by Bec McMaster
A wave of trembling broke over her. Somehow she forced herself to her feet, her teeth chattering.
This was the third time the Opera House burned.
She could barely remember escaping. All the doors had been locked, and she'd returned to the stage, somehow managing to open one of the trapdoors by pulling on several of the ropes. Then she was working her way through the bowels of the building, ending up in a tunnel below it.
And from there, the river.
She took a step toward the opera house, and then paused.
Devoncourt had put her inside it for a reason.
Perhaps she would find help there, but who knew if the perpetrator lingered behind?
She couldn't go to the opera house. She couldn't go home to Malloryn Court, just in case it was being watched.
There was really only one place left for her.
Shivering with cold, Adele pushed her way inside Hardcastle Lane without bothering to knock. Some man by the river had given her his cloak and a ride to Hardcastle Lane in exchange for one of her rings.
The house was oddly silent.
Subdued almost.
She'd expected Herbert to pop out of nowhere to offer her a "spot of hot tea," but even he was nowhere to be seen.
"Hello?" Adele called softly, swinging the damp cloak from her shoulders.
Had something happened?
Where was everybody?
Sharp heels rapped on the floors to her left, and then Gemma burst out of the parlor in a hurry. She slammed to a halt, her mouth falling open as she clapped a hand to her lips. "Adele?"
"Alive," Adele managed, her smile trembling.
Gemma became a blur of movement and then her arms were around Adele and she was gasping softly. "Oh, my goodness. Oh, my goodness. You're alive. He's going to— He's— Oh, you have to see him!"
"Malloryn's here?"
"He thought you were dead." Gemma looked like she wanted to cry. "I've never seen him like this before. He arrived at the opera house too late. And it was burning, and.... Oh, my goodness."
"Wait." Adele tried to capture the other woman's hands, tried to make sense of what she was saying. "Malloryn thinks I'm dead?"
"I sent the others away for the night. All except Obsidian. He's distraught—"
"Obsidian's distraught?"
"No! Malloryn." Gemma suddenly examined her. "He's in his study. Just go to him, please. I'll pour a bath and fetch some tea, and.... Well. They'll be ready when you are."
"Thank you," Adele whispered, glancing upstairs, toward the study, as she finally realized what state of mind she'd find her husband in.
"I will not add your name to that list."
Oh, God.
It hadn't really hit her until then. If Malloryn thought she was dead, he'd be blaming himself.
Someone opened the door.
"Get out," Malloryn said flatly, one hand resting on the mantelpiece as he stared into the flickering flames. A half-empty glass of scotch dangled laxly from his fingers. He was barely aware of it. He felt nothing.
Nothing but hollowness.
There was a rushing roar in the distance, as if something threatened to sweep over him and roll him under, but he'd kept it at bay so far. Or perhaps shock was protecting him from that screaming roar of darkness.
"I want to take every single thing you ever loved away from you."
"You already killed the woman I loved," he'd taunted.
God, he'd been so blind.
The person behind him didn't leave. And suddenly Malloryn couldn't take it anymore. "Get out before I kill somebody—"
"Is that any way to speak to your wife?" demanded a very familiar, very not-dead voice.
Malloryn spun around, dropping the glass of scotch. Glass shattered, but he didn't even flinch.
Adele stood in the doorway.
Adele.
He barely had time to take in her bedraggled state and her wet skirts before his heart punched right into his ribs. Malloryn's jaw dropped open. No. There was no way she could have— But he could hear her breath and if Adele were going to haunt him, it wouldn't be wearing half the Thames, by the look of it.
"You're alive," he rasped, taking a step toward her.
"Well, of course I'm alive," she replied with a faint, hesitant smile. "You didn't think I was going to let Devoncourt do away with me so easily?"
"Devoncourt?"
"He's the one who kidnapped me. And then he tied me to a chair on the opera stage and left me there along with over a dozen barrels of Greek Fire, and—"
One stride. Two. Then he was in front of her, capturing her face in his hands.
His lips met hers, and they were real beneath his caress.
The heat of her skin filled his chilled hands, her tongue slick beneath his as he kissed her to hell and back, drowning in the realness of her warmth beneath his touch.
Alive.
Alive, and safe, and wet, and...
Perfect.
Adele reared back, meeting his gaze. She held on to his wrists, as though he'd almost knocked her over. "Auvry?"
"I thought you were dead," he somehow managed to say, and his voice was a mess of raw emotion that even he heard. "I thought—I thought you were gone, and he'd won, and I was never, ever going to be able to tell you...."
A thousand thoughts danced across her expression: uncertainty, disbelief, shock, confusion, hope.... But the one that finally settled was an odd sense of understanding, as if she knew what he was trying to say.
"Tell me what?" she whispered.
He closed his eyes to avoid the way she sought the truth of him with her own gaze. The truth he'd barely begun to recognize himself.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
He wasn't supposed to feel this way.
He wasn't supposed to want her.
To crave her.
Not just physically, but her smile, her teasing flirtations, the way she would link their fingers and rest her head against his chest, as if listening to his heart beat.
Her affection.
Adele was a dream he'd never expected to dream again.
