by Sarah Sokol
When they emerged into the bright ballroom, the dancers twirling to the lively tune, Ben stopped and took stock. He swept his gaze methodically over the entire room, noting the location of Lady Kenward and her husband where they were standing, sipping champagne and speaking to Hastings. There was no sign of Charlotte or Sutcliffe.
"I say, you weren't really going to light that footman on fire, were you?"
Oliver's voice broke Ben out of his urgent focus. "What? Don't be stupid, I just said some nonsense to frighten him. Where do we start?"
"Lady Kenward will know where she was last seen." Oliver straightened his jacket with a brisk tug at the lapels, and they strode across the room to the lady in question.
When they arrived, Hastings was in the middle of what seemed to be a long lead-up to a punchline that would probably not be worthwhile. Ben cleared his throat and executed a hasty bow, Oliver following suit more elegantly.
"Where is Charlotte?" Ben demanded, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. "When did you see her last?"
"Apologies for the rudeness, but it is a matter of great urgency," Oliver added.
"Is she all right? What is going on?" Lady Kenward's rounded face drew into a puzzled frown. "She just went up to the balcony with the duke, not twenty minutes ago."
"Thank you." Ben left Oliver to hear the rest of her sentence and tore off towards the stairs, climbing them two at a time.
Once he reached the balcony, he gazed over the few partygoers who had ascended to look for a quieter place to speak. No Charlotte, no Sutcliffe. He hissed through his teeth, drumming his fingertips against the railing. There were three doors on each side of the balcony, all leading deeper into the house. He had no way of knowing which door they had gone through, or if Sutcliffe had taken her somewhere else entirely.
As he hesitated, Oliver caught up to him, panting from the run. "Any luck?"
"No," Ben ground his teeth. "Go fetch Hastings and Kenward. We need to split up and search."
"Already here, old bean," Hastings' voice sounded from behind him. Ben turned to find Lord and Lady Kenward, Hastings and Oliver all staring at him expectantly. "Haven't seen so much excitement at a ball since the nipple incident."
"If Charlotte is in trouble then I'm helping," Lady Kenward declared in a tone that brooked no argument.
There wasn't time for arguments anyway. "Fine. Oliver, you're with me, we'll take the studies, bedrooms and library. Hastings, you're on your own, poke about in the attic and storage rooms. Kenwards, you search the more populated areas, card room, supper room, ask if anyone's seen any sign of them. Everyone be meticulous, quiet and cautious, do not engage Sutcliffe. He is dangerous in ways I have no time to explain, and Charlotte may be at his mercy."
Hastings gave a cheery salute, his ambling stride taking on purpose and speed as he vanished back down the stairs.
"We shall have to take care not to damage her reputation as we ask around," Lady Kenward murmured in hushed, worried tones to her husband as they turned to make their way back down the stairs as well.
"Well handled, that. Shall we?" Oliver gave an approving nod and moved the rest of the way up the stairs, past Ben to the first balcony doorway.
The room around him, the noise all seemed to fade away and pure adrenaline surged through Ben's veins. He charged forward through the door with his cane clutched securely in both hands before him.
He emerged into a quiet, thickly carpeted hallway with a set of stairs leading down. There were more doors, and a wave of despair struck him. Too much area to cover.
"Only place to start is at the beginning," Oliver said, gripping Ben's shoulder. "Buck up."
"Right." Ben took a deep breath and the two men fell into their usual pattern of investigation. Oliver moved forward, listened briefly at each door, then pushed it open and stood back while Ben whipped his cane forward and peered into the room.
The first hallway was all empty bedrooms and a small tea parlour currently abandoned. They moved systematically down to the next hallway, and the next, finding similar results before moving downstairs. The muffled music filtered through the dark hallways, and there was the occasional couple locked in clandestine embrace, only to break apart with gasps as Oliver and Ben burst through.
"There's too many people, he wouldn't have taken her here," Oliver muttered. "We're in the wrong part of the house. Let's go to the library. It's in the back, it would be empty, Sutcliffe might think of it as an easy place to find privacy, if he didn't take her off the grounds. I've got a gut feeling."
