by Bec McMaster
Malloryn knelt down, a fresh set of trousers pulling taut over his thighs as he eyed the bastard. "I think you will."
"I think he will too," said Byrnes, tossing a knife up and down nonchalantly. "Indeed, I'm willing to bet good money on it."
Gemma tsked under her breath. "Boys. There's no need to make threats. I'm sure Lord Corvus understands the gravity of the situation he's found himself in. The queen wants the head of any traitor, after all."
"She don't need to know he's even in here," Byrnes murmured.
Lord Corvus sneered. "I'm an earl. If you touch one hair on my head, the entire Echelon will be up in arms. You think you're so high and mighty? You think the queen's name cows me? Well, you're going to get what's coming for you soon. There are those of us right beneath your nose. You'll never see them coming. You'll never know—"
"You mean all the lords listed on these pages?" Malloryn tugged the membership list out of his coat and proffered it elegantly.
Corvus froze.
"It was very considerate of you to write them all down for us. Saves me the hassle of having to torture my way through your cohort." He glanced at the first couple of names. "Coded, of course, but Gemma managed to crack it in under half an hour. Sloppy work, Corvus. Adele mentioned the Four Horsemen, and I see you've even given me their names too. Practically giftwrapped. The leaders of this little resurrection of the Rising Sons, I presume?"
"Conquest," Byrnes snorted, looming over the sniveling lordling. "He named himself Conquest. Who does that?"
"Conquest had another name," Gemma murmured. "I think 'Pestilence' suits the earl better."
"I think I'd rather be Devoncourt," Byrnes said, "though titling yourself as 'War' is a little self-congratulatory."
"And my dear father-in-law, Sir George, is masquerading as Famine. There's only one Horseman's name that's not listed." Malloryn examined the lists. "Was it Dido who gave you such names? Or should I say, Death?"
A white mottling settled over Corvus's pale expression. "It's too late, anyway. You won't stop it now."
"Stop what?" Malloryn tucked the papers back inside his pocket. "Maybe I can offer you a deal. Tell me what Balfour plans, and I'll make this very quick for you." He leaned closer, letting Corvus see some of the rage within him. "I don't want to. I want to make it slow and painful, considering you dared lay hands on my wife, but I always keep my word when I give it."
Corvus gave a choking laugh. "You have no idea what's coming for you. I'd rather see you suffer than die a clean death."
"One hundred quid that he breaks in under an hour," Byrnes said.
"Mmm, I think it will take at least an hour. Lord Corvus is a war veteran, after all," Gemma replied. "Two hundred, and you have a deal."
"I can be very persuasive," Byrnes told her. "I once saw a man make another eat his own finger. I've always wanted to try it."
"Done."
Corvus's gaze flickered to the pair of them, and his nostrils flared.
"You will tell us the truth, Corvus. What condition you're in when you speak it, depends on you," Malloryn said. "You told Adele I had less than a week, which means Balfour is setting things in motion as we speak. I wonder though, whether the explosives were designed for the Ivory Tower? Or is it the Prometheus chip we should be wary of?"
Corvus paled. "How did you—?"
"Did you think you were the only target we went after?"
"You son of a bitch."
"Your little house of cards is toppling, Corvus. Just fill in the gaps, and I may make this swift."
"Don't drink too much of it," Ava warned as she liberally laced Adele's tea with brandy. "It'll go straight to your head."
"Thank you." Adele sipped at her tea, sighing with relief as the brandy warmed from the inside. She'd bathed the blood from her skin, and one of the other ladies had managed to find her a new nightgown and robe, but the chill of Corvus's hands on her skin still lingered.
"Ava is speaking from experience." Ingrid snorted, her long legs thrown over the chair's arms as she watched Ava fuss over Adele. "She gets very talkative when she's had too much liquor."
"And I'm sure you and Gemma weren't egging me on at all that night," Ava rebuked, slipping the glass topper back into the decanter.
"We didn't have to."
"Did I miss something?" Lark asked.
"Nothing," Ava replied promptly.
"Battering rams," Ingrid coughed, almost-but-not-quite smothering the words with her hand.
