Mad for Love: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 2

by Lynne Connolly

The Great North Road was supposed to be one of the best kept roads in the country, but in Aurelia’s humble opinion, that didn’t mean much. Once away from prying eyes, they pressed on.

  As far as the coachman and footman accompanying them were concerned, Lyndhurst and she were brother and sister. She learned that Lyndhurst had hired them along with the coach instead of using his own. Better to be discreet.

  “But what if we need force to rescue Blaize?” she asked.

  His mouth had settled into a grim line. “It will be my pleasure to provide it.”

  How he would overcome the guards her mother had undoubtedly set on the maze, she didn’t know. Even if he was an ex-soldier. But she consoled herself with recalling that Lyndhurst had an establishment in Scotland, and he could pick up extra help there, if he considered they needed it. His estate was barely thirty miles from theirs. It wouldn’t be difficult to make a small detour. Except she didn’t want to make any detour at all.

  Journeys taken for whatever reason settled into a monotonous tedium after a time. Mile after mile of road, some smooth but mostly rutted, interspersed with sprinklings of villages and the occasional town, could wear a person down. When they paused at a town, Aurelia preferred to take a short walk rather than to eat. Lyndhurst, who had, in the event of their masquerade, asked her to call him Marcus, had a basket of provisions ready for her on her return. She supposed it was foolhardy to take a walk without a maid, but that part of the trip she found enjoyable. The freedom of movement without someone constantly with her was somewhat exciting, even if she didn’t go far and never out of sight. Marcus did insist on sending the footman with her, though, but he followed at a discreet distance. As alone as she could be in a populated area, she paused to stare into shop windows and at the people.

  But such heady excitement couldn’t balance out the sheer monotony of sitting in one place conversing. On the second day, when she’d woken from her early morning nap, Aurelia found Marcus dealing a hand of solitaire and insisted on playing with him. She found him a tolerable piquet player and a magnificent marjolet player, a game Aurelia had been unfamiliar with, but Marcus told her he’d picked up on his travels abroad.

  At the end of the second day she found herself owing him twenty thousand pounds, but since they’d agreed to commute all debts to allow the winner to select the bedroom they’d prefer and the supper they would eat, that didn’t bother her too much. Except her competitive nature insisted that she win back what she’d lost. By the end of the fourth day, she’d reduced her losses to five thousand.

  At some point in the afternoon they’d fallen asleep. By now used to their masquerade, she could almost imagine having Marcus as a brother. He’d make a very good brother, she concluded, not as good as the one she had, to be sure, but good enough.

  Then he jolted her by saying, “What has Stretton told you about himself?”

  “Enough,” she said stiffly. “I know his age, that his parents are deceased and what the rest of society knows.” Also what he looked like half-naked, though she guessed that wasn’t what Marcus meant.

  “I see.” Gathering up the cards, Marcus shuffled them, riffling them through his hands as he spoke, the gentle whisper of the cards a reflection of the rain softly pattering on the roof of their coach. The promised bad weather had arrived, but as yet it wasn’t too bad. Aurelia’s thoughts went to Blaize, trapped in that maze with no shelter against the weather. She prayed it wasn’t raining where he was. They were a mere fifty miles away now. They were within a breath of the border. Ten miles, by her reckoning.

  “So he hasn’t told you what he is?”

  “He’s a man.” Sending him a quizzical smile, she waited on events.

  “He’s a man and more,” Marcus said. He put the cards aside. “Look, Aurelia, you know I didn’t trust you. You must have been aware of that.”

  Where was he going with this?

  Sighing, he spread his hands. “I believe what you’re saying. You do love Stretton and you’re not in league with your mother. Stretton was right. For the wrong reasons.”

  “I’m glad to meet with your approval.” She didn’t like this. She’d had no idea he didn’t trust her. Why wouldn’t he? Did he think she was involved in Blaize’s abduction? At the thought, she bridled, ready to defend herself.

  “If I had the gift Blaize and d’Argento have, I could have read your thoughts. But I don’t, not yet. It’s a learned skill, or so I understand, and I’ve never had occasion to learn it.”

