Beautiful Secrets
The Complete Trilogy
Marie Robinson
Editing: Picky Cat Proofing
Proofing: Mystique Editing
Cover Design: Jacquline Sweet
Copyright © 2019 by Marie Robinson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
I. House of Secrets
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
II. Deck of Shadows
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
III. Throne of Embers
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Series by Marie Robinson
Part I
House of Secrets
Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.
Oscar Wilde
Chapter 1
Eleanora
I forced myself to walk calmly, even as my heart raced with fear and my knees trembled. There was no way Madam Jupiter, my stepmother, could know I was here. And yet, when I heard her voice, it was as if I did not wear a mask as everyone else in the hall. I felt naked and exposed, her wrath moments away from falling on me. I would only draw attention to myself if I ran though.
I was walking through the spacious marble hall, looking as if I belonged. In a sense, I did—I was my father’s only true daughter, his legacy was my inheritance. Wealth, magic, and status were mine. Or should have been, had Madam Jupiter not masterfully manipulated my fate after my father’s death. If I hadn’t been stupid, naive, desperate to save my father from the flames—
I couldn’t think about that now. The magical society believed my stepmother, that the flames took more than my beauty—that the grief reduced me to a simpleton. She was viewed as the beloved caretaker of the Bediver legacy, and with it, its fortune. She had taken one look at my scarred face, a coldness in her eyes that I still recalled perfectly, and ordered the housekeeper to craft me some veils. Madam Jupiter made it clear that she never wished to see my face. I was too young to realize the implications, but with her in control of my care, the Bediver fortune was hers so long as I never married and it was never found out that I was sound of mind.
If it were not for the love of the housekeeper and the staff at Bediver mansion, I would have wasted away. As it was, I had to watch as Titania and Beatrice, my stepsisters, were given everything while I was retired to the servants’ quarters. Madam Jupiter was so thorough in her scheme that all public female staff were required to wear matching shapeless dresses and veils. She had claimed it was to protect her staff from the wandering hands of powerful men, but I knew the truth.
Tonight was the first night I had ever dared defy my stepmother, her wrath substantial. She could not kill me; her lawyer was clear enough on that. If I died, the legacy would go to a distant cousin of my father’s and she and her daughters would be left homeless. The rage she had been filled with when she learned that my father had not yet included her in his last testament had soothed my broken heart. He had protected me, even in his death.
But here, in the expansive halls of the elite, brightly lit so that none may hide—I was safe from view. A masquerade. The wealthy and powerful flowed around me in their gowns, suits, and delicate Venetian-style masks, playing at a life that I endured every day since I was nine years old. I hated them, but I loved them as well. Without such an event, I would never have braved leaving the mansion.
I brought my fingertips to the mask covering my face entirely, except for my eyes, the cool material so smooth compared to the scarred skin beneath it. My gown flowed over my body gracefully, champagne-colored silk embellished with black lace, the materials painstakingly hidden away when the tailors had outfitted my stepsisters. It had been easy enough to catch the tailors as they’d left and declare that Beatrice had decided she wanted the fabrics for a gown. He would not have risked angering my stepmother, and when the material arrived ahead of his next visit and Beatrice’s rejection of them, I had kept them instead.
Crafting the gown had taken sleepless nights, and I had only succeeded when I was discovered by Bonnie, the housekeeper. I had feared her reproach, but she had taken over the project entirely. Without her, I would have looked like a fright. But with her skills, I blended in with those around me, my entire body sheathed in silk, layered in sensual lace. Lace that trailed up my neck to lay under the jewelry from my mother.
Too simple for Titania’s taste, my stepsister had cast it aside as they pilfered my mother’s collection. I had burned in anger as I was forced to watch them take possession of what was rightfully mine. When my eldest stepsister had raised the diamond necklace up to the light to inspect it, my eyes had burned with tears of hatred and loss. The few memories I had of my mother before her disappearance involved the black velvet choker with the diamond pendant. It had been her favorite and she had never cared that I stroked the sparkling jewel when I sat in her lap.
