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

by Lynne Connolly

  “Seduced?” His brow furrowed. “Is that what you truly meant?”

  “Y-yes.” She shook her head. “That is, he said I was meant for him, that I was misled, but when he—he hurt me, Patrick! Then he said I was his, that I could not leave, and truly I cannot!”

  He reached out, grabbed her hand, and jerked hard. She fell forward against his chest. In that time, he dragged her off balance, picked her up, and ran, hurtling at speed to the waiting carriage.

  It was not a carriage, it was a coach and four, and as soon as Patrick slammed the door, they were off. She was flung against him, and the breath knocked out of her before the man on the seat opposite made his presence felt.

  Her father.

  Shock held her rigid until she finally found her voice. Betrayal thrummed through her core. “Papa!”

  Her father gave a tiny shake of his head, frowning. “When I knew what Patrick planned, I had to join him.” Had Patrick enchanted him again? Or could her father do anything to help her?

  Patrick lashed his arm around her, binding her to his side. The hoop rose at the other, and she fought to press it down. How in heaven did women cope with these things all day? Irritation gave her a spark of emotion, enough to fight the instinct to scream and call out for Amidei. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Panic rose, but she quelled that too, with the impulse to pull away. She’d set her course and she had to follow it.

  “You have been traduced and seduced, my dear.” Her father put his remaining hand over one of hers as they jolted down the Strand. “Being in the presence of them has perverted you from our purpose. We must hold firm. They took my arm, but they cannot take my sense of what is right.”

  They didn’t take his arm. He’d done that himself and he knew it.

  Then he winked. She blinked, stilled for a moment. He knew.

  “What do we do now?” Her voice quivered with emotion, but not the emotion Patrick might expect. She’d started on this path and if she deviated, she would be in even more danger. All her acting powers, which were not considerable, were needed now. “I have nothing but these.” She touched the gown. And the pearls, she was wearing Amidei’s pearls.

  “We can cope,” Patrick said, holding her firmly. “I know you were used, but I will forgive you. I’ll forgive you everything, Joanna, do you hear me?”

  That pain came again, but much worse. It lanced through her head, making her cry out in agony. Her stomach clenched and she retched. He was attacking her ruthlessly, opening her up, and she didn’t have the power to fight back. She was paralysed, unable to move a muscle when she tried, while her body slowly froze.

  “You’re mine, Joanna, you always were,” Patrick said, as if talking to a child. “You will learn that, and you will be happy for the opportunity. D’Argento caused the death of my mistress, Juno. I have always been Juno’s servant, and I have a duty to avenge her death. Since he wants you more than anyone else, taking you will make him suffer. Then I will kill him, and his friends who helped him in the endeavor. I have been planning this since I lost her, a year ago.”

  Mutely, and only to appease him, she nodded.

  A breeze slipped past her ear. They were driving past the Thames, and in April a touch of wildness remained in the great river. White tips edged the waves. The coach thumped along, dipping when it went over a deeper than usual rut. Warmth heated her, deep inside. Amidei was with her. Had he seen her abduction? Was he already chasing her?

  The whole incident had happened so quickly Joanna hadn’t had time to think, or to cry out. The conviction that she had to remain with the story she had spun remained with her, and she had concentrated on that.

  “Papa, how did you get here?” She tried to force a smile, but it turned into a rictus.

  He smiled broadly. Too broadly. “They were so busy watching you that I walked out the front door. I told the doorman I wanted a breath of air, and I just stepped into the carriage.”

  Her heart broke. She had given him the information he’d needed. “And you feel well, Papa?”

  Her father tried to shrug, and then groaned and winced. “Better than I was.”

  “But I married him. Lord d’Argento, I mean.”

  “Under duress,” her father said. “We will have the marriage annulled. They use trickery and lies, so why should they not do that with you? He is obsessed with you, my dear.”

  “He might come after me.” Terror filled her when she thought that he might not.

