by Gaelen Foley
“Gentlemen.” Quickly recovering, Azrael managed a taut smile in answer to their greetings.
But a part of him instantly felt reduced to boyhood once more, standing there holding his candy apple by the stick like the child he once had been when his guardian had ruled his life with an iron fist.
“Come back inside for a moment and talk to us!” Stiver said with what passed for a friendly smile, but, of course, it was more a command than a request. “It’s too loud out here, and we see you so rarely. Come, it’s been a long time.”
Azrael hesitated, but knew that making a fuss would be a bad idea. Best simply to get it over with. He donned a polite smile, gritted his teeth, and followed the bastards back inside, on his guard.
With every step after Lord Stiver—the others flanking their former prisoner, then falling into step behind him, as if to block his exit—Azrael was filled with an ominous sense of dread.
Come back inside, indeed. They’d like that, wouldn’t they? Back into the fold.
Damn it, this was why he chose his public excursions carefully. He did his best to avoid running into them, but just as Lord Toby had pointed out, no one who was anyone missed the Richmonds’ essential Bonfire Ball. These devils especially must feel right at home, he thought, among the drumbeats and flames.
They stopped a short distance into the entrance hall.
There was the lecherous Viscount Jarvis, ginger-haired, mustachioed, and paunchy; the ruddy, foul-tempered Earl of Querrell; and the humorless Baron Falk, bearded, bespectacled, and balding.
They were all in their fifties now, and it dawned on Azrael that any one of them—or even Stiver himself, their ringleader—might be Serena’s natural father.
There were other candidates, of course, but as a boy, he had never known who all might be part of his sire’s secretive Promethean cell.
He had a vague memory of them even trying to recruit one or more of the royal dukes, the Regent’s younger brothers, especially the second-born. Then, when some unfortunate accident undoubtedly befell the hapless Prinny, they’d be in control of the next king.
Stiver, a slim, blue-eyed man with salt-and-pepper hair and an oily surface charm, gave him a smile and an affectionate clap on the shoulder. “It’s nice to see you out and about, my boy. It’s good for you to be with people. How’ve you been?”
“Not too poorly. And yourselves?” Azrael endured a few moments’ idle chitchat, but he felt his every word assessed, read, scrutinized for deeper meanings, suggestions of what he might be hiding.
He was Hamlet once again.
“How’s Raja? I hear you have him in London now,” said Stiver.
“He’s enduring it,” Azrael said.
“Ah. You know, we were so surprised you had that masked ball last week,” Stiver said.
“And didn’t invite us,” the leering Jarvis added in mock reproach.
“Ah, it was a small thing, more aimed at entertaining my neighbors in Moonlight Square.” Azrael waved off his gathering with an apologetic smile. “Wasn’t sure if it would turn out a disaster, anyway. Next time, I’ll be sure to include you. My apologies.”
Stiver squeezed his arm with encouragement. “The important thing is, you’re trying. I am glad.” The earl searched his face with a show of concern.
Too bad Azrael already knew that self-interest animated the bastard’s every move.
“You’re really changing, aren’t you? Coming out of your shell at last. That’s excellent, my boy.”
“Must be Netherford’s influence,” Falk remarked. “He’s a very sociable chap, by all accounts.”
Azrael bit his tongue and curbed the urge to punch any one of them in the face.
With his glass, Stiver gestured toward the door and chuckled unpleasantly. “But I see what captured your attention outside. Your child bride has grown up into a splendid creature, hasn’t she? You must be kicking yourself.”
“A bit,” Azrael admitted. That much was true.
Stiver took a sip of his whiskey. “It’s not too late, you know. Especially not for you—Your Grace,” he added meaningfully.
As if Serena cared a whit about titles.
The earl elbowed him. “You should go and talk to her.”
“Perhaps I will,” Azrael murmured, just to be rid of them.
“Do you require an introduction? It can be arranged. Querrell’s son knows her.”
Already chilled to wonder if they’d been keeping an eye on Serena like they monitored him, Azrael masked a jolt of horror to think that the descendants of his father’s cronies might already be among the belle’s throng of admirers.
But he forced a cool smile, desperate to put himself between them and Serena. “I can manage, thanks.”
“Then we won’t keep you.” Stiver winked at him. “Good hunting, Your Grace.”
Jarvis grinned.
“Rivenwood,” Falk and Querrell said with slight nods, as though savoring the chance to utter the name of the great one again.
Then they all slithered off deeper into the mansion, while Azrael turned away and took a breath. At once, he headed in the opposite direction, toward the entrance and the noisy street outside.
Bloody hell. His heart was still pounding.
In any case, he returned to the doorway and shivered once as he paused on the threshold. Standing on the top step, he picked Serena out of the crowd again.
He now felt a renewed urgency to go to her and make sure she was all right. He spied his moment to approach her when the procession paused and the drums quieted, as did the chanting.
It was all part of the entertainment as a cheeky fellow dressed as a pope went over to the mob’s Catholic prisoner and urged him not to fear death, for it was God’s will that he kill his Protestant king and as many peers as possible.
