by Gaelen Foley
To protect him.
Her questions, her compliments, and her general verve had intercepted the cold, rude stares that otherwise would’ve been fixed on the dreaded Rivenwood.
It was remarkably kind of her, he thought, startled, especially after the quarrel they’d just had. When he glanced from the innkeeper to her, he saw that she was once again removing her bonnet.
Off it came. And with that, the full revelation of her beauty—the snowy skin, the ruby lips, ebony hair—made them forget all about boring old him.
Azrael was glad. She did have that effect on people, though, he mused. Especially simple country folk, who weren’t used to dealing with diamonds of the first water. They treated her as if they had a fairytale princess in their midst.
Or possibly a duchess.
“Shall we?” Serena asked him, gesturing toward the fire.
He bowed his head. “Of course.”
Then he escorted her over to a battered armchair in the inglenook and lifted her mantle off her shoulders for her after she’d undone the clasp.
In the next moment, the curly-headed woman—probably the innkeeper’s wife—came over to ask if she could get them anything to drink.
“Yes, thank you.” Serena smiled at her. “Do you by chance offer a pear brandy? I daresay a wee draught of Alsatian eau de vie de poire would be just the thing to warm the blood on a cold afternoon like this.”
“I’m not certain, milady, but I’ll be very pleased to check and bring it straightaway.”
“Any clear fruit brandy would be lovely if you don’t, thanks. Otherwise, I’ll just take a hard cider.”
“The lady knows her own mind,” Azrael remarked.
“And for you, sir?” the landlady asked, turning warily to him.
He politely pretended not to notice the flicker of trepidation that passed across the woman’s face as he removed his greatcoat. “Er, yes. Kindly bring me a shot of whiskey and a pint of the house ale.”
“Right away, sir.” She bobbed a curtsy and fled.
“Their food does smell good,” he said to Serena. “I’m sure we have plenty of time for a meal. As long as we’re back on the road by half past two, that will still put us in London between six and seven.”
Without the hotel staff, her expression had cooled. “Very good, Your Grace.”
Azrael winced. Your Grace? It seemed they were back on formal terms. “Ahem. Think I’ll go wash up.”
She nodded, and the landlady returned just then, beaming with pride to have found the very bottle Serena had requested.
Azrael left his traveling companion sitting before the hearth fire in the inglenook, sipping her eau de vie, while he asked if there was a room where a gentleman might freshen up after the rigors of travel.
Or graverobbing, as the case may be.
The landlady showed him to a small room in the back with a washbasin and commode. Azrael pulled the door shut behind him and took his time refreshing himself, trying to regroup. He washed his hands, splashed his face, and then stared hard into the mirror.
What are you going to do? he silently asked his reflection. But the glass held no answers.
It took him a few minutes longer, but he did not return to the taproom until he’d recovered his usual gift for detachment. No doubt Her Ladyship was glad for a small break from his company.
At length, he sauntered back out, only to spy his shot of whiskey and pint waiting for him in the inglenook, but no Serena.
Her gray mantle and scarlet shawl were draped across the chair where she had been sitting, but as he stepped around one of the thick oak posts holding up the ceiling, he spotted her standing at the ticket counter in the back corner.
He went and got his pint, then drifted over to find out what was afoot.
“What are you doing?” he inquired, hearing some of her exchange with the clerk.
“Oh—Azrael,” she said rather awkwardly as he took a sip. “I didn’t see you return. I was just sending a letter to Cousin Tamsin. I had to let her know.”
“Know what?”
“That I, well, I’m afraid I won’t be going back to London with you.”
He nearly choked on his pint. “Come again?”
“I want to go and see my mother. Papa’s seat is north of here, so there’s no point heading back to Town only to traverse the same road again. They don’t have postilions for hire, so I’m buying a ticket for the morning stagecoach. I’ll stay here tonight. They have rooms available—”
“Stagecoach?” he interrupted, astonished. “No, no, no! It’s quite impossible. I cannot allow that.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “I beg your pardon?”
Heart pounding at the thought of her latest mad plan, Azrael glanced at the listening clerk.
“Would you excuse us?” He grasped her elbow and pulled her back toward the inglenook to discuss this matter privately.
Insomuch as the staff would let them.
He noticed all of them, including their aged customer, eavesdropping shamelessly on their unfolding exchange.
“Serena, you know quite well you cannot travel by stagecoach. You are a lady. It’s public transport, and you’re unchaperoned. I won’t hear of it. It’s not the done thing.”
She laughed at such staid words, coming from him. “What does it matter to you?”
“I’m the one who brought you out here today. That makes you my responsibility.”
“Azrael, honestly. You’re quite chivalrous, I’m sure, but I am a grown woman. You may return to London on your own. I absolve you of any duty toward me. Don’t be silly, now. If you’ll excuse me—”
“Silly?” he echoed.
She let out a weary exhalation and folded her arms across her chest. He noted that the pear brandy had restored a bit of the roses to her cheeks—and, apparently, much of the usual fire to her spirit. “We accomplished what we set out to do today, Your Grace. Don’t worry for my sake. You’ve done your duty by me. You helped me…gather information,” she said with a discreet glance at their audience, “and for that, I am grateful. More than you know. But let’s be honest, shall we? I daresay we’ve both had enough of each other’s company for one day.”
