Duke of Secrets (Moonlight Square, Book 2)

by Gaelen Foley

  “No.” She shook her head, wide-eyed.

  He sighed. “I only wish it would’ve been possible for me to be a larger part of your life. But…other parties would not have understood.”

  “It’s all right,” she said. “I have been well looked after, I assure you—Father.”

  He smiled with genuine delight when she tried out the title. “And you will no doubt continue to be well looked after by your future husband.”

  Stiver glanced approvingly at Azrael. “If he takes half as good care of you as he does his silly animals, you’ll be in very good hands.”

  “To be sure,” she agreed with a grin while Azrael chuckled ruefully.

  “He is a fine man—prone to surprises, as I’m learning—and I know you will be very happy together. Which is all I ever wanted.”

  Serena clasped her father’s hand, looking a little misty-eyed at his touching words. Unfortunately, Azrael knew they were lies.

  The whole point of pledging them to each other was so that one day they’d create a child, some horrid future demon spawn, infused with dark power from his Promethean bloodlines on both sides.

  And, secondly, of course, to satisfy Stiver’s unnatural obsession with his friend, Azrael’s father. Never mind that the previous Rivenwood had abused him horribly from their Eton days onward, Azrael had heard.

  Made him run and fetch for him and do God knew what else.

  “Come, a toast!” Stiver suddenly stood. “Your union represents a whole new beginning for us all.” He marched over to a liquor cabinet and poured them all a drink.

  While his back was turned, Serena sent Azrael an alarmed glance, wordlessly asking if it was safe to drink from the glasses he brought them.

  He gave her a discreet nod of reassurance.

  Stiver had swallowed their story whole. Having studied his guardian carefully since childhood, he could read the man well, and knew that Stiver’s elation about all this was genuine.

  Just then, a champagne cork popped. Azrael saw Serena jump.

  Returning a moment later, Stiver gave them each a fizzing champagne flute. Serena rose to take her glass. “I have had this bottle chilling in the icehouse ever since Rivenwood told me how my beautiful daughter had brought him to his senses. I should’ve known I could count on you, my lad. Both of you.”

  Stiver lifted his drink. “To destiny.”

  “Destiny,” they both echoed, and with a chill down his spine, Azrael clinked glasses with his innocent bride and her treacherous father.

  The fine crystal tinkled with a melodious ding. The champagne itself was exquisite, the best money could buy.

  Azrael watched Serena as she took a sip.

  “My dear.” Stiver turned to her. “I know you must continue your charade as Dunhaven’s daughter, but you must promise me we will always be friends. And when you have a child, I want to be the first to know. Or at least the second,” he added, glancing at Azrael with a chuckle.

  “The second, perhaps,” Azrael agreed, smiling.

  Stiver clapped him on the arm. “Your father would be so proud, my lad. I wish he were here to see this day. By Jove, the prospect of the future fills me with boundless optimism now. So many of our hopes were dashed upon the Continent in recent years, but a well-built plan must stand ready to weather the centuries if need be, no?”

  “Just like the pyramids,” Azrael said softly.

  Stiver snorted with a knowing look. “Indeed.”

  Serena furrowed her brow, puzzled by their cryptic exchange, but they all drank.

  Azrael swallowed a mouthful of champagne, but it could not wash the taste of his own lies out of his mouth. Unfortunately, deception and betrayal were evil necessities in this. His and Serena’s eventual freedom hinged on beating the Prometheans at their own game.

  As the Bard had once written, The play’s the thing.

  They took leave of Lord Stiver before too long to avoid raising any suspicions with a misstep. Things had gone well for their first meeting, and Azrael didn’t want to push their luck.

  But on the way out of the drawing room door, Stiver asked him for a private moment. “A word, Your Grace. I’ll only keep him from you for a moment, my dear.”

  “As you wish,” Serena said with a smile.

  “I’ll be right with you,” Azrael told her.