  Patrick answered her. “I’ve left a few distractions for him. He thought I could not see inside that place. I can.”

  “How?”

  Patrick lifted a shoulder. “I have spies.”

  People who gave him access to what they were seeing. Had any of them gone into the apartment she shared with Amidei? Had they seen? No! Her mind rejected the notion, every part of her rebelling against the idea. Nobody should see the passion that had flowered between her and her husband.

  Where was he? What had Patrick done to him? “How did you get me past the barrier?”

  Patrick smiled in smug satisfaction. “There was never a barrier, my dear. They put that thought into your mind and you believed it, just as you married him with complaisance. They slide into your mind, and they take your spirit. We cannot allow that to go on.”

  If she had not dwelled so closely into his mind, if Amidei had not opened up his heart to her so completely, she could have believed Patrick now. But her heart was steadfast and she would not waver.

  She fell silent, and did not struggle. She would break away the first chance she got. Not here, though. In a moving carriage, driven by Patrick’s creatures, she would stand no chance of escaping.

  A great cry went up, first from the men at the front of the coach, then the footmen clinging to the back. “Whoa!” The horses neighed and the coach slowed and rocked, then swayed from side to side.

  Glass smashed and wood splintered as the coach rolled over, scraping its way up the road while the horses screamed.

  Patrick tightened his hold on her, squashing the breath out of her even as chaos reigned around them.

  *

  At first, fury filled Amidei when he realised their elaborate trap had been in vain and Gough had not sprung it. But that lasted a bare minute before he swung his mind into action.

  Argus had smashed through their defences while pretending to fall into them, and now he had her. Cold fury simmered through his veins.

  But he would not escape. Seizing his sword from Lightfoot, Amidei strapped it on. The men’s room at the front of the club had the best access.

  Ellesmere hove into view, taking the stairs three at a time as Amidei headed for the room. “I know what you’re planning. Wait, we must think.”

  Amidei spun around, sword in hand. “Wait? They’ll be out of the country by then. He knows I won’t risk her life, and he’s gambling with that knowledge. I will not allow it. Today is a good day for someone to die, and it won’t be me. If you can’t keep up, then just get out of my way!”

  He could move, and he would. Heedless of damage, to him or anything else, he took a run at the window and plunged through it.

  The crash of broken glass was followed by shouts and yells. He’d gone through the window too fast to cause himself damage bar a few scratches. He kept in the air, speeding up. Mercury he was now, man and god working together to one end. To rescue the woman who meant more to him than anyone else in the world, even himself.

  Nobody here could do what he could, but they all had their attributes. Opening his mind, he spoke to Jupiter. If you want to help, strike them down. He hurtled along the Strand at a height of fifteen feet, the coach in his sights. Other vehicles distracted him, but he knew where she was. He would always know.

  And when she died, he’d die with her. So he didn’t care what risks he took, or who he involved. Only one person mattered. He drove forward, harder, faster, until he hovered above the coach, twenty feet up. Nobody had noticed him, but then, why would they?

 
A crack of thunder rolled above him and at the same time a flash, a jagged fork of fire arrowed down and struck the coach mid-on.

  Amidei cursed. That’s your way of saving her?

  She’ll survive, the answer came. You converted her. Your enemy is in there with her.

  And her father. He was right to trust Spencer, he still had faith in the man, but not whatever Argus had left inside his head.

  Streaking down, he landed before the overturned coach. Cries for help came from inside, and screams of pain. He concentrated on her. She wasn’t dead.

  He landed lightly on the side of the coach—which was now the top—and bent to wrench open the door.

  People were gathering around, but he didn’t care for that. She reached for him and the fist clenched around his heart relaxed. Tossing aside his sword, he reached down and hauled her up.

  “Where did you come from, friend?” someone called from outside.

  Amidei glanced down. “The other side.”

