by Bec McMaster
"With you," Herbert stressed, and shot him that look again.
Malloryn's step on the stairs slowed. "With me?" That made little sense.
"Her friend, the verwulfen ambassador's wife, was here," Herbert volunteered. "Your wife wanted to take a walk in the nearby park, but I suggested most emphatically she remain behind."
Lena Carver. Malloryn began to draw the scarf from around his neck. What had she said to Adele to upset her? Or was it locking her inside the house? "Send for a light supper. But perhaps give us a half hour before you bring it."
Enough time to soothe Adele's ruffled feathers and remind her he was doing this to keep her safe.
One step inside the study, and there she was.
Sitting in the window seat, the late afternoon sunlight streaming over her and gilding her hair. Her hands lay in her lap and she may as well have been a statue. There was no sign of her smile. No sign of the wicked glint he'd begun to recognize in her eyes.
Malloryn's eyes narrowed. Now he was coming to know her, he could sort through her moods relatively easily.
Her Grace was not just upset.
No. Not a single sign of tears afflicted her, and she wore that cool, disaffected mask he knew so well. Walled up, her expression told him. And you are not welcome here.
This was beyond upset.
What the devil had he done?
Balling the scarf in his fist, he considered his options. He'd been avoiding her since the explosion—so many things to see to, buildings to clear, Balfour to hunt—and that was as good an excuse as any he had available. But the truth was the night of the explosion had affected him greatly, throwing an ungallant truth in his face. Exposing his heart and scraping it raw before he managed to disengage and retreat to shore up the walls that guarded it.
"Should I remove anything breakable?" he asked. "Herbert said you weren't happy about being kept inside."
"I'm not going to throw anything. It's not the sort of thing well-bred ladies do."
Trouble, his instincts warned. Definitely trouble. And it had nothing to do with being contained.
"Did you miss me?" he asked. "I thought you'd prefer to recover here after the situation, and I had many things to see to. I'm sorry if I haven't been around of late. I didn't want your nerves to—"
"Did I look like I was suffering from a bout of nerves? As I recall, it wasn't I who was undone." Those green eyes narrowed dangerously. "Unless that was just another pretense too."
No, she'd been remarkably well-balanced after all of the exhilaration. His gaze strayed to the desk, and he could see himself again, fucking his way into her like a mindless animal. Desperately kissing her, his hand sinking into her hair so he could press his lips to her throat and feel the thready kick of her pulse there.... The one that told him she was alive.
Alive and not burned in the opera attack.
Alive and not a charred mess of bones.
He slammed his way back out of the memories of how he'd felt when he stared into the flames of the opera house and thought she'd been inside. It had woken him last night, a new nightmare to add to the collection.
And the easiest way to deal with nightmares was to ignore them.
Moving slowly, he considered her as he crossed to the decanter and poured himself a brandy, tugging at his cravat. It felt tight.
"No," he said. Her eyes glittered, as if she were daring him to work her out. "No, you didn't succumb to nerves. And I'm not certain what you mean by 'pretense.' You could simply tell me what the matter is."
"It's the game that counts, isn't it?" They sounded like his own words, though he wasn't entirely certain when he'd said them to her. "And you like games. Guess."
"You're angry."
"I would have to care to be angry."
The faint press of her lips together betrayed her, as if something violent wanted to spill over the top of them. Not unflappable, after all. He focused on the faint sign of distress. If he couldn't control himself, then he'd damn well break her down to his level and bring whatever this was to the surface.
Pushing away from the desk at last, he began to tug his cravat free, feeling a little more composed now he wasn't the only one afflicted. "Oh, I think you care. I think you care far too much, Adele."
She flinched a little at the sound of her name, so soft on his lips. "Aren't you tired of the lies?"
"I wasn't aware I'd been lying. Do you have something to confess, my dear?" He wrapped his cravat around one of his knuckles, drawing the material tight.
And her gaze dropped to the silk.
He could almost see the memory strike her, those wicked green eyes warming. Adele sucked in a sharp breath, and Malloryn emphasized the moment, stroking his thumb softly over the tension in the cravat; a sensual rustle he felt inside him as his callused thumb snagged on the silk.
It felt like her skin beneath his touch.
It felt like her surrender.
The last time they'd played this game, it had been her hands bound by the cravat.
Her arms tied above her, pinning her wrists to the bed.
Her pleas soft in the air as he buried his face between her thighs.
And they were both suddenly there in that moment, his cock hardening behind the placket of his breeches.
"You son of a bitch," she whispered, moving in a sharp flurry of skirts.
He stepped between her and the door. "Now that," he said, "is a rather unkind assessment of my mother."
"Assessment?" she hissed, trying to step around him. "That's all you have to say? You think you can come in here and seduce me and I'll forget everything?"
Sometimes it seemed like the only way he could breach the distance between them. "It's never bothered you in the past."
One fist lashed out toward his chest, and he captured her hands, holding her there with minimum force. A storm of anguish broke her cool mask, and his gut clenched, for he'd never, ever seen Adele so undone before. He wanted to take it all back in an instant. Why had he said that?
