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

by Lynne Connolly

  Amidei would find him. Then he would kill him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When he returned to the club, Amidei slipped around the building and used the side door, the one that was for his use alone, leaving his footmen to relate the tale and clean themselves up. He had no mind to draw attention to himself, and London was full to bursting now, having received its quota of people rushing to town after Lent and Easter to enjoy the sights and show themselves off. And to find husbands for their daughters.

  Rapidly, he formulated a plan. Tonight he would go to Lady Stillings’s ball, the first great event of the season, and gauge public opinion. Last year he had sailed through. His wealth and title had seen to that. Girls threw themselves at him, and gentlemen vied for his company. Now he had the club, and to some of the highest sticklers, that meant he was in Trade, especially as he lived on the premises. But he was safest here, with the rings of immortals he’d employed as domestics and managers.

  Perhaps, though, it was time to consider separating business and pleasure, especially as he had Joanna in his life.

  Then there was the other thing. The Argus thing. Strange how things worked out, he mused as he walked up the hushed corridor to his suite. Argus had always ranged himself against Hermes, or Mercury, as Amidei preferred to call himself. Besides, Mercury was different to Hermes. Not so brutal, or so he believed.

  Opening the door to his suite, he sensed Joanna’s presence, her scent subtly highlighted in the air. She’d only come to bed when certain her father was comfortable. She was not yet up.

  He went into the bathroom, and while the bath was pouring, stripped and tossed the ruined clothes to the side of the room. He did not wish her to see them and become alarmed by what a near miss he’d had. His wounds were more or less healed, but smears of blood remained on the surface, the instinct to taint the clear ichor red solidly in place.

  He immersed himself in the water with a sigh of relief and tipped his head back to think on what had happened and plan his next move. Except the door opened to admit Joanna. She wore a loose robe, a soft, cream silk that enhanced her curves, and she was pushing her hand through her hair, yawning. She looked delicious, and he meant that in every way possible.

  “Come here, beautiful.” He splashed the clear water invitingly. “Join me.”

  “Oh!” Her eyes opened wider as she took in the scene. He hadn’t bothered to light any candles, so the illumination was from the windows at the top. He would certainly have a room like this constructed in any house he occupied. People already thought he was eccentric, so what was this but another quirk?

  “I meant to take another look, but—you’re here. And hurt!”

  He ducked in the water to get rid of any remaining marks. “No, I’m not. I was, but as you can see, I’m perfectly fine.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You might want to make sure of that fact.”

  Her gaze flicked over him. His erection, already paying attention, came to rigid awareness. Lasciviously, he gripped it, blatantly displaying it for her. “See what you do to me?”

  Her sharp gasp echoed around the tiled walls. She glanced down, but only to unfasten the robe and slip it off her shoulders.

  She made him smile. The sight of her, the way she stood, head averted, before lifting her chin and meeting his gaze boldly. They froze in an intimate tableau for a fraction of time, and then she moved forward, bent, and slid in to the warm water. He held out his arms but instead of sliding into them, she gave him a wicked smile and straddle his thighs. “I like it this way.”

  Delighted she had the boldness to state her preferences, Amidei was only too glad to oblige her. “I like it any way, with you. He sat up so he could hold her and have the delicious sensation of her breasts rubbing against his chest. Circling her waist, he slid one hand up to her neck and urged her down for a kiss.

  Their mouths met, melded and savoured, tongues darting in and out of the other’s mouths, caressing and teasing. He kept his eyes partly open for the pleasure of watching her. He adored the way she let herself join his pleasure, giving herself to him utterly. Satin skin under his hands, her cushiony breasts, plump and inviting, and the strength of her thighs, no doubt enhanced by the long walks to the club every day.

  She would never be doing that again.

  For a moment he paused, and felt her query form in his mind. Instead of answering, he shut the thoughts away and concentrated on her. He redoubled his kisses, increasing in passion until he was lost in her. The way she did that had worried him at first, but now he welcomed it, especially knowing the bliss they were heading for.

