by Bec McMaster
"Of course." Lena swept toward her, clasping her hands. "You know I will always help you. What is it you need?"
Oh, God. She hated even admitting this. "I am facing a slight marital issue I had not anticipated. I have started a war with my husband, and he's destroying me."
"What?" Lena's voice rose, her eyes flaring bronze as her protective instinct rose.
"Not like that. I need tactics. I need knowledge."
"About...?"
"How do I bring my husband to his knees? How do I—" The words choked in her throat. "You and your husband are quite familiar with each other. I see the way Will looks at you—as if you set the sun in the sky. You are his everything. You fill his whole world. And he gets this sort of look on his face whenever you smile at him, and I know what that look means. It's as if there's no one else in the room when he looks at you like that. No one else in the world. How do you do it? It's becoming quite clear my lessons in flesh rights are ineffective. I know what goes where and what Malloryn would expect of me, but I have little idea in how to truly drive him crazy."
Lena blinked. "You want to seduce the Duke of Malloryn?"
"Yes." Adele released an unsteady breath. "I want to ruin the man. I want to drive him to his wit's end and leave him a panting, pleading husk. It's your own damned fault. You set this in my head the other day and then he.... He set his first piece into play, so to speak."
Instantly, Lena's eyes flashed with heat. "This is going to require some instruction."
"You'll help me?"
"To bring Malloryn to his knees? I would enjoy nothing better. The man's insufferable."
"You don't know the half of it," she muttered.
Lena was already turning, leading her toward the door. "Come with me. This calls for champagne."
"'Allow your husband or master to insert male appendage into the feminine vessel. Discomfort can be eased by overzealous application of Madame Vexley's Liniment for Young Ladies internally, though it is advised to apply such ministrations before attending your husband, in your private toilette. A gentleman prefers discretion and one does not wish to insult him by indicating less than fervent ardor on your behalf. Apply....' Good grief." Lena smothered a laugh. "I feel like I'm reading a cooking manual. I've never had to use Madame Vexley's Liniment. And Will's the very antithesis of discretion."
"What the hell is going on?" asked a loud male voice. "I can hear the pair of you gigglin' all the way down the street. And I heard me name?"
"Will!" Lena cried, sitting up with a happy little smile. "And Alex. My two favorite men in the entire world!"
Adele nearly spilled her glass of champagne as she hastily reached forward to flip the cover of Mrs. Hathaway's Obligations in Marital and Flesh Rights closed. The illustrations and sermons within the book seemed far too prudish for what she'd thus far encountered with her husband, but Lena had been pointing out discrepancies.
Much to their mutual amusement.
The verwulfen ambassador dwarfed the room, his broad shoulders straining against the cut of his shirt. He'd discarded his coat somewhere, his necktie hanging open and the top buttons of his shirt undone. Will Carver always seemed uncomfortable in society, but in Lena's sitting room, with his son draped over his chest and shoulder, he looked seemingly at home.
Bronze eyes raked the table between them and the ruin of a platter of little teacakes, scones, jam and clotted cream. "Enjoyin' ourselves, are we?" he growled, though the edges of his mouth kicked up. "It's barely three in the afternoon."
Lena waved her champagne flute at him. "We're plotting mayhem. Mayhem requires champagne. Besides, I knew you had Alex for the afternoon."
She pressed a half dozen kisses over Alex's chubby cheeks, and the baby immediately reached for her.
"Who's the recipient of said mayhem?" Will asked, trying not to drop the lad.
"My husband," Adele said, pointing her empty champagne flute at him. "You're a man. Can I ask you a question?"
Will grimaced. "I ain't gettin' involved in any marital disputes. Especially not Malloryn's."
"You know him!" Adele was delighted. Or perhaps that was the four glasses of champagne she'd consumed.
"I've had that pleasure."
"So has Adele," Lena snickered.
Will clenched his eyes shut and then tilted his face upwards, as if praying for divine intervention.
