by Bec McMaster
And certainly not yourself.
Adele was proving dangerous.
He... liked her.
Quite a lot.
"Want something to hit that's a bit more lively?" drawled a quiet voice behind him.
Malloryn merely stared at the automaton. The former assassin made a cat seem sloppy, but he'd heard the faint creak of the door. Bloody Gemma. Sending Obsidian up here to nursemaid him, no doubt. "I think I'm still recovering from our last bout."
"You gave as good as you got."
Malloryn sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he turned to confront his protégé's lover. "Did Gemma set you upon me?"
"No. She's distracted. She's been teaching your wife some self defense techniques and now she's trying to convince the duchess to wear something red tomorrow night."
"What is it with Gemma and red dresses?"
"I wasn't talking about a gown. It seems they share a fondness for fine undergarments."
His mind immediately pictured Adele in a flimsy little scrap of silk in vibrant red.
He didn't have to wonder about the precise color of Adele's nipples anymore. The softest, palest of pinks, imprinted in his memory as firmly as his signet ring into hot wax.
Knowledge he'd generally prefer not to have.
Just like he hadn't wanted to know what precise sound would escape her when she cried out with pleasure.
Malloryn punched the automaton's padded flanks, but though it might help alleviate the nightmares he fought, it did nothing to vanquish those licentious thoughts. "I did not need to know that."
Obsidian smiled faintly as he began stripping his coat off. "Consider yourself warned."
They'd been enemies once upon a time, and Malloryn had struggled to trust him, but all of that changed when Obsidian helped rescue him in Russia. Curiously, the assassin was the one Rogue who almost seemed to understand him.
Obsidian didn't push where he felt he wasn't wanted—unlike certain others. And he knew how to keep a secret.
It was becoming remarkably easy to deal with him.
"So you just happened to seek me out?"
"I knew where you'd be." Obsidian hauled his shirt over his head and folded it atop his coat.
"I'm growing a little weary of everyone nursemaiding me...."
"You're on edge and you're tired. That's the sort of combination that sees mistakes creep in. Considering you're the one in charge, you cannot afford to make mistakes."
Nobody else spoke to him like this. Anger flared. "You dare?"
"Technically, I outrank you, Your Grace," Obsidian said dryly. "So I'm not afraid of the Duke of Malloryn act."
"Do you want me to curtsy?"
"No." Obsidian padded toward him on bare feet. "I want you to fight."
They met in a flurry of blows.
Obsidian had an inch or two on him, and hence a longer reach. He was faster, stronger, and had trained all his life to be an assassin.
It was the only time Malloryn had ever found himself outclassed.
He took it as a challenge, each and every time.
The man who feared to face a worthier opponent was the man who stopped learning. Already, his bouts with Obsidian had tightened his reaction time, and taught him a unique style of combat he'd never known before.
He staggered back beneath a blow, and Obsidian pulled up to give him a chance to get his feet.
"Don't go easy on me," he warned. "If we go up against Dido and Jelena, then I cannot afford to be too weak or slow."
"You'll never match them for speed or strength."
"I know."
Which meant he had to be able to protect himself long enough to work out their weaknesses. Everyone had a weakness. Even him.
But his greatest strength was using his mind to dissect others.
The next time he and Jelena crossed paths, he would kill her. There was no other option.
He just had to master the tremors that lit through him whenever he heard her name.
They fought on, and Malloryn lost himself in the rush of blood and the slam of knuckles to ribs. This time, Obsidian showed no mercy. Malloryn hit the mats once. Then again. No matter how hard he pushed himself, his thighs were soon quivering, and while he saw the next feint coming, he couldn't move in time to avoid it.
Malloryn crashed onto his back, the breath slamming out of him.
"Enough," Obsidian said, leaning down to offer a hand to haul him to his feet.
"Not yet."
"You're exhausted. If you'd been taking better care of yourself, then I would not call this, but I am. You are done for the night."