  “I hate to interrupt you, but have you run quite mad?” she declared. “If you have something to say, then pray start somewhere I can understand. I’m not without intelligence, but I am without mind-reading capabilities.”

  He pressed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger as if trying to ward off a headache. “That’s the thing. In time I’ll be able to read minds. And communicate with others without opening my mouth. It’s just that I had nobody to teach me. I spurned the help my family offered, and set out to find others who could do the same things I could. I knew who I was and what I could do, and it stood to reason that there were others like me.” He paused, gazing at her contemplatively. “I’m still not making any sense to you, am I?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll start at the beginning. We have all day, after all.” Glancing out of the window, he indicated the rain. “Thirty years ago, at the home of the Duke of Boscobel, life ended for a group of very important people…”

  An hour later, Aurelia was wishing she’d never stepped into a coach with what was clearly a deranged idiot. She’d listened mostly in stunned silence, enjoying the story—but not when she realized he meant every word. He was Mars? Or—what was this? Those strange things that were happening, her mother, her brother…

  “I’m giving you power over me,” he said, as if that made all the sense in the world. “If you know who I am, you can learn my weaknesses and attack me through them.”

  “So what’s your weakness?”

  “What’s generally considered the opposite of war and violence?” he asked gently.

  “Love,” she answered without thought. The answer was obvious. And she had to placate this madman.

  “Exactly.” Friendliness but not passion warmed his eyes.

  If he was Mars, then that was exactly what her mother had done. Sent Aurelia to ensnare him. And she’d ensnared Blaize instead. From his point of view, the idea made sense. From hers, it was absolute nonsense. She paused. Should she play along? Would he turn difficult if she expressed her lack of belief, to put it mildly?

  Never one to shy from a confrontation, unless she had little choice, Aurelia decided to risk it. “Are you joking?”

  His expression changed to resigned acceptance. “No. I know it’s hard to believe. I can prove it. In a way.”

  “How?”

  “Well, I could kill a man by looking at him the wrong way. Not a very efficient way of proving I am who I say. As I told you, I’m not proficient in speaking mind-to-mind yet—but Stretton is. You had a dream, you said. What if he’d reached out with all the strength he had to call for help to the one person he could find at that distance? Mind communication doesn’t work well at long distances, or so I’ve been told, but he could do it with you.”

  A sense of wonder crept over her. Could this preposterous story actually be true? “Then what does all this make my mother?”

  “A Titan. Our enemy and the enemy of mankind, unless mankind wants to have control of its own destiny snatched from its hands. I told you about the Duke of Boscobel and his ambitions. There are more like him. Many more. They tend to work on their own, because they don’t trust anyone, least of all each other. The last time they were together was at the ruined castle thirty years ago. When they tried to take control of the greatest threat to their ambitions—that is, the Olympians.”

  “You’re telling me that the man I love isn’t human?”

  “Oh, he’s human all right. He’s the man he said he was, borne by the
mother he claimed. But he is also—someone else. I’ll let him tell you who.”

  “You’re so sure about this.”

  “I am. I’ve sent word to d’Argento, but it won’t get to him for a while, although he can travel quickly when he wishes. Let’s pray he found Kentmere and they’re both on their way home. I don’t think I should tell you who they are. Let them inform you for themselves.” He shrugged. “It’s something I’ve lived with all my life. Now I’m trusting you with our secret. So, do you want your proof?”

  Shrugging, she tried not to appear too apprehensive. “Of course I do.”

  “All right.” He glanced out at the lowering sky. “What are the chances of the rain stopping?”

  “Very little. It’s set in for at least an hour.” She spoke by rote, not caring about the damned weather.

  “And what are the chances of it snowing?”

  “In May?” She laughed in derision. “Why are we talking about the weather?” At a time like this, with revelations she was struggling to believe?

