Since backtracking to Timothkin wouldn’t do anyone any good, Greyston merely nodded. “Lily didn’t want to worry you, and there’s nothing to worry about. The demons aren’t in London or any place we recognise.”
Greyston turned as a splash of light bathed the courtyard. It came from the ground floor window of a wing that jutted out at the rear of the castle to form an L-shape.
“That’s the library,” Evelyn said.
The curtains were drawn closed, but they couldn’t have been very thick or heavy. Harchings’ silhouette was clearly visible as he moved behind them.
“Oh, and Lily mentioned you might need me to speak to Devon, but she didn’t say about what,” Evelyn said.
“I’ll let you know if I think of anything.” Although Greyston already knew he wouldn’t be asking Evelyn to spy on her husband, not after tonight. There had to be another way to pry Harchings open.
“Please do, I’d be happy to…” Her voice dwindled as she looked past him. “Is that…” She pushed away from the pillar. “Is that Georgina?”
His gaze followed hers, to the library. In profile, the tumble of curls scooped high was unmistakeable. “She must be looking for us.”
“Yes, we should be…” Evelyn’s voice faded again, then came back a shade tart. “Their conversation appears awfully intense. What on earth can they have to be so serious about?”
They were standing toe-to-toe, Georgina’s arms folded across her chest, Harchings’ head bent just to the side of her cheek, as if whispering near her ear.
Greyston shrugged. “They go back some ways, I suppose.”
“They do?”
“That’s the impression she gave me.”
“Is that so?”
“At your ball the other night,” he supplied helpfully.
“Devon’s office invited her to their ball?”
“Her husband served under him, apparently.” Greyston pulled his gaze from the window to Evelyn. “What do you know about your guest?”
“I know she’s an acquaintance of Devon’s. A lovely young widow who lives not far from here... Devon’s words, not mine.” Evelyn’s gaze remained firmly rooted on the silhouetted couple, and she sounded more and more upset as she pressed on. “I know Devon thought it might be fun for you if we invited her to join us, to even up the numbers. I know plenty, but it would seem to be about all the wrong things.”
Greyston shifted, suddenly uncomfortable, not sure why. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t have to say anything!” Her hand snapped out in the direction of the library. “Look at them.”
Greyston looked.
A gap had opened between them, but in its place, Georgina had titled her chin up, and Harchings had placed a hand on her upper arm, as if to steady her—comfort her?—as they spoke.
There was nothing openly scandalous about the pair, they weren’t kissing, weren’t embracing. There was also clearly more going on than casually exchanged niceties.
“I can’t believe this,” Evelyn said. “As rotten as things have been between us lately, I never thought, not really…” Her voice broke on a sob as she rushed past him “…he was having an affair.”
An affair? Greyston’s eyes went to the pair still deep in conversation. Damnation! “Evelyn, wait…”
She’d left the patio door open.
He pushed through the drapes. “Evelyn.”
She stopped abruptly, turning to him with dull, haunted look in her eyes. “I’m being a terrible hostess.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He caught up to her. “Are you alright?”
“I can’t…” Her mouth trembled. “I can’t do this. I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?”
“I can’t talk about it. I can’t even th-think about it.” She turned from him again. “Please excuse me.”
He let her go, his jaw pulling tight as he watched. The Evelyn he knew wouldn’t be choking down tears at her husband’s infidelity. She’d be working herself up into a raging inferno, likely preparing to claw the man’s eyes out.
Evelyn’s marriage is none of my business.
He abhorred the notion of putting himself in the middle of it.
That was precisely why he’d changed his mind about enlisting her aid.
Greyston prowled the room, each lap coiling another rope of anger around his gut.
To hell with their marriage.
This was about his friend.
He wouldn’t stand back, do nothing, when she was hurting.
By the time Georgina stepped inside the room, Greyston’s fury had cooled and hardened into disdain. “What are you doing here?”
