Chapter Five
Five
I arrived at Buckingham Palace at a few minutes before six o’clock.
The hackney cab dropped me off a few yards from the entrance, since I didn’t want to be seen arriving in a hired conveyance.
Not that I minded, but I knew that appearance was everything to some people, and I didn’t want to be judged even before I opened my mouth.
Let people dislike me for me but not for my inability to keep a carriage and horses. That would just be silly—it would be entirely inconvenient, never mind expensive, and I much preferred walking anyway.
The palace was ablaze in lights, and I concentrated on keeping my expression neutral, not gawking like some fresh-from-the-country bumpkin. But it was honestly impressive; I’d only seen it in the daytime, and only from a distance.
I couldn’t believe one family lived here.
Twenty of my boardinghouses could have fit inside with room to spare, and that didn’t even include the ancillary buildings, such as the stables and the various supply houses.
A large expanse of lawn was in front of the house, and I imagined, for a moment, Queen Victoria’s many children playing cricket there.
Tonight, however, servants stood in front to greet the guests, most of whom were disembarking from their carriages or, in some instances, alighting nearby and then tucking their wings away so they could travel indoors.
“May I announce you, madame?” a deep-toned voice asked.
I turned to see who was speaking and looked up into the face of an ogre, albeit one who was remarkably handsome, at least for an ogre.
I imagined his size came in handy for his position; there had to be some foolhardy citizens, even now, who thought they could face off with the Queen, and this individual at the door would be a strong deterrent.
He wasn’t a butler, per se, it seemed; more of a greeter requiring a certain height and width.
He offered a welcoming smile, and I couldn’t help but smile back. “I am Miss Hastings, the government’s species ombudsman,” I said.
“Yes, you are expected,” he replied. “This way.”
He led me into the house, briefly stopping to relieve me of my shawl, and then escorted me to a large drawing room where there were already quite a few people assembled.
I had no trouble finding the marquis and his father, mostly because of the former’s height and general beauty but also because of the tendrils of smoke emanating from their vicinity.
I decided to leave them be for a moment, however, and went to see if I could find Mr. Connors, my boss.
He was always tricky to locate in a crowd because of his size and his general diffidence.
I gathered, from things he had said in the past, that he disliked these types of formal events because someone would invariably have a bit too much to drink and try to pet the doggy.
I spotted him leaning against a wall, a glass of something fizzy in his hand. I made a beeline in his direction but had to stop when a familiar—albeit somewhat menacing—voice stopped me.
“Miss Hastings.”
At least now he remembered my name?
The marquis was in full evening regalia and looked, unsurprisingly, devastatingly attractive.
His hair was slicked back with no errant locks allowed to fall impudently on his face; his suit was severe black, as was his shirt, which was a startling fashion choice.
He had a bloodred brooch on his lapel, which I assumed contained rubies, but perhaps held some other Hell-based thing I didn’t want to think about.
He took two glasses from a passing servant’s tray, handing one to me with no hesitation.
“Good evening, sir,” I said.
His topaz gaze drifted casually down my body, and I tensed, then got mad at myself for caring. Why should it matter to me if he found my appearance notable?
Because he’s only the handsomest man you’ve ever met, you idiot.
Put that way, fine. It makes sense. I just wish it weren’t so.
In which case—does he think I look good? Will he tell me if he does?
He was done assessing by the time I’d finished talking to myself, and was giving me an amused glance, as though he had been reading my mind.
Oh God. What if he could?
No, that wouldn’t be possible. If he could, he would have lashed out long ago at some of the things I’d thought since being given the assignment.
“You look quite exceptional this evening, Miss Hastings,” he said, his voice even deeper than usual.
“Thank you,” I replied in as neutral a tone as I could manage. I resisted the urge to tug my bodice up higher, not just because it would draw more attention to it but also because I knew it was an ineffective endeavor.
“I was…impressed with your response this afternoon,” he said, sounding as though the words were being forcibly pulled from his body.
“Thank you.” I frowned in thought, blurting out what was on my mind.
That was, the part that wasn’t related to his appreciation of my appearance.
“We need to figure out who is responsible for unleashing that chaos. How did they know you and your father would be there? And what would they gain by opening that portal and releasing all those creatures?”