While the crowd laughed, jeered, and booed in response to the player’s antics, Azrael walked down the few steps, onto the pavement, and wove through the crowd until he had worked his way up right behind Serena.
She had managed to procure a spot right at the edge of the street.
His aim was merely to address her discreetly, but when he’d ventured close enough to touch her, he heard the nearly shouted conversation she was having with the older matron next to her.
Her words drained the blood from his face.
“Do you remember the previous Duke of Rivenwood, my lady?” she asked much too loudly to be heard above the clamor.
Azrael nearly choked on his toffee apple.
She continued in a friendly tone, as though it were naught but idle chitchat. “I’m trying to learn which gentlemen in the ton were part of His Grace’s set when they were young bucks. Papa has been teasing me lately about some of my friends, you see, so I thought I’d do some inquiring before he returns to Town for the opening of Parliament in a few days. I figure if I can find out who some of his chums used to be when he was a young man, I can tease him right back! I’ve heard they were all a bit wild.”
Azrael listened in stark horror, gripping the stick of his toffee apple, which he had all but forgotten he was holding.
What in the hell does she think she’s doing?
But the answer to that was plain.
Denied his help, the dauntless lady was still trying to find the answers on her own.
Dear God. This was the one possibility he hadn’t given much credence to, taking it for granted that he’d made his point on the night of the masked ball. That it was too dangerous. He really hadn’t thought she would attempt it.
Obviously, he had been wrong.
I’m going to strangle her. He leaned to get a look at the woman she was talking to, and breathed a sigh of relief. He doubted the plump matron had had anything to do with his father or the group.
Still, this must not continue. She’ll get herself killed. Then he would have to live with knowing that this was his fault.
He was the one who had driven her to it, all because of his strict personal creed of detachment.
/> His stubborn, selfish will to simply stay out of it all. Good, evil—he’d never wanted any part of the fight. He just wanted to be left alone to live some semblance of a normal life.
All these years, he’d just been trying to survive.
In that instant, he knew he had been wrong to have kept his distance from Serena and her quest, with Hamlet’s own over-caution.
Like it or not, it ended now.
Damn it, she might already have put herself in danger with her little investigation.
He reached out from behind her and grasped her firmly by the arm. Instantly, he felt her stiffen as he leaned to put his lips beside her ear.
“A word, my lady,” he growled.
She glanced over her shoulder at him, and must have seen the wrath in his eyes.
“If you please. Now.”
“Humph,” she said.
“We need to talk.”
“You don’t say?” she retorted.
“Follow me,” Azrael ordered, and somehow, eyeing him warily, the brat obeyed.
Between the throng of revelers and ball attendees jostling about, they wove their way in single file back through the crush around the entrance of Richmond House.
A short distance into the entrance hall, Azrael glanced around, made sure his father’s friends were not watching.
Taking her by the hand, he pulled her into a dimly lit side room off the entrance hall. With most of the guests drawn outside to watch the parade or on the back terrace overlooking the river, watching the few preliminary fireworks that their host had provided, they had the long gallery to themselves for the moment.
It had red walls, high ceilings, and a great many statues.
“What is this, a statuary?” he mumbled—merely thinking aloud.
“Most observant, Your Grace.”
Azrael narrowed his eyes at her.
Serena gave him an arch look. “If you weren’t such a recluse, you would know the previous Duke of Richmond collected all these plaster casts of great Italian statues in his travels.” She folded her arms across her chest. “They’re exhibited here to the public. Someone was telling me they even have students come in and receive instruction on them.” She glanced around at the otherwise empty room. “Impressive, don’t you think?”
“Damned eerie if you ask me,” he said, glancing around again at their silent, blank-eyed audience.
Life-sized marble men and women stood frozen in all manner of attitudes around them. The severed heads of alabaster busts on pedestals all seemed to stare at them.
With the uncanny sense that all these tall white silent people posing everywhere around them were eavesdropping on their exchange, Azrael led her deeper into the sculpture gallery, farther out of view from the entrance hall. He stopped in between the tall stone horse and the bronze lion.
“You wanted to speak to me?” Serena asked. “About what?”
“As if you have to ask, you little hellion!” he whispered with a frown. “You cannot be going about asking questions like that. It simply has to stop.”
“Have you been spying on me, Your Grace?” she countered in surprise, not the least bit ruffled by his demand.
“Listen to me. You have no idea the hornets’ nest you’ll be stirring up if you continue.”
She feigned a bored yawn.
“Serena! These are dangerous men.” He kept his voice low. “If they hear you’ve been asking questions about them… Why can you not let this matter go?”
“How can I?” She glared at him. “My sister is dead, my real father is unknown to me, my mother’s a liar, my whole life up till now has been a fiction, and the one person in the world who could help me won’t. Beg your pardon, but I will not let it go, Azrael, and it’s not your place to ask it of me.”
“But—”
“If there’s danger, that’s a risk I’m prepared to take. Because I can’t go on like this anymore. I need to know who I am. So, please,” she added with great sarcasm, “do not trouble yourself for my safety. I can take care of myself. Good evening.”
She pivoted and started to walk away with her chin in the air, and Azrael heaved a sigh.
