts of pleasant things, we’ll go across town to his lordship’s warehouses and make whatever selections you like.”

  “He has warehouses?”

  His mustache quivered into a smile. “He’s got three, filled with furniture, artwork and every delightful thing you could imagine. Vases. Plasters. Urns. Old and new. It’s almost as if he’s been waiting all this time . . .”

  “Waiting for what?” Mina whispered.

  “For a home.”

  Tears surged into Mina’s eyes. They surged into Mr. Leeson’s eye too.

  “Oh, dear. Look at us,” she moaned.

  He tugged two handkerchiefs from his pocket and handed her one.

  “Thank you,” she sniffled, dabbing her eyes.

  He mopped his face, even plucking the eye patch up to swipe underneath. “You’re very welcome, dear.”

  “I just don’t know how to help him.”

  “Things will work out. You’ll see. He’s a strong one.”

  Mina paused on the third-floor landing. “The house is lovely, but I don’t wish to see any more tonight. I think I’d just like to be alone for now.” There were so many doors down the length of the hall. “Is there somewhere I could lie down?”

  “Of course. This way, come along.” Mr. Leeson guided her along the corridor. Horizontal patching striated the walls, evidence of the new gas lines. “Certainly, we’ll cover all this mess with wallpaper, when you’re prepared to make those selections.”

  He turned the knob and pushed in the door.

  “Oh, my,” Mina breathed.

  Whereas the rest of the house might be incomplete as far as furniture and décor were concerned, the master suite had been finished to perfection. Wood-paneled walls gleamed. Dark blue drapes hung from the windows, and massive furniture occupied each part of the room, perfectly arranged. The air smelled of wood and polish.

  “You’re welcome to replace anything you don’t like,” he said.

  “It’s perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing. You’re very talented, Mr. Leeson. I hope someone tells you that at least a hundred times a day.”

  The diminutive man smiled proudly. “We’ll have your trunks brought from the Savoy, then?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “I’ll dispatch the wagon for them now. I’ll knock once they’ve arrived.”

  When he was gone, Mina removed her hat and her Ascot badge and entered the cavernous dressing room. A number of boxes lined the shelves. Green boxes, the same kind used by the modiste shop where they’d purchased her new mourning frocks. Tugging a ribbon, she lifted the lid of the first box. And then the second. And the third. They were gowns. Beautiful gowns, each in a different vibrant color. Blue, scarlet and green. In the final box she discovered a profusion of filmy, lacy undergarments and a card.

  With devotion. M.
/>   Mark. Clasping the card to her breast, she crossed the room to the window, and peered down into the shadowed garden. Devotion. He offered her devotion, even when she’d held him at bay.

  Something slithered over her toe.

  Mina blinked. Slithered? She could think of nothing that ought to slither inside the walls of a bedroom.

  She searched the carpet. The dark colors and the pattern of twining leaves and flowers almost concealed the narrow black tail as it disappeared under the armchair. Mina gasped. Her pulse surged. A snake. She’d seen snakes before—mostly in India. One had even surprised her in her bedroll one night.

  She could call for Leeson’s assistance, but certainly in the brief absence required to summon him, the serpent would disappear and they wouldn’t be able to find the creature again. How could she rest in this house, knowing a snake—possibly a poisonous snake—was on the loose? Where had it come from? Heart pounding, she bent at the waist and pulled off her shoe. Muscles drawn with tension, she wrapped her fingers around the toe so as to utilize the hard, narrow heel as a cudgel.

  Advancing on the chair, she knelt and peeked beneath. The snake, dark and shining—an asp, she believed—darted out on the opposite side in the direction of the bed. She leapt up and scrambled after the serpent, then raised her arm—

  “No, no, noooo.”

  A woman’s voice. A hand seized her wrist, halting its downward swing. A swirl of dark skirts blurred Mina’s view of her prey.

