by Meara Platt
Caroline winked at Anabelle. “Clothes and hairstyles, my dear.”
Harry shuddered. “Yes, well, don’t need me for that. If you’ll excuse me, I think there’s a card game awaiting a fourth.” He leaned over and bussed Caroline’s cheek. “I’ll join you when they ring the bell for supper.”
To Anabelle’s surprise, Saron remained by her side, chasing away the assortment of rogues and knaves who dared approach out of curiosity. He gave a frightening scowl to one in particular, a most persistent and unpleasant fellow by the name of Lord Craddock. “Keep away from that blackguard.”
Anabelle rolled her eyes. “Ugh, that man is as oily a knave as I’ve ever encountered. I wouldn’t allow him near me if my gown were on fire and he had a pail of water.”
“Come, little one. I owe you a dance.”
The orchestra began a beautiful waltz and Anabelle wasn’t certain whether she felt transported because of the lilting notes or the wonder of being in Saron’s arms. He was an excellent dancer, which came as no surprise for he was capable in all his ventures. The heat of his hand at the small of her back sent tingles shooting through her body. The smoldering look in his eyes put a blush on her cheeks.
He bent his head toward her and grinned. “You’re mine, little one. I’m permitted to look my fill.”
The light scent of musk on his neck made her want to reach up and bury her nose against that spot just below his jaw.
Indeed, everything about him made her senses reel.
She was about to return the compliment when Lord Reston interrupted them to draw Saron aside. She heard almost nothing of their conversation, but understood it was not at all a pleasant one judging from Saron’s frown at the mention of the Prince Regent. He turned to her with regret in his eyes. “Forgive me, Anabelle. I cannot stay. I’ll escort you to Penelope and the Romneys. Don’t leave their side until I return.”
She placed a hand on his forearm, for she saw that his fists were clenched and he was not in the least pleased to be drawn away. “How long will you be gone?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Something is amiss. The Fae king sent a message to Prinny bearing bad news. As if Bloodaxe isn’t enough to worry about. Now Brihann is on the loose.”
Her heart shot into her throat, the memory of the foul, amber dragon rising from the depths of Derwentwater and issuing the threat to Saron still vivid in her mind. “How? All the portals have been sealed, haven’t they? Did he somehow break through the one that Necros used?”
“Little escapes your notice.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek. “We believe so. The Fae king and his armies are now guarding it to prevent any of his demons from following him out. But I must find him and send him back to the bowels where he belongs before he causes harm.”
“Then I won’t delay you.” She caressed his cheek in a gesture meant to reassure him. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll manage to keep out of trouble.”
He laughed wryly. “You’re the one I worry about most. If I don’t stop him, he’ll come after you first, for you’re the one I care about most. I’ll send Lord Asbury over to keep you company until my return.”
“You trust him?”
“Yes, if I must make a choice of whom to trust. My instincts tell me that he’s honest.”
She nodded. “Mine too. I hope we’re right.”
He returned her to Penelope’s side and was off with Reston before she could whisper “I love you.” It mattered little. He knew how she felt about him.
“An elaborate ruse to sneak off to the gaming tables, I imagine,” Penelope muttered as Saron disappeared amid the crowd.
Anabelle tried to make a jest of it. “We all know what can happen with the mere turn of a card.” But she understood, as they all did, that nothing as trivial as a game of cards would have drawn Saron away from her.
Olivia cast her a pert smile. “You mustn’t fret, Anabelle. I’ll be your companion for the evening and I promise not to leave your side.”
Anabelle managed a small laugh in response. “Your sacrifice is unnecessary. I think I can endure while you’re off dancing with a handsome beau,” she teased as the lilting strains of the waltz she and Saron had been sharing continued.
“Obviously, you haven’t noticed that I’m quite the wallflower. I haven’t danced with anyone but my father. The duke was next on my card, but he’s now gone off. Not that it matters since both asked me out of mere politeness. I’m rarely asked by anyone of significance. Oh, Anabelle. I see you’re about to protest, but you mustn’t. I don’t mind spending the evening chatting with the ladies. Indeed, I’m quite used to it and often prefer it to conversing with the empty-headed clots who populate Society.”