I don't want to hurt you.
But he didn't know how to say it, not in any way she would understand. All he had was this.
And he captured her face with one hand, his mouth slanting to capture hers. Adele's mouth softened momentarily, and a flood of relief swept through him, his tongue darting out—
Then her hurt was gone, obliterated by rage as she fought him. Malloryn found himself with a wildcat of pure fury in his arms, one that fought only to free herself. Silk ripped as she twisted, and he let her go, unnerved by the maelstrom of emotion on her face. Adele staggered back into the wall, one hand splayed over the wallpaper, her face shocked as their eyes met.
No, her gaze said. And it wasn't in the playful challenging way she sometimes looked at him.
It was in a game over kind of way.
The no echoed through him like a knife. He had this horrible feeling he was losing her, but that made no sense, because had he ever had her? Malloryn moved, but the second he lifted his hand, she scrambled away and he was left frozen and awkward, not quite knowing where to put his hands.
They ended in some sort of stalemate, with her trapped in the corner and Malloryn staring helplessly at her.
"You win," she gasped. "You win. I can't do this anymore."
"Can't do what?"
"This.... This marriage!"
A tear slid down her cheek, and fuck, his gut plummeted to his feet, because Adele didn't cry. Adele didn't break. And yet, somehow he'd pushed her too far and he didn't have a fucking clue how he'd done it, or what precisely he'd done.
"Adele," he whispered.
"Don't touch me!"
Malloryn sucked in a sharp breath, his hands in the air in a sign of surrender. Again he felt that punch to the gut. Or maybe it was higher. "What do you want from me?"
"The truth!"
"I'm telling you the bloody truth! I don't know what this is all about. Why are you so angry with me?"
"It's all through the Echelon!" she cried
. "Your brave, dashing rescue of Mrs. Danner! They say you leapt out of the tower with her in your arms."
It had been in the papers too, but.... "Well, yes. I thought—"
"You chose her!" Her voice became a whisper. "You chose her."
A crushing, helpless little voice that ripped him open from the inside.
"Don't think I cannot put two and two together." Adele's fists shook. "The opera singer at the Ivory Tower? Me at the opera. Your guilt when you thought me dead. And I've overheard enough of what Byrnes and Ingrid were saying about how Balfour captured you. He gave you a choice, didn't he? About who to save. And you rode straight to the tower."
"Of course I did! I thought you were there. He said it was you! I made a choice, yes! And I picked you!"
"You don't make mistakes."
"Jesus Christ, Adele."He raked his hands through his hair. "I'm not infallible. There was fire blazing and every time I took a level of the tower, it set off another small explosion. I finally got through the fucking door at the top and there you were—or what I thought was you. She was wearing a gown similar to the one you'd worn that afternoon and there was a hood over her face. It wasn't until we landed in the courtyard that I knew what he'd done. Do you have any idea what that felt like?
"That's the way Balfour plays. He wanted me to make a choice, and he wanted me to rescue one of you. And then he wanted me to realize I'd saved the wrong woman as I watched the other one die."
"Then why didn't you tell me he made you choose? Why did you not tell me about her?"
"Because she's not a threat to you, Adele. I told you I ended our agreement."
"Yes, but—"
"Giulia prefers women," he barked.
Shock rocked her. "What?"
"Giulia and I have never been intimate. I wasn't in a place to take a lover when I returned from Russia. I needed a cover. We were only ever friends and it was only ever an arrangement that was mutually beneficial for the both of us. My name granted her protection from predators and men who won't take no for an answer, and I was free to come and go as I wanted."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because it wasn't my story to share. All you needed to know was that it was over." His voice hardened. "But you didn't trust me enough to believe it."
"How can I trust you when you keep so many secrets? You keep me at arm's length all the time. You only ever reveal just enough. How am I not to leap to assumptions when I don't know what is going on in your mind? Explain it to me."
"I thought I had." The words came out a little rougher than either of them expected. "I'm not the only one who hides, Adele. You take your hurt and you lock it down deep and pretend it's not there. You were about to cut me from your life, weren't you? Without even knowing the truth. I am not your father. If you want to know something, ask. I gave you my word I would end my so-called relationship with Giulia, and I meant it. My honor is the one thing I have left. Don't throw it in my face."
"I didn't."
"Trust goes both ways. You think I didn't let you in? The second you saw my maps and guessed what I was up to here, I told you more than I've told anyone in years. I let you help me. I gave you my trust, and let me assure you, that is not a thing easily won." He advanced upon her with brisk strides. "Despite my best intentions I allowed you to go undercover at Angel's Fall. Tell me how that is not letting you in?"
Adele set a hand to his chest, refusing to retreat. "Oh, your plots, yes. I'm talking about here." She thumped his chest. "Right here. I'm talking about you, Malloryn. Not your schemes. I don't even know where you've been for the last two days!"
"You needed rest and quiet—"
"I needed you."
The words shocked the both of them.
They ricocheted around the room like a cannon blast.