She spun about, her smile wavering as she took in the look on his face. “We were to play Charades.”
He advanced on her, his stride slow and measured. “What are you doing here, at Harchings Castle?”
Georgina held her ground, staring at him.
Greyston stopped with a good few feet to spare. “Why did the duke invite you to stay?”
“Oh, for goodness sake.” She let out an indignant sigh. “Is that what this is about?”
His gaze narrowed on her. “What’s going on between you and Harchings, Georgina?”
“You’re jealous!”
“I’m not jealous,” he said quietly. “I’m furious. I don’t care how you handle yourself, but I do care about Evelyn and it’s her marriage you’re ruining.”
“Have you completely lost your mind?” Georgina closed the distance between them. “Devon is completely besotted with his wife and that—that is not why he sent for me.” The indignant bite left her voice. “You know how much I owe Devon. He pulled me back into life when I thought I wanted to die. When I received his message to come, I didn’t hesitate. He’s only just been telling me why.”
She fell back from him, one step, then another. “He’s concerned about Evelyn. Apparently she’s been in a slump for weeks and he thought the countryside might raise her spirits, but he knows she’s never been partial to this castle and the isolation and then, her friend never arrived as planned.”
“He invited you here for Evelyn’s sake?”
“Evelyn’s in need of cheer and, Lord knows, I can be fun when I set my mind to it.” Her eyes held his, clear and direct. “It’s as simple as that, Grey.”
“Of course it is.” Greyston ploughed a hand through his hair. What was he missing? But so long as Georgina wasn’t messing in Evelyn’s marriage, did he really care? If Georgina wasn’t all she seemed, then he’d take the parts he wanted and discard the rest.
God knew, he didn’t have a leg to stand on that pedestal when it came to withholding secrets. And with all the convoluted tangles he’d been drowning in, he was more than ready for simple, even if it only came at face value. Lately, it seemed as if every word, action, feeling, every decision and motive, had to be checked and re-checked and then he still probably couldn’t trust it.
This constant push and pull with Lily.
The whole damn clan of McAllisters.
Demons.
Harchings.
Myself.
“Georgina, I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologise,” she said lightly. “I no longer live my life by the approval of others and hence I don’t expect anyone to approve.”
“That’s one of the things I like about you.” He closed the distance between them as he spoke. “How different, how uncomplicated you are.”
Her nose wrinkled up at him. “You make me sound rather boring and shallow.”
“I don’t mean it like that.” He fisted his hands at his sides, to keep himself from reaching for her.
Her gaze warmed through him.
Her mouth curved into a smile, a smile that could hold a man captive while promising nothing, his favourite kind of smile.
Right now, he deserved none of it.
“You’re beautiful, witty— Scrap that. You’re exquisite, and thoroughly entertaining You make me laugh…you
make me want to want to laugh. You make me miss myself.” The anger inside him, the irritation at himself, melted as he looked into her eyes. “I’m never sure if you will stay or if you will go, or when you’ll suddenly appear again. You’re the most intriguing woman I’ve ever met. And yet, you uncomplicate me.”
She moved in a little, her one hand folding over his fist, her eyes never leaving him. “I like that,” she said softly.
Greyston uncurled his fist and wound his fingers through hers. His free hand came up, his thumb tracing along the line of her jaw as he lowered his head, slowly, watching as her eyes glazed over, his blood thickening.
His mouth touched hers, a slide over plump satin.
Her fingers gripped his, hard, and her lips parted.
His hand slid further, around the base of her skull, bringing her closer as he deepened the kiss, or maybe she did…their tongues clashed, explored, tasted.
Desire, raw and hungry, pulsed between them, drawing them into each other, leaving everything else behind.
With each stroke of their tongues, each taste of each other, Greyston felt another anchor cast off from inside him.
But it didn’t feel as if he were being set adrift.
It felt as if he were drifting toward himself.