"I am—"
"If Balfour attacked right now, he would defeat you," Obsidian said. "You never know when the next attack will occur. Don't let your pride push you too far."
Malloryn gritted his teeth as he shook himself off. "Sometimes I regret allowing you into COR."
Obsidian smiled faintly, pouring them both a glass of blood. "I'm sure you do."
Rolling his shoulders, Malloryn accepted the glass.
"Your mind was elsewhere tonight," Obsidian pointed out.
It left him an opening. If he wanted to talk he could choose to accept it, or not. Sometimes he appreciated the fact the assassin didn't pry.
Malloryn drained the glass, ignoring the faint prowling stir of the predator within him. It wanted more blood. "I thought I was prepared for Balfour's games. But he had Jelena kill another girl today." He could see the poor thing draped across Catherine's grave, both a desecration of human flesh and mortal memory. "I don't know what sort of message he's trying to send, beyond a taunt. I thought it meant the female Rogues were at risk—particularly as both girls he's killed look like Gemma—but he's not made a move against them."
"Don't worry about Gemma. She's dangerous enough to protect herself, and he knows he will have to go through me too." Obsidian leaned against the wall. "And maybe there is no message. Maybe he just wants you distracted."
Malloryn dragged a towel over the back of his neck and clung to each end. "That did cross my mind. Which means he's up to something. The dead bodies. The letter on my desk. He wants me to look close to home, rather than watch out for what he's doing."
"Which means you've uncovered something he doesn't want you to know."
"Sir George." He scrubbed at his mouth. "The explosives. The Prometheus Project. I just wish I knew which one."
"Be patient. Now we have a lead, we can explore them. This is what we do."
"I know." But he hesitated. God, it ached to admit it, but Obsidian had been right about pride and its cost. "I am not... at my best, right now."
"You need sleep."
How easy it sounded. He gave a faint, humorless laugh. "I know." The laughter faded as he looked the assassin in the eye. "I can't afford to make a mistake." The cost would be the lives of one of the Rogues, and the thought hamstrung him a little. "If you think I'm about to make a misstep, then tell me. You know him as well as I do. I won't like it, but I can't.... I can't wear the weight of it all alone."
It was the closest he could come to a confession.
Obsidian slowly nodded. "As you wish."
"And I would appreciate it if you wouldn't tell Gemma about this conversation."
"She worries."
Malloryn scrubbed his face with the towel, then cast it aside. "I've noticed. Maybe you can distract her."
It was a clear dismissal. Obsidian grabbed his clothes and headed for the door, but he paused there, one hand on the knob.
"You are not at your best," the assassin said. "I understand. But there is one thing you should know: This doesn't rest solely upon your shoulders. I know you fear for their safety, but you need to trust your Rogues. They are good at what they do, and they know the risks. They've accepted them, because the consequence is a world where Balfour once again pulls puppet strings.
"I never understood why Gemma's loyalty was bound so inexplicably to you. This. This is why. Because Balfour does not give a
damn about those who work for him, and you do. You see it as a weakness—that you care for those around you, and he does not. He can be ruthless with his pawns and the cost of their lives is merely an irritation to him. He has more. He can throw dozens of lives at you without a care, until he overwhelms you. It makes him dangerous. But it is also a weakness.
"Because Balfour's play pieces know they mean nothing to him. They know they are disposable. And while he may offer the Rising Sons a vision of a future they crave, they'll turn on him without a second's notice if that vision goes up in flames.
"Balfour is not invincible. You see him as a threat because this time, you think you are the one who has everything to lose.
"But Gemma would set the world on fire for you, because she loves you. Every single Rogue volunteered to travel to Russia—the most dangerous place in the world—to rescue you. No Rogue left behind. It means something to them. It means something to you. It... means something to me. Stop thinking of it as a weakness, and start thinking of it as a strength."
Malloryn reached for his shirt, as he sorted through his feelings. "He will kill them because of me."
It was the secret that haunted his nights.