"Well, maybe I needed time," he admitted. "After what happened at the tower.... It rocked me too. I just painted a damned target on your chest, because Balfour knows I chose you. And now he knows how to hurt me."
"Because my death would compound your guilt." She searched his face for the truth of it.
"Because... your death would cause me pain." He brushed his fingers against her cheek, and even though she allowed his touch she turned her face away. "It's not easy." Heat filled his voice. "I am not used to.... You want my thoughts. You want my presence. You don't think I don't know why? I told you: Don't fall in love with me. I warned you from the start."
"You also told me you'd never kiss me. Never share a bed with me." Never share your heart went unsaid. "You broke those promises."
"And I shouldn't have."
Because this was the result.
Each kiss seduced both of them into... emotions he didn't have time to explore. It confused matters. Made it harder to work out where the line between them needed to stay.
Gemma had warned him.
He tried to make her understand. "For seventeen years, I have lived this life. Revenge. Power. They were the only things I ever wanted, the only things that have kept me going at times when my world was burning around me. I walked this path alone. I had to. I had nothing else to give to another. I couldn't give them my heart."
"Have," she pointed out. "For what has changed? You're still walking your path alone. You're still striving to bring him down."
"I have to end this. Because he will not stop coming for me."
"I understand that." She squeezed her eyes shut, as if fighting to work her way through these feelings. "You're trapped in this vicious cycle that will not end until one of you is dead. It's too dangerous to leave him alive. I understand that."
"Adele." He cupped her face, willing her to look up and meet his eyes. "What do you want of me?"
"Nothing," she whispered.
Nothing that you can give, remained unspoken.
He stroked his thumbs across her cheeks, across her mouth. "What do you want me to do? I will try to let you in."
"All I want is for you to talk to me. I want to share your secrets. I hate feeling like an outsider in this world. You all have your places here. You all know what you are doing, but I don't. I hate these doubts that afflict me."
"Then I will try. But you have to grant me some trust. You have to talk to me too."
Adele slowly nodded, the tension in her shoulders easing.
He leaned down, brushed his mouth against hers.
It was the only thing he could give her.
And yet, when he drew back, it was clear it wasn't enough, for her glorious eyes held shadows that stole the sparkle from them.
Chapter 31
Malloryn paced his study in the aftermath of the argument, raking his hands through his hair. She'd accepted his apology, but there'd been a distance within her, as if some sort of gaping wound still existed.
As if she was determined not to let him get too close to her again.
For once, he found himself on the other end of such a situation, and he had a swift insight into how others had felt dealing with him over the years.
Adele's words stabbed at him over and over again.
You're still walking your path alone.
And it was true.
Revenge. Power. Balfour. What was left of his life?
The sad fact was: Nothing.
There was no set of welcoming arms to greet him at night. No soft smile in the morning as he woke. No laughter ringing in his ears.
But there had been a chance for it.
Until he ruined it.
He'd pushed Adele away, and for what?
Balfour had still tried to kill her. He'd nearly fucking succeeded, and the thought carved out something hollow within Malloryn's chest.
And he would try again. Malloryn had never been so certain of anything in his life.
So why not let himself have her, before it was too late? Why not… let her in? All the way in?
What are you so afraid of?
He was already losing her.
Malloryn found himself in front of the brandy decanter,
but the second he lifted the stopper he paused. There was no answer to be found there either. It was merely another means to hide, to avoid facing his demons.
If he wanted a chance to make something of this marriage with Adele, then he had to confront them. He had to splay himself wide, to admit she'd managed to unearth the very heart of his vulnerability. Not drown his sorrows.
Glass clinked as Malloryn slowly stoppered the decanter.
He refused to let himself think about it as he hurried up the stairs to the bedchambers they shared at Hardcastle Lane.
There was no sound of anyone within the room, but he could sense her perfume. Malloryn eased the door open and belatedly rapped with his knuckles.
"Adele?"
She lay tucked up in bed, a blanket splayed over her hips. Dressed in her nightgown, her hair unpinned and draped across the pillow.
Tension lingered in the curve of her spine, which faced him, and he could hear the soft intake of her breath as she heard the door click closed behind him.
He'd never been uncertain of his welcome in this room, but he was now.
"May I speak to you for a moment?"
"I thought you had matters of the realm to see to."
He sighed and eased onto the edge of the mattress. "I think this is more important, right now. Isn't it?"
Adele's head turned as if he'd said something intriguing, the pillow rustling. But she didn't answer.
And it was clear she didn't intend to.
No. This time it was his turn to extend the olive branch.
"I have a confession to make," he murmured. He reached out, brushing his finger down her cheek. It came away wet.
He'd been right.
Even here, in the silence of her bedchambers she'd been afraid to give voice to her sadness. He would have heard her sobbing. And each sound would have felt like a lash against his soul, but the fact that she'd been determined to keep him from hearing her cry only hurt him more.
"You scare the hell out of me," he admitted, rubbing her tear between thumb and forefinger. "You always have, and sometimes it's easier to keep you at arm's length, where I don't have to confront the way I feel about you."