  Mina scuffled away, the backs of her legs bumping against the mattress. She blinked, eyes wide.

  Tall as a man, and standing as proud as a queen, the woman glared at her. Dark hair, as deep and glossy as mink, fell over her shoulders, all the way to her waist. Ivory pins held a heavy braided coil at her crown. She wore a cinnamon-colored gown, fashioned of rich, weighty silk. A garnet the size of a cherry glimmered on her finger.

  “Where did you come from?” Mina whispered.

  “What were you intending to do with that little shoe of yours?” Black eyes snapped with displeasure.

  Mina lowered the shoe, breathing hard. “Well . . . there is a snake, and he’s in my boudoir. I was going to smash him. Who are you?”

  “I’m Selene. The Countess Pavlenco. And the snake is not a he,” she sniffed. “She’s a she.”

  Mina pressed a hand to her chest. “That must have gotten by me somehow, in all the excitement.”

  She stood only as tall as the countess’s nose. “You’re Mark’s sister.”

  “Well, of course I am,” she responded archly. With long-legged strides, she hurried after the snake and scooped it up. She cooed, “It’s all right, Mrs. Hazelgreaves. That wicked little girl won’t hurt you.”

  Little girl? Indeed she was, in comparison to this Amazon.

  “Mrs. Hazelgreaves?”

  A dark brow slashed up. “Named after a friend.”

  “Mrs. Hazelgreaves is an asp,” Mina accused. “Asps are poisonous. Were you trying to kill me?”

  “Nooo.” Selene tucked the serpent into a velvet pouch at her waist. “I was just hoping for a little screaming and dancing around. That’s all. I swear it.” Her lips broke into a wide grin. “All in good fun.”

  Mina did not return her smile. “I’m sorry my reaction disappointed you. Why are you in my room?”

  The smile evaporated. “Because he still hasn’t told you.”

  “Told me what?”

  “Who he is.”

  “He’s Mark.” Mina straightened her shoulders. “That’s all that’s important to me.”

  “What a perfectly darling response.” Selene clasped a long-fingered, well-manicured hand against her breast. “You’re curious though. I know you are.”

  The female Shadow Guard sauntered toward the chaise by the window. She sat and reclined against the pillows. Layers of lace-edged petticoats frothed around decidedly feminine ankles and polished black kid shoes. The weighty fabric hissed with her movement.

  “Mark’s true name is—”

  “No, don’t tell me—”

  “Alexander Helios.”

  Mina crossed her arms over her chest and exhaled. “I think it would be best if you left.”

  The countess only smiled, and sank deeper into the cushions. “You don’t recognize the name, do you?”

  Mina hesitated. “Should I?”

  “Cleopatra and Mark Antony were our parents.” She turned her chin over her shoulder. “Do you see the resemblance? To the kinder depictions, of course. Mark looks more like our father.”

  Mina swallowed down her disbelief. If Selene’s revelation was true, that would make Mark nineteen centuries old.

  Still, she shook her head. This just wasn’t right. “Please stop there. I think I should hear all this from him. Whenever he’s ready.”

  “He’ll never be ready.” Selene examined a fingernail.

  “That’s up to him.”

  “You know the story, and yes, we were there. Our mother deemed it an honor for us to witness her suicide.”

  Selene’s revelation took the air from Mina’s lungs, and the argument from her lips. “That’s . . . terrible.”

  Selene shrugged. Her silk skirts reflected the warm glow of the gas light. “Intrigue. Betrayal. Political murder. Such events were the cornerstone of our family—if you can even call what we had, that.” Though the countess held a pose of nonchalant languor, her eyes glittered as black and hard as onyx. “We were ten years old. Not yet Amaranthines. She had the power, you see. She could have made herself immortal. As Octavian and his army advanced on Alexandria, the Primordial Council granted her the power to do it. But once she learned of Antony’s death . . . she lost her mind. Raved and screamed. She made Mark and me immortal instead.”