He couldn't say it.
Instead, he kissed her again.
Poured everything he had into that kiss, his hands curling through her tangled hair, his body meeting hers and bending it back until she practically lay in his arms. He ravished her mouth, breathing in the taste of her, hungry for each and every little part of her. Hungry to consume her, though it was not merely passion he sought, but her.
Her.
I thought you were dead, and I did not know until that moment what you meant to me.
Somehow, her smiles had become a gift he lingered over. Somehow, without him even realizing, Adele had crept into his heart—into his arms—and started to lure him out of the darkness of his world.
He'd been granted a second chance. And this time, he wasn't about to waste it.
They staggered.
Then the desk was there, and he hitched her up upon it, sweeping a hand across the desk to clear it. Paperwork cascaded across the carpet like fluttering moths. But the center of his awareness was locked on her. On the fistful of skirts he held. The cold, clammy feel of the fabric against him, as he yanked them out of the way, stepping between her parted legs. Of the taste of her mouth as she kissed him back as if she had nothing more to lose.
And maybe she didn't.
"Adele—" He kissed her again, a slow, soul-shattering kiss. Caught both hands in her bodice and tore. Then he was burying his face against her throat, tracing his lips across the smooth slope of her breasts. The puckered bud of her nipple slipped over his lips, and he sucked hard, finding life in her gasp, feeling heat blooming beneath his hands and mouth—
Alive. Alive and so beautiful.
Her heart pounding beneath his touch.
Warmth flooding to the surface, stealing away the chill of her skin.
Alive. Alive. And it made his heart beat too. Made him realize that he'd been many years
dead in some ways, until she forced her way into his life and made his heart beat for the first time in seventeen years.
"Malloryn," she whispered, fingers threading through his hair as she arched against him, offering him all of her. "I want you. Inside me. Now."
He freed himself from his trousers and then grabbed her by the hips.
"I thought you were dead," he said again, filling her with one smooth thrust.
But it was heat that surrounded him.
A living woman in his arms, one who gasped in shock and threw her head back as he took her. He tried to be careful. Tried to restrain himself. To maintain some sort of grip over the passionate demands of the craving as his bloodlust rose, threatening to overwhelm him.
Mine.
She is mine.
Adele moaned and bit his lip, and then he couldn't restrain himself any longer. Hips flexing, he captured her face between both hands as he plunged his tongue inside her mouth, consuming her, devouring her, thrusting so hard the desk inched across the floor with a groan.
Each stroke punched through him, a shiver of heat licking up the base of his spine. Adele's hands ran down his back and over his bare buttocks, clasping there, her nails digging in even as her hips locked around his. "Malloryn!"
And then, a little softer, but far more dangerous, "Auvry."
He could feel the edge of orgasm quiver through her, and then his hand was between them, thumb grazing over the slickness between her thighs, determined to push her over the edge first.
Adele convulsed around him, her body clutching at his in spasms of pleasure that left scoring marks across his back from her fingernails.
And then he was tumbling into oblivion himself, throwing himself into headlong pursuit of the physical, and giving himself over to the mind-shattering relief of a pleasure so violent it burned him up from the inside out and tore from his lips in a soft cry that sounded like her name.
Malloryn collapsed against her, his breath coming in great, heaving gasps even as gentle hands rubbed his back, as if she knew exactly how much he needed her touch right now. A wounded-animal sound echoed in his throat, and he clung to her, soaking in the heat of her skin as he buried his face against her throat.
Balfour had lost this round.
But only because of Adele's ingenuity.
And yet it didn't feel like they'd won. Because now Balfour had the key to Malloryn's complete destruction.
He'd revealed everything—including his heart—when he went straight for the location where he'd thought Adele was being held. If Balfour wanted to cut his heart out of his chest, now he knew how to do it.
"I'm never letting you out of my sight again," he whispered.
Ever.
Chapter 30
"I'm so glad you're all right," Lena told her, throwing her arms around Adele and nearly squeezing her breathless. "Will heard some strange story about you being injured in the explosion at the opera, and I came straight over."
"To Hardcastle Lane?"
"Well, you certainly weren't at home. So I had a little suspicion this might be where you were hiding." Lena turned in circles, examining the foyer as she tugged her gloves off. "Though I must admit, I am decidedly curious. The last we spoke, you were marching here to confront your husband. I quite feared for his life, but then I didn't hear from you...."
Malloryn was going to be furious if he realized his secret little safe house wasn't so secret anymore—though he'd already claimed there was no point moving again, as Balfour had found his safe houses twice.
"Wait." Adele frowned. "How on earth did Will know I was in the explosion?"
"Blade may have been curious about the explosion, and saw your husband there. Your name was mentioned," Lena said. "I wasn't sure if you were the one setting the charge, however, considering your recent vendetta against certain opera singers."
"I did not burn the opera down." Adele tried to rein in her thoughts. She had to be careful what she said. Lena was her dearest friend, but how could she even begin to explain.... "And I don't have a vendetta against any opera singers."
"No?"
There was something about the way her friend said it.
