by Bec McMaster
"I'll consider your advice," he replied, hoping she'd understand. "Right now, I need to keep an eye out for Mowbray."
Adele startled.
"Barrons is aware of what's going on," he told her, just as a familiar face caught his eye.
"There's my father by the orchestra," Adele said without moving her lips. "Thomas Mowbray is talking to Lady Agatha Callahan. He looks like a walrus."
"Found him," Malloryn murmured.
"Why, it sounds like the waltz is just starting," Adele said with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
"Perhaps Barrons would escort you?" Malloryn suggested, watching Sir George slip quietly from the room.
"Of course," Barrons replied promptly. "It will be my honor, Your Grace."
Malloryn noticed the slight hint of disappointment in her eyes as he tilted his head to them. They'd only ever danced that once, and it was clear she wanted to be in his arms again.
It had been clear this morning, when she asked him where he'd stayed the night that she wanted more than a dance.
"You'll be safe here," he murmured. "I'll be back shortly."
"It seems much has changed," Lord Barrons murmured as he swept Adele around the ballroom.
"Does it?" she asked dryly. "Or are you merely being charming again?"
"I'm being honest. You would have to know Malloryn as well as I do to see it," Barrons mused. "He doesn't like to reveal his inner thoughts in public."
"It seems as though he rarely reveals them in private either."
"You, however, are a little easier to read."
Adele looked away.
She couldn't help herself sometimes. Every time she saw her husband, the rest of the room faded into inconsequence.
"Be patient with him," Barrons murmured. "And smile. You're dancing with me. You'll ruin my reputation if you continue to look so grim."
Adele tsked under her breath. "No wonder your wife never stood a chance."
He laughed. "I'll tell her that."
It felt like dancing with a dashing pirate. Barrons was ridiculously handsome and moved with the sort of dangerous grace that quite swept a young woman off her feet. She'd always had a certain partiality for brown eyes, but as she looked up into his, she realized the allure had faded.
All she could see were eyes the color of a stormy sky.
Eyes as piercing as one of her gray diamonds; their facets equally as reflective and fascinating.
"Don't let him push you away," Barrons continued, as the waltz began its last stanza. "He will, you know, but I think he needs you."
"It's not quite as easy as one might imagine." After all, he hadn't bedded her since that day on his desk.
"I'll tell you a little secret: Malloryn lives and breathes control, especially now, after Russia—"
"Why Russia?"
Barrons leaned closer, so he wouldn't be heard. "I don't know precisely what they did to him there, but it wasn't kind, Duchess. Jelena tortured him extensively, and I don't think he thought anyone would come for him. He won't talk about it. At least not with me. Probably not with others, either."
She considered that, feeling a little horrified at the thought. "He doesn't sleep very often."
"That doesn't surprise me." Barrons gave her a thin smile, and she realized he cared for Malloryn. "I can see the cracks in his surface. He holds himself together with pure willpower, but even Malloryn might break. I don't want to see that."
"What can I do?"
"You think he doesn't care for you. You think he keeps you at arm's length, no?"
She nodded. "We have reached a truce, but... Malloryn remains Malloryn."
No matter how much she pushed, she still woke alone.
"When you walked in here, he couldn't take his eyes from you." Barrons twirled her. "I have never seen him look at a woman like that in all the years I've known him."
"There is an attraction there."
"It's more than attraction. I saw longing, Duchess. The type you sometimes see in a man's eyes when he wants something, but does not dare reach for it. And we both know he won't reach for it. If you want more from him, then you must demand it."
To demand it meant wearing her heart on her sleeve, and Adele had her own demons.
"Thank you. For the advice," she whispered, as the waltz wound down.
Barrons led her to the edge of the ballroom. "Thank you for the dance. It was most enlightening." He gave her a considering look as he pressed a kiss to the back of her silk glove. "I wish you well."
And then he sauntered off, lords and ladies alike parting around him like the sea, as if they sensed a powerful predator in their midst.
Adele didn't know what to think.
Did she dare hope Barrons spoke the truth?
"Your Grace," said a footman, out of nowhere.
Adele startled. "Yes?"
"A message," he said, slipping a piece of folded paper into her hand before vanishing into the crowd.
Adele glanced at the paper, her breath catching when she recognized the writing. It was Hattie's.
Please. I need to see you right now. Behind the stairs. Father's done something terrible.
Come out, come out, wherever you are....
"She's quite a catch, isn't she?"
Malloryn stilled as he recognized the voice, his hand sliding into his pocket and finding the small, hard lump there.
Lord Devoncourt stepped up beside him as Malloryn watched Adele dancing from the balcony. She seemed enraptured with something Barrons was saying, and the vibrant dark pink gown set her apart from the rest of the dance floor.
Not for him the art of espionage. Though he had more than enough experience at creeping about ballrooms unaware, he'd known there'd be too many eyes watching him tonight. He'd sent Gemma and Obsidian to follow Sir George instead, while he played decoy, wondering whom he'd lure out of the shadows.
And of all the people....
"Quite." He bit off the word.