I had slipped it into my pocket when they had taken their choices, knowing that I’d never see those pieces again and unable to endure the loss of the choker. When I dressed for the ball, I knew I would wear it. Perhaps it would bring me luck, and I would need it tonight.
I needed to find a husband, or at least a partner powerful enough to not fear Madam Jupiter.
She wasn’t that powerful, magically—the Bediver magic locked away—but she was a viper. I could only hope that coming to the ball, put on by the leaders of each of the syndicates, would lead to my salvation and not my death.
I looked around, taking in the masked faces, as my spine tingled with fear. All around me were vampires, shifters, and warlocks. The three syndicates were alw
ays on the edge of war, rival factions and gangs butting heads over territory, industrial monopolies, and political power. Humans in the cities never realized how close a magical war was, and the ancient laws of the magical world were becoming stifling, if you believed the rumors.
The entire purpose of this ball was to settle and improve relationships, the most powerful of each family would be here tonight, and I had to convince one of them to help me. To trust me in the midst of an evening where no one trusted each other.
I would, too, because I had no other choice. Bonnie had overheard Madam Jupiter’s plans for me—tonight, she was arranging a marriage that would get rid of me while granting her what she’s always wanted—full access to the Bediver legacy.
I would do whatever it took to stop that from happening.
I waved away the flute of champagne offered by a passing waiter. Others had masks which could reveal the mouth but I couldn’t risk it—and even if I had, I was too nervous to drink anything. I scanned the hall, forcing myself to make eye contact with those around me—something that deeply unsettled me. It made me feel naked, having grown used to the security of my veil. I kept waiting for a sign of recognition behind the others’ masks, even knowing that was utterly unlikely.
Instead of recognition though, people looked at me with appraisal—estimating my worth, guessing my identity and faction, just as they did with everyone else. Snippets of conversations flowed over me and it was clear that, even in a place where people were supposed to be unknown, everyone had found their allies.
That would make my purpose more difficult. Madam Jupiter never brought me along to her meetings, always preferring other staff. I had found myself in an ocean, expecting a pond, and if I were not careful, I would drown or be devoured by sharks.
“What an enchanting creature you are,” a voice purred at my ear. I startled, which the man found amusing as he laughed. I turned and tried to hide the nerves I felt. He seemed to be waiting and I lifted my hand for him to kiss. “What am I to call you?”
I knew that no one went by their true name at this event, it would go against the purpose, but fortunately, I had been prepared.
“I am the Nightingale,” I said with a smile, though he’d never see it. I was proud of how smooth my voice was. I had feared I would squeak, my throat dry from the nerves. He was an older gentleman by the lines on his face, only half obscured by a simple mask. But within the magical community, it meant little. We all lived prolonged lives, extended by what made us all magical, and so he could have been over a hundred years old and I would never know.
“A bird, hmm?” he said with a predatory grin. I could not tell his nature, but I knew I could not show any fear. “Do you have a lovely voice? I am certain I could make you sing.”
I softened my eyes and forced my shoulders to relax even as his hand still held mine in a tight grip.
“I sing for myself only,” I answered, hoping I achieved a lofty and arrogant tone. I channeled Titania, my stepmother’s perfect duplicate in nearly all aspects. “But with the right audience, perhaps I could be coaxed to sing.”
His grin widened and I saw the hint of a sharp canine. Vampire. He held a half-full flute of champagne in his other hand and he brought it to his lips, watching me closely even as I tried to think of a way to excuse myself from his presence.
“A creature such as yourself should never hide away her song,” he said, stepping closer to me. I stepped back smoothly.
“Perhaps not,” I agreed as I pulled my hand away. “And one day I will find the right audience. Good evening, sir.”
I stepped further into the crowd, hoping that he would not follow nor feel too greatly insulted. I reminded myself that each person here was dangerous, that I had no friends here who could help me. I was on my own.
I looked over my shoulder and saw his eyes on me, a smirk on his pale lips, standing as a stone while the crowd moved around him. I shuddered and he took a step towards me and I knew he had decided I was his prey.