  “Mars is the god of war, but also of agriculture. I have a certain sway over the weather. Not as effectively as Ceres, who, by the way, is still missing, or as dramatic as Jupiter, who has been found, but I can do a few tricks. I learned it years ago. They used it on campaigns. Most of the troops I commanded had exceptionally favourable weather while I was in charge.” He glanced out of the window. “Look.”

  Aurelia barely restrained her scream of surprise. It came out as a shocked squeak. “It’s snowing!” And not a trick. Thick, white flakes were falling gently on the ground outside, the hill in the distance already covered with a blanket of speckled white.

  Marcus grinned. “Pretty, isn’t it? That was me. But I don’t want it to continue so long it stops us on our journey. It’ll rain in five minutes and the snow will all be gone in half an hour.”

  Aurelia sat in stunned silence until what Marcus had said came to pass. “It’s biblical,” she said eventually. “It’s plagues of locusts next, is it?”

  “Not a chance in hell. Those things are a scourge on the earth,” he said, as if he’d met plenty of locusts in his time. Perhaps he had, since he’d travelled extensively in some inhospitable places. “I can show you more proof, if you like.”

  Shaken, but unwilling to show it, she waved dismissively. “Tricks. Can you do anything impressive?”

  “Has Stretton ever given you the answer to a question before you asked it?”

  Oh God, yes, yes he had. But that was because he paid attention, wasn’t it? Nevertheless, she nodded. “He knows me.”

  “Not that well.” Marcus grunted and shifted position. The seats were comfortable, but they’d been sitting on them for a long time. “I had no reason to trust you before this journey, but if you want to rescue Stretton from your mother, that’s something in your favour.”

  “I’m overwhelmed.” Actually, she was. One thing in particular was burdening her. “You have to let me give you something to allay the cost of this trip.”

  “Pah! No. If you please, allow me this, at least. To make up for doubting you.”

  “You still do.” He hadn’t lowered his guard. They might converse more easily, even laugh together, but he still didn’t entirely trust her. They fell into a more or less companionable silence, which gave Aurelia a chance to think over what Lyndhurst had told her.

  Why would he invent such a preposterous story? Blaize might, but not stoic Lyndhurst. Unless he had hidden depths, which was entirely possible. She’d waded in the shallows, but there must be more to him. He was just choosing not to show it to her.

  That, she decided, was entirely his concern. But however much she wanted to drift over the story, she came back to a few salient points. Most of all, if she believed his story, all the events that had puzzled her slotted neatly into place.

  As the familiar outskirts of Edinburgh came into view, she asked her final question. Final for today, at least. “And my mother?”

  “I don’t suppose you know which Titan she is?”

  She gave a hollow laugh. “Me? Why would she confide in me? It seems she’s kept everything important from me all my life.” She had barely begun to plumb the depths of the betrayal she felt when she considered that aspect of his story.

  “Still, you might be able to help us. Give me details about her that we don’t know.”

  Aurelia shrugged. “I really don’t know. Are we staying in Edinburgh tonight? Because we’d find it hard to remain undetected. I’ve been here often.”

  “No, I ordered them to drive through the city. We’ll stop in an hour or two. Then tomorrow, we’ll be there.”

  “Then what?”

  “We’ll have to see how the land lies.”

  She dressed in a nondescript gown and a hat with a veil. Marcus had sent ahead and found an inn five miles away from the castle. He’d also ordered a fast vehicle delivered to the hotel they’d stayed at last night, a phaeton, if they needed to speed away.

  Good preparation, as was the pistol he’d given her, once he’d ascertained that she knew how to shoot. The damned thing weighed heavily in her pocket, bumping against her thigh when she moved. “So what’s the plan?” she asked.

  “Brother and sister, don’t forget. We’re English, and strangers to the district. We’re curious about the big house. We’ll go from there.”

  She humphed. “Not much of a plan.”

  He flashed her a grin. “Sometimes the simplest plans are the best. Concentrate on recalling the key to the maze.”

  “I can’t. It depends what I see when I get there. The clues are visual ones.”

  He let out a slow breath. “A shame. I wanted to leave you in safety, if I could.” Sitting at the dining table in the quiet inn, he beckoned the landlady over.