"He can try. But we're ready for him, Your Grace. And if our dear leader would get some bloody sleep, it would be a weight off all our minds."
Malloryn blinked in surprise.
"You're not the only one who worries," Obsidian said dryly, as he opened the door. "If you need to hit someone—or be hit some more—then let me know. Otherwise, I'm fairly certain there's a pair of willing arms waiting to greet you upstairs if you were to seek your bed."
If only it were that easy.
"Not you too." Malloryn grimaced. "I think you've been spending too much time with Gemma. Your brain's starting to rot."
Obsidian shrugged and glanced at the practice automaton. "I spent years on my own, hitting things that couldn't hit back, just to silence the voices in my head. I've since discovered a welcoming embrace can be far more therapeutic in some instances. You should try it."
And then he was gone, leaving Malloryn alone with his thoughts.
And the frustrating desire to see if Obsidian was right.
Malloryn sighed, and turned back to the automaton. He wasn't quite ready to concede defeat. Far better if he stayed away from Adele.
Because a part of him couldn't forget the sight of that poor girl draped across a grave.
Catherine. Isabella. Millie Vane. And now this anonymous girl.
All dead because of him.
No. He was better off staying as far away from his wife as he could.
"How is he?" Gemma murmured sleepily, as Obsidian slid between the covers and curled around her.
"On edge," he replied, brushing a kiss to the back of her neck.
Gemma rolled to examine his expression. "What did he say?"
"He asked me not to repeat it."
Which was vexing, but if Malloryn had reached out to Obsidian, then at least he was talking to someone. She had to trust her lover.
"I don't know what to do," she whispered. Despite all the years she'd spent at Malloryn's side…. "I don't know how to reach him."
Not with this.
The duke despised weaknesses, but he would not tolerate them in himself. And despite the fact she could pinpoint the precise issue that afflicted him, she couldn't seem to help him.
Russia had left scars on Malloryn's soul that she couldn't heal. She knew he'd been tortured at Jelena's hands, but not the extent of it. He was learning to control his flinch every time he heard the dhampir agent's name, learning to lock down his physical responses through sheer force of will.
It didn't mean she couldn't see the ghost of it written all over him.
He wouldn't talk to her about it.
He wouldn't even admit he had a bloody problem, despite the restless hours he spent prowling the night, or forcing his body to the edge of exhaustion. Despite the ever dwindling levels of brandy in his personal decanter.
Herbert wouldn't speak of it, not even to her, but she'd seen him look concerned when he refilled them.
"As much as I know you'll hate to hear it," Obsidian murmured, stroking the hair off her face, "maybe you're not the one who can reach him. He's spent years protecting you. He sees that as his role, and the idea of reversing it is simply incomprehensible to him."
"We can protect him too," she growled. "If he'd just let us."
"I know." Obsidian brushed his knuckles against her lips. "After what happened in Russia, he's more than aware of it. He's just struggling to admit it. You want a proud man to bare his soul, but it's entirely possible he won't. Or can't."
Gemma shivered at the sensuous touch. "How do I help him?"
"Be there," he murmured. "The way you were for me. He will come to you if he needs you. He loves you, Gemma. You're the sister he never had. He trusts you. And if he is on the verge of breaking he knows you will—"
"He'll never admit it," she said, knowing Malloryn all too well.
"True." Obsidian rolled onto his back. "Though there is one spark of hope."
She turned onto her side, to drape a thigh over his. "The duchess? You noticed that too?"
"I know what a man looks like when he's trying to pretend a woman hasn't captured his interest. I saw that look every day in the mirror for the last five years. Maybe he just needs to release some of that tension."
"I would say ‘poor duchess', but then I was watching his face when Adele handed him a set down in the garden of Lady Rutherford's ball. You might be right. She's proved herself his match." A chuckle escaped her. "Oh, and he doesn't like it."
"Malloryn likes to control things." A finger traced over her thigh. "It baffles him when he can't."