“I hope I shall not be considered one of those empty-headed clots,” Lord Asbury said, coming up behind them. “Forgive me for overhearing your conversation. I was asked to keep you ladies company until the duke returned.”
Penelope nodded her approval. “Lord Asbury, you’ve met my nephew’s wife?”
“Indeed I have.” He bowed politely over Anabelle’s hand. She smiled in response, but her mind was whirling. Had she and Saron truly judged correctly? Or was he Brihann’s spy in Prinny’s inner circle?
Penelope then presented him to Caroline and Olivia. “I’m acquainted with Lord and Lady Romney, but never had the pleasure of meeting Lord Romney’s lovely daughter until now. A great honor.”
Anabelle noticed a flicker of interest in Olivia’s blue eyes, which were presently unhampered by spectacles. Lord Asbury was an attractive man with a serious aspect to him. An idea sprang to Anabelle’s mind, one she chided herself for not thinking of sooner. “Lady Olivia very much enjoys dancing. I’m sure she’d be amenable if you asked her.”
“Lord Asbury is here to attend to you, not dance with me,” Olivia protested.
“Nonsense. He distinctly said he was here to keep all of us company. Is that not so, Lord Asbury?”
“Er, yes. But–”
She quickly turned back to Olivia. “I shall manage quite well with Penelope and Caroline to distract me for the short while, and Lord Asbury will return you to us when the dance is over. Won’t you, Lord Asbury?”
“Ah, of course,” he said, clearing his throat and finally conceding, for it was obvious he had no wish to humiliate Olivia. She noted the flicker in his gaze as he assessed the danger and decided Anabelle would be safe enough among her friends for this one dance. “May I have the honor?”
Olivia’s cheeks turned pink as she nodded.
Anabelle felt quite proud of herself as she watched the pair make their way to the center of the ballroom.
“That was not well done of you, Anabelle. My nephew must have had an important reason for sending Asbury here to watch over you,” Penelope quietly chided.
“I know, but I couldn’t help myself. He and Olivia so obviously suit each other. They make a striking couple, don’t you think?”
Caroline joined their quiet conversation. “I never considered the match, what with Asbury’s reputation. Not that he’s so bad, according to Harry. But I’ve always found him to be distant with everyone, so easily bored with the ladies who flock to him.”
“He and Olivia don’t seem to lack for conversation,” Penelope remarked. “Asbury appears to be quite interested in what she has to say.”
Anabelle briefly wondered whether he was prying information out of her, but dismissed the notion. Their smiles and the way they looked at each other indicated they were not thinking of business matters.
“Few men appreciate Olivia’s intellect,” Caroline said, “except for dear Harry. He’s so proud of her, but most gentlemen detest the challenge of an agile female mind.”
Anabelle nodded. “It only takes the right man to appreciate all Olivia has to offer.”
Caroline shook her head and smiled. “They’ve only just met. Why the sudden eagerness to pair them off?”
Penelope replied on her behalf. “A woman in love wishes the same for her friends. T
hey do look quite nice together.”
Concentrating on them was far safer than worrying about Saron. Would their lives always be like this, he running off at a moment’s notice to prevent war from breaking out? It mattered little whether it was a demon war or turmoil among men such as Napoleon’s war or the constant conflagrations that arose on all corners of the world.
Anabelle dismissed these darker thoughts. “Ah, Lord Asbury and Olivia are returning.”
“Good,” Caroline said. “Perhaps he knows why Saron was summoned away.”
“I assure you, I don’t.” Lord Asbury raised his hands in surrender and not even Olivia’s cajoling, which he seemed to enjoy immensely, could coax the truth out of him.
Anabelle was relieved, for the threat that had drawn Saron away was quite serious and Lord Asbury did an excellent job of deflecting their questions.
The remainder of the evening passed slowly and uneventfully. Anabelle shared a dance with Lord Asbury, but otherwise remained close to Penelope and Caroline. Finally, as the room grew oppressively hot, she excused herself to grab a breath of air on the balcony.