"No." Adele didn't even know where to begin, but she couldn't deny it was lovely to see her friend. And the rest of COR seemed to be running about at Malloryn's beck and call, which left her alone with her thoughts. "Here. Come and sit in the parlor. We'll have some privacy."
Lena wasted no time. "You haven't been in society for some days now. There's... a lot of mention of the opera."
"I haven't really heard," she admitted. "I've been resting, and Malloryn's been busy for the last two days...." Her voice faltered.
Matters of the realm.
Dealing with the queen and the council.
She knew that.
And yet, as much as something had changed between them the night of the explosion, some things hadn't changed at all. He'd practically avoided her all day yesterday.
Lena glanced down.
"What is it? I can see you have something on your mind. Tell me," Adele demanded.
"Will said.... He said your husband saved Mrs. Danner from Crowe Tower before it blew up." Lena tried to keep the words light. "Everybody in the Echelon's talking of it—quite the rescue, according to all reports."
That she hadn't heard.
"Mrs. Danner?"
A chill ran through her. But it made no sense. The night she'd returned home, when he'd thought she was dead, Malloryn had been almost inconsolable. The way he'd made love to her on that desk had been proprietary, and then he'd spent all night in her arms.
"I'm sorry." Lena squeezed her hand. This was the way it had always been between them. Friends didn't lie to each other. Nor did they keep devastating secrets like this.
"No," Adele said, her heart giving a little squeeze in her chest. "I needed to know that. I thought...."
"You thought?"
I thought he cared for me.
But why had he not told her?
"I didn't realize Mrs. Danner was also kidnapped."
Even as she said it, her mind—that blasted devious little thing that drove her mad sometimes—began working. He'd said Mrs. Danner was only a friend and never a lover, and she'd trusted him. But both Adele and the opera singer had been kidnapped. And Malloryn had arrived at the opera too late to save her.
All of the blood drained out of her face.
A choice.
He'd been given a choice.
She just knew it.
"Adele." Lena bit her lip. "I'm the only person you'll never be able to fool, remember?"
It was instinct to protect herself, but Lena was right. They knew each other too well. And Lena could no doubt hear the rapid beat of her heart.
"When I came home, he was so shocked to see me. He thought I was dead. And he... well..." She pressed her hands to her burning cheeks. "He was quite demonstrative of the fact he was pleased I was alive. I'm so confused."
Lena's amber eyes softened in distress. "You care for him."
The sudden surge of tears took her by surprise. "No. I—I—" Yes, said her heart, giving another brutal twist in her chest. And suddenly she understood what it all meant: the way she watched him; that dance at the ball; the hungry way she turned for his kisses.... Malloryn, the icy duke who pulled the strings of everyone he knew. "Oh, no."
Practical, ruthless Adele. Where are you now when I need you most?
"It could be nothing," Lena said hurriedly. "Maybe he was given the wrong information? Maybe he thought he was rescuing you?"
Adele forced herself to face the facts, dashing the tears from her eyes. She stood, pacing to the fireplace, but even though the grate was warm there was no heat there. Not for her. "Malloryn doesn't make mistakes. He's not stupid enough to fall for the wrong information—"
"Unless he was emotionally compromised?"
And Adele made herself laugh, feeling utterly miserable. "My husband doesn't know the meaning of the words."
/> Or did he?
One moment she was dealing with Malloryn, who remained impenetrable, and the next she saw hints of something else. The man behind the mask.
Yet it wasn't enough.
He'd slipped into bed with her last night when he'd thought her asleep, and Adele had curled in his arms, but not once had he mentioned that Mrs. Danner had been kidnapped.
What did that mean?
"I need fresh air," she said. "I've been cooped up in here for two days."
"A stroll in the park outside?" Lena suggested.
"Perfect." She needed sunshine on her face and the day's heat on her skin. She needed to breathe the scent of grass, and smile and laugh, and remember she was alive. Regardless of whether her husband had made a choice or not, she was still alive. That fact could not be discounted.
She could heal from a broken heart.
And never let herself suffer such a risk ever again.
But it was not to be.
Herbert appeared out of nowhere in the foyer and stepped between the pair of them and the door, clasping his hands behind his back. "Sorry, Your Grace. But you're not allowed to leave the premises."
Adele stared at him in shock. "What? Why?"
She knew the who. Not a damned thing happened in this house without Malloryn pulling its strings.
"The duke's orders."
Suddenly she saw red. "I see. Is my husband due anytime soon?"
"He is expected momentarily."
"I'll wait." Adele locked all of the hurt deep inside herself as she gave Lena another hug.
Lena squeezed her firmly. "If you need me...."
"I know."
At least she had this one thing she could count on. A friend.
"And talk to him," Lena suggested. "Maybe it's all just some vast mistake."
But Adele didn't dare let herself hope.
The expression on Herbert's face warned him.
Malloryn tossed the man his hat and coat, and then paused with one foot on the staircase. "Something you want to tell me?"
He had the eerie suspicion he'd watched this entire scene play out already.
"I believe Her Grace is upset," the butler replied.
Thank God. He'd thought someone had died. "Not unusual," he replied, continuing up the stairs, "She's been through quite an ordeal—"