"Malloryn made a deal with Adele," Lena continued. "He would set his mistress aside, on the grounds that Adele would provide an he—"
"Anyway," Will said, patting Alex on the back. "Look at the time, me boy. Let's leave your mother and her friend to their plottin'."
"Don't you dare. You're here to provide a male opinion on matters."
Will muttered something that sounded like, "I'd rather jump into an entire pit of snakes, thanks very much."
"Just listen. I volunteered your services."
"For what?"
Adele bit her lip. "There's a slight problem I'm having. It's not uncommon knowledge that my husband spends his nights away from home, but we made an agreement—"
"Stop right there," Will warned. "It ain't any of my business."
"Oh, Will. Stop being such a prude," Lena chided. "If this were the Warren, you'd be all up in Blade's secrets, regardless of your antiquated notions."
"This isn't the Warren. And Malloryn ain't Blade."
"Agreed," Adele said. "He has much better taste in waistcoats than the Devil of Whitechapel, to begin with."
"Waistcoats aside—"
"Lord Devoncourt said I didn't know what my husband was getting up to of nights. Indeed, he was almost nasty about it," Adele blurted. "But Malloryn promised he'd set his mistress aside. And yet, he's always off somewhere at night. I don't know where he goes."
"And I said what we needed was someone who could track him," Lena said. "Like Will."
"Will could," her husband replied, "but Will ain't goin' to do anythin' of the sort."
Lena turned big brown eyes upon him. "I hate seeing Adele so out of sorts. I know you don't want to get involved, but what if this isn't merely the result of Malloryn dallying with a mistress? What if he's in some sort of trouble? You heard what Adele said. Devoncourt practically threatened him."
"If there's one thing I'm certain of, it's the fact that Malloryn is more 'an capable of handlin' himself."
"Please?"
Adele watched with fascination. She could practically see the fierce verwulfen rogue turning into a little puddle of mush at his wife's feet.
What would it be like to have a man so enamored of her that way?
"I will make it worth your while," Lena whispered. "No application of Madame Vexley's Liniment required."
"What the hell is Madame Vexley's Liniment?" he growled, as if to maintain his fearsome reputation.
"See," Lena told Adele pointedly. "I told you it's hogwash. Completely unnecessary."
"You do not wish to know," Adele advised, when the verwulfen ambassador looked as if he was going to pursue said topic.
"Adele was there for me during my confinement, when I was so worried Alex was going to be born with the loupe," Lena said, touching his arm. "She was the one who defended your name in society when Lord Maddesley was trying to claim you were nothing more than a beast. I owe her, Will."
"Fine," Will growled. He tipped his head to Adele. "I'll follow him tonight. But if I catch wind of a mistress, then I am done with this mad plan. Understood?"
"Understood. Thank you!" she said, her shoulders slumping in relief.
Finally.
She'd have some answers.
Even if they weren't necessarily the ones she might desire.
Chapter 9
It was Byrnes who brought Malloryn the news.
There was a body in Clerkenwell, and the Guild Master of the Nighthawks had requested his presence.
Unusual in itself, for the Nighthawks were comprised of rogue blue bloods that'd never been accepted into the Echelon. They were London's law enfo
rcement, and a dead body was something they dealt with on a regular basis.
Which meant there was something out of the ordinary about this one.
Malloryn took a hack through the hubbub of the late afternoon street, accompanied by Byrnes, who was uncharacteristically quiet. Only the cracking of Byrnes's knuckles broke the silence.
A wall of Nighthawks had cordoned off the street ahead of them, so they were forced to disembark and walk the rest of the way.
He could scent the blood before he even arrived.
Garrett Reed, the Guild Master of the Nighthawks, strode forward to meet them, wearing his harsh black leather body armor. Though young, he held himself with the confidence of a man who knew what he was doing, and Malloryn had been one of the first dukes on the Council to approve his posting.
"Your Grace."
"Master Reed," Malloryn said, tilting his head.
"Byrnes." This greeting was a touch more effusive.