NINE
Eleven o’clock arrived, and Kelan hadn’t yet returned from Westminster. Not that Lily believed he was still there at this time.
The mantelpiece clock blurred as she stared at another minute ticking by. Traces of nausea clung to her stomach, to the back of her throat. Not the intense sickness that ate at her in the demon glass—she’d been careful to restrict each session, pulling out at the first hint of queasiness. This nausea was more like a bitter taste taken up residence in her stomach, probably from the megrim that had rolled on as the afternoon progressed.
“I can barely keep my eyes open,” she announced, rising from the sofa. She took a moment to steady herself, fingers pressed to the arm of the sofa, as a wave of dizziness rushed up at her. She blinked, and the room came back into focus. “I’m going to bed.”
Armand glanced up from the stack of books spread open before him.
This was how they’d spent the day. Tracking the demons, a quick look at the top and bottom of every hour. Lily memorising as much of the tumultuous terrain as was possible in two-minute snatches. Armand searching maps, references, descriptive passages, even memoirs, for any similarities. He’d found plenty, and that was the problem. The demons could be anywhere north of the Pennines. He’d also discovered Wales was by and large a craggy, mountainous landscape, so they couldn’t rule that out.
The look Armand gave her was suspiciously apologetic. “If Lord Perth knew you hadn’t gone to Surrey, he wouldn’t have stayed out this late.”
“It doesn’t make an ounce of difference,” she said, sincerely hoping he wasn’t apologising for her husband’s absence. Her presence wouldn’t have brought Kelan home. Only the demons would have done that, and they’d set up camp by some river for the night. “It’s unlikely anything will change between now and tomorrow morning.”
On the way upstairs, she had to pause twice, each step more challenging than the last. Her limbs felt heavy, as if the bone had turned to lead. She was completely worn out, although she hadn’t done much more than sit around all day, waiting until she could next dip inside the demon glass.
And worry.
That must be it, she decided. The constant to-and-fro of tension, dreading what she’d find, finding nothing, over and over again…
In her bedroom, Ana had left a gas lamp burning on a low flame. Lily supposed it was somewhat regressive of her, asking for the lamp to be brought out of storage. But she preferred the soothing glow to the harsh aesthetics of white electric and now, with her head thudding, she was even more grateful for the softer ambience.
She struggled with the tiny pearl button at her nape, then gave up and rang the bell for Ana. Where was she, anyway? Celludrones didn’t sleep, but Ana could put herself into a restive, idle state and she usually did so at this hour, waiting for Lily to retire.
“In the kitchen,” Ana explained as she helped Lily undress a short a while later. “Mrs. Fettle is teaching me to play chess.”
Lily gave her a weak smile. “Chess?”
“Do you mind?”
“I think it’s marvellous.” Lily hugged the news close to her chest as she slid into bed. If Ana made just one friend in this household, it was worth all the staff disruptions this past week. “Were you in the middle of a game?”
Ana nodded. “Mrs. Fettle sounded quite relieved when you rang for me. She said she’d need at least a half hour to decide her next move.”
“Don’t let me keep you, then,” Lily said, stifling a yawn. She reached out, waiting to turn down the gas lamp. “Ana,” she called out just before the door closed, “have fun.”
Ana popped her head back inside. “Mrs. Fettle says chess is a serious game.”
“Oh, I see…” Lily said lamely, too exhausted to argue the finer points.
She turned the lamp down and snuggled deep beneath the covers. She was half asleep before her eyes closed.
And it felt like a second later when she was cracking one eye open again.
“Go away,” she moaned hoarsely to Ana. “It can’t possibly be morning yet.”
Her throat was dry, utterly parched, and her lips stuck to her teeth every time she tried to swallow, as if her teeth had grown too big for her mouth during the course of the night. As her eyes adjusted to the sting of sunlight, however, it became apparent it was indeed morning, and it wasn’t Ana who’d invited the sunshine in.