Ben just nodded, knowing he would vomit if he tried to speak now. The tension vibrated in him and he clutched his cane tighter, following Oliver's twists and turns until they came to a stop before the tall double doors of the library. The wood was carved with beautiful intricate lions, facing each other with paws raised.
Oliver opened his mouth to speak, but Ben grabbed his elbow and raised one finger to his lips, pointing down at the crack of light under the door.
The other rooms had all been dark. Perhaps Oliver's gut was onto something. Moving slowly and carefully, the two men crept forward and pressed their ears to the door.
Silence for several long seconds, then a muffled groan.
Ben's eyes widened and he held up his cane, caressing the glyph of fire carved over the polished tip. Oliver's fingers slid over the door handle and tugged it open, just enough for Ben to peer through.
"I'm going to kill him," Ben promised in a cold whisper, taking in the sight before him.
Charlotte's honey hair spilled onto the floor all around her head, soaking in the blood from the markings on the marble floor. She was almost naked, and Ben caught one glimpse of rosy nipples, small, firm breasts, soft stomach and thighs, and a tantalizing shadow at the juncture of her hips before he forced his eyes away. Sutcliffe. Where was he?
There, a stirring of movement. The dark-haired duke slumped on the ground, trying to sit up, and groaning with each movement. He looked pale and shaken, but there was a wild, angry glint in his eyes as he stared at Charlotte.
"Stand down, move away from her." Ben strode forward, Oliver at his side.
He noticed out of the corner of his eye, Charlotte's green eyes went wide, and her throat strained, as if she were struggling to speak but couldn't make any sound. The circle around her. It was painted in blood, but it wasn't just for gruesome effect. She was caught in a spell of some kind.
Sutcliffe raised both hands in the air, giving a meek nod. "I just found her like this, and I was going to fetch you, of course--"
Before he finished his sentence he darted forward, one hand snatching up a tiny knife that glinted in the lamplight, the other hand gripping Charlotte's throat as he threw himself upon her, straddling her and raising the knife over his head.
"Dimittas ignis," Ben spoke without hesitation and levelled his weapon towards the duke. The wooden length of it warmed, vibrated, hummed with power, and a pure bolt of roaring fire and arcane energy blasted from the head of the cane towards Sutcliffe.
The blast was narrow and concentrated enough to strike Sutcliffe's shoulder, knocking him off Charlotte's body and sending him tumbling to the ground, the knife clattering to the floor beside him. He howled in pain, clutching at his shoulder in an attempt to put out the fire as his skin sizzled and burned.
"Subdue him," Ben ordered, not even stopping his stride forward to Charlotte. He unbuttoned his coat as he went, tugging it off his shoulders and stopping just outside the circle.
Oliver ran forward, leaping on top of Sutcliffe and delivering two heavy blows to the face and temple. Another muffled moan, and Sutcliffe's body went limp. Oliver began dragging him upright, binding his arms behind his back, as Ben studied the circle holding his Charlotte captive. It didn't look like much, but it was a lot harder to break a circle made of blood than one made of salt.
"Just hold on, remain calm," he murmured as he saw Charlotte's eyes fluttering frantically. "Consummavi."
The hum of magic rema
ined unbroken. Ben cursed under his breath.
"Here." Oliver fished into his waistcoat pocket and removed a small silver flask, tossing it across to Ben. "Use this, rub out some of the blood to weaken the circle."
Ben nodded, uncapping it and pouring the strong-smelling brandy over the line of blood. Using his fingertips to work it in, he felt the hum of magic falter.
"Consummavi," he repeated.
This time, there was a noticeable straining, a tug of something in the air, and a sound almost like a whiplash. Charlotte's body spasmed, tensing as if every finger and toe cramped at the same time, her lips parted and she released a long, wailing, agonised scream that rent the air and sent a chill through Ben.
Then she lurched upright, drawing her legs together and curling her arms over her breasts.
"It's all right. It's over, it's all right," Ben whispered, moving forward. Keeping each movement slow, trying not to frighten her, he wrapped his coat around her, covering her nudity as much as he could in her current position.