“An excellent idea.” Lord Asbury rose as she did. “Lady Olivia, would you care to join us?”
Anabelle sighed. “I think I’m capable of crossing the room by myself.”
“Certainly,” Lord Asbury said, “but the moon is full, the breeze gentle, and there’s sweet music in the air to be enjoyed by all of us. Lady Olivia, you mentioned earlier that you’re an avid astronomer. Would you care to gaze at the stars?”
Her smile was beaming. “I would love to.”
Anabelle wished Saron was here, for this truly was a night for lovers, a night for kisses in the moonlight. Even the soft breeze carried the delicate scent of lilac toward them instead of the more pungent odors off the Thames or the overheated bodies in the ballroom.
The three of them walked back and forth along the balcony in constant view of the ballroom. Other guests walked past, making their way down to Lady Atwell’s charming garden. Lanterns illuminated the pathways and a harpist played gentler tunes while guests strolled about the grounds.
Olivia turned to Lord Asbury. “May we walk in the garden? It ought to be safe enough with so many other guests about.”
“Not this time,” he said, his attention on Anabelle, and the look in his eye revealing he was not about to shirk his duty. “We ought to return inside.”
Olivia tried her best to mask her disappointment, for she obviously liked him and would not have minded him stealing a kiss under the willow tree that stood prominently in the center of the garden. “Of course.”
But a commotion erupted as Lord Asbury escorted them inside and he lost hold of her. She’d barely avoided being knocked over by the two men who were fighting, and as their fight spilled onto the balcony and guests began to pour out after them, Anabelle lost sight of her companions.
She tried to stay in place but was shoved forward and then knocked back so that she knew it wasn’t safe to remain beside the doors. She pushed her way through the stream of bodies toward where Penelope and Caroline had been standing. No doubt Lord Asbury would look for her there first.
A footman intercepted her in the middle of the ballroom. “Forgive me, m’lady. His Grace has an urgent request of you.”
She sighed in relief and glanced around. “The duke has returned? Where is he?”
He handed her an envelope marked with the Draloch ducal seal. “I was told he is waiting for you in the library. May I show you the way?”
She thought it was a good idea, for the fight had now spilled back into the ballroom and the crowd was returning. And there was still no sign of Asbury or Olivia. She’d catch up to them later. If Saron had returned, then Asbury’s duties were over. She glanced at the note in her hand. Saron was waiting for her in the library, so she had no need to waste time reading its contents. “Yes, please. Then inform Lady Blakefield and Lord Asbury of my whereabouts.”
“Certainly, m’lady.” He escorted her to the library, then hurried off to do as she’d instructed.
Almost at once, Anabelle felt something was wrong. There was an oppressive lack of air in the room, as though she’d stepped into an ancient tomb, and the room was too dark. Saron would have ordered a footman to light a fire in the hearth or he would have lit a taper himself at the very least. The only light filtering in was a ghostly streak of candlelight from the hallway sconces that illuminated the closest bookshelves.
She tucked his note in the ribbon of her waistband and stepped back into the hall. It was a rather long hallway and deserted since everyone was distracted by the fight taking place in the ballroom. The wispy curls along the back of her neck began to prickle. She grabbed one of the large, silver candlesticks she’d noticed on a marble table near the library door and raised it just as she heard a soft movement behind her.
She turned, prepared to swing the candlestick at whoever…or whatever…was about to pounce. “Oh, it’s you.” She recognized Lord Craddock at once. He was a dissipated-looking gentleman with overly styled black hair and appeared too drunk to walk straight.
He stumbled toward her. “Ah, you remember me from our earlier introduction.”
Yes, she remembered this unsavory man who’d been in his cups from very early on. What was he doing here? And where was Saron? The note bore his ducal seal. She’d recognized the imprint of the Draloch dragon. “Pardon me, but I must return to my companions.”
He moved in front of her with surprising agility and effectively blocked her escape. “Don’t take flight, my little partridge.”
