by Emma Newman
“Can Cornelius help?”
“With some of it.”
It wasn’t just the Dukedom that had been worrying him. Unsurprising that an inadequate wife would cause him no end of worry at such a critical time.
“Perhaps I can help you, in my own way.” She approached slowly, watching every minute movement, trying to gauge whether he would accept contact. She got close enough to reach out and touch his arm before he looked at her properly.
“I’m not good company at the moment, Amelia,” he said, clasping her hand briefly before letting it go.
“Only because you’re burdened.” She took a step closer. “Let me take your mind off things for just a little while, then you can return to your business refreshed and ready to demolish any difficulty with the silly Peonias.”
She kissed him, but there was no passion so she slipped her arms around his waist, looking at the atomiser on the table and cursing her poor decision.
He did hold her, and gradually, as if remembering who she was, he adjusted his arms so that he enveloped her more fully. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know you’re lonely, and how much you miss being in Society.”
She tilted her head back and they kissed again. Better this time, but it still didn’t convince her he was planning to stay. Usually he would be steering her to the bed, eager to start unbuttoning and unlacing, but he was still withdrawn.
She pulled away and looked up at him. “What is it? This isn’t just the Dukedom, Will. There’s something else, isn’t there?”
“It’s nothing.” He kissed her but she knew it was simply to cut off the conversation.
“You look so tired, darling. Why don’t you tell me about it? Perhaps I can help.” Still nothing. “Is it Catherine?”
He broke the embrace and she knew she’d made a mistake. “I should go.”
“Talk to me, Will. I can help.”
“Amelia.” His was not the voice of a lover. “I don’t think it would be appropriate to discuss my home life with you. And if you do, you’re mistaken. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
He headed for the door. Amelia went to the dressing table and brushed her fingertip against the mouth of the atomiser. There was enough residue to make her skin tingle and she touched it to her neck. “Will, I’m sorry, please don’t leave like this.”
She rushed over as his hand was on the door handle. The panic made her flushed and the heat lifted the scent from her skin to waft about him. She watched his pupils dilate and then kissed him. She was met with renewed passion, a new urgency to his kiss as he pulled her tight to him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair as she kissed his throat. “Let me stay.”
“Of course,” she said, drawing him away from the door. “Stay as long as you wish, my love.”
Sam found Cathy where he’d left her, sitting on the bench in a children’s play area in Green Park, looking at an iPad. As he approached, a little girl ran up to her and they had a brief conversation before the girl ran over to some other children playing on a roundabout.
“I’m back,” he said, making Cathy jump.
She powered down the tablet and slipped it into a case. “How did it go?” She patted the bench next to her. “Take a seat. You look like you need it.”
“I do.” He sat down. One of the children on the roundabout started to cry and was carried off. “You don’t look so great yourself.”
“Thanks.” She yawned. “It’s the come-down I suppose, I drank more potions than cups of tea. And not sleeping for three days. What did he say?”
“Oh, the usual arse.”
“About the painting?”
“He didn’t look at it.” He nodded at the amazement, then anger, that flashed across her face. “I know. All that and he didn’t even look. He said it wasn’t the right time to see it.” He hadn’t looked at it himself, as they’d agreed, fearing Poppy would take offence. All he knew was that it was a huge, heavy canvas rolled in a wide tube over six feet long. He’d had to carry it on one shoulder. “But he did say he was satisfied you’d fulfilled your contract.”
She let out a loud, drawn-out sigh and looked even more tired. “Thank God for that. He didn’t mess you about, did he?”
“No, he said he had something important to arrange.”
She bit her lip. “I just hope it doesn’t have anything to do with us.”
“Cathy! Watch me!” The girl called from the roundabout.
“Who’s the kid?”
“My husband’s cousin.”
He watched another child snivelling his way across to his mother, holding his hand out. At least there weren’t any children involved in his mess with Leanne.
“So in your message you said that something’s going on with your wife,” Cathy said.