"Like his feelings," Gemma mused, though she knew her gaze had darkened. She enjoyed those softer moments where she could lie in her lover's arms and merely talk, but the stroke of his hand was distracting. "And the duchess."
"Which are currently tied together," he pointed out, his fingers tracing up and down her thigh. "Are we done speaking about the duke?"
"Are you feeling neglected, my love?"
His eyes darkened. "Always."
"Then let me make it up to you."
Rolling over the top of him, she straddled his hips. Obsidian's lips quirked as he toyed with the flimsy hem of her nightgown. "Is there any point in wearing this when it's so fine I can see right through it?"
Gemma slid her palms up his bare chest. "That is kind of the point."
"Oh?"
"Don't think I cannot see how well you manage the duke. And me." She dug her nails in. "You think I need to release a little bit of tension too."
"I offer myself as willing sacrifice."
She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his chest. "How noble of you."
His hand slid through her hair. "I thought so too."
"Fine." She bit at his thumb as it rasped over her cheek. "I'll stop worrying about Malloryn if you'll shut up and kiss me."
"It's a deal," Obsidian purred, dragging her face down to his.
Chapter 22
Lights glittered in the ballroom, like a thousand stars sparkling in the night sky.
Watching Adele glide down the stairs made Malloryn's breath catch in his tracks. She'd been caught up in the receiving queue with Gemma as she introduced her husband's "cousin from the country" and he'd been so focused on the mission at hand that the sudden shock of her as she appeared on the stairs momentarily stunned him.
She looked utterly ravishing in a raspberry pink gown that sat just off her shoulders and displayed her full curves to best advantage. Tendrils of hair hung from her elegant chignon and brushed against her collarbone, where her favorite pearls gleamed.
"I'm saving my diamonds for you," she'd whispered as he handed her up into the carriage, and he'd spent the entire carriage ride trying not to think about her in just those diamonds.
Keeping his hands off her was becoming more and more
difficult with each passing hour.
Someone coughed discreetly at his side. "You're staring. And the lady is spoken for, I believe. You don't want to earn the wrath of her husband, as I'm told he's a cold, vicious bastard."
Malloryn glanced at Lord Barrons as his oldest friend paused at his side. They'd gone through Eton together, fought duels side by side, and wooed many a young woman in the Echelon before a minor argument had parted them for several years.
They'd managed to set aside their differences during the revolution. And then Barrons had played an integral part in his rescue from Russia.
The fact that so many people had risked their lives to save his still left him reeling at times.
"Barrons. Lady Haynes's standards must be slipping. I didn't realize she'd invited the riffraff."
"Oh, it's you," Barrons said, in mock surprise. A ruby earring winked in his ear. "From the way you were perusing your wife as if she were something to be consumed, I didn't quite recognize you."
"Bugger off," Malloryn replied, scanning the room for signs of Gemma and Obsidian. He'd set them to keep an eye out for Thomas Mowbray. "Haven't you got anything more important to do? Where's your wife?"
"Eviscerating Lord Carlyle. It was embarrassing to watch."
Mina did have that way about her.
"So what brings you out of your dark little hidey hole?" Barrons asked.
Malloryn paused, glancing around. Both Barrons and Mina were on the Council of Dukes who helped rule the city. They'd be mostly up-to-date with the situation. "I'm setting a trap."
"For?"
"Sir George," he murmured.
Barrons's eyebrows rose. "As in, Hamilton? Your father-in-law?"
Malloryn discreetly turned away from the ballroom. "It appears Sir George has been up to no good."
"Those old friends of yours?" Barrons murmured.
"Yes."
"There you are," Adele said, appearing at his side and rapping his arm with her fan. "You were supposed to wait for me."
"We were just talking about you," Barrons said, a teasing twinkle in his eye. "You look utterly captivating tonight, Duchess."
"Thank you, Lord Barrons." Adele seemed a trifle disconcerted by the compliment.