Her back and shoulders shook under the thick, rough material and she turned to Ben, looking up at him. Her lips parted again as if she wanted to say something, but instead she just cried, loud, heaving sobs as her fingers clenched into the coat and pulled it closer around her body.
Ben stared at her, wanting to wrap his arms around her, but not knowing what she had been through, what she needed from him. The question was answered when she curled into his chest and buried her face against his shoulder.
Wrapping his arms around her, he held her close, resting his cheek upon her hair and inhaling the sweet scent of violet, rose, and Charlotte. He clutched her so tightly his fingers no longer shook, though he felt dampness on his own cheeks to match her shuddering sobs.
"It's all right," he said again, voice husky through the tears. He needed to hear it as much as she did. "Sutcliffe's unconscious. Oliver has him. All wrapped up and swaddled like a baby, see? It's going to be fine. You're not hurt, are you? Tell me, love, are you?"
She pulled back, tear-stained face turning up to his. He never wanted to see her so ravaged again. She parted her lips, clearing her throat and swallowing hard a few times.
Finally, she was able to force out a reply. "Just m-my feet. They're cut."
"Damn him to hell," Ben growled and pulled away from her just enough to slide his hands down, over her shapely calves to cradle her long, tanned foot in his palm. He examined the cuts, ones that would leave a scar in the shape of a glyph. It looked like the start of the symbol usually used to indicate 'door,' or 'opening.' "Sick bastard. What was he after?"
"The cuts are n-not deep," Charlotte reassured him, slipping her foot shyly out of his hand and rubbing her nose on his coat sleeve. She didn't move away, though, and her proximity was intoxicating.
His hands moved of their own accord up over her arms, shoulders, to her neck, then framing her face with his palms. Tangling his fingers into her silky hair, he felt for any other injuries, then just enjoyed the excuse to touch her. He noticed a small scar that caught the very top of her lip at the cupid's bow. It made her lips appear the tiniest bit crooked, a subtle imperfection that seized his heart and twisted it within his chest.
He could no more help himself than he could help breathing. Leaning in, he allowed her but a moment to pull away or say no. She simply shivered and closed the distance between them, and their lips met. Ben felt a jolt of heat, warmth that curled in his belly and spread into every limb, and he pressed her against him, kissing her lips fervently before tracing the paths of her tears down her cheeks to her throat.
She gasped. He pulled back, blinking away the dizzy feeling, an apology rising to his lips, a lump of guilt replacing the warmth in his stomach. She had just been through a traumatic experience, and here he was falling on her like an animal. Before the words could leave his mouth, she surged forward, clenching his shoulders with her fingers, and pressed her lips to his once more. They moved together in harmony, unskilled but savouring each sensation, and Ben thrilled at the shy movements of her fingers in his hair, until a loud woman's voice brought them both back to reality like a dash of cold water.
"We heard a scream! I... er, Charlotte, dear, I am so glad you are safe, but I demand you explain to me this instant what exactly in the blue bloody blazes is going on."
"I'd think you, as a happily married woman, would understand exactly what's going on," Oliver's voice drawled.
"Yes, they appear to be kissing, light of my life." Oh good, Lord Kenward was here too.
"You know what I meant, you pair of buffoons."
Ben tugged back reluctantly, not even their buffoonery able to ruin this moment. Charlotte's eyes fluttered open. He smiled, capturing the momentary expression of dreaminess in her eyes, the swollen pink of her lips, before she blinked, shook her head and pulled away, staggering to her feet. She thrust her fingers into the sleeves of his coat and buttoned it up tightly before turning to face Lady Kenward, who stood at the door looking confused, worried, and a little bit delighted.
Charlotte heaved a deep sigh, glancing back to where Oliver trussed up the unconscious duke. "It's a long story."
"Well." Lady Kenward bustled forward, wrapping her arm around Charlotte's shoulders and guiding her to the couch. "I want to hear every detail. My dear, where are your clothes?"