“I’m sorry about that. I was drunk.” He’d woken in a crappy hotel down the road with a hangover that had made Exilium even more difficult to cope with. When he got the call from Cathy to say the painting was ready with only a few hours left to spare, he’d noticed the phone battery was low. He checked the call log and found he’d made repeated calls to Leanne’s mobile throughout the small hours and then a call to Cathy’s. He couldn’t remember any of them.
“So what’s this about your wife’s boss killing people?”
Sam explained it all to her, from the dodgy apartment and him losing his job through to the people with the same wedding rings dying young. When he finished she rested a gloved hand over his briefly. “I can see why you’re so upset.”
“You don’t think I’m over-reacting?”
“No. In fact–”
“Cathy.” The small girl was back and tugging gently on Cathy’s coat. “Please can you play with me?”
“I thought you were playing with the other children,” Cathy said.
“They’ve all gone.”
Sam had been so engrossed in spilling his guts to Cathy he hadn’t noticed all the other families had left. He could see one of the mothers hurrying away, her child limpeted to her, weeping. “Did they all hurt themselves?”
The child nodded. “I didn’t do anything. Cathy, can you play with me now?”
But Cathy wasn’t looking at her. Sam followed her gaze to a figure approaching them wearing a grey coat with a half cape about its shoulders. It looked like something out of a film to Sam, or something worn by a student with aspirations to be a modern-day dandy. The man’s face was unremarkable, his brown hair long enough to be tied back in a ponytail. Eyes fixed on Cathy, he undid the top three buttons, partially revealing an embroidered waistcoat. Cathy stood up.
“I don’t like this, he’s a Fae-touched,” she had time to say, just before the man drew out a stiletto dagger.
“Fuck!” Sam jumped to his feet too.
“Sophia, run!” Cathy yelled and the child bolted for nearby bushes.
Sam didn’t move for a second, watching the man cross the park as if he were watching a film; it felt too unreal to spur him into action.
A terrible high-pitched screech came from the child. Sam spun around to see her tangled in rose briars reaching out of the ground like the tentacles of a sea monster. Sam gawped as the thorns tore into the girl’s legs, piercing her coat and reaching for her throat.
Cathy sprinted over to her, grabbed the creepers that were about to choke the child and held them off, blood blooming on her pale-blue gloves. The man was heading straight for her. The sight of the knife being raised into the air kickstarted something deep in Sam’s instincts and he threw himself into the attacker’s path, brandishing his left hand in front of him.
“I’m protected by Lord Iron!” he yelled.
The man shook his head, as if Sam were nothing but a stupid child. “Always where you should not be,” he muttered, and grasped him by the neck with his left hand. There was a brief and terrible crushing sensation and before he fully registered he was in the air, Sam landed a few feet away on his side.
The moment after he landed Sam felt a horrific pai
n in his left arm and chest. Then he fell sideways like he’d been rolled off something moving beneath him. As he tried to look, his head hit one of the uprights in the iron railings marking the edge of the play area. He felt blood running down his arm and saw it dripping onto what looked like one of the iron bars, which seemed to have been bent beneath him. Then he heard Cathy cry out.
She was crouched between the attacker and the child, whose high-pitched scream sounded more like a football referee’s whistle. The man had just slashed at Cathy but she’d brought up her arms to defend herself and the girl. There was a gash in her gloves, which were now more deep red than pale blue.
Not even thinking about what he was doing, Sam reached down with his right hand and grasped the iron bar. It felt warm and malleable and broke away from its point in the railings easily. The metal was slick with his blood. Its finial was shaped like an arrowhead and with every passing moment it felt more like a spear.
The assailant kicked Cathy under the chin, sending her sprawling into the tangle of thorns, and made a swift downward strike. Sam threw the spear at the same moment as he heard the sickening thud of the attacker’s hand hitting her chest after the dagger was plunged in up to its hilt.