  He had her now, and he wasn’t letting her go, but it took both hands for him to pull her up. As soon as he could, he released her hands to put an arm around her waist and haul her up. Then he just sat, and held her. She was shaking convulsively. He would stay there as long as necessary until she felt safer. They were at the top of the Strand, a mile from the club, but he’d carry her all the way back if he had to.

  “Help me!” a voice bellowed from the inside. He glanced down. Her father was reaching up his hand. Argus lay still, either dead or unconscious. It would take more than a coach accident to kill an immortal.

  Like that knife sticking out of his neck, for instance. The one Spencer leaned over and pulled out, before dropping it as if it was tainted. Amidei ducked to one side as a spray of blood spurted like a gruesome fountain to the height of the coach, even spilling over to taint her gown.

  Now that would kill a god. He would not stay to see the gory end.

  Numbly, Joanna lay in his arms while Amidei lifted her into the carriage Lord Stretton had driven up in. An open-topped curricle, a spindly affair she would normally not feel safe in, drawn by two high-bred, frisky horses. She didn’t care. She snuggled into the warmth of his body until a sudden thought made her jerk back. “Papa!”

  “He’s being taken care of,” Amidei said soothingly but something in the hardness of his tone made her draw back and stare up at him.

  “He—he did it. Stabbed Patrick, I mean. He did it for me. Went with him, planned to rescue me. Patrick said he wanted me because you wanted me so much. And he wanted to avenge Juno.”

  His mouth firmed in a grim line. “I guessed the last part. Argus was always devoted to Juno, through the ages. No wonder he wanted to destroy me.”

  She could still see it, her father’s sudden, clumsy lurch, the knife flashing in his hand. It was the knife he carried with him always, the one he used for cutting his food, slicing open letters and now, to kill the man who’d threatened to wreck his daughter’s happiness.

  “I believe you,” he said, grim-faced. “Let me get you both back to the club.”

  “Patrick?”

  “Dead,” he said shortly. To her shock, she found not an ounce of sorrow within her. She had always been too compassionate, at least that was what her father told her. She was not sorry for Argus.

  “What happens now?”

  “You rest, and you learn to be immortal. And we will learn each other. Each day we’ll learn a little more.” He kissed her, a man waking the Sleeping Beauty. “Until we are truly one.”

  Epilogue

  Drawing up outside the house of one of society’s greatest hostesses, Joanna knew a lick of fear. “What if they don’t want us?” She hadn’t been aware of saying it aloud until Amidei covered her hand, gently taking it into his.

  “They do. They will, and we don’t have to do anything except be here. Let’s give them the chance to accept us, shall we?”

  “But I’m a journalist’s brat.” A powerful inadequacy took hold of her, but she made an effort to shake it off. She was as good as anyone else here, and she would prove it.

  “As far as I’m concerned, you’re a hero’s daughter.” Spencer had risked his own life to save his daughter from Argus.

  She wore a gown out of a dream, celestial blue silk with a froth of pink roses embroidered in relief, as if someone had dropped them over her just before she left. Frivolous pink bows fluttered on her stomacher, and lace so fine it threatened to blow away foamed over her lower arms and at her neck.

  She wore her pearls. Although Amidei had showered her with jewellery, these remained her favourites, because they were the first he had given to her. Matching earrings and a bracelet completed the demi-parure. She should feel untouchable, but she did not. The armour helped, though.

  She had never attended a society ball before, and although Amidei assured her the crisis was over, she could hardly believe it. A month ago they were headed for social outcast status, and now they were back?

  The club was full again. Some good fairy had waved a wand and this had happened. In her dreams she thought that, but she always woke up in Amidei’s arms. That was better than any fairy tale.

  The steps were let down with a clunk. The footman courteously offered a hand to help her down after he’d opened the door. As if she had not raced along these streets with an armful of journals or stood on the opposite pavement watching the arrivals and making frantic notes so she could run home and record the comings and goings of the great and good. Now she was one of them, or so people told her. She still found it hard to believe.

  Amidei stood beside her and she took his arm, trying not to clutch, as they moved forward to the scrubbed white steps that led up to the open front door.

