Her Quicksilver Lover: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 6

by Lynne Connolly

  “Sometimes.” If he’d already poisoned her, the deed was done. What harm could more do? She might as well go in comfort. “What did you give me?”

  “Why, exactly, do you think I would poison you?”

  “I heard—that is my father said—you are spies.” She’d rather die knowing the truth, even if she could do nothing about it now.

  He stared at her incredulously. “Spies? Is your father mad?” He chopped a hand dismissively down. “Why would he think that?” Sitting on the bed again, he took her hands. “I swear I’ve only told you the truth. You’re not poisoned, you will not die today or in the near future, and I am most definitely not a spy. Who would I spy for?”

  His bewilderment seemed real, his sincerity echoing through her mind. She shrugged. “The Italians, the French, the Jacobites…I don’t know.” No, she did not know, that was true. She had not thought the accusations through, except acknowledging that Amidei was Italian and had lived in France for some time. She should have asked that.

  “None.” He chafed her hands. Despite the warmth of the room, they felt chilly.

  “Then is it—a personal thing?”

  His handsome features hardened. “I will pretend you didn’t say that. If I want you, and you know I do, I will ask.”

  Her heart sank. He would never ask her now. Her practical mind started working again. If Amidei had wanted her, he could have taken her before, when she’d hurt her foot. He could have seduced her easily enough.

  She squirmed up so she was sitting against the pillows. He poured cream and added sugar to her request and brought the cup to her, standing while he handed it to her. “I’ll have a maid come up if you’d prefer.”

  “I thought you didn’t want anyone to know I was here?”

  “A few of the maids are like us. They know how to hold their tongues. Do you know Betty?”

  She nodded. She’d had breakfast with Betty such a short time before. “Don’t. I don’t want anybody else here.”

  Because by now she knew he was telling the truth about the fever at least. Already her skin was prickling and her throat had thickened, as if she was heading for a cold. Putting her free hand to her head, she pulled the strings of the cap free and dragged the hated object from her head.

  “Take out the pins,” he said softly.

  “You do it,” she replied. She wanted that coffee, ached for it. The scent had evoked her thirst. She took a deep draught, but the relief was momentary. The pins pricked her head unbearably, but as he slid them out, she felt better. From now on, whatever happened—happened.

  The coffee was all gone. “May I have some more?”

  When she handed the cup and saucer to him, he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Of course.”

  But by the time he brought the cup back to her, she was too far gone to take it. She stared at him, her eyes misty, and sweat sheening her body. When she held up her hand, it shook and she dropped it to her side. It wasn’t cold any longer.

  Grim-faced, he bent over her. “I’ll look after you. You will not die, Joanna, I swear it.”

  Confused visions assailed Joanna. Her stays were removed—by whom, she didn’t know, or care, just that they were gone. She hadn’t been able to breathe while they were on, and she didn’t wear them particularly tight. Her jacket had already gone, because he couldn’t get her stays off without doing that, and then her modest hoop and petticoats. Let them do what they wanted, as long as this fever broke.

  She became aware of someone drawing her up into a sitting position. A swathe of sweet-smelling fabric dropped over her head, and someone—it was him—laid her back down, so gently, but she still winced when her back contacted the bed. He helped her push her arms through the sleeves, then lifted the top sheet over her. With a sigh she closed her eyes. She didn’t care if she lived or died, as long as the turmoil raging in her body would stop.

  Tossing and turning, she lost track of time. She’d close her eyes and open them again, and not know how much time had passed. Once she heard the tinkle of a pocket watch declaring the time, but she lost count at nine. It could have been nine in the morning, or the evening, or another day entirely, she had no idea.

  Fire burned through her veins, tingled through every part of her body, and made her bones ache. When she thought it would stop, it started up again, burning, making her toss and turn, trying to find a cool spot for her heated body.