The spear curved slightly in the air and struck the man in the side, knocking him over and leaving the stiletto embedded in Cathy’s chest. The man pulled out the spear but when he struggled to his feet he looked completely different. And horribly familiar. He was one of the brothers who had carried the body out of the museum that night when it all started. His limbs were far too long and thin. Thorn looked at Sam for a second, long enough for him to see the black almond eyes, then fled into the undergrowth.
Cathy wasn’t moving and Sam wasn’t sure he could either. Sweat prickled across his face. It was hard to breathe and he felt cold. His phone was lying in reach so he dialled 999, asked for an ambulance and police. In between short painful gasps he explained he’d been attacked, a woman had been stabbed and a child was hurt. As he gave their location he fought the urge to just close his eyes and drift off. When he was reassured help was on the way Sam hung up, planning to call Leanne and leave her a message. His hand was barely able to keep a grip on the phone and his thumb had become putty.
He let his arm drop. The girl was now calling Cathy’s name with a gut-wrenching desperation. “It’s all right,” he wanted to say, but his lips felt like rubber and his voice was nothing but a pathetic wheeze. Cathy still wasn’t moving.
His phone started to vibrate. Sam managed to lift it enough to see Leanne’s name on the caller ID as his vision tunnelled to black.
23
Will kissed the inside of Amelia’s thigh in a cave of lacy petticoat layers. He enjoyed the way she squirmed beneath his fingertips, the little gasps as his kisses moved higher and higher up her leg. He should have been at Black’s, or at home, solving the problems that plagued him, but she had been irresistible. He just had to have her, then and there, before he could think clearly again.
The brief pain in his left hand made him prod the wedding ring with his thumb as he teased her, thinking his slightly awkward position had caused the skin to be pinched by the band. A few kisses later and it felt like it was constricting. It rapidly became too painful to ignore.
He emerged from her skirts to inspect his hand. The band looked no different but his finger throbbed.
“What’s wrong?” Amelia propped herself up on her elbows. Her cheeks were deliciously flushed and her hair was a pleasant tumble around her face.
Will twisted the ring and it tingled at his touch. “I don’t know.” He wondered where Cathy was and whether she was feeling the same. He looked down at Amelia, her toe playfully exploring his belly button, and feared the ring was reacting to his infidelity. Was that even possible? Why was it happening now and not all the other times he’d been with Amelia?
Then he realised it was the first time he’d bedded her since he and Cathy had consummated the marriage. His lust evaporated.
“William.” Amelia beckoned to him.
But Will was distracted by the sudden racing of his heart and a sense of panic that had burst into his awareness out of nowhere. “Something’s not right.” He flattened down her petticoats and climbed off the bed. He pulled on his underwear and breeches hurriedly, fearing a summons from his patron any minute. Why hadn’t his father warned him of this?
“Will!” Amelia groaned. “I’ve only just got those off you!”
He took a breath to speak but a sudden, terrible pain filled his chest, making him fall back against the dressing table in his surprise. It was excruciating, stealing the air from his lungs and making blue pinpricks of light appear at the edge of his vision.
“Will!” Amelia cried, frantically tying a robe over her chemise and petticoats. “What’s wrong?”
Will squeezed his eyes shut, not daring to speak until the worst of the pain had passed. He looked down at his bare chest, expecting to see a wound, but his skin was unharmed. Just as quickly, the pain faded.
There was a loud pop and the faerie that had spoken to him in the carriage appeared in front of him. “What are you doing here?” it squealed. “You need to be with your wife! She’s dying!”
“What?” Will felt like his stomach was falling through the floor.
“She hasn’t had a child yet. How could you be so careless!”
“What are you talking about? Where is she?”
“In a green place in Mundanus.”
Will threw his shirt over his head and fumbled with the sleeves, feeling sick. His sword was at home. What was Cathy doing in… then he remembered Sophia. “Take me to her.”
“No, Will!” Amelia said. “It’s not safe. What if it’s a plot to draw you out and kill you!”