"A bloom just ripe for the picking. It was remarkably easy to capture her attention, did you know? A few small compliments, a man's unabashed focus upon her—if you've ever seen her with Sir George, you'll understand why. She longs to be seen."
"Is there a point to this?"
Devoncourt's smile widened. "It bothers you, doesn't it? That my lips have known hers. That I could have had her if I wanted to."
It was far easier than expected to play the role of jealous husband.
"But you didn't, did you?" He had his hands on the lapels of Devoncourt's collar before he even knew it. Devoncourt caught his wrist, and their gazes clashed, before Malloryn forced a smile. "And it wasn't for lack of trying."
"Careful," Devoncourt chided, his fingers digging into the nerves in Malloryn's wrist. "You wouldn't want anyone to know I struck a nerve."
Malloryn made a great show of glancing around, before he let him go and stepped back, straightening the rumples in his own coat, as if the altercation hadn't even occurred.
"And you're right," Devoncourt conceded with a smile. "She likes to play her own games. She's an elusive creature."
"Which seems to have worked to my favor. You may have offered her flattery, but Adele's quite good at baiting her own hook."
The faintest flicker of darkness flashed through Devoncourt's blue eyes. "I would never have guessed her to be working for you. Her animosity was quite convincing."
"Perhaps because it is." He couldn't afford to betray his feelings, and sometimes there were benefits to playing the Duke of Malloryn. Everyone knew he was made of polished steel. Ruthless. Indifferent. Cold. It was like slipping into another skin; one he'd mastered years ago. "You think her loyalty belongs to me? She has other buttons to push, beyond her father's indifference to her." His voice lowered. "It's just a matter of pushing the right ones to get what I want."
Devoncourt swallowed the lie. "You played the both of us."
He merely smiled. "I needed a weapon you'd never see coming."
"Yes. It's stra
nge how Adele vanished from Angel's Fall at the precise moment Corvus did."
There was no point prevaricating.
"He sends his regards," Malloryn replied. "Or he would if he could speak."
Devoncourt's lips thinned. "I hope he suffered. There's no love lost between Corvus and me, so your barb draws no blood."
"It wasn't intended to. Do you have anything of interest to say to me? Or are you merely tilting at windmills, when there's nothing either of us can do?"
"Too public," Devoncourt agreed.
"It's going to be private, one day."
"It will."
Their eyes locked on each other.
"Actually, I was merely meant to draw your attention," Devoncourt said, brushing lint from his sleeve. This time, it was he who held the upper hand.
Malloryn's gaze jerked to the ballroom.
Too late.
There was no raspberry pink anywhere to be found. He spotted Barrons immediately, laughing at something Mina said.
But Adele wasn't there.
"How interesting. You appear to have your own blind spot. You may not want her, but you do not want anyone else to have her either. Distractions are dangerous, Your Grace," Devoncourt said, with a faint smile. "I do hope you can find her in time."
Malloryn shot the man one last murderous look, teeth gnashing at the thought he may have bought into the game just a little too well, before he stalked along the balcony, hunting through the crowd.
Where would she have gone? She knew better than to leave the ballroom.
Slipping down the stairs, he found himself in a crush of people all looking to speak to him. Something about his face must have warned them, for suddenly his path opened up.
And then he paused as a prickling sensation ran down his spine.
And not just from Adele's disappearance.
Something had roused the predator within him and sent it hissing like a cat arching its back when another tom walked into its territory.
What had set off his darker side?
A hint of bergamot scented the air.
He looked around sharply.
It could have been in any perfume or cologne. It was a popular base scent, after all. But as the clammy sensation spread across the base of his spine, Malloryn couldn't help feeling as though someone had walked over his grave.
He didn't believe in coincidences.
His worst nightmare was here.
Somewhere.
And his wife was missing.
Chapter 23
Gemma ran along the hallway at the back of Lady Haynes's house, holding her skirts out of the way.
She'd been caught between two drunken fools who were threatening fisticuffs, and had lost visual on Thomas Mowbray for a second.
"Obsidian?" she whispered, putting her hand to her earpiece.
"Yes?" said her lover.
"I've lost Mowbray."
There was a moment of silence. "I've got Sir George in sight. He's prowling the garden folly."
"Good. Stay on him. I'll find you."
Blood flavored the air as she turned a corner. All of Gemma's senses awoke, the hunger surging to the surface and darkening her vision.
"Oh, heck," she said.
"What?"
"I think I've found Mowbray." Turning another corner, she saw the elderly gentleman crawling across the marble floors, a bloodied trail behind him.
"Sir!" She slid to his side and rolled him over. "What happened?"
"There was a woman," he gasped, one hand clasped to his chest. Gemma could see hot, red blood spurting between his fingers in pulses. A human. He was not long for this world.
She tore his waistcoat off and wadded it against his chest, though there was little hope of staunching the bleeding. Heart blood, by the look of it. She could smell it in the air and her mouth watered as the predator within her awoke. "What sort of woman? Blonde? Was she very blonde?"
"Yes." Blood flecked his lips. "Hair like... snow."
Oh, heck. It had to be either Dido or Jelena. Gemma drew one of the knives attached to her thigh. "What did you give her?"