“Fine. Let me do it for you, then.”
She halted, slowly turned back around, and passed a suspicious glance over his face. “What do you mean?”
He lifted his eyes to the distant painted ceiling, shook his head, then looked at her in resignation. “I’ll do it. I’ll find out who your father is for you, if there is an answer to be had. But you. Must. Stay out of it.”
She took a step toward him, searching his face. “You’re really willing to help me?”
He harrumphed but nodded, then took another sulky bite of his toffee apple.
Her face softened, and thus became even lovelier, much to his annoyance. She stepped closer. “Thank you, Azrael.”
He growled.
Serena hesitated, watching him. “There’s something I’ve been wondering.” She cast a furtive glance about, then whispered, “Do you think this man knows I am his daughter?”
“Probably, yes,” he said as he chewed.
“Then he’s aware of me.”
He nodded, swallowed. “And most assuredly aware of the fact that you and I were once betrothed. Which is to say that if he sees us together, that will raise some eyebrows.” Frankly, it already has tonight, he thought.
“Why?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you ask too many questions?”
Despite his open exasperation, her reply was a mischievous smile.
She lifted his toffee apple out of his hand by the stick and helped herself to a languorous lick of the candy coating.
Seduced where he stood, he felt his jaw nearly hit the floor.
He looked at that mouth and could not be angry at her. He just wanted it on him.
“This is good,” she said, savoring it.
It took him a beat to regather his wits. “Just promise me that once I get you a name, you will be satisfied. That will have to be enough. You won’t try to make contact?”
“I can’t promise that. He’s my father.”
“Trust me, Serena. You don’t want any of these men in your life.”
She puckered her alabaster brow. “Are they really so bad?”
His gaze softened with tenderness for her naiveté. “You are very sheltered, and there are darker evils in this world than you yet comprehend.” Then he took his apple back from her.
She folded her arms across her chest and stood there thinking things over for a moment. “How will you begin?”
Azrael shrugged. “Well, there is much I cannot remember from those days. The memories of my childhood are…sketchy.” It was like his mind didn’t want to remember.
Indeed, whenever he tried to face his past, he either got a splitting headache or sank into a wave of fatigue so strong it was as though someone had drugged him.
The torpor made the effort seem too strenuous and not worth the bother.
“However,” he continued, with a furtive glance around, “if there are answers to be had, they’ll be at Owlswick. Our country house there. I suppose that’s where I shall start.”
“I’m coming with you,” she said at once.
“Serena!”
“Why not? Toby said the whole barrow site and all the country houses were abandoned ever since our families started believing in the curse. There’d be no one there to see us. Please, please?” she said prettily, tilting her head.
He frowned, weighing the possibility. “I don’t see how I could possibly take you with me.”
“I respected her intelligence,” Toby had said. By such simple means, even that quiz had won her favor, so maybe…
She moved closer, took hold of his lapels. “Come, Azrael,” she said with the skill of a born coquette, “I won’t be any trouble, I promise. I’ll be good. I’ll do whatever you say. Just let me tag along. I want to see the place where my sister died. Surely you understand. Maybe then it’ll finally start to sink in
.”
He held her gaze, torn.
“Please, I know you are a kind man.” She gazed up into his eyes.
He scowled as he saw she was awfully good at getting what she wanted.
Azrael looked away, waving his candy apple by the stick with idle indecision, knowing he should refuse.
But the truth was, he’d be grateful to have her along when it came time to face that place again.
He’d always known he’d have to go there sometime. He couldn’t put it off forever, but he dreaded the memories that awaited him there.
His wayward kitty-cat would be a most welcome distraction, maddening as she was.
“You’d have to come alone without your chaperone,” he warned, his tone stern. “No outsiders. That good lady can have no part in this.”
She nodded eagerly. “Very well.”
“But, with that caveat, I suppose, if we were both on hand to search for the materials I believe are hidden somewhere on the premises, we could cover more ground that way and get out of there all the faster.”
She let out a soft cheer and startled him with a brief hug, then stepped back again before anyone saw, and nodded eagerly. “When can we go?”
“Tomorrow morning,” he suggested. “Might as well get it over with.”
Before I come to my bloody senses.
“Oh, right, I see.” She nodded, turning serious again and hanging on his every word. “Shall I come over to your house?”
“No. Let’s not risk your reputation any more than necessary. Just around the block from Moonlight Square, there’s a covered passage between the livery stable and the tailor’s shop. Do you know the place?”
“Yes, yes, of course.”
“I’ll pick you up there in my carriage at, let’s say, seven tomorrow morning. It’ll just be getting light then, so it’ll be easier to avoid being seen. The journey there and back will take most of the day, so whatever excuse you give your chaperone will have to be sufficient to explain your absence until about, oh, five or six o’clock in the evening. Will that be possible?”
She nodded rapidly. “I’ll think of something.”
“Are you sure you want to do this, Serena?” he whispered, leaning closer as he read the apprehension in her eyes.
“Of course. I have only one question.” She hesitated, blushing a bit. “Do you mean to make me barter for this information in the manner that we, um, discussed at your house?”