The crowd offered me some shelter but I knew I would have to find a place to hide while I hoped he found some other target. I did not think he wished to kill me; he must assume I had a position in society but I was certain he knew I was inexperienced, easy prey in his eyes. A staff member stepped out of a dark hall and I strode towards it, holding my head high. There had to be rooms I could hide in, at least until my nerves settled.
The servant, wearing a black and white mask which covered only the top half of his face, looked at me in question but made no move to stop me as I walked past him, my shoulders back with false confidence. If the vampire followed me into the hall and I had nowhere to escape, it could ruin everything.
I tried the first door on my left, looking over my shoulder to see if he still followed me, but it was locked. The crowd moved and I saw him speaking with a couple, distracted for the time being. I went to the next door, and the next, until finally the fourth door swung open. I pushed myself inside, closing it swiftly and hoping that he did not see where I had disappeared.
My heart was racing and I leaned my head against the door, the mask pressing into my forehead, my breath hot against the material.
“Well, what do we have here?” a rich voice drawled slowly, sending chills up my arms and down my spine like electricity.
Chapter 2
Eleanora
I turned to see that I was not alone in the room. I braced myself against the door as I saw three men lounging in plush leather chairs, each of their gazes locked on me with interest. I knew, instinctively, that these men were more powerful than the vampire I had fled and now, in hopes of safety, I may have cast myself into the flames.
One of them stood, my eyes tightly locked on him as he prowled towards me, there was no other way to describe it. He was tall, massively so, with broad shoulders. Powerfully muscled arms stretched his shirtsleeves tight even as he held a tumbler of amber liquid loosely in his grip. His eyes were dark and assessing. He stopped close to me, pushing into my space but not touching me, his leather mask obscuring his face save his mouth.
I couldn’t help but let my eyes flicker to his lips before returning back up to his eyes, which watched me with amusement.
“So, are you prey or predator?” he asked quietly with a beautiful Irish brogue. I felt my stomach drop, his words inspiring something distinctly different than fear. And from the knowing quirk of his lip, that had been his intention all along.
“Leave the girl alone, you cocking wankweasel,” a gruff voice interrupted. The man stepped away from me and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I looked past him to see who’d spoken.
A scruffy man slouched in the armchair, his mask lying discarded on the floor by his boot. Where the other two men were well dressed, this man was . . . not as composed. His face was angular, covered by a thick but short beard, and he had steel gray eyes. He wore a suit, but it didn’t seem to match him, as if he’d be more comfortable in low-slung jeans and an old tee shirt.
His suit coat lay rumpled over the arm of his chair and he drained the tumbler he held before speaking again. “She’s probably sick of the cancerous, pampered shit-arses wafting around out there as if they’re actually enjoying themselves.”
The third man stayed silent, but I felt his eyes on me. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, power radiating off him in waves.
“Is that it, then?” the first man asked as he sat on the arm of the chair he’d risen from, watching me with curiosity.
“In a sense,” I said at last.
“So she does speak,” he said before grinning. “Would you care for a drink? A proper one, not like the carbonated piss they’re serving out there.”
“No,” I said. “Thank you, though. I should probably return.” But I didn’t move and the two men still watched me, the ruffled man more concerned with refilling his tumbler—whiskey, I assumed.
“What are you, then, lassie?” the first asked, crossing his arms. “I would know that figure anywhere
, I’d hope.”
“She’s new, Romulus,” the third man finally spoke. I looked at him, biting my lips behind my mask. His eyes dragged slowly down me and left a fire in their wake.
He sat there as if the simple armchair was his throne, his black suit tailored to perfection on his lean body. He held himself with the confidence which came only from absolute power. He, like Romulus, still wore his mask. It was a matte silver, the soft light of the room giving it a warmth that his eyes did not have. I would stake my soul on him as a vampire.
“Isn’t that what I said, Brom?” Romulus rolled his eyes and held out his tumbler towards the gruff man, who refilled it.
Brom must be the vampire then, who still watched me closely. I felt like a mouse under the gaze of a lion. Was the hunter hungry? Or would I live?
“This turn of events is interesting and all, but when are we leaving?” the scruffy man grumbled, his voice holding a fading British accent. He looked up at me, raising his glass. “No offense, of course, whoever you are—but I’m sick of those piss pots.”
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