The pair of them clasped hands—old friends—as Malloryn peered impatiently past them.
"Garrett. I hear you need a little help solving a case?" Byrnes drawled. "Getting rusty in your old age?"
"Hardly." The Guild Master's mouth thinned. "But we thought you'd want a look at this one."
"Why?" Malloryn asked.
The Guild Master and his wife were aware of the work the Company of Rogues undertook.
This had to be Balfour's doing.
"Because it's a message for you, Your Grace," Garrett said. "This way."
He led the pair of them past a doctor, waiting with his mortuary trolley, and the crime scene investigator who'd replaced Ava at the Nighthawks.
Fog clung to the alleyway, and blood scented the air.
The stale scent of death filled Malloryn's nostrils as everything fell quiet. He'd seen death in many incarnations, but he knew this one would be bad, judging from the way several of the Nighthawks wouldn't meet his gaze.
"We don't know who she is," Garrett murmured. "But we will."
Malloryn knelt in the alleyway beside the dead girl's body, fog wafting away from his knees as he examined her and the crime scene. He'd been wrong. This wasn't vicious or overly violent, but strangely clean. Almost economical. No, it wasn't the manner of death that had made the others drop their eyes.
Barely hours old, judging by the congealed blood staining her white gown. She'd been shot right through the heart somewhere else and placed here, for him.
He looked at her face then.
Smoothed the black hair from her forehead so he could get a better glimpse of her.
Heart-shaped face. Blue sightless eyes, staring forever into an overcast sky. Pretty white gown that reminded him of something a debutante might wear.
It was like looking at a ghost.
Even now, seventeen years later, guilt flayed him like a lash, and Malloryn closed his eyes for a second.
After all this time, it was difficult to conjure Catherine's face, but he saw the flash of her smile, the haunted blue of her eyes. Saw them widen as Balfour turned his pistol from its lock on Malloryn's chest to settle upon her.
Crack.
He flinched as the memory of the pistol firing cascaded through him. It was the same memory that had haunted him for years; the moment Balfour set this vendetta into play forever.
Oh yes, it was bad. But no one watching would ever understand why.
It should have been me.
"Do you know her?" Garrett asked, looming over Malloryn's shoulder.
"No." Malloryn opened his eyes. "I know who killed her though."
Tense silence echoed through the alleyway as the pair of Nighthawks standing on guard shifted uneasily.
"Who?"
"An old friend," he replied, leaning down to examine the body. There was a calling card clutched tight in her hand.
His calling card.
No wonder the Guild Master had contacted him.
Malloryn plucked it from her fingers and straightened slowly. "Who found her?"
"A lamplighter," Garrett said, dismissing the nearest pair of Nighthawks, leaving only the three of them. "Called it in around dawn. Thinks he might have heard a shot, but he wasn't certain and I doubt he truly heard a thing."
"It didn't happen here."
"No. Not enough blood. She was placed here deliberately, where someone would find her."
"Can you smell the killer?"
"I'm picking up traces of gunpowder, mechanical oil, and hints of bergamot. But no personal scent, which means it was either a blue blood or a dhampir," Byrnes said, squatting beside the girl and examining her fingernails. "She's not upper class."
"No."
Bergamot. He almost flinched again. Jelena had dabbed the oil at her pulse points. The scent of it made his heart beat a little faster, though his senses weren't as highly refined as Byrnes's.
"So she could have been just a girl plucked off the streets," Byrnes murmured.
"Why her?" Garrett asked.
"She looks a little like Gemma," Byrnes said pointedly. "Think Balfour's going to go after her? She did ruin all his fun in Russia, after all."
"It's not meant to represent Gemma," Malloryn replied, locking all the pain, all the panic deep inside him.
Byrnes's gaze sharpened.
"It's meant to remind me of Catherine Tate. You were right. It is a message for me. But what is he trying to tell me?" Malloryn slowly unfolded to his full height, glancing down at the calling card. "We know he's back. He left a letter on my fucking desk. So this is a threat. Or a taunt."
