by Bec McMaster
"I don't like any of this, particularly the part about you sneaking around your father's study when you suspected he's working for my enemy."
"I couldn't help myself. The rising sun symbol was right there in front of me." And she'd needed to know. All those years of sanctimonious lectures. All those times he'd told her women and children should be seen and not heard. The expression Sir George had worn when she'd told him the Duke of Malloryn had compromised her and then offered marriage. I am done with you, he'd said, as if he'd simply closed the book on their life together.
But some part of Adele wasn't done with him, and the second she'd seen that symbol every inch of her had run hot and cold. Ignore me now, you bastard.
"What was I supposed to do? Pretend you hadn't enlightened me? Twiddle my thumbs and try not to wonder if my father is involved in a plot against the queen? If I did so, then you'd be no closer to finding the Rising Sons."
He had no answer to that.
"I think you're enjoying this." Malloryn slid his hands into his pockets, his gray eyes glittering.
Adele couldn't resist a small smile. "Only a little."
"Go on," he said.
"This is where Devoncourt comes in," she said. "As I was leaving I encountered him on the stairs. I don't know why he was there. It did strike me that he might have been following me, but I think it more likely they're coconspirators. He knows my father. They're quite friendly. It's how we met. He was circling around Hattie, and I didn't like it."
"So you were flirting with him." Malloryn gestured, as if to say, very well, get on with it.
Reaching inside her bodice, she withdrew the crumpled invitation. "Devoncourt wants me to go to a private soiree with him tomorrow night."
She'd expected him to be furious.
If anything, Malloryn's expression only tightened. "Why?"
"Because he thinks you're going to suffer a seeming accident sometime soon, and I'll be left a merry widow, or somesuch. I might be lonely, judging by the sympathy dripping from his voice. I may have given the impression I find you cold and distant, and he assumed I was looking for more entertaining companionship."
"Namely him," Miss Townsend mused.
"It did seem that way," she replied. "He always asks about you. Wants to know where you are and what you're up to. And in the next breath he's hinting that you're madly in love with your mistress and there are rumors you're planning on casting me aside, or locking me away in an asylum. Anything to drive a wedge between the two of us."
"Oh, he's good." Miss Townsend seemed impressed.
"I'm going to kill him." Malloryn said it without an ounce of heat in his voice, and yet there was a flash of something in his eyes. Something Adele couldn't quite decipher.
But then, sometimes it seemed understanding her husband would require an entire university degree.
And even then, she thought she might not know the full extent of him.
She wanted to.
"No, you're not," Miss Townsend chided. "He's the best lead we've got. Once he's led us back to Balfour, you can beat the claret out of him, or whatever you damned well like, but not before."
Again that hard gaze pinned Adele. "Did he say why he wanted you to attend his private soiree?"
"Use your imagination," she replied tartly. "I'm fairly certain it's not to dance with me."
There.
There was that hint of something moving through the mosaic of grays and greens that made up his pupils. A hint of violence barely restrained. A sliver of the darkness of the craving within him.
The predator.
A whisper of both trepidation and excitement thrilled through her. For a second she thought she could almost put a name to the emotion she saw, but then Malloryn shut down before her eyes, and it was gone again.
Cool. Rational. Implacable.
Malloryn, once more.
"He indicated that if I wanted to rid myself of you, then there were certain powerful people who might be able to help me. As long as I gave them something in return. Maybe I'll be able to recognize some of the others in attendance."
Plucking the invitation from Adele's fingers, he examined it. "Angel's Fall. You do realize this is a gaming club partly owned by Lord Corvus?"
She'd been ready for it. "You don't say?"
Malloryn rubbed his thumb along the invitation, as if chasing after the last hints of her body heat. "This is not the sort of place you should attend. Angel's Fall is dangerous at the best of times. Fortunes are won and lost in the gaming rooms; blue bloods beat each other bloody in the underground fighting pits; and there's a private auction room for gentleman of certain tastes to buy young ladies intacto."