  Without him having to tell her, she lifted and straddled him. Eager to join their bodies, he held his cock steady while she positioned herself. Then they were there, and together. He pressed up as she sank down, taking him into her. And they were still kissing.

  Sitting up, he held his body rigid as she began to move, letting her find her own pace. Whatever she did was fine for him. Just having her there was enough. She could use him, or take him, as long as she didn’t leave him. Honest enough to admit his own emotions, he wanted more. He wanted hers too. But that was something, god or no god, he could do nothing about.

  She squirmed on him and he groaned. “That feels wonderful, sweetheart.” When she did it again and laughed, the vibrations went right through him, sending tingles and thrills up and around him. It was no good; he’d have to respond.

  With a cry of surrender, he jerked his body up into hers, meeting her downward plunge. They both cried out, the sound blending and creating its own music, revolving around them as her hold on him tightened. She made new marks to replace the ones he’d only rid himself of, but these were so welcome. He’d take them any time, from her. The needles of pain from her nails made a delicious contrast to the muscle-deep, near-pain of their loving.

  He only had to bend his head slightly to find a breast, nuzzle it, and then take it into his mouth. He sucked, licked, and caressed the nipple with the tip of his tongue, feeling her heightened arousal deep within him. When she arched back, he caught her, spreading his hand across her back, her muscles sleekly curving. “I love your strength,” he murmured, “and your skin, so silky I can’t get enough of it.” He kissed his way across to the other nipple, keeping up the steady rhythm inside her, her little cries balm to his soul.

  She whispered his name, then said it louder. “Amidei, this feels so good.”

  Brushing her mind, he felt her arousal and set himself to building it. A few experimental jabs showed him the right way, the peak of sensation sharp and jagged. She cried out.

  He purred against her skin, setting up a soft vibration. “That, I think, is better.” Keeping her at that angle he drove into her, keeping his strokes unpredictable, shallow prods and deep, penetrating thrusts, and everything in between. Inside, she was luscious, wet and ready. She arched back so far, the tips of her hair dangled into the water. When her first spasm came, she jerked, a series of splashes soaking them both. His orgasm simmered in the back of his awareness all the time, but when she clutched him with her inner passage, and a series of flutters rippled down his shaft, Amidei was a dead man. Dragging her close, he powered into her, his grunts of effort giving way to a throaty cry as he came and came and came.

  They remained still for a full minute, their gasping breaths the only sound in the still air. With a growl he pulled her close, and she laid her head on his shoulder, making a small complaint when he leaned back to rest against the side, the bath grooving a hard line across his back. They kissed, passion spent for now, affectionate, sweet kisses.

  “How do I tell you what you mean to me?” he murmured against her mouth.

  “And why,” she responded, smoothing her hand over his chest, as if she, too, got great pleasure from touching. “Why me? You’re powerful, you’re a god!” She chuckled drowsily. “Most women call their men gods with little reason. You truly are one. How can I possibly compete with that?”

  Irritation scored him, but it didn’t
sour his mood. He doubted that much could. “You are beautiful. I know you think you’re not, but in time you’ll come to see what I do. You’re resilient and strong. You make me laugh, and you make me want you so much. Loving you goes beyond reason. It calls to the deepest part of me. And you don’t let me forget that I’m human.”

  “I thought it was easy.” She sighed, but smiled as well. A happy sigh, then. “You’re handsome, wealthy—”

  “Irritable, autocratic,” he finished for her, evoking a laugh. He was content to hold her close, but the water would get cold if he did that here. Easing them to a sitting position again, he reached for the jug at the side of the bath and poured it over her hair. He washed it for her, then he washed the rest of her, taking his time over certain strategic parts. And she washed him, using the sponge at first, but soon abandoning it to use her hands instead.

  By the time they’d done, he wanted her again, but he gently lifted her hands when she would have helped him the rest of the way. He had something to tell her.