  He bathed her forehead, the damp cloth unutterably soothing and cool. He wiped her hands, her throat and her upper chest, but he did not attempt to remove any more of her clothes. The man who was here with her—she could not remember his name, but then, she had difficulty recalling her own. Light bathed her, heat burned her, and that was all she knew.

  Chapter Nine

  Her temperature raged through the first hour, then it subsided, only to burst forth again, fiercer than before. Amidei stripped her of her outer clothes, and helped her into a nightshirt—one of his. It swamped her, but at least she was decently clad. To his shame, her soft body still called to him, forced his shaft into arousal. A woman, in his bed, dressed only in shift and nightshirt, it reasoned. Guilt swept over him in a hot tide, but he would not deny that it happened. He controlled his unwanted desire and continued to care for her. His physician’s skills were never more required than they were now.

  In the long hours that followed, he bathed her hot skin, soothed her, and helped her drink copious amounts of water, holding the glass to her lips and urging her to take more and yet more. When the first beads of sweat appeared on her brow, he knew he was winning. That she was winning.

  More than once he cursed himself for allowing such a simple accident to happen. He should have moved sooner, out of her reach, but her instinct to soothe him and help him had stunned him for long enough to allow the deed to be done.

  Immortals converted others to their kind with blood to blood contact. The lethal ichor that ran through their veins could kill on contact, something the gods in years gone by used as a weapon, slashing their veins open in the field, daring mortals to come near.

  Some theorised that mortals who unwittingly held a little immortal blood could be converted, but however that was, the test would determine their compatibility. A few drops from each, in a glass of water. If the blood turned into small beads of red, then they were incompatible, but if the two mingled, and the water turned as sparkling crystal clear as ichor, then they were in luck, and the change would be made. In immortal terms, Joanna was in the process of becoming a demigod. Unless she mated with an immortal, she would produce mortal children and her attributes would be less pronounced than a full-blood immortal.

  Looking down at her, Amidei longed for her, his desire only simmering under the surface of his concern for her. She would mate with nobody but him.

  Occasionally Lightfoot arrived with fresh water, food for him, and news from below stairs. Their stratagem had worked. The staff believed Joanna was running around London on various errands for Lightfoot. Nobody had asked after her or commented on the strangeness of Lightfoot’s sudden decision.

  Just after noon, Wickhampton called on him. Amidei found a robe to pull on over his shirt and breeches, and saw him in the small parlour, the one next to the bedroom, and left the door ajar in case she should need him. Wickhampton glanced in and stared at the woman on the bed. “She’s quite beautiful, even in that state,” he commented.

  “She is also totally unaware of it. And now is not exactly the right time to make such a comment.”

  Wickhampton shrugged. “Probably not, but it was the first thing that struck me. If she was going to die, I would not have made such a remark. But the test worked, did it not?”

  “Our blood mingled, yes. She’ll wake up transformed.”

  “Then what?”

  Amidei shrugged wearily. He stretched, feeling the luxury of flexing muscles. “I have no idea. But I will not abandon her. I will ensure she is safe and well.”

  “You have to talk to her. You ca
n’t let anyone else see her until she understands that we wish to remain in the shadows.” Wickhampton took out a snuffbox, tapped the lid, opened it, and offered it to Amidei.

  Normally he hated the stuff, but the sting it delivered to his nostrils was a welcome distraction to the desperate worry that still racked him. He had seen more than one person through the transition and never felt this way.

  With Joanna, Lightfoot had needed to remind him about the test. Panic and terror had set in, such as he’d never known. Only the desire to stay with her and the desperate need for her to stay alive had pushed him to think, and to do what was necessary. “It was my fault. I should never have let her into the room while I was shaving. Usually Lightfoot or another manservant delivers my morning repast. I was not expecting a maid, and I was certainly not expecting her.”

  “Why do you think he did that?” Wickhampton fixed him with a fascinated stare. His eyes were the colour of molten lead, but like Amidei’s had a certain changeability. Many gods had this oddity, but in Amidei it was more distinctive than most, because his natural eye colour was so pale.