The three women had gathered Adele into their confidences while Malloryn, Gemma, and Byrnes headed off to question Lord Corvus.
"Now I definitely know I missed something." Lark leaned forward in her chair, her hazel eyes glittering. "Confess."
"If you want to know more," Ingrid said, "then you'll need to drink up. One secret per glass. That's the way we played it." Her smile abruptly widened. "We can consider tonight Lark's and the duchess's initiation into COR."
"Oh, no. I don't think this is a very good idea. The duke would definitely not approve." Ava waved her hands in front of her. "Besides, Gemma's not here."
"She can catch up when she returns. And it's not as though you're at risk of blurting something inappropriate," Ingrid said, gesturing to Ava's rounded form and hence her inability to imbibe. No amount of ruffles could conceal Ava's thickening middle. "You can be our chaperone."
Adele drained her cup of tea. As much as tonight had been utterly horrid, a part of her liked the idea of making friends. It was the sort of gossip she might have enjoyed with Lena, but beyond that, she had very few companions, and the camaraderie she'd noticed within COR made her feel a little left out.
"I'm game," she said, setting her teacup onto her saucer with a clatter. "Though you must call me Adele."
Lark's eyes widened. "You are?"
"You do realize they're going to interrogate you about Malloryn," Ava said dryly.
"But not a word of what occurs here tonight leaves this room," Ingrid promised. "The gentlemen will remain oblivious."
Malloryn would kill her.
But then, Lord Corvus almost had, so really, what was she afraid of?
"As I said," she replied with an insouciant shrug, "I'm game. It sounds like fun."
And it had been so long since she'd truly enjoyed herself like this.
Ava sighed and poured them all a brandy, liberally splashing it into Adele's empty teacup.
"To a lady's secrets, and a promise of friendship everlasting," Ingrid said.
"No Rogue left behind," Lark added.
The three of them clinked cups together.
And then Adele managed to choke down half the cup, while Ingrid and Lark drained theirs.
"The first time Gemma brought out a bottle was just after Kincaid started pursuing Ava," Ingrid said. "There may—or may not—have been a conversation about what precisely a lady may expect in the bedroom. Gemma and I were trying to restrain ourselves for poor Ava's innocent ears, when to our shock and horror she blurted out that our dear Kincaid is a man of stature."
Adele blinked, slowly working her way through "stature" and "battering ram." Then her eyes widened.
Ava groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I will add, neither Ingrid nor Gemma was shocked or horrified."
"Delighted, I presume," Lark said with a snicker.
"You know Gemma." Ingrid waggled her brows. "Your turn."
Heat flushed through Lark's cheeks. Though she wore men's attire, she'd been reticent enough until now that Adele didn't truly know much about her.
"Are you asking about Charlie's, ahem, girth?"
"He's a strapping lad. But you're quite welcome to volunteer any secret you wish. As long as it's naughty." Ingrid's eyes flashed intently. "Our sugarplum is such a sweet young boy, I'm sure he has no dark secrets."
"Not like Byrnes," Ava said.
Lark snorted into her brandy. "Bloody hell. I don't think I want to know."
"Well?" Ingrid leaned forward, and Adele started feeling
a little nervous about what she'd be expected to share.
"Our first time was in Russia," Lark muttered.
"Our?" Ingrid arched both brows.
"He waited for me," Lark replied. "We were both virgins."
"Oh." Ava sighed. "That's so sweet. I adore Charlie. He's always so thoughtful."
"Very thoughtful, if one knows what I mean?" Lark said. She turned to Adele to explain, "We grew up together and were friends as children, though it took him a few years to realize I was a girl."
"And then he definitely realized you were a girl," Ava said kindly. "He was mooning after you all through Russia. Gemma wanted to shake him to keep his mind on the job."
"Your turn," Ingrid said as Ava topped up Adele's cup. "We're all dying to know... is the duke as cold in bed as he seems?"
Adele buried her face in the cup and drank swiftly.
"Technically," she admitted, blushing furiously, "we haven't yet made it to a bed."