  She nodded to him, then gathered up the hem of her skirts and followed the butler, who showed her out and pulled the door closed. Azrael could hear their footsteps heading back down the stairs toward the entrance hall.

  He turned to Stiver. “What is it, my lord?”

  “Have you been studying the materials I gave you?”

  “Oh yes.” And so has the Order.

  “If you have questions at any time, I am always glad to elaborate on the teachings.”

  He nodded. “It seems to come fairly naturally to me.”

  Stiver crooked a smile. “I’m not surprised. I am glad to hear it, though. There is so much to learn. You’re years behind in your studies. Above all, you must be ready for your initiation. I won’t have you embarrassing the memory of your father by fumbling your responses during the ceremony.”

  Azrael said nothing. His formal initiation as a Promethean had been Stiver’s one requirement before he’d “permit” him to marry his daughter.

  Not that they could’ve stopped him. But since this was the game that he and the Order were playing with the bastards, he’d pretended to agree to this stipulation.

  Stiver and his cronies wanted Azrael bound to the brethren and sealed by blood for once and for all. Besides, he apparently had to be an Initiate first before he and Serena could be joined in what they termed a black wedding.

  Stiver wanted that to be held in December, on the night of the winter solstice.

  Azrael’s initiation, therefore, was duly scheduled much sooner—indeed, just a week away—on the night of the November full moon.

  The whole coven would gather for the occasion.

  Then the Order would strike.

  “Don’t worry, sir, I will be ready. If there’s nothing further?” Azrael turned with a casual air toward the door, assuming that was all.

  “Actually,” said Stiver, “there is one more thing I have not yet mentioned that you’ll need to prepare in advance for what will happen in the barrow. A decision you shall have to make. A difficult one.”

  Azrael paused. “What’s that?”

  “I told you there must be a blood sacrifice, as with all the great rituals.”

  “Yes.” It was such a strange, primal, and barbaric term to hear a man in fine Bond Street tailoring use in the midst of such civilized surroundings.

  And yet Azrael knew the term would’ve been quite ordinary to him by now if he had handed the knife to his father instead of the Order agent all those years ago.

  He’d have been hardened by now to the whimpers and screams of sacrificial victims begging for their lives.

  “You explained how you will have to pierce my chest with a dagger when I take the oath.”

  “Well, yes. But that is not the blood sacrifice I mean,” Stiver said, and stared at him hard.

  # # #

  When Azrael joined her in the entrance hall, Serena instantly detected by his expression that something had upset him. His face looked tense, perhaps a trifle pale, and there was a stiff set to his shoulders, but he walked her out quickly to his carriage waiting under the portico as if nothing was wrong.

  A light, steady rain had started falling while they were inside. Serena took her seat inside the carriage and waited while Azrael had a word with the Order footmen and the burly Order driver, who’d replaced the jovial Paulson for the time being.

  Azrael gave the trio some instructions, then joined her in the coach.

  “What did Stiver say to you in there?” she asked as soon as they were in motion.

  “Nothing I’d care to discuss right now.”

  “Oh.” His answer startled her. “Was it something bad? Was it about m
e?”

  “No, darling. Just some details concerning the night we enter the barrow. I’ll tell you later, I promise. Right now I need to think.”

  She fell silent, well aware that the once solitary duke still needed his own space sometimes. It was simply how his mind worked.

  “I’ll gladly listen once you sort it out.”

  He gave her a grateful glance, then paused. “What did you think of your sire?”

  She shrugged. “He’s a pleasant man. On the surface, anyway.”

  For a few minutes, they both fell into brooding on their own private questions and cares.

  “What will happen to him, Azrael?”

  “Stiver? He’ll be arrested for his crimes and taken into custody.”

  “Will there be a scandal?”

  “No. He’ll be disappeared,” he said wryly. “They all will. The public will be told some fairytale, like the one about the vagrant caught poaching on my father’s property. The Order’s working on an explanation for how their collective demise will be reported. Shipwreck or fire, most likely.”