Mowbray blinked, as if his vision was fading. "Are you... an angel?"
"What did you give her?" Gemma shook him a little.
"The keys..." His breath started rattling in his throat as he clutched at her arm. "To all my... automatons. They're going to... burn it all... down. You have to... stop them." His breath started to wheeze and panic filled his eyes. "Stop them...."
"I will," Gemma promised as Mowbray's fingers loosened from her arm and he slumped to the floor. "Damn it."
Footsteps slapped on the marble as Obsidian sprinted around the corner, skidding to a halt when he saw Mowbray.
"Sir George was the diversion," she growled. "Either Jelena or Dido is here, and they took what they needed from Mowbray. Hurry. We need to find Malloryn. Because if it was Jelena, then she won't be able to stop herself from striking at him."
The first time Adele suspected she was being followed was as she made her way along the gallery behind the stairs.
There was no sign of Hattie, but several ladies laughed and twittered nearby, and a footman stood propped in front of the wall. The ballroom was mere feet away. So close, she had to be safe, didn't she?
It wasn't the first time she'd found herself stalked through ballrooms. And the woman behind her moved nonchalantly enough, passing laughing couples who'd sought some privacy in the hallway, pausing every now and then before a painting as if to examine it, that Adele almost doubted herself.
One could be forgiven for assuming she was just another guest, but there was a faint prickling sensation down Adele's spine. Something wasn't right, and she always listened to her instincts.
"Malloryn?" she whispered, touching the small auditory device in her ear. He'd told her not to use it unless strictly necessary.
Static shirred through it. "Where are you?" he demanded in his usual clipped tones.
"Behind the staircase. Hattie wanted to see me. You didn't happen to send one of your agents after me, did you? For protection?"
She could almost sense him pausing in whatever he was doing. "No," he said slowly. "Why?"
"I think I'm being followed. It's a woman," she whispered, hoping he could hear her through the communicator. "She's wearing a swan headpiece and a white dress."
So were half the bloody debutantes at the ball. White denoted a young woman searching for a protector. But there was nothing innocent in the way the woman moved, her eyes radiating a particular sort of menace as her attention locked on Adele.
She was definitely moving faster now, as Adele froze in front of a painting. The footman had vanished. The three ladies slipped past the woman stalking toward her, fans fluttering.
And the woman was between her and the ballroom.
"Blonde—very blonde—and... I think there's something wrong with her mouth. A scar, perhaps. Or one side of it is pulled up."
Silence loomed through the device.
Then her husband's voice cracked sharply through the auditory device in her ear. "Adele, where precisely are you?"
There was something about his tone that made her heart skip a beat. "I'm behind the staircase, but she's between me and the ballroom. Should I try and circle around?"
"Don't go anywhere," Malloryn snapped. "I'm coming for you, right now."
"What's going on?"
"You just described Jelena."
The dhampir woman who worked for Balfour. Adele's heart pounded. "I can't stay. She's herding me away from the ballroom."
"Find someone. Find people. You're not safe," Malloryn said sharply. "Gemma? Abandon Mowbray. I've got a possible sighting of Jelena near the back of the main staircase. She's following Adele."
Her device was only linked to his, so she had to assume the other woman answered.
Adele stepped back as the woman smiled and advanced upon her. There was light to her left. Laughter in the distance. Safety, perhaps. "I have to move," she hissed. "The
ladies' powder room is just in front of me. I'll lock myself inside."
"Ava wants to know if you have your perfume," Malloryn demanded.
Her perfume?
Clarity dawned. The pretty blonde scientist had doctored it with the Black Vein toxin. "Yes. It's in my reticule."
"If you're trapped, squirt it directly in Jelena's face. It won't affect you, but warn any other blue bloods in the area. She said she hasn't tested it directly, but it might be strong enough to incapacitate her."
Hemlock in her ring. Black Vein in her perfume.
Who did they think she was?
She was no Gemma or Ingrid.
"I'm coming, Adele. I won't let her hurt you. I promise."
Another woman stepped into the hallway ahead of Adele, gowned in vibrant green silk. Her silvery blonde hair was knotted back into an elegant coil, and her eyes glittered.
But it was the pistol in her hand, held low against her thigh, that caught Adele's attention.
Dido.
"There's two of them," she breathed. "Malloryn, I can't escape."
"Where are you?"
"She has a pistol."
"Adele, focus. Where?"
Gaslights gleamed in their sconces. Doors lined the hallway. "Right outside the powder room."
"Get inside it and lock the door."
The woman in front of her began stalking forward.
Adele burst into the powder room and locked it behind her, relief flooding through her the second she heard voices. A trio of debutantes laughed in front of the mirrors, patting stray curls into place and squaring necklines.
Safe.
She was safe.
But even as she said it, the handle turned. Someone twisted it violently, as if realizing it was locked.
"They just unlocked the door somehow," she blurted through the listening device. Then she froze as the lock gave a telltale click.
In the mirror's reflection she saw the door begin to open, and Adele turned to find Jelena slipping inside, one elegant shoulder bare and her painted mouth widening into a malicious smile.