"And I shall... er... summon the constables." Ben shifted on his feet, looking at Charlotte again. He felt like he had so much more to say to her, but this was hardly the time. "I am glad we found you in time, Lady Whitcomb."
"I am too, Ben," she said, and met his gaze. "Thank you."
Ben swallowed hard, bowed and headed for the door before he made a fool of himself. Once he was safely outside the library and in the dark, quiet hallway, he executed a giddy caper, clumsily kicking his heels. He stopped a moment later, managing to suppress all signs of his fluttering heart, except for the wide grin on his face.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Bashful Blossoms
Sophie burst into the little townhouse bedroom carrying a tray full of bandages, ointments, tea things, and of course, biscuits. "You will never guess-- Oh! You're up. You're dressed. You're out of bed? Really, Lottie."
"I'm perfectly well." Charlotte had anticipated her friend appearing in her room bright and early this morning and had attired herself in a pink and blue striped walking dress in preparation.
"I thought you couldn't heal yourself," Sophie protested, wind thoroughly taken out of her sails.
"I can't, but I am perfectly qualified to treat wounds in a natural way, too." Charlotte lifted her skirts and extended her feet, revealing the fresh bandages she had wrapped this morning. "I used my homemade herbal ointment."
"Well I should've known not to bother," Sophie huffed, plopping down on the bed with the tray and taking one of the chocolate biscuits to nibble.
Charlotte smiled and ducked her head. "Sorry, Soph. I should have waited; I just couldn't sleep. Thinking about everything that happened."
Sophie gulped down her bite. "Oh dear, I should be the one pampering you and making you feel better, and here you are reassuring me like always. I was just excited to take care of you for once, that's all. How are you feeling, dear? Any nightmares?"
"I'm feeling just fine." Charlotte bit her lip, hesitating. "To be honest, I don't think any of it feels quite real, yet. That's why I want to speak with Sutcliffe. I think maybe if I speak to him again when I'm in control, I can get more...more... "
"Closure," Sophie finished gently. "I understand. I, for one, don't think you should set foot near that evil bastard. I'm glad he's locked up, alone with nobody but other evil bastards to keep him company. He probably would adore talking to you again, and I hate the idea of seeing his vile smirk when you walk in."
"You wouldn't have to see it." Charlotte allowed herself a smirk of her own at the reminder that her enemy, the unknown, faceless man she had chased for so long, was finally behind bars.
"Of course I would.
You are not going to see Evil Bastard without me."
She would be glad to have Sophie at her side anyway. "Very well. I won't. What am I never going to guess, by the way?"
Sophie looked up from contemplating another biscuit. "Beg pardon?"
"You said, 'you're never going to guess' something."
"Oh!" Sophie bounded to her feet, teacups tumbling over on the tray. "Yes! I'm so sorry, my mind is completely gone. We aren't used to all this excitement! Lord Winters has come to call. And he brought flowers, the most strange and wonderful I've ever seen. Are you still unsure what to do when you see him next? Because I have some ideas."
"Lord Winters is here?" Charlotte felt a blush spread like a living thing up her neck. A neck which Ben had kissed. With his lips. It seemed as if his touches and caresses had been burned into her skin. Now, she could not even see her feet without picturing how they had looked cradled in Ben's hands, and that tender look on his face.
"Yes, he's been here for a quarter of an hour already, but I thought earlier than eight o'clock was too unseemly for suitors. I don't know, I'm new to this chaperone business!"
"Please, Sophie." Charlotte took a deep breath, determined to collect herself. Nothing had changed. It would still just be her friend Ben. "I am sure he is here for the return of his coat, and to update us on the case."
"So, you're saying no chaperone necessary?" Sophie gave a very unladylike and wicked wink. "You know that means marriage, though. You're lucky to have escaped last night with your reputation, due to the circumstances. You wouldn't be so lucky again."
Charlotte knew, despite the teasing tone, there was a note of real censure under Sophie's words. If anyone other than Oliver, Hollis and Sophie had seen the way she was carrying on with Ben, barely clothed, her reputation would be soiled irreparably. She would be forced to marry Ben or live with such disgrace forever.