Intacto...?
"Virgins," Malloryn added, reading her expression. "Whether willing or not, they're all virgins."
"That's horrific."
"Yes. Unfortunately, the club is heavily policed by several rogue blue bloods, and bidders must go through a ruthless process to prove they're not the sort to squeal to the authorities. The queen has sent Nighthawks in several times, but the auctions vanish as if they never existed. All I have is rumor and innuendo, and it's not enough to convict any of the lords involved. I've tried to get a man on the inside twice, but they've both disappeared."
She had the sickening urge to track Lord Corvus down and punch him in his perfect white teeth. "I shouldn't be surprised."
"No?"
"With Corvus involved, I'd expect only the most vile of atrocities."
Malloryn's gaze locked on her. "Any reason you have a seeming vendetta against the man?"
"Nothing you ought to know."
He'd made it clear he was interested in tracking down the blue blood nobleman who'd assaulted her the night she'd forced him into a proposal, but Corvus wasn't the sort of man one crossed.
Not even Malloryn?
For a second she was tempted to tell him the truth. But he was dealing with enough mischief as it was. And Devoncourt, Balfour, even her father, were more important than handing a set down to the vile miscreant who'd stalked her through the Echelon.
She had to tell herself that twice.
"Adele," Malloryn warned.
"He's courting my sister. I don't trust him. Is that not reason enough?"
"Corvus is precisely the sort of character who's at the top of our list of Rising Sons." From the glint in Miss Townsend's eyes, she hadn't missed the faint flicker of distress on Adele's face. "He has a liking for pretty, innocent young girls. I could lure him somewhere private. See if he has anything of interest to say."
"He's dangerous," Adele warned. "At least as dangerous as Devoncourt, I would think."
"So am I, Your Grace. I can see to it that he'll never bother your sister again."
"Not yet." Malloryn tapped the invitation against his thigh. "This appears to be a private salon. If we can get an agent inside, we may be able to learn more about the Rising Sons."
"You've tried twice," Miss Townsend reminded him.
"Yes, but we never had an invite."
Adele plucked the invite from his fingers. "And you don't have one now. This has my name on it."
"Mask required," he pointed out. "All I need is a pretty little blonde, and I can get my hands on one of them with a click of my fingers. I have dozens of pretty little blondes at my beck and call."
Adele was taken aback.
Miss Townsend's eyes widened. "You're all charm. Remind me how you thought you were going to seduce your wife again?"
"By lying to me." Adele smothered the brief flash of hurt in her breast. "That's how he did it. He minced some rather pretty words several days ago. I think I prefer this sort of brutal honesty. At least I can trust it."
"I wasn't referring to personally putting my hands on—"
"I would quit while you're ahead," Adele said icily.
Malloryn's gaze promised retribution.
"I can find a female agent in one of my networks," he stated slowly, "who resembles you."
"Ther
e's one little problem with your plan," she said. "I was invited. You were not. If you send someone in using my invite and they're discovered, Devoncourt will know I'm working against him. Right now he trusts me. He thinks he's going to twist me around his little finger. The second your agent opens her mouth he'll know she's not me. And he'll know you're onto him."
"Unfortunately," Miss Townsend said with a beatific smile, "your wife speaks the truth."
"Since when are you in Adele's corner?"
Miss Townsend linked her arm through Adele's elbow. "Since she married you, Malloryn. Someone has to bring you down a peg or two. And I'm enjoying every moment of it."
He stared at the pair of them for long seconds, and then shook his head. "Fine. But if you enter that gaming club, you're not going alone. And you will obey every instruction I give you, or I'll rip that cursed invitation into little pieces and toss it in the Thames. Along with the pair of you."
Miss Townsend gave an amused huff as he stalked away. "Well, someone certainly has his britches in a twist. I wonder who it could be?"
And she gave Adele a disconcerting wink.
Malloryn smuggled Adele into the safe house later that night—in a trunk.