  “To save you from Octavian?”

  Selene rolled her eyes. “Not at all. We were to be her weapons, her Trojan horses after death, if you will. She made us promise to carry out her vengeance against Octavian.”

  She shifted and adjusted the velvet pouch at her waist.

  “What happened then?”

  A certain amount of guilt accompanied the question. She shouldn’t ask anything; shouldn’t be so curious. Not with Selene making all the revelations.

  Selene looked about the room. “Do you have any books?”

  “Not in the room. I’m sorry.”

  Her aquiline nose scrunched in irritation. “Well then . . . to understand, you’d have to know that when children are granted immortality, they must mature into their prime age—the age at which they are physically and mentally at their strongest. So yes, for years we had immortality in our blood, but none of the related powers. We were helpless, and at Octavian’s mercy. We became prizes of war—as Cleopatra must have known we would. Octavian returned us to Rome.” Her voice grew hushed. “He had us bound in gold chains so heavy we could barely walk, and paraded us through the streets. The citizens jeered. Threw rancid rubbish and worse.”

  “Mark has scars. . . .”

  Selene pushed the cuff of her sleeve and held up her wrist, revealing scars identical to Mark’s. “As a final insult, Octavian turned us over to the care of his sister—the very wife our father had abandoned, to take up with our mother. As you can imagine, that made for a pleasant upbringing.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Mina whispered.

  A dark brow slashed up. “Don’t pity me, little girl. And certainly don’t pity him. The experience only made us harder. More ruthless. More determined to blaze a path toward our own legend as opposed to becoming a footnote to our parents’ historic—and in my personal opinion, exceedingly cowardly—demise. It’s why we gained the notice of the Primordials, as suitable candidates for the elite order of the Shadow Guards.” Her eyes narrowed. “Looking back, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  “Why have you told me all of this?”

  “You tell me the answer.”

  “To help me understand him better?”

  “Stop the violins.” Selene held up a hand and gave a
n arch laugh. “Wrong.”

  Heat stung Mina’s cheeks. Lord only help her if she ever had to pass a holiday with this woman.

  “Then why?” she queried brittlely.

  “To tell you, in the plainest of terms . . . to let him go. You’re not worthy of his pain or his legacy. Run and run now, as fast as your little mortal legs will take you.” Selene stood. “Do you need some money to go away? I’ve got lots.”

  “No,” Mina answered firmly. “I won’t leave him. We’re married.”

  Married. The intensity of her conviction startled her. They were married. Mark was her husband, and she was his wife.

  “Married,” Selene scoffed. “Lots of people are married. It doesn’t have to mean anything.” Selene sauntered close. “You’re only a distraction for him on this, the eve of his greatest battle.”

  “He’ll stop the Dark Bride.”

  She snorted. “I’m not talking about the Dark Bride. I’m talking about me. When you see him again—if you see him again—tell him the portals opened long enough for my orders to come through.”

  Her image wavered. Dissolved. Just before she disappeared . . . her smile faltered. But then she was gone.

  Mina gave a shriek of frustration. She stormed the length of the room. What a horrible woman. What a horrible story. Mark. She went to the window and looked into the night. He was out there. Alone. Yes, she’d seen the frightening creature he could become. But she’d known another side of him as well.

  Something lay in the middle of the lawn, something that looked suspiciously like a top hat. Her mind worked, clicking and whirring with thought. When Mark had heard the Dark Bride’s voice, he’d come here for a reason—certainly not only to deposit her in a half-finished house with Leeson.

  The moment he’d left her, shouting for her to remain behind, he hadn’t returned to the carriage. He’d gone in the direction of the garden. Mina exited the bedroom and descended the service stairs. She managed to avoid Leeson, and after going room to room, eventually found a door leading to the garden-facing side of the house. Yes, his hat. And farther on, his coat, as if he’d discarded them along the way. The two items led her as far as a small alcove of trees.