  Inside, a butler took their gloves, cloaks, and hats. Joanna tried to look gracious and Amidei touched her. When he did that, everything improved, and it was good already. Now her world was just—better. Not perfect, she’d hate that. But she had a life and a purpose, and, it appeared, a title.

  They went upstairs and heads turned. For Amidei, dressed magnificently as always, in a darker blue than hers but to complement her gown. As he’d handed her into the carriage for the short journey here, he’d said, “This is your evening, my love. Your triumph.”

  Nevertheless she was happy to see someone she knew at the top of the stairs, in the process of walking into the first reception room. She did not fool herself that Lord Stretton had arrived just at that moment. He’d waited for them. Despite his brittle presence, she had come to know the funny, vital man beneath the arrogance and fine clothes. Not to mention the constant drinking, but as Bacchus, he needed wine to stay sober. It appeared that as well as attributes, gods had curses too. Amidei’s was subtler, but she sensed it now, a constant urge to move on, a restlessness that she soothed in some way. Or so he told her in the dead of night when she woke up and found him watching her.

  “You are utterly beautiful tonight,” Lord Stretton said as he bowed over her hand, and gave her a saucy kiss. “But then, I always knew you were a beauty.”

  “He did,” Amidei murmured.

  Lady Stretton waited patiently for her husband, or not so patiently, since under the skirts of her cream gown she was tapping her satin-clad foot. She was the lovely one. With a beatific smile he took her hand and kissed it too. “Jealous?”

  Her ladyship cocked a brow at Joanna. “No.” Her smile broadened. “How are you holding up, Joanna?”

  “We’ve only just arrived.”

  “Ah. Then shall we go in?”

  They entered the main rooms. Lady Howard had a large drawing room with a moveable wall at one end. The servants had removed it, and now the room was large enough to hold most of society, or the members she had invited tonight. Already, this early in the evening, at nine, the room was packed. Heaving, one might say.

  Heads turned, and an instant of stillness fell, almost immediately over, as if it had not happened before. Their hostess swept forward in a surge of yellow satin, her famous
topaz-and-diamond parure flashing in the light of a hundred candles. “Comtesse, how wonderful to see you. You are fully recovered?”

  While the immortals had gone forth to prepare for their coming, they gave out that Joanna was unfortunately suffering from a bout of influenza. Not life-threatening, but debilitating. She was astonished to receive flowers and good wishes from people, until Amidei had almost sheepishly told her the reason.

  “I am,” she told Lady Howard now. “Thank you. It was not something I wanted to inflict on the world, but there are no ill effects. I have only missed a few weeks of the season.”

  “You will not miss any more, will you?” Lady Howard said, as if she meant it. She shot Amidei a coy glance. “You will not deprive us of Lady d’Argento’s company?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am,” he answered smoothly. “My wife is as eager to leave her sickbed as I was for her to stay in it.”

  “I’m sure she had plenty to keep her occupied.” The twinkle in her ladyship’s eye revealed that she intended the double meaning. “Now, Lady d’Argento, you have to come to my little salon next week. It’s very select, but I’m told you have an interest in the latest music from the Continent. I have a soprano visiting, quite unexceptionable, and I believe you will enjoy La Perina as much as I do.”

  “I would love to.” Faintly confused by the attention, she smiled at Lady Howard, and waited for the inevitable question.

  “Does your father feel able to attend, by any chance?”

  Yes, that was it. “I’m afraid he has retired to the country for a few weeks.”

  Amidei had purchased a house for her father, a villa on the banks of the Thames, close enough for them to visit, and for her father to travel into the city when the fancy took him. He had not accepted the gift easily, blaming himself for allowing Argus into their lives. But his last act had wiped the rest away. He’d risked his life, and by killing Argus, he could have been hanged for murder. Fortunately, the court found him innocent, and the accident the result of a shard of glass piercing Patrick’s neck. Nobody mentioned a knife.