Chapter Nineteen
Nineteen
You do not know how to drive a hansom cab. Let me.
No.
Let. Me.
Finally I was able to wrestle his control to the side and slow the horses—Marcellus had been heedless of anything but speed, which meant we had nearly collided with a merchant hauling potatoes and narrowly missed running over several nannies and their charges.
I’d been yelling at him throughout, but his demonic morality didn’t care about any of that—the only thing that mattered to him was that we were safe.
How long do you have to stay inside me? I asked.
Until the effects have worn off my body. I will check on myself when we get back to Clarence House.
What did they use to immobilize you, do you think?
Holy water, probably. I can’t think of anything else that could be made into a mist.
Clever, I thought, admiringly despite the danger it had put us in. It sounded as though they were going to kidnap you—to what end, I wonder? Why not just kill you?
I can’t be killed, remember?
Oh. Right.
If I were taken, maybe the kidnappers thought they could force my father to do something. A long pause. But he wouldn’t.
I couldn’t help but think how sad that was.
It’s fine, Hastings. Things are different there than here.
Even though you’re always telling me how London and Hell are the same?
Yes, but my father is quite different from anyone you are fond of or who is fond of you.
His words made me hurt.
Just don’t think about it, Hastings.
But I couldn’t stop. Was he lonely? Did he wish he had a different type of parent? Did he have a mother at all? I had no idea how demonic reproduction worked.
I was not going to ask, and to my great relief, he didn’t overhear me thinking about it.
We arrived back at Clarence House about half an hour later, thankfully without harming any starchy vegetables or small children.
I leaped down from the seat, to the surprise of the waiting staff.
The cabdriver hopped off his seat and began to run as though the Devil himself was at his heels, leaving his horses and carriage behind.
He’s inside, I wanted to inform him. But the driver was well gone.
“Miss, is everything all right?”
The wizard butler trotted down the stairs, concern on his face.
“Yes, thank you, we just had a few circumstances occur.”
A few circumstances?
Shut up, I didn’t know what to say!
Obviously.
“The marquis isn’t feeling well. And the cabdriver also, well, he’s not here, so—” I scurried to fling open the door of the carriage. “I want to check on the marquis. Can you assist?”
I stared down at Marcellus’s still form, wondering if he’d recovered enough to return inside himself.
I think so. Let me try.
“Ugh.” Marcellus let out a groan as he opened his eyes and shifted on the floor of the cab. “Thank you for your quick thinking, Miss Hastings.”
“My lord, can we help you out? Do you want us to call a doctor? Should we let your father know?”
Marcellus waved a hand as the butler assisted him out of the carriage. He looked wobbly but was still able to stand.
Most important, my brain was now my own again. I hadn’t felt him leave, but I had sensed the emptiness when he left—it felt a lot more spacious with just me inside.
I might almost miss him.
“No doctor, and don’t inform my father. I will be fine. Uh, can you send the constables to—where were we, Miss Hastings?”
“On the way to Oxford, my lord. Perhaps half an hour drive from here?”
“The constables?” the butler said, looking confused.
“Yes, some ruffians attempted to rob us, but we managed to subdue them. They should still be there. I might have used a bit too much force.”
The butler’s eyes went wide. “Of course, my lord. Right away.” He called for another footman and repeated the order, then returned to us, while Marcellus looked over at me. “Miss Hastings, if you wouldn’t mind—?”
I went to him and took his arm, guiding him up the stairs. He leaned on me but not too much, and we went slower than usual.
“Are you all right?” I asked in a low tone.
“Fine. I just need some rest and perhaps a whiskey or two,” he replied.
“We’ll also need to interrogate your Mr. Phenex,” I said.
“After the whiskeys, Hastings. Priorities.”
I sighed but figured it was best to give him as much rest as possible before continuing with our investigation.
Instead of stopping in the lobby, which was the only place I’d been in Clarence House thus far, Marcellus insisted on going up to his rooms, still with me helping him, the butler hovering in the background as we walked up the stairs.
We reached his floor and walked down the hallway to his rooms. The hallway had a long, luxuriously made carpet, and several large oil paintings of a variety of rural scenes hung on the walls.
Gold sconces were interspersed between the paintings, while each door had a gold knob and gold plates indicating the number of each room.
The effect was one of quiet, if boring, luxury.
“Send whiskey up,” Marcellus said to the hovering butler.
“Yes, my lord,” the man replied, giving me an anxious look.
I offered him a reassuring smile, and he headed off as Marcellus put the key into the lock.
The room was enormous, far bigger than I would have expected. It had a massive rug on the floor, this one in hues of dark blue and brown, with solid, dark furniture. The bed was also massive, adorned with ridiculously frilly pillows. I turned to him, and he held up his hand.
“I know. They are not my choice. I keep putting them on the floor, and every day they’re right back where you see them.”