"I knew it!" Ingrid punched the air. "You made love to the Duke of Malloryn on his desk!"
"Charlie owes you fifty quid," Lark pointed out, and then looked chastened when Adele shot her a sharp look. "He was adamant the duke had managed to seduce you earlier."
"What, precisely, do you count as seduction?" Adele murmured, muddying the waters.
Of all the things Malloryn expected to find when he walked into Hardcastle Lane several hours later, it was not a very drunk Duchess of Malloryn.
He'd been prepared for tears.
Prepared to gently tend to his wife's distress, as Gemma had given him a lecture in the carriage on the way home about the aftermath of the assault and how he owed Adele a shoulder to cry on.
But the second he walked in, he noticed Herbert's slightly horrified expression beneath his nightcap, and wondered, for the second time that week, what sort of hell had broken loose.
Malloryn tugged off his gloves. "No break-ins? No scheming duchesses trapped in my study? No bodies?"
"No, Your Grace."
A round of giggling floated down the stairs.
"What on earth is going on?" Gemma asked, slipping her cloak from her shoulders as they all glanced up.
"That sounds like Ingrid," Byrnes said with a faint frown as something smashed.
"I believe the ladies are in no condition to put themselves to bed," Herbert said discreetly. "They have... raided Master Byrnes's private stock of blud-wein for Miss Lark, and the duke's decanters seem to have vanished. I tried to fend them off, but they were adamant."
"And one does not stand between Ingrid and a bottle of brandy when she has a thirst." Gemma shook her head.
"Again?" Byrnes shook his head. "That woman owes me."
"I'm sure she'll reimburse you in private," Gemma drawled. "I cannot believe they started without me."
Malloryn didn't move. "The duchess is with them?"
"I believe Her Grace is currently leading the charge. She Duchess of Malloryn'd me when I asked them to be a little quieter." Herbert cleared his throat. "Clara had to retire. It was all she could do not to burst out laughing."
As if to prove his statement, Adele staggered onto the landing, practically tripping on the hem of a green silk nightrobe that was too long for her. "Oh, it's my favorite husband!"
Malloryn realized his jaw hung slightly open.
"Don't break your neck on the stairs," Ingrid hollered. "Or the duke will have my head."
"But the duke is here!" Adele cried in delight. "And Gemma too! We waited for you, Gemma, but you—" A hiccup escaped her. "—have to catch up."
"My wife is a cool, rational creature without a heart," Gemma said, with a snicker.
"She would never make demands of me, the Duke of Malloryn," Byrnes added, getting in on the joke.
"She is the epitome of class and grace—"
"And would never dare cause her husband any uncomfortable displays of emotion—"
"The next person to open their mouth," he growled, "will be cleaning chamber pots for a month."
The pair of them tried to contain their laughter.
"Did you know I like your Rogues?" Adele started down the stairs, and he leapt up several steps, one hand braced to catch her, before realizing she'd hauled her nightrobe up past her knees. Slim, delicate, bare calves flashed before him as she took slow, careful steps.
"Where are your shoes?" he demanded. "And your stockings?"
"Where's your cravat?" she replied, shrugging flirtatiously. "I like your cravat. Especially when you use it to—"
"Jesus Christ." Malloryn eased Adele up into his arms, reeling at the scent of brandy that steamed off her. "Did you drink the entire bottle of brandy by yourself?"
"I tried to talk them out of it, Your Grace." Ava looked chagrined as she appeared at the top of the stairs with Ingrid and Lark at her sides. "They wouldn't listen."
"When does anyone in this house bloody listen?" he growled under his breath as he strode back down the stairs and set Adele on her feet.
"He wants to know where my shoes are!" Adele called back up the stairs.
Ingrid slid down the bannister. "But that's not the theory!"
"Bloody hell," Byrnes said, and exchanged a long-suffering look with him. "We are in for a night of it."
"What theory?" Malloryn demanded.
"No, no, no!" Adele shook her hands in the air. "Ingrid wants to measure your boots. Don't let her! I wouldn't tell!"