  She listened to his account, still and grave. Then she gave a nod and climbed out of the bath. He joined her, wrapping a towel around her. “The house collapse was deliberate. I don’t yet know how he did it, but I suspect he’d prepared the collapse carefully. He was not in the house, but he was watching.”

  “How can that be?”

  “He’ll have the same gift that I do, of skimming minds, but he has it to the extreme.” He patted the soft white linen over her stomach and pushed it under the crease below her breasts, lifting them. Delightful distraction beckoned, but he concentrated on drying her carefully, and pampering her with gentle touches and caresses. “He can see where he wants to, once he has the measure of a place. He cannot see a place he hasn’t been.”

  “So he can’t see us now?” She shivered.

  “No, he can’t.” He soothed her, kissed her shoulder, and held her. “The doormen have been told to watch for him, so he should not be able to see in here. He could have sent an agent, but that would not be as effective. I’m sure he has not been in this part of the building. I only allow a very few servants into my private quarters.”

  She sighed. “I wouldn’t like him to see here. You’re convinced that Patrick is Argus, then?”

  “Totally. There is no other way. I felt him there, my love. I sensed him.” Curving his arm around her waist, he took her into the dressing room that adjoined the bathroom, and dropped the towels on the floor. “Now come and dress in something informal and eat. I’m going out tonight.”

  “Oh?”

  “I want to test the mood of society before I take you there.”

  Her head went up in alarm. “But you can’t do that! We’re not m—”

  He stopped her protests with a kiss. “But we will be. Who’s to say we’re not married now? Can you doubt that is what I want?”

  She chuckled against his lips. “You said you didn’t want to be rushed into marriage.”

  “A man is entitled to change his mind.” He drew back, smiling. “I should have put that a better way. Forget I said it. I’ll ask properly in better circumstances.”

  She glanced down at their naked bodies, once more twined together. “These aren’t good?”

  With a laugh, he gave her bottom a playful tap, enjoying the quiver under his palm. “No. Now go to your room, and Betty will help you dress for dinner. I’d prefer you to wear nothing all the time, but you’re too much of a distraction like that.”

  *

  After a delicious and enjoyable dinner, Amidei set out for Lady Stillings’s ball. His invitation had arrived a full month ago, before the current disturbances. Then he’d been a vaguely scandalous foreign aristocrat, but his English mother—and more to the point, his wealth—smoothed the path for him. Apprehension crept over him, but he refused to allow it.

  Instead, he’d dressed as extravagantly as he knew how. His coat was the palest grey, with white waistcoat and smalls. Triple méchlin lace ruffles fell over the backs of his hands, and, disdaining paste, he’d chosen diamonds for his shoe buckles, the buckles on his breeches, and his buttons. He could probably keep a family of six for a year, and buy them a comfortable house besides, with the clothes on his back. His sword hilt and sheath had diamond studs, and he put a solitaire at his neck, and a larger one on his hand.

  Nobody would outshine him tonight. He had his valet tie up his hair and find a suitable wig. His hair was silver-gilt, and he wanted no colour to mar the effect he planned to make. Lightfoot attended to him tight-lipped until Amidei said in irritation, “Out with it, man!”

  “You have to marry her.”

  “Yes, I do, and yes, I will. In the meantime, if you please, let it be known that we are already married. We will arrange the formalities another time.”

  Lightfoot sniffed. “She might not see it that way and her father certainly doesn’t.”

  Amidei picked up his nail file and applied it gently to the middle finger on his left hand. “Even now Spencer knows our secret?”

  “One of them. He’s not quite sure. His daughter believes, because she has reason to. He does not. He still clings to the notion that you’re a very clever surgeon.”

  “Hmm.” Amidei curved his nails, examined them narrowly, and put the file down. A folded paper lay on the side of the dressing table. “What’s this?”

  “The footman found it in your pocket. He has disposed of the garments you wore today. They were not salvageable.”

  Amidei unfolded the single sheet. “A pity. I liked that coat.” He ran his eyes down the columns of close-packed print, skimming the news until he got to the part about the Pantheon Club, because of course there had to be something there.