In all her dreams of being involved in the conspiracy, it wasn't what she'd expected, but as he guided her up the stairs into the private dining room that had been converted to some sort of briefing chambers, she couldn't help feeling breathless with excitement.
It wasn't so much being a part of this—she wasn't stupid enough to relish the danger she faced.
But it made her feel useful. Wanted.
And the fact her husband was taking her seriously softened any sorts of feelings she might have had about that "I have dozens of pretty little blondes at my beck and call" comment.
"Adele, you've met the rest of the Company of Rogues at various times," Malloryn said, gesturing to the eleven strangers who were seated around the table. "And it appears everyone here is aware of my wife's identity, considering the vast interest we've all taken in her ever since the wedding was announced."
That was definitely sarcasm.
Adele shot him a sideways glance. "Vast interest?"
"A delight, Your Grace," said a tall, handsome blond youth who seemed of an age with her. "The duke's referring to what happens when a company of spies discovers their leader is getting married. I'm Charlie Todd. I brought you brandy the other day."
"Oh, yes. He of the inferior set of glassware."
Charlie darted a glance toward Malloryn. "Should I know what that means? What's wrong with my glassware?"
"You don't have any glassware," said the young woman at his side.
"To your left is Obsidian," the duke continued, "then Kincaid, Ava, Byrnes, Ingrid, Lark, Jack, and you'll recall my butler and chief of security, Herbert. You made quite an impression upon him the last you met."
The twinkle in his eyes made her want to stomp upon his foot.
"I'm terribly sorry, sir," she said to the impeccable butler. "I was somewhat out of sorts the other day when I accosted you."
The butler tilted his head toward her. "Quite all right, Your Grace. The duke has a habit of putting anyone out of sorts on the best of days."
"It's lovely to meet you," said Byrnes, in the sort of voice she immediately found suspect. "Officially."
His face seemed familiar. "You were at my engagement party."
When the vampire had attacked and everything had turned into utter chaos. Adele's mother had been on the verge of ending the engagement right then and there, and if not for Malloryn's friendship with the queen, she may have.
Byrnes patted the hand of the tall, statuesque brunette sitting beside him. "One of Balfour's first attempts to kill your husband. Ingrid and I lured the vampire away, and then we blew up Tower Bridge. I can still hear Malloryn's lecture ringing in my ears."
"I thought your hair was black?"
Byrnes ran a hand through his silvery-blond locks. "Slight run-in with an insane enemy agent who wanted to transform me."
"Byrnes and Obsidian are evolved blue bloods," Malloryn told her. "We call them dhampir, and they're what occur when a blue blood enters the Fade and doesn't turn into a vampire."
The Fade was the final, irreversible end stage of the craving virus, when one usually devolved into a mindless, bloodthirsty vampire. Nobody had escaped that fate. "But how did—"
"Nearly twenty years ago, a Dr. Cremorne began performing illegal experiments upon blue bloods to see if he could halt the tide of the Fade. He managed to create an elixir that could transmute it instead," said the blonde woman at the end of the table in an excited tone usually reserved for university lecturers who'd been granted a captive audience. "It didn't reverse the Fade, but it created an evolved blue blood instead of a vampire. Dhampir are—"
"Thank you, Ava." Malloryn hastily cut her off, Adele noticed. "I'll explain it in more detail later, if you wish. Suffice it to say, dhampir are faster and stronger than blue bloods, and almost impossible to kill. Balfour has several of them working for him. We have two. And one last guest to introduce."
"We do?" This from the hard-eyed man he'd referred to as Jack, who wore a breathing apparatus slung around his throat.
Malloryn glanced toward the door as a woman entered, as if she'd been waiting for her cue. "Ah, Mrs. Herbert, how good of you to join us."
The woman was tall, brunette, and had the sort of face one would skip over in a crowd. "My pleasure, Your Grace."
Adele's eye did not skip over her.
Her mouth dropped open. "Clara?"
"Your Grace." Her maid tipped her head toward her regally.
It took a moment to sink in.