“You think I want to get rid of you? Is that it?”
“Hmm, something like that.”
“Aha,” he said, realizing. “You want to get rid of me.”
She gave him a bland smile.
He winced, though he could not blame her after their exchange outside her parents’ abandoned mansion. “All the same, my lady, I cannot let you do this. It’s neither safe nor proper. Let me take you back to Town first, then you can make arrangements to go and see your mother—with your chaperone.”
She shook her head. “I can’t wait any longer. I’ve left things in a painful state between us for too long. I can’t bear thinking what I’ve put her through. I need to go and fix this, now.”
He absorbed her words, at a loss, while she stared implacably at him. What did he know of how normal family bonds were conducted?
He sighed, recalling the rattle she had taken, and the tears in her eyes when she’d stood in her dead sister’s nursery.
“Darling, I know how much this situation hurts you. But I cannot in good conscience let the daughter of an earl travel on a stagecoach. If anything happened to you…!” His voice trailed off as he pondered dire possibilities. “Who knows what sort of low company you’d be exposed to, what with all manner of ruffians getting on and off at every stop the whole way? I won’t have these strangers pawing at you on the journey,” he said while she rolled her eyes. “No, it’s quite impossible. And you know it,” he added, wagging a finger at her.
“Fine.” She heaved a sigh, pivoted, and marched back to the ticket counter. “Excuse me, please. How much would it cost to hire the entire stagecoach to take me by myself where I need to go—as if it were a postilion? I’d only be traveling to the northern border of the county, about half a day’s journey—”
“Er, sorry, m
iss,” the clerk interrupted. “We’ve already sold half the tickets to other folk. Those stages have to run as scheduled, you see, or dozens of passengers all along the route will miss their journeys.”
“Oh. Of course. I see.” She turned around and gave Azrael a look that seemed to say, Happy now? She shrugged as she returned to the inglenook. “At least I tried.”
He scowled at her. “Oh, very well, brat. Where is the damned place? I’ll take you there myself.”
“I’m not asking you to take me!” she exclaimed. “You’ve already done more than enough under the circumstances. Do you mind if I take that box of papers to read along the way?”
“Serena.”
“You really don’t need to be involved in this any further,” she said, swirling her pear brandy in the glass before taking another sip. “You’ve already done enough, as I said. Don’t worry, I can manage from here.” She sat down again before the crackling fire. “I’ll be back in the bosom of my family by tomorrow afternoon.”
“No. We’ll eat a quick meal and proceed at once. With any luck, we’ll get there sometime tonight.” Azrael leaned against the mantel, frowning at her. “Although what your parents will say when I arrive bringing them their daughter, I shudder to contemplate.”
“Which is another reason why we should part ways here.” She looked up at him. “I am forbidden to speak to you, remember?”
This time, it was Azrael who laughed. “You should’ve thought of that before you broke into my house.” Then he walked over resolutely to the ticket counter, his heart pounding as he realized what he must do.
“I, too, have a letter I wish to send,” he said to the clerk.
The man sold him a piece of foolscap and an envelope, and Azrael wrote his request while Serena came and peeked over his shoulder. He blocked his letter from her view, though she did glimpse the envelope as he was filling it out.
“Who do you know in Canterbury?” she asked.
“Nosy,” he muttered, shooing her away. Then he handed the letter to the clerk to add to the box of outgoing mail.
The clerk arched a brow when he read the address. But Azrael gave him a look demanding discretion. Then he paid for the postage and returned to the inglenook, where he and Serena ate a hasty repast.
Half an hour later, they were on the road again. Heading north, Lord help them, instead of back to Town.
# # #
Serena didn’t understand why Azrael seemed to feel so strongly about escorting her to her family’s country house. He didn’t have to do this.
But…even she could admit it was probably best that he did.
Still, it was extremely awkward being confined together in the carriage after he had rejected her. She found it hard to be near him, feeling for him the way she did.
Do you care for me or don’t you? she wondered. He was such a confusing man. All that talk about chivalry had sounded convincing enough, but she had given him a way out. If he was so keen to escape her company, why hadn’t he taken it?
She supposed he was merely being gallant.
In any case, once more they rolled along inside Azrael’s well-cushioned carriage. The horses had had a chance to rest and a bite to eat.
By tonight, they should reach Dunhaven Manor. She wondered how her parents would react when she walked in unannounced.
With Azrael.
There was sure to be a row of some sort, but since the country house was forty miles away and they would not arrive until eight or nine o’clock tonight, she did not intend to torture herself with dread over it for the next five to six hours.
She’d start worrying once they got closer.
For now, she had her work cut out for her sifting through the contents of the snakeskin box before the daylight faded.
As she began slowly going through the papers, she was surprised that Azrael did not want to participate. He eyed the papers with distaste, as if they were the sloughed-off skins of rattlesnakes.