  Today’s entry was worse. It named people Amidei held dear, accusing them of sedition. A thinly disguised story about Lord Barclay, a known Jacobite sympathiser, sending regular letters to France and paying mysterious visits to the docks took centre place. If it were only about his lordship. The article went into more details, and then accused Amidei of being spymaster and ringleader.

  Unimpressed, Amidei tossed the paper aside. “I will test the air tonight, Lightfoot, that is all. If they continue to throw their daughters at me and ignore gossip, then we will have weathered the storm. After all, how can one small journal affect opinion so thoroughly?”

  Approaching Lady Stillings’s house, Amidei would have enjoyed the sight, had he been less concerned. Although he had not admitted to his valet or Joanna that he was worried, he would not deny it to himself. He did what he always did in situations like this. He lifted his chin, half lowered his eyelids, and strode from his carriage to the front door as if he owned the place.

  Nobody prevented him entering the house. The hall was glittering with light and jewels, and as he entered, people returned his bows. But nobody approached him. He did not know the people there in any meaningful way, only by sight.

  Lord Dalfont gave him a chilly smile, but Amidei was too wise to approach the high-stickler. Scale the lower fences first, before taking on the mountain. He climbed the staircase and turned right to the apartments where the doors were thrown open and the rooms blazed with light.

  He traversed the rooms, bowing and smiling. He did not pause, because nobody required him to do so, but sauntered through the assembly. Lady Stillings had opened three great rooms and several lesser ones, but Amidei did not concern himself with them. Only the great room where the four-piece orchestra was tuning up in preparation for the dancing, and the one that held the refreshments. He looked into the card room, but the tables were already occupied.

  People were catching up with each other, chatting and gossiping. A few glances were thrown his way, but no welcoming smiles. Amidei continued on his way. By now he was praying that he would see someone to talk to. If he toured the rooms and left, the gossip would continue. Nobody had cared to speak with him, and so he was not welcome. Although nobody was giving him the cut direct yet.

  At last, at the end of the procession of rooms, he
opened his mind, searching for another immortal. He rarely did this in company, because some mortals had the ability to communicate that way, and such action might lay him open to attack, but by then he was desperate. With his smile fixed firmly in place, at last someone responded.

  Here.

  At his leisure, still smiling and bowing, and receiving chilly bows in return, he saw the imposing figure of Gerard, Lord Ellesmere. Too wise to hurry over, knowing Gerard would wait for him, Amidei strolled in his general direction, taking a glass of wine from a tray on the way. Arriving, he executed the perfect bow, and received a perfunctory one in return.

  “I’m delighted to see you, sir,” he said.

  I’ll wager you are. What is happening here? Why are you suddenly out of favour? When I left London you were riding high. “And I you.”

  Amidei answered Gerard’s questions as fully as he could, while they were conversing about the weather, the time of year, and the delightful prospect of a new season.

  Gerard listened intently. That could be a serious blow.

  And to my lady. I had planned to bring her here tonight.

  Leave as soon as you can without drawing comment. Faith is over there, talking to some friends. Dance with her before you leave.

  Gerard understood the nuances. He would wait for a country dance, which required him to take several partners during the course of it, then he would know. If he received the cut direct, he would take Joanna and leave the city. He would not subject her to this kind of treatment.

  Gerard’s wife was a lovely, tranquil woman, who had met Gerard in the most extreme circumstances. In Bedlam, to be precise. The Bethlem Hospital had been a temporary home for Bacchus, god of wine and madness, and Gerard was rescuing him from his own folly. Or he thought so, until Bacchus, otherwise known as Blaize, Lord Stretton, had pointed out that actually Stretton was rescuing Gerard. Because, at last, Blaize had uncovered the whereabouts of Jupiter.

  Faith appeared delighted to meet Amidei and introduced him to the two ladies she’d been chattering with. Amidei put down his empty wineglass and led her on to the floor. While they danced, he explained his predicament, and the problem.