"We need to keep an eye on the female Rogues?" Byrnes asked. "After all, he did want Obsidian to put a bullet through Gemma's heart and leave her on your doorstep."
Malloryn's mind raced. "He wants me to suffer. He wants to take away every last thing I care for. All the Rogues need to watch their backs. I daresay this won't be the last time we find a body."
The Guild Master waited, arms folded across his chest nonchalantly, even as his sharp blue eyes took in everything. "So Balfour is back and now he's killing young women with black hair?"
"Unfortunately, yes. I may need you and your men before this is done."
"You have them," Garrett replied, without hesitation. "I'll set Perry to try and track the killer."
His wife was the best tracker the Guild had to offer, but she also had two young daughters now.
"Tell her to take others with her and watch her back. She's looking for a dhampir woman with silvery blonde hair, an eye patch over one eye, and a scar on her cheek. Track the killer, but don't engage. She's lethal."
Byrnes sucked in a sharp gasp. "Jelena."
"Bergamot," he murmured. "I'll never forget the scent."
It haunted every single one of his nightmares.
"In that case, maybe I should join Perry?" Byrnes's expression hardened. "You might need a dhampir to counter her."
Malloryn nodded.
"Find her," he said, locking down the sharp fury that bit at the back of his throat. "If we find Jelena, then we find Balfour."
"Yes, Your Grace," they both echoed.
This time, Lena came to her.
Adele led her into the gardens behind Malloryn House, where they could have some modicum of privacy. "Will was successful? He tracked my husband?"
She hadn't seen him since that moment in her bedchambers, beyond a brief note saying he had "business" to attend to. The question of precisely what he'd been up to last night niggled through her brain like a worm spreading rot.
"You wouldn't know what your husband's style is."
Devoncourt's words bothered her more than they should.
Because I know my husband likes games and he played me like a fiddle. What if this entire act is a game?
What sort of business required Malloryn stay out of all hours?
"Yes." Lena squeezed her hand, and her entire demeanor made Adele swallow. "I'm sorry, Adele. So sorry. Malloryn led him a merry chase across half of town, but Will managed to track him. There'
s a small, discreet house in Hardcastle Lane in Clerkenwell. Malloryn went in the back door as if he knew the place well. Will doesn't know what Malloryn was doing there, but there were several others coming in and out, and... a woman. A very beautiful woman with black hair."
Adele's heart fell. "He told me he'd let Mrs. Danner go."
"It wasn't Mrs. Danner. The butler called her Gemma. Gemma Townsend."
That lying wretch.
Adele turned around abruptly, pressing her knuckles to her lips. She couldn't believe she'd ever let him touch her. Kiss her. Press her down on the bed and ravish her, the way he'd done....
And the entire time he'd been lying to her.
Though technically, she supposed it wasn't lying. He hadn't been with Mrs. Danner, but no wonder he'd been able to promise her—with a completely straight face—that he'd ended things with the opera singer.
"It might not have been an assignation." Lena curled her arms around Adele's waist and rested her chin on her shoulder. "Will doesn't know what it was. There were other people there—"
"He told me he was seeing to business," she snarled, leaning back into Lena's embrace. "Matters to do with running the country."
"Well, at least you know." Lena kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry."
"I'm not." Adele broke away from her, pressing a hand to her forehead. "At least I haven't completely humiliated myself by attempting to use some of your seduction techniques upon him." She shook her head. It could have been worse. "Though perhaps you might be able to teach me to shoot a pistol?"
"I hope you're joking."
"Of course."
Perhaps.
"What are you going to do?" Lena asked.
Adele paced across the grass. The not knowing was the worst part. Perhaps this Gemma Townsend was another woman in her husband's life. But what if she wasn't? What was he doing there? Why did he seem so familiar with the house?
And why the hell had Will called it a merry chase?
"Did he know Will was following him?" she asked, banking her anger into hot little coals in the grate of her soul.