Sometimes she thought he must be as superstitious as Toby, but when she remarked upon his indifference, he merely mumbled that reading in a moving carriage made him queasy.
The deeper Serena got into the stack of papers, what she found actually started making her queasy, too.
She started wishing that the box had only held financial papers. What she found inside was worse.
Far worse.
There was a man named Lord Jarvis that she sincerely hoped was not her real father. He was particularly bad, and fancied very young girls.
Her mouth went dry as she read of kidnappings of random young women of various ages, procured for particular “events.”
What happened to them, Serena couldn’t bring herself to ask.
Thank God, these things were dated in recent years, meaning that the Dunhavens had not been involved.
She moved on and discovered that Lord Falk had been in charge of arranging bribes, and then making sure the compromised individuals carried through on their promises. Those who didn’t were disposed of promptly, according to the records.
She came across the minutes, of all things, from some of their meetings, which they conducted like an ordinary club, it seemed. Lord Stiver had kept up the late Duke of Rivenwood’s habit of keeping detailed notes on his supposedly faithful underlings.
The deeper into the box she ventured, the worse it got.
There were also drawings, diagrams, strange shapes, alchemical symbols. A black candle with runes or something carved into the side of the wax, and a necklace with a large pentagram medallion. There were three small books labeled as grimoires that contained vile recipes for spells and supposed enchantments, hexes, curses, and rituals for summonsing demons.
All of which called for blood.
She felt Azrael studying her, and lifted her gaze to his, her fear and bewilderment no doubt written all over her face.
He somehow managed not to say I told you so.
His gaze—deep, calm, and knowing—helped to steady her.
He had removed the length of leather cord binding his hair at his nape. It now flowed long and silky over his shoulders. He’d lain back in his seat, his hands idly clasped across his middle.
“Find anything interesting?” he asked in a cynical tone.
He’d barely spoken until now.
She did not even know what to say. She just shook her head and read on by the feeble glow of the carriage sconces.
Finally, her eyes grew bleary as the world beyond the windows turned black. Trying to read with so little light was giving her a headache.
No doubt the alarming contents of the box had contributed to that.
She slowly placed them back inside and shut the lid. “I think that’s enough for today,” she said, dazed.
Then she cracked the carriage window, needing air.
“Are you all right?” Azrael asked as she sucked in a few deep breaths of brisk air through the crack in the window.
She nodded at him, but immediately noticed that the temperature had fallen dramatically. She was surprised, moreover, to find that full darkness had engulfed the world beyond the glass.
She shut the window again and leaned back against her seat. But before pulling her shawl closer around herself for warmth, she lifted the locket watch that hung around her neck and squinted to read the time.
“It’s almost six o’clock.”
“Good. Halfway there.”
“We should be coming upon Aylesbury quite soon, I should think.”
He nodded. “The horses are past due their break. We should have our choice of coaching inns as we approach the outskirts of the town.”
“Wake me up when we get there,” she said, then settled into a lounging position on her seat and managed to doze off.
Her rest was fitful after the sinister materials she had consumed for the past three hours. Drifting in her sleep, she dreamed she heard devils howling around her, buffeting the carriage and attacking them. Attacking Azrael. They wanted him dead, and they were clawing a
t the horses.
She awoke with a start, shaken, only to realize it wasn’t demons.
It was wind.
Good God, they were in the middle of a blizzard! Gales shook the coach, wailing through the wheel spokes; blinding white snow raced past the windows.
Her breath clouded inside the coach as she sat up, disoriented, frightened by the ferocity of the weather, and rather ashamed at herself for having left the two men and the horses to deal with it while she loitered in dreamland.
The inside of the coach had gone dark except for the lurid glow of the snowstorm. But when she glanced at her fellow traveler for reassurance, she was astonished to discover it was Paulson, the coachman, seated across from her rather than the duke.
“Where’s Azrael?”
“N-n-no worries, miss,” said the cheerful driver, teeth chattering. His tricorn hat was coated with ice. “His Grace fancied a turn at the r-r-ribbons.”
Her jaw dropped. She craned her neck around and looked toward the driver’s box. “He’s out there?”
“He t-told me to tell you that, on account of the weather, we won’t m-make it to your p-parents’ house till m-morning.”
“Of course,” she murmured, finally starting to feel fully awake. She glanced again toward the front of the coach, amazed at Azrael’s concern for his servant. “Will he be all right out there?”
“It’s a bad night, t-to be sure. We’ll be pulling over at the first inn we come to. The t-team’s spent.”
One of the horses whinnied in protest at the gale. Serena could just make out Azrael’s deep voice over the storm, reassuring his animals.
The snow swirled about the black, bare trees, and had painted the fields and squat stone fences on both sides of the road in a thick layer of gray-white.
“Oh God,” she whispered, cringing to know she was the one responsible for putting them all in danger by insisting on her chosen course of action. If she had simply gone back to London with Azrael as planned, this could have been avoided.
But none of this was supposed to happen!
They’d have been back to Town by now. Besides, the weather in London was usually milder, since it lay farther south and was better moderated by its closer proximity to the sea.