  Serena shuddered and gazed out the window at the rain coursing down the windows of the buildings they passed.

  Lost in her thoughts, it was only then that she noticed they had not gone back to Moonlight Square.

  “There’s the British Museum,” she said in surprise. “Where are we going?”

  “Killigrew’s Coffeehouse.”

  “Toby’s grubby writing haven?” She searched his face. “Why?”

  “I need a brief word with our ol’ friend.”

  “Whatever for? Azrael, what is going on? What did Stiver say to you?”

  He huffed with frustration but said nothing as the coach turned the corner onto the side street where Killigrew’s was situated.

  “Azrael?”

  “Your dress is too nice to spoil by chancing the rain,” he said as the coach glided to a halt in front of the coffee shop. “Just wait here. This won’t take long.”

  He jumped out without answering her questions and dashed into Toby’s pokey little hideaway, ducking his head in the rain.

  What is going on? Serena wondered, miffed. This can’t be good.

  She was tempted to follow in defiance of his wishes to find out what was afoot. But he would be her husband. She supposed she had to trust him.

  Besides, he was right—the rain would probably ruin the fine crape of her gown, and she’d spent such a ridiculous amount of money on it. Not even a future duchess could justify throwing away a gown that cost nearly a guinea a yard in a pique of impatience.

  Still, she couldn’t help thinking that this shift in his attitude did not bode well. What in the world could he want with Toby?

  # # #

  “Just the man I’ve come to see.” Azrael spotted Lord Toby as soon as he ducked into Killigrew’s, escaping the rain.

  At once, the familiar smells of pipe smoke and coffee grinds washed over him. The fire was crackling in the big hearth, as before, and the writer was working at the same round table by the bay window where he’d sat last time, his notes and papers chaotically arrayed before him.

  “Rivenwood?” Toby said, looking up as Azrael strode over to him. He peered at him through his spectacles. “What are you doing here again?”

  Azrael brushed the cool, refreshing mist of rain off his face as he went over to his table. He hadn’t really minded getting wet. The light dousing helped to clear his head after those disconcerting final minutes with Lord Stiver.

  He braced his hands on the wooden chair back next to Toby. “I’ve come to ask you for a favor.”

  “Me?”

  He nodded. “I need you to do something for me. And for Serena.”

  Toby gave him a dubious look, then gestured to the chair. “Care to sit?”

  With a nod of thanks, Azrael pulled the chair out and slumped down onto it, struggling for a moment with how to begin.

  Toby pushed his glasses up onto his nose, looking concerned. “What is it, Your Grace? Something wrong?”

  “You might say that.” Azrael sighed. “Well, you already know too much, so I might as well tell you the rest. The group you learned about, at Owlswick. I’m taking measures to halt their activities for good.”

  Toby’s eyebrows shot up. He put his pen down and listened intently.

  “Obviously, crossing such people can be dangerous.” Azrael faltered, feeling awkward. “To be frank, I’ve fallen in love with Serena—I’m sure you can relate—and for some strange reason, I trust you. You seem a good man, and I know she is still quite fond of you.”

  “Wait—you’re in love with Serena?”

  “Terribly,” he admitted. “She’s agreed to marry me—”

  “I say!” Toby breathed.

  “But the fact is, these people I mentioned, well, things will soon reach a head with them, and I need to know she’ll be all right if anything happens to me. That’s why I’m here.” Azrael stared at her former suitor. “If anything happens to me, I want you to marry Serena yourself—and promptly.”

  Toby’s jaw dropped.

  “I know that, as a younger son, your current financial footing depends on your parents’ largess, but that is of no consequence. I have put aside most of my fortune in trust for her and, er, any children she may have. If you take my meaning.”

  “Good God, man.” Toby sat back and folded his arms across his chest, giving Azrael a disapproving scowl.