“Are you mad? My husband will kill you if you dare set a hand on me.” Saron had chased this sot away earlier, warning that he was not to be trusted. She expected that she could handle him since she still had the sturdy candlestick in her hand, but she preferred to chase him away with words rather than crack open his skull.
“I don’t think so.” Craddock’s teeth gleamed white and wicked as he smiled. “My master will protect me from Draloch’s rage.”
“Your master?” Her sense of annoyance now turned to foreboding. Craddock was an ineffectual drunk who couldn’t best a mouse, but what if he had help? Saron could be lying injured in the library, but she didn’t dare go in and risk being trapped by this vermin. No, this buffoon could never best Saron.
“Lord Brihann sends his greetings. You know of him, don’t you? The High King of the Dragon Lord–”
She swung the candlestick and cracked him over the head. “Here’s my response to your
master’s greeting.” She turned and ran, but in the next moment, two shadows leaped out at her. The light was too dim make out more than their shining black outlines. It seemed as though their skin was coated in oil, or possibly slime, for the odor was offensive. Although they walked on hind legs, she knew they weren’t men. Their legs were shorter and they were shaped more like frogs. Demons. The play of shadow and light accentuated their hunched backs and long, taloned fingers.
Anabelle swung the candlestick frantically at them, striking their soft, oily bodies before they could clamp their jaws on her.
Up close, their teeth and talons were as sharp as daggers.
She kept swinging as they lunged at her again, for she hadn’t scared them off. Were there more?
Her heart shot into her throat.
She couldn’t handle these two.
She glanced down the hall, but noticed nothing stirring. The demons came at her again in a frenzied leap over Craddock’s motionless body. She finally managed to knock them out with precise blows to their heads. None too soon, for she was dizzy and breathless and her arms were sore from lifting that heavy candlestick and whirling it around like a weapon.
Those dark, twisted shapes lay sprawled before her, no longer twitching. “Thank goodness.”
Anabelle dropped the candlestick. Still breathing heavily, she turned to run and slammed into what felt like a wall of brick. “Little one,” Saron said with an aching groan, wrapping his
arms around her.
“Thank goodness you’re back!” She collapsed against him, every part of her body shaking as she burrowed against his chest for warmth.
He glanced over her head. “What in blazes? Did you do this?”
“You mean Craddock and the demons?” She turned in his arms to follow his gaze. All three were still unconscious. She sighed. “Don’t be angry. I had no intention of coming here alone, but you sent word to meet me in Lord Atwell’s library and a fight broke out in the ballroom and Lord Asbury and I were separated in the crush.”
“I’m not angry,” he said quietly, turning toward two other men behind him. Only then did Anabelle realize he’d come with Asbury and Reston. Lord Asbury was pale as a ghost. “Dear heaven, you might have been killed. This is all my fault.”
Lord Reston was more practical in his remark. “Remind me never to anger your wife, Your Grace.”
Saron ordered his friends to shove the demons in the library for now. “I’ll dispose of them in a moment.”
“How?” she asked, genuinely interested to know how one disposed of such creatures. The knowledge might be useful.
He ignored the question, his dragon gaze locked on Craddock, who was now moaning on the floor and holding his aching head. Saron’s eyes were as dark as a thunderstorm about to unleash in a tempest. “Craddock, I’d like a word with you.”
Anabelle put a hand on his chest to hold him back. “What do you intend to do?”
“Besides kill him? Need you ask? Look at what he did to you.”
She caught a glimpse of herself in a nearby mirror hanging on the hallway wall. Her gown was ripped at the sleeve, a small tear, but obvious enough for everyone to notice. There were a few scratches on her arm, but those were made by Craddock when he’d tried to grab her and not by those demons. Her hair was a mess, several pins lost during her struggle. “The gown can be repaired.”
She winced when Saron touched his hand to a small bruise at her cheek. “I’ll cover it with powder until the discoloration fades.”
Saron wasn’t listening. He gently set her aside and stepped toward Craddock. “Get up you coward so I can knock you down again,” he growled, moving over him with clenched fists. He was strong enough to do just that. And angry enough to kill the blackguard with one punch, for his fists were the size of cannonballs and just as powerful.