He chuckled. “That is easy to answer. It was me. I opened the portal.”
I froze, and my glass slipped out of my hands and would have fallen to the floor if he hadn’t caught it and handed it back to me with none of the liquid spilled.
“You?” I said. “But…why?” He’d said he had nothing to do with it earlier. And I’d halfway believed him.
I could not make that mistake again.
He shrugged. “We wanted to see how our escort would react to an emergency situation. You did quite well.” And then he stopped speaking and took a sip from his glass, as though that ended the conversation, his gaze flicking around the room.
“What?” Now I was furious. “Do you mean to say you deliberately opened that portal, releasing those creatures, to wreak havoc in a church among people who have never encountered things like that before—or beings like you, for that matter—merely to test my mettle?” My voice wasn’t shrill, thank goodness, but it was vibrating with anger.
“Yes.”
“Your father—it seemed he was surprised by what was happening. He knew?”
His mouth twisted. “The Devil enjoys amateur theatricals. I told him he would have the chance to practice. You’ll have to tell him you were completely taken in—he’ll be most delighted.”
“I most certainly will not!” I said in a voice loud enough to make people nearby turn to look at us.
I lowered my voice. “Someone could have been seriously hurt. We were fortunate in that nobody panicked, but you couldn’t know if someone there might have overreacted—what if there was a nervous dragon shifter there, and they blasted fire on those humbeetles, and the whole place went up in flames? ”
His expression didn’t change. “I would have ensured my father and I were safe. You as well, Miss Hastings. I know my obligation to my host.”
I felt a roiling unpleasantness in my stomach at his cold words.
This was the reminder I needed—that he was a demon from Hell, that his code of conduct was entirely different from mine.
That he likely didn’t have a code of conduct beyond “Make certain I am fine, and damn anyone else who might get in the way.” He didn’t even care about the very real possibility that people might have gotten harmed because of his test.
“I see.”
His brows knit together in confusion. “Isn’t that what you would have wanted, Miss Hastings? To be safe if there was an attack?”
“Not at the expense of fellow beings!” I said, trying to keep my tone level. I didn’t want the Queen’s first impression of me to be that I was antagonizing the very powerful evil creatures who’d deigned to pay a visit to our world.
Perhaps then, however, I’d have the choice of my demise: either roasted on a spit or drained of all my blood. I wasn’t sure which would be preferable.
I was sure I was on the verge of hysteria.
“Miss Hastings, there you are.”
Mr. Connors trotted up to me, his tail waving back and forth behind him. I gave him a tight smile, then took a breath.
“My lord marquis, sir, you recall my superior, Mr. Connors. Mr. Connors, this is the Marquis of Hell. The Devil’s son.”
Mr. Connors’s tongue lolled out of his mouth for a moment, but he recovered, putting out his paw for the other man to shake. But the marquis merely looked at it and nodded.
“Miss Hastings is most resourceful, Mr. Connors,” he said in a smooth tone, giving me a sly glance. “She handled a situation this afternoon most adeptly.”
He’d effectively made it impossible for me to complain about what had happened by couching it like this.
If I said it was a situation of their making, Mr. Connors—or more likely Lord Hennawi—would say it was an effective strategy to ensure the Devil’s safety while in London.
If I protested, mentioning it put people in jeopardy, they’d reply that people’s safety would certainly be in far more jeopardy if there were a real attack on the Devil.
Fine. I knew when I was defeated.
“Ah, there’s the dinner bell! Miss Hastings, can I escort—?” Mr. Connors began.
“I will take Miss Hastings in to dinner,” the marquis said, holding his arm out for me. I glared at him, but only for a moment, since I didn’t want anyone else to see it. He looked amused in response, and I wished I could toss the contents of my glass in his face.
If it hadn’t meant the loss of my job, my reputation, and likely my life, I would have.
Instead, I downed the contents in one defiant gulp, then handed the empty glass to him. “Thank you, sir,” I said in an overly sweet tone.
He grinned in reply. Not what I’d expected.
The dining room was enormous—probably bigger than the entire first floor of the rooming house—and held a massive table with a crisp white tablecloth that was nearly completely covered with candelabras, sauternes, place settings, and wine decanters.