Sobered, Will nodded. “Find out where she is, and whether anyone is helping her,” he ordered the faerie and it disappeared in a shower of iris petals. Will pulled on his socks and shoes.
“Oh, my goodness, this is so awful,” Amelia gasped, clutching a sheet in front of her mouth.
“I shouldn’t have stayed, I knew I should have gone home,” he muttered. “If she dies… my God, she can’t die, she can’t die.” He imagined Lord Iris’s wrath, feared for Sophia who must have been with her. A ‘green place in Mundanus’ was probably St James’s Park as that was the closest to home.
The faerie reappeared. “There are mundanes there, lots of them, filthy men all around her and it’s so noisy.”
Will remembered what he’d seen of the emergency services on his Grand Tour. “Are there lots of blue flashing lights?” When the faerie nodded he realised Cathy was probably getting exactly the kind of care she needed. “Is she still alive?”
“You wouldn’t be here if she was dead,” the faerie said. “You’d be in Exilium, begging for forgiveness. My lord is furious.”
“So am I!”
“And now those mundanes have her.” The faerie flitted about his head.
“Tell Lord Iris I’m doing everything in my power to make sure Cathy will be safe.”
“I’ll tell him you will be now, but if you hadn’t been distracted–”
“Just go!” he yelled, making it scowl and then disappear with a pop.
Amelia ran to the door and called for Cornelius. “What are you going to do?” she asked.
Now he knew Cathy was being helped and that, if Sophia was with her, she’d be cared for too, he could think clearly. “She’ll be taken to a hospital. I need to contact the Agency.” As head of a household, he’d had a pack of information sent to him detailing other services the Agency provided outside of common knowledge. He was thankful he’d taken the time to read it. In return for a small fortune, they would extract Cathy from Mundanus, remove any mention of the incident in the relevant records and Charm any mundanes involved to forget she’d been there. It was complex and difficult, but worth it. “They’ll help me clear up the mess. When I know my family is safe I’ll find out who did this.”
“And the
n what?” She was pale, still clinging to the sheet as Cornelius arrived.
“Then I’ll destroy them.”
“The bar was just lying next to you?”
“Under me,” Sam said to the policewoman. His voice was so hoarse it sounded alien. “I landed on the railings. I think I broke them.”
She made a note and then looked him up and down. “You’re not the heaviest man, Mr Westonville. The assailant must have thrown you with some force.”
He pointed at the bruising on his neck. “He nearly choked me to death one-handed. He was strong.”
“So you picked up the bar…”
“Yeah, and I looked over and he stabbed the woman.” A wave of nausea made him suck in a breath. “There was a horrible sound, when it hit her chest I suppose, and I just threw the bar at him.”
“And you hit him square on.”
“Yeah.”
“From ten metres away, when you were injured and bleeding.”
He frowned. “Don’t you believe me?”
“I’m just making sure I have all the details, sir.”
“If I hadn’t hit him he would have stabbed her again.”
She just nodded. “And then what happened?”
“I called 999 and I passed out.”
“The doctor tells me you’re very lucky.”
Sam looked down at the two iron chunks beside him. The nurse had told him they’d pulled one out of his arm, one out of his side. Apparently they’d formed rudimentary plugs in his wounds. The nurse said they’d never seen anything like it and offered the plugs to him as morbid souvenirs. They were thicker than the railings had been, the policewoman had pointed out, and she wanted to know how they’d got that way. Sam had a working theory it was something to do with Lord Iron and the wedding ring. He couldn’t say anything about it though.
“I’ve got a cracked rib and a couple of small holes in me apparently. And bruising.”
He wondered how Cathy and the girl were. The police officer had been professionally vague, saying Cathy was in surgery and the girl was being cared for in A & E. He’d pretended he didn’t know who they were, saying he’d gone to the park to get some fresh air in the midst of a marital crisis and he was passing as the man attacked.