  Brought back to the world, now his panic had subsided, he pondered on Wickhampton’s question. Why had the factotum let Joanna bring his food? He must have known his master was in a state of undress.

  Closing his eyes, Amidei groaned. “The old fool. He’s a satyr, you know. The act of love increases his power and his store of energy. He does not have to be a participant, but if he instigates it, he gains some satisfaction. That’s the nearest I can get to an explanation.”

  “A satyr, eh? I thought him a faun.”

  “He’ll punch you if you say that in his presence, earl or no earl.” Amidei grinned.

  Wickhampton laughed. “I’d like to see him try. So you want the lovely lady?”

  Why deny it, when even his valet knew it? But then, his nature made Lightfoot sensitive to currents in the air. Amidei gave a resigned nod. “The final word is Joanna’s. At least I know I’ll have more time to persuade her.”

  Wickhampton narrowed his eyes. “I heard that you offered to go with her if the conversion failed.”

  Amidei sighed and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Yes, I did. I’m tired. I lost so many of my friends, and the threat we encountered pushed me to travel the continent and this country, searching for our counterparts. I’ve worked as a god for the last thirty years, pushing all my mortal needs aside, and I’m exhausted. I feel out of step with this modern world. My time has come and gone.”

  Leaning forward, Wickhampton touched Amidei’s forearm and gripped it. “We need you, my friend. You’re one of the few who survived. But perhaps it is time someone else took the lead in the search for the missing immortals. You have done enough, more than enough.”

  Amidei bit out a smile. “Perhaps you’re right. The club has proved successful. Besides, I have another reason for prolonging my existence for a while longer.”

  “Hmm. When will you bring her into our world and tell her what she needs to know?”

  “As soon as she is in any state to listen.”

  When a groan came from the bedroom, Amidei sprang to his feet. “I have to go. Let yourself out, will you?”

  A low chuckle followed him as he went in to her.

  He smiled down at the person lying in his bed. Her glorious hair was tangled on the pillow, and her eyes bore shadows, but she was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Her eyes were open, and she looked at him, instead of staring sightlessly into the void.

  When she spoke, her voice was throaty, as if she had not used it in years. “Am I alive?”

  “Very much so.” He sat on the bed, and reached for her. She went into his arms as if she belonged there, resting her head on his shoulder. Her sweet weight soothed him as did the peaceful silence that enveloped them.

  He touched her mind. Only lightly, to gauge her mood, but she flinched. “What did you do?”

  She lifted her head and gazed into his eyes. He took in her appearance. “Spoke to you, mind-to-mind. It’s one of your new abilities. You could always hear it, but now you can reply and initiate it.” Seamlessly, while she gazed at his face, he continued. We can communicate this way, if you wish. I’ll teach you how to keep your thoughts to yourself before you go home.

  Can you hear everything I’m thinking?

  He smiled. No. But I could if I wanted to.

  “Oh!” Her eyes rounded. “Did I do that? Did you hear me?”

  He nodded. “Think of it as a development of intuition. Sometimes you feel things, do you not?” It was her turn to nod. “That’s a shadow of what you can do now. You can sense moods, as many people instinctively do, and you can talk to people directly, mind-to-mind.”

  “Oh,” she said again. He didn’t have to read her mind to see her busy thoughts, the way she assessed things she couldn’t deny and set them into place.

  “Do you still think I’m a spy?”

  She shook her head. “I just—know.”

  “That’s because I let you into my mind. I can’t lie to you. Ever.”

  He couldn’t help it. He kissed her. Until his lips were on hers, he wasn’t aware he’d planned to do it, but then they were there, and she was welcoming him, one arm on his shoulder, urging him to her. He circled her waist with one arm, and drew her upper body flush against him.

  When they parted, she was bright-eyed and smiling up at him. “You saved me.”

  “You saved yourself.” His mood turned down. “I could have killed you.”