  Azrael frowned. “Look, I don’t like it much either. But a week from now, I may be dead, and that could leave her in serious danger. If it goes the wrong way, you may need to get her out of England.” He glanced around to make sure no one was listening. The place was nearly empty. He returned his attention to Toby.

  “Half a million pounds in the bank should make you very comfortable wherever you may land,” he continued in a low tone. “The United States should be safest. These people have not yet infiltrated there, to the best of my knowledge, but God knows they’re working on it. For a secondary choice, I’d suggest the West Indies, but stay on your guard. It’s easy to be caught unawares on an island.”

  “Let me see if I have this right. You want me to just pick up my life and run away to the other side of the earth a week from now with Serena—who may be carrying your child?” he whispered.

  “Well, only if I’m dead,” Azrael shot back. “I would marry her myself before the danger starts, because then at least she’d have full legal control of all my holdings, but it’s too risky. They’re watching me. And it’s desperately important to them that she and I wait until December to marry.”

  “Why?”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to know.” He waved off the unsavory details about the supposed magical energy of the winter solstice. “The point is, if they found out I went behind their backs and wed her sooner, that could expose the fact that I’m deceiving them and jeopardize our one chance to bring the bastards to justice.”

  “Who’s we? You and Serena?”

  “The authorities are involved, but it’s extremely confidential, do you understand? That’s as much as I can say.” He glanced over his shoulder again and then out the window, leaning closer. “The point is, if I die fighting these people, I need to know she will have someone on hand who truly cares about her, someone she trusts. Her family may also come under threat, so I can’t rely on them. That’s where you come in.”

  Toby looked dazed, taking it all in.

  “Now, if you agree to this, the first thing you’ll have to do is use a part of my fortune to hire guards and make sure she stays protected around the clock for at least six months. The forces currently helping us will guard her for the short term. I’ll consult with them to make sure they give you the names of a few trusted men… Say something, Guilfoyle,” Azrael said in a low, urgent tone when the young man just sat there, amazed. “Will you do this or not?”

  “Of course,” Toby said, blinking. “I would do anything for Serena.”

  Relief flooded Azrael.
He nodded. “I had a feeling you’d say that. You have my deepest thanks. Truly.”

  “I must say, this is a great deal of trust to place in someone you barely know.”

  Azrael smiled. “Serena was ready to marry you. Her judgment of your character is good enough for me. That aside, I’m fairly good at reading people, and I believe you have a kind heart. That quality is important to me for her sake and…” His voice faded away at the thought of leaving his child to be raised by some other man. “If there is a child, you will be kind to him, won’t you, even though he’s not your own?”

  “You have my word,” Toby said solemnly.

  Azrael managed a taut nod and looked away, clearing his throat. “Mind you, it’s only if I fail, and I’m not planning to. It’s just that things have taken a very serious turn, so I am making provisions for all eventualities.”

  “Of course.” Toby looked worried behind his spectacles. “Is there anything more I can do?”

  “No, just what you’ve agreed to. I’ve already asked plenty of you.”

  “You can count on me,” Toby said with a nod.

  “Good.” Azrael rose from his chair, greatly relieved, but still restless over what lay ahead. “Thank you once again. Even if it all goes smoothly, I shall be in your debt. If not, I’ll have my man Jenkins contact you at once. This, er, event is to take place on the night of the full moon. So, that’s when you can expect news either way.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  “Good. Well! I’d best not keep her waiting.”

  Toby rose as well, and put out his hand. “Godspeed, Your Grace.”

  Azrael clasped the man’s hand and shook it.

  They stared gravely at each other.

  “You know,” Azrael said, releasing his grip, “perhaps you should write their story. Perhaps the world deserves to know.”

  “I’m not sure I’m that brave. I hope you can defeat them—and break that curse.”

  “So do I, Toby,” he said, nodding as he turned to go. “So do I.”

  CHAPTER 20

  The Duke’s Revenge

  Her first trip to Owlswick had been an experience of sorrow and gloom. The second filled Serena with a pervading sense of dread.