Kelan. Leaning against the wall, arms folded, watching her. Talking… “Good morning.”
She closed her eyes on a groan, rolling away from the light, from him. One more minute, then she’d wake up enough to be enraged, or outraged, or whatever it was she should be.
“Lily, are you alright?”
The voice was sharp, persistent.
He wasn’t going to go away.
“I’m fine,” she grumbled. She would be, as soon as she shook off this thick-headed, bleary-eyed feeling, and—Oh! She rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth. Another groan inadvertently escaped and she muttered, “Maybe a little queasy,” before she could think better of it.
Her eyes blinked open, to find Kelan right there, bending over her with a scrutinizing frown.
She shrank away, pulling the covers up around her throat. Her lips curled down as a sour wave rippled through her.
“You don’t look fine.” His dark frown intensified as he straightened. “I’ll be right back.”
The sourness passed, leaving her with a foul taste in her mouth. “Kelan, wait, I’ll be…” fine.
He was gone, the door swinging closed behind him.
Lily took a shallow breath, and another…her stomach seemed a bit more settled, her head less thick.
She scrambled from the bed to slip on her robe, securing it firmly over her nightgown. Her stomach roiled once, then settled again. She walked a slow path up and down the room, shallow breaths…this was definitely helping. At least the bone-weariness from last night had left her limbs. And she was thinking clearer. Although her mouth still felt like a shovel of grit.
When Kelan returned with a tray, her eyes watered at the sight and smell of the lemon tea.
“Thank you.” She scooped the cup from the tray before he could set it on the bedside table, and gulped down a large mouthful. She saw the plate of dry biscuits and took one of those, nibbling in between sips. “This is exactly what I needed. How did you know?”
“I didn’t,” he said. “Odd woman, that, Mrs. Fettle. She seemed rather cheerful about your ill health. Couldn’t stop smiling while she prepared the tray.”
“Oh, dear...” Lily sent him a grimace as she sank down onto the edge of the bed. “You didn’t happen to tell Mrs. Fettle my stomach was unsettled? First thing in the morning?”
Kelan
nodded. “And that you looked pale.”
“No wonder she was all smiles.” Lily plucked another biscuit from the plate. “She thinks I’m…” She arched a brow at him. “You know…”
Kelan’s gaze narrowed on her. “What?”
She lowered her eyes, nibbling on her biscuit.
It took him a second more to draw the obvious conclusion. The mattress shifted beneath his weight as he sat down heavily. “With child?”
“Mrs. Fettle doesn’t know we’ve been married less than a month,” Lily muttered. “Barely two weeks.”
“Is it possible?”
Her eyes flashed up, meeting artic blue. Now that she was feeling better, she was noticing. The dark beauty carved into the harsh angles of his face, the way his hair scraped long and silky along the arrogant lines of his cheek and jaw, the raw intensity of his gaze.
He wasn’t looking at her with desire in his eyes, but that didn’t seem to matter. Her body was remembering the shape of his mouth on hers, the taste of him filling her, the hot skin and sleek muscle of his naked chest. Heat flushed her skin, prickling awareness from head to toe.
She shuffled up against the headboard, folding her legs between them, tucking her feet in beneath her gown. She needed the distance. The barrier.
“Is it?” he asked again. “Could you be?”
With child? “Since you’re my first and only husband so far,” she retorted stiffly, “you should know how preposterous that question is.”
“Lily.” He squared one leg over the bed as he turned fully to her, leaning in. “A woman doesn’t have to be married to conceive.”
Her cheeks caught fire. No! Absolutely not! She was not having this conversation. But goodness, how dare he? She might have broken free from some social strictures of late, but she certainly hadn’t loosened her moral fibre.
“I saw you, Lily…in Greyston’s arms,” he said smoothly. “Kissing.”
Lily glared at him. “You were spying on me?”
“I was merely walking by, in my own house, where anyone else might have—”
The Dark Matters Quartet Page 54