  “You would never have done that.” She frowned. “What time is it? And is it still Tuesday?”

  “It’s early afternoon, and yes, still Tuesday. The same Tuesday.”

  Her sweet face lightened again. “And I’m still alive, and still your housemaid.”

  “Do you still want to be a housemaid?” He could think of several roles she would be better filling. One was right here, in his bed.

  “No. I need this job.” She bit her lip. “Not for the reasons you thought when you gave it to me.”

  “You can be whatever you want to be.”

  “So what happened to me?”

  With her nestled in his arms, he told her. He would keep the explanation simple, and reveal it bit by bit. “You know about the mind-to-mind communication now. I could touch you before, but I only sensed your mood. Most people have a natural barrier they are not even aware of. Sweetheart, there are more different kinds of person than you imagined, with different ways and characteristics. We call ourselves immortals, but that’s not entirely true.”

  “Immortals? You mean you live forever?”

  “No, but something inside us does.” He touched his lips to hers again, but did not linger. “We are born with a little extra something. It enables the mind-to-mind speaking, but a number of other things. We don’t age as most mortals do. We cannot catch diseases. But we can still die.” He paused, memories he did not want flooding in on him. “And we do.”

  “I’m not sure I’d like to live forever.” She frowned, and he lifted a hand to smooth the marks of her displeasure away. “Is this true?”

  “Yes.”

  She listened while he told her about the immortals, making no comment. He knew she didn’t entirely believe him, but at least he had told her. She’d come to accept it in time, to take the knowledge into her heart. “This club is for the immortals. Some time ago an explosion killed many of our kind, when we were gathered together. We’re still recovering from that.”

  “But you want to gather people together here?”

  Trust his clever Joanna to find the flaw. “I invite mortals and immortals alike here. We are mingled together. Our enemies might think twice before attacking us in such a place, and this building is much better protected than the last one. I doubt they will attack us in the same way again. There are not many of us, and banding together is our best security.”

  She remained completely motionless, her eyes fixed on his face, the outer part of her mind still. She was
thinking, reasoning out what he had just told her. He followed her lead and waited, counting the beats of her heart, watching her chest rise and fall with her breaths. Eventually, she parted her lips once more. “So that is why the club exists.”

  “Yes, it is. A place the immortals can come and meet others of our kind. Our dispersion was extreme.” Should he explain the rest? Perhaps one more, then he would leave it for today. She was astonishingly accepting, considering what had happened to her today. “When a g—immortal dies, the person perishes, but the essence of immortality moves on to someone else. It is unthinking and unfeeling, but the things you have experienced so far travel with them. It settles into the body of the nearest unborn child, so the baby is born with the attributes.”

  “Goodness!” she said faintly. “But I was not—”

  A trace of a smile touched his lips. “No, you were not. That is the other way. As I told you, our blood is lethal to a mortal, if the two bloodstreams meet. As ours did when you tried to rescue me from my small accident with the razor. Do you know why that was?”

  “Because I was a maid, not a manservant?”

  “Because you were you.”

  The sight of her in his arms, the feel of her, warm and alive, grew too much for him. Relief as much as desire surged, filled him and he bent his head for another kiss.

  Her response was eager. By now she had learned to respond the way he liked, and she opened her mouth for him immediately, letting him in. With a groan, he acceded to her unspoken request and tasted her. Still sweet, still as he remembered from before, her taste as addictive as laudanum.

  He pulled her closer, enclosing her in his arms, banding them around her. When she moaned lightly, he kissed her harder, his kisses turning desperate and needy. He had never felt her body unfettered like this, and he wanted more. Although he had taken care to preserve her modesty, he would not hesitate now, unless she objected.

  She did not object.

  He had put his nightshirt on top of her shift. Tearing his lips from hers for the short time necessary, he dragged both garments off at once, and there she was, naked in his arms. He moaned into her mouth when he felt her skin, hot and satiny under his hands. Running his hands over her, shaping her, claiming her.