by Bec McMaster
Sliding the file open, he examined the grainy sepia photograph of the man. Handsome, dressed somewhat foppishly, with the kind of smile ladies would swoon over. Malloryn let the photo rest. "What's his purpose?"
"We don't know."
Again that sensation that Byrnes hesitated.
"If you wish to say something to me, I'd advise you to simply throw it on the table."
"Look at the rest of the photos, Your Grace. Gemma took them. It was... an unexpected lead."
"I thought she was keeping an eye on my wife after that incident at the wedding?" Someone had tried to murder Adele the day they were married. It was one thing to despise her, quite another to allow someone to try to outplay him that way.
And whilst his ancient enemy, Lord Balfour, had gone to ground after his defeat in Russia, Malloryn knew it would only be a matter of time before he resurfaced.
"She was."
An ancient sense of foreboding curled through Malloryn's innards.
Malloryn flipped the tumble of photos into his hands and sorted through them swiftly. Devoncourt at his club. At a garden party, at the park.... Kissing Malloryn's wife. Malloryn stilled, his senses locking down. Thumbnail tracing the shadowy image of Adele, he simply couldn't believe his eyes.
A dozen emotions swirled. But most importantly, he couldn't help noticing the way Adele wilted against Devoncourt's hard body, a look of longing on her expressive face as she stared at the pseudo-earl. It softened her features—those devilish eyes with their wicked tilt looked almost innocent, and that indecent mouth was parted with yearning. It made her look younger. Desirable. A woman destined for a tumble into bed.
In the next photograph, she slapped Devoncourt. But the look on her face.... Not entirely one of chagrin. Malloryn had never seen that look cross her devious expression.
Byrnes was waiting, his arms crossed over his chest and the usual lack of expression on his hard face. His recent marriage had done little to soften the man, though Malloryn suspected Ingrid might actually be the more dangerous of the two.
"I'll deal with it," he said quietly and closed the file.
"Gemma's not certain what, precisely, she witnessed. It's evident this is not the first time they've met."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "A conclusion I'd reached myself, thank you." He looked up. "You're dismissed."
Byrnes took his leave. Malloryn leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his jaw. He didn't throw the file or burn it. Which he was shockingly tempted to do. Instead, he steepled his fingers together and stared into the distance.
Was Adele merely a means for Lord Balfour to get access to him? His old enemy had been thwarted in Russia and would be out for blood. Malloryn had spent the past four months looking over his shoulder, just waiting for Balfour to finally reappear.
Or had Balfour already succeeded?
His blood ran cold. He'd never thought anything more of Adele's obviously desperate attempt to force him into marriage and he'd never asked her why. They rarely spoke, if at all, and of frivolities only. If she was indeed a spy, then he had given her poor value indeed.
But the idea rankled. She could be dangerous to him if her allegiances were indeed suspect. How the devil could he know precisely what her game was, or if she were achieving it?
Or was she waiting?
You're seeing Balfour in every corner. Malloryn rested his fingertips against his temples. Adele couldn't belong to him. She couldn't.
But that little niggling feeling wouldn't go away.
He could hardly question her about it, regardless of which methods he chose to use—and there were many available to him. Malloryn had long since given up on any squeamishness, but torturing one’s wife?
Flipping the file open again, he took a long, slow drink of his blooded scotch. None of the photographs interested him, particularly the one of her kissing Devoncourt. But the other... that look on her face. He stared at that for a long time.
He'd told her to make her own arrangements.
He'd given a callous shrug at the time and assured her he intended to make his, though he'd been too busy, perhaps, to make good on his threat.
But the sight of her in another man's arms had the same effect of someone dumping a bucket of iced water over his head.
Why the hell did he care?
Because there might be an enemy in your house.
That had to be it.
"So you want to play games, my dear?" He threw the rest of the scotch back, the blood igniting his darker, well-checked urges. Igniting something inside him that he hadn't felt for a long time; a dangerous kind of fury, of need. "Then let us play."
There were, after all, other means to find out precisely what his wife was up to.
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Also by Bec McMaster
LONDON STEAMPUNK SERIES
Kiss Of Steel
Heart Of Iron
My Lady Quicksilver
Forged By Desire
Of Silk And Steam
Novellas in same series:
Tarnished Knight
The Curious Case Of The Clockwork Menace
LONDON STEAMPUNK: THE BLUE BLOOD CONSPIRACY
Mission: Improper
The Mech Who Loved Me
You Only Love Twice
To Catch A Rogue
Dukes Are Forever (coming 2019)
DARK ARTS SERIES
Shadowbound
Hexbound
Soulbound
BURNED LANDS SERIES
Nobody's Hero
The Last True Hero
The Hero Within
LEGENDS OF THE STORM SERIES
Heart Of Fire
Storm of Desire
Clash of Storms
Storm of Fury (coming 2019)
SHORT STORIES
The Many Lives Of Hadley Monroe
Burn Bright
About the Author
BEC MCMASTER is a writer, a dreamer, and a travel addict. If she’s not sitting in front of the computer, she’s probably plotting her next overseas trip, and hopes to see the whole world, whether it’s by paper, plane, or imagination.
Bec grew up on a steady diet of ’80s fantasy movies like Ladyhawke, Labyrinth, and The Princess Bride, and loves creating epic, fantasy-based romances with heroes and heroines who must defeat all the odds to have their HEA. She lives in Australia with her very own hero, where she can be found creating the worlds of the London Steampunk, Dark Arts, Legends of The Storm, or Burned Lands series, where even the darkest hero can find love.
Read more at www.becmcmaster.com
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