  She arrived, a woman wearing blue, a clean apron and mob cap a proud proclaimer of her purpose in life. Aurelia liked the clean apron. “Is everything to your satisfaction, sir, madam?”

  Aurelia wasn’t wearing her hat with the veil, but nevertheless the landlady didn’t recognize her. This was a coaching inn, but one of the more modest establishments, and nearer to the village than to the castle.

  Unwilling to draw attention to herself, she let Marcus ask the questions. “What is that house we passed on the road? We only caught a glimpse of it, but it appeared most fine.”

  “Oh, that’s Kentmere Castle,” she said. “The owners are away at present, but the housekeeper shows people around on Tuesdays.”

  Tomorrow. That was a stroke of fortune. Naturally that never happened when she was in residence, so she had no idea which day the housekeeper chose to exercise that perquisite.

  “Should you like to see the place, my dear?” Marcus asked her.

  “Most definitely,” she said. “I love to see how the great and good live.”

  “A shame the family is away.”

  Her tinkling but penetrating laugh startled Marcus enough to make his eyes widen. She’d have to try that again. “We could pay a call, you mean?”

  “To the Kentmeres? Why not? They can only say no.”

  She tried the laugh again. “Which they will. They won’t know us from Adam, dear brother.” She stopped, afraid she was carrying her affectation too far, which Marcus confirmed when the landlady moved away.

  “And will anyone know you?”

  “For sure. I can try the veil.”

  He gave a scoffing laugh. “They don’t know your shape, your height, the way you move? We’re going on the tour, sister mine, but only if the group is a sizeable one. Wear the hat, the dowdiest of clothes, and pad your waist. Tuck your hair under a cap.” His eyes gleamed evilly. “The tour means most people’s attention will be elsewhere. Also, if anyone catches sight of us, they’ll think we wandered away from the group.”

  “We could be the only visitors.”

  “We could. In which case we’ll have to take our chances.”

  Fortune favoured them once more when they arrived at the gates and discover
ed a goodly group. One family had decided to make a day of it, and since it contained what appeared to be a dozen children but was actually half that number, Aurelia was hopeful of a good amount of distraction. Six children went a long way toward distraction.

  “If I’d known,” Marcus muttered to her, “I’d have employed a troop of them in the army.” He carried a stout leather bag, which she assumed contained weaponry but could easily be an alfresco meal. The people here also carried knapsacks and bags, so she assumed it was normal for visitors to great houses. Of course they wouldn’t offer to feed them.

  She said nothing, because she was suppressing her laugh, partly genuine amusement but mostly sheer nervousness. She’d donned the hat with the veil and found the addition to her usual headgear irritating. It flapped up at unexpected intervals, making her wish she’d weighted the hem. Managing the veil at least gave her something to do, stopped her rising anxiety. She refused to let it overwhelm her, but her heart beat hard against her ribs and she had to fight to keep her breath even.

  The sight of her home didn’t help. It appeared perfectly normal, the house not visible from the great gates at the end of the drive, but the humble visitors weren’t allowed to tool their vehicles up the path to the house. When a gardener arrived to unfasten the padlock, which was, he informed them, never in place when the family was in residence, he led them to the front door. This was where her expertise came in. With fifteen visitors, they could hang at the back, and after the gardener had shown them the way to the hall, they had a minute or two before the housekeeper arrived.

  The entrance hall at Kentmere was cavernous, a relic of the days when the house had consisted of this and a couple of rooms above. Easy for Marcus and Aurelia to linger behind and wander off, on the pretext of studying the paintings, and then slip through the entrance to the green anteroom, where visitors were often left to kick their heels until the family was ready to receive them. Or send them away, of course. The illustrious Duchess of Kentmere didn’t favour everyone who darkened her door with a personal interview.

  At the back of this room stood a servant’s entrance, nicely concealed behind a high-backed watchman’s chair. And at this time of day, ten in the morning, the housemaids would be busy upstairs, tending to the bedrooms. Or downstairs in the warren of kitchens, pantries and service areas. But not on the main floor.