"I'm so sorry, Your Grace," Ava repeated.
"It appears your wife is as much of a lightweight as Ava," Ingrid added, swinging off the bottom of the bannister. "She said she'd imbibed before."
"The punch is never as strong at the balls." Adele hiccupped. She set a hand to her temples, swaying slightly.
Malloryn swiftly caught her arm. "Are you all right?"
"I am most... excellent. Exceedingly excellent. Did you kill Lord Corvus? You don't have any blood on you."
"No, I did not. Do you want to sit down?"
Adele gave a little burp, and pressed her fingers to her lips in horror. "Oh, goodness. I don't think I feel very well."
He gaped at her.
"You need to get her upstairs and get some tea into her," Gemma muttered under her breath. "I did warn you that no matter what condition you found her in, tonight you had a certain duty to perform."
Yes, but holding my wife's hair out of her face as she casts up her accounts isn't even on the list of things I anticipated.
Getting her back up the stairs would be more hassle than it was worth. He swung her up into his arms. "Good God, how much have you had to drink?"
She held both hands about nine or ten inches apart with a giggle. "About this much." A slight frown wrinkled her brow. "Or was that the other thing we were discussing?"
"Definitely that much to drink," Ava blurted in a high-pitched voice.
Something was going on. His eyes narrowed. "Does this have anything to do with the size of my boots?"
"No!" Lark and Ingrid chorused together.
He did not want to know.
Herbert snapped his heels together. "I shall fetch Your Grace a clean chamber pot and some tea."
"There, there, Malloryn." Gemma patted him on the shoulder, grinning at him unsympathetically. "This is one of the joys of marriage."
Adele awoke with a groan.
Oh. My. Goodness.
She pressed her hands to her throbbing temples. There was far too much light in the room. What had happened? Where was she?
"Why," purred a dangerous voice, "if it isn't my favorite wife. How are you feeling, Adele?"
Malloryn.
She was in Malloryn's bed at the safe house. Adele rolled onto her side, realizing she was naked under the covers. With a squeak, she hauled them up to her chin, and then clapped a handful to her mouth as her stomach rebelled at the sudden movement. "What are you doing in here?"
Light streamed through the curtains he'd just jerked open, highlighting the dangerous smile on his mouth. "Well, I certainly wasn't
sleeping, unlike others."
She managed to sit herself upright. Very slowly. "Where are my clothes?"
"Clara has very kindly removed them from the room, along with the chamber pot."
The chamber pot?
She groaned. There was a vile taste in the back of her throat. Faint recollections rose of lots and lots of brandy. Had there been singing at one stage?
"Apparently I'm not as good at hair as she is, though I did manage to braid most of it out of the way."
"Braid it back?" she asked in a horrified whisper, as images of the chamber pot resurfaced to haunt her. "Oh, no."
"Oh, yes, my favorite wife." Malloryn's smile was pure evil. "It was quite an eventful night. I have learned rather a lot about you. Including what you ate for dinner last night."
The only way to deal with such a statement was to ignore it.
"Why am I your favorite wife? I thought I was your only wife?" The world was spinning too much for her to put the pieces together.
"Well, apparently, I am your favorite husband. I am a very good husband, indeed." He said the titles simply, as if speaking them to a three year-old. "Am I a good husband, Clara?"
"The very best," Clara said promptly as she stepped into the light.
Adele hadn't even realized she was there.
"I hope you're feeling better, Duchess." There was a faint note of sympathy on Clara's face. "I've bought you up some tea. I wasn't certain if you were quite ready for breakfast."
The very idea of baked kippers made her stomach revolt again.
"Tea will be fine," she managed to whisper.
"Clara, would you be able to assist my wife with her toilette this afternoon? I don't want her to drown in the bath, and we have an important meeting to attend downstairs. Some of us have been putting together the pieces of what we learned at Angel's Fall."
"Certainly, Your Grace."
Malloryn strode for the door, and then paused, one hand on the knob as he glanced over his shoulder. "You may have to wash her. Thoroughly. Along with my boots."
"Your boots?"
Please tell me I did not....