"My maid is one of your spies," she said to Malloryn through gritted teeth. "When were you going to tell me?"
One of his eyebrows arched. "It slipped my mind."
"How strange," Adele continued, "that my previous maid gave her notice almost three months ago, and despite having four potential maids apply for the job, only one of them showed up to interview. Her references were absolutely impeccable too."
"Of course they were," he replied with a straight face. "I forged them myself. It was shortly after I returned from Russia, and I realized you might be a target. I needed someone close to you who could protect you if need be."
"Let me guess? Our butler, Richards, spends his nights breaking into your enemies' homes?"
"Don't be ridiculous. Richards is eighty, if he's a day. He's merely the butler. But two of the upper footmen could kill a man with nothing more than a toothpick in at least six different ways."
"Only six?" Miss Townsend mused. "I could do it in at least twelve."
"Wait, wait, wait, wait." All four feet of Byrnes's chair hit the ground as he leaned forward and stared at Adele's maid. "Did he call you Mrs. Herbert? As in the Mrs. Herbert? Our Herbert's wife? The mysterious Mrs. H?"
The woman in the center of this entire furor blinked at him. "Aye, Byrnes. And I've heard all about you and your sense of... humor."
Byrnes shot Herbert a look.
"He's hilarious," the butler said, with an absolutely straight face. "And yes, this is my Clara."
His face softened as the spouses shared a look.
"Oh," said the hulking brute Malloryn had called Kincaid. "Our Herbert's in love."
"It appears to be contagious," Malloryn said distantly as he rifled through several sheets of paper.
"Well," Byrnes assured him, "you're the last man standing, so to speak. I wouldn't be worried at all if I were you."
Kincaid snickered, then blinked as his wife appeared to kick him under the table. The rest of the ladies looked murder at them, and an awkward undertone of silence filled the room.
"I'm not worried," Malloryn replied. "Love is a weakness I can ill afford at the moment."
It wasn't that the statement hurt; it was that he said it so coolly, in front of them all.
"Malloryn," Miss Townsend growled in faint rebuke.
&nbs
p; "It's quite all right," Adele made herself say, wearing the thin smile that had seen her through several Seasons of vitriol she pretended she couldn't hear. "The duke and I have an understanding. And one would need a heart to be at risk of losing it."
"One should not throw stones when one lives in a glass house," Malloryn returned. "I was not named Ice Princess of the year, three years running."
"No, they tend to call you something else. It rhymes with that 'old trick.'"
It felt like the early days of their marriage, all over again.
"Is anyone else having any luck fading into the furniture right about now?" Byrnes asked in a loud whisper.
Kincaid winced.
And Adele found herself blushing furiously as she lowered her eyes. Old habits died hard. If she'd been called an ice princess behind her back, it was only because she'd had to be in order to protect herself.
What, then, was Malloryn's excuse?
"Fine. We'll discuss this later. In private. Is there any chance we can concentrate on the matter at hand?" Malloryn asked. "Tomorrow night, my wife is going undercover at Angel's Fall. Since you're all well known to Balfour's agents, I have no choice but to send her in alone with Clara. Meanwhile"—he stabbed a finger toward Charlie and Lark—"the pair of you are going to break into Sir George Hamilton's private study and discover just what he's up to. Gemma's going with you, just in case. Any questions?"
Byrnes raised his hand.
"Any questions that do not pertain to Clara and Herbert's marriage? Or mine?"
Byrnes slowly lowered it.
"No, Your Grace," several of the Rogues chorused.
"Right, then let's go over the plan," Malloryn announced, unrolling a map that appeared to be of the gaming club in question.
Adele didn't ask how he'd gotten it.
Chapter 16
"Allowing you to do this goes against all my better instincts," Malloryn murmured as he fitted a small brass device inside Adele's jeweled hairpin. A tracking beacon, he'd explained. Just in case something went wrong.
"I didn't know you had better instincts."
Silver eyes met hers, and then a rare smile touched his mouth. "There she is."