I giggled; the image of Marcellus, all gorgeous, dark handsomeness of him lying against pillows someone’s precious elderly aunt would prize made me laugh.
“Help me over there,” he said, nodding to the sitting area.
The chair I led him to was a large wingback, upholstered in dark blue and arranged in front of the unlit fireplace. I took the chair on the other side, this one equally large but upholstered in brown.
“Do you want me to make up the fire?” I asked.
He leaned his head back against the headrest. “No, the whiskey will warm me enough. I’d forgotten how much that kind of thing wears me out.”
“Does that happen often, then?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Not very. But we are vulnerable, and there have been a few instances where someone has exploited that vulnerability.”
There was a tap on the door, and then the butler entered, holding a tray with a bottle and two glasses.
“Just there,” Marcellus said, indicating the low table set between us.
The butler placed it, then looked at him. “Is there anything else, my lord?”
“No. Just go.”
The man bowed, then left, as Marcellus poured himself a draught of the dark brown liquid.
“You could be a bit more polite,” I pointed out.
He gave me a surprised look. “Polite? How was I not polite?”
“You didn’t say please or thank you,” I said.
“Well, I also didn’t growl at him or threaten to eat him, so I think that’s all to the good, don’t you?”
I gulped. “That’s your definition of being polite?”
He took a sip of his whiskey and uttered a noise of satisfaction before replying. “Your monarch is a vampire, Hastings. Don’t you think that’s now your definition of polite?”
“Good point,” I said, giving myself my own serving of whiskey, since Marcellus hadn’t done so.
He watched as I drank, then leaned over to pat me on the back when I coughed a little. “See? I’m being polite now?”
I glared at him as my eyes watered.
“You must feel better,” I said in a dry tone. “Since you’re able to banter with me.”
He smiled, a dangerously seductive smile that made my knees wobble. It was a good thing I was seated. “Bantering is one of the many things I enjoy doing with you, Hastings.”
I rolled my eyes at him—something I seemed to do a lot—but of course I loved it. There was something so gratifying about a remarkably handsome person showing their admiration for you. It would be disingenuous to pretend I wasn’t pleased.
“But the question remains—who is behind all of this?”
“We need to question Phenex,” he said and drained his whiskey.
“Not until you rest a bit more,” I admonished.
He still looked a little pale, though it was hard to tell—he was already naturally pale, so now he was just whiter than snow.
He was certainly a lot whiter than me; I tended to spend a lot of time outdoors, and I didn’t always remember to wear a bonnet or carry a parasol.
“I’m all right,” he said in a grouchy voice. He made as if to get up but had to sit back down.
I tried not to look smug.
“Fine. You win. But I’ll need to interrogate Phenex as soon as possible.”
“You’re not going to torture him, are you?
” I asked, realizing even as I spoke it was a dumb question.
Of course he was, if he thought that was the best way to get an answer.
His morality, his way of viewing the world, was through the lens of a demon and living in Hell, not that of a young human lady in London.
“If he tells me what I want to know, of course not.”
The answer I should have expected.
“Can you—can you help me to my bed?” He sounded suddenly weary, and I immediately rose out of my chair and went to him.
We went the few steps to the bed, and I helped him out of his jacket as he sat on the edge of the mattress, then turned a bright shade of crimson as he drew his shirt over his head. He burst out laughing when he saw my face.
“Hastings, I know firsthand you are not a prude.”
He drew his legs up and tucked them under the coverlet, then leaned back against a few of the frilly pillows, folding his arms under his head.
The sight was glorious.
His chest was lean and muscled, pale, with a dusting of dark-black hair.
His nipples were an appealing shade of pink and stood up at attention, as I know mine had a few times during our…
conversations. His arms were likewise muscled and, because of the way they were positioned, showed the strength of his arms to full advantage.
His hair had become mussed while he’d been passed out on the floor of the hansom, so strands of it were tumbled about his face, making him look more feral. Somehow, that made him appear even more attractive.
I didn’t know what that said about me, but I couldn’t deny the truth.
“Do you like what you see?” he asked in a sly tone.
I put my hand on his chest. Oh my goodness, that felt nice. “Yes, you know I do. I hadn’t expected all of this, however.”
His brows drew together in confusion. “All of what? I look like human males, don’t I?”
I thought about my previous up-close experience with a male chest. “No, not quite,” I replied with silent apologies to Fred the greengrocer. “I mean, you are made the same way, but this is—this is much more impressive.”
“Of course it is,” he said.
I couldn’t resist sliding my palm over all that bare, warm skin. Like the rest of him, he ran hot here too.
“Careful, Hastings,” he warned. “You don’t want to start something you don’t want to finish.”
“Or I can’t help but finish,” I murmured. I jerked my hand away, then jumped to my feet. “Right. Well. I should go, if you feel you will be all right.”
“I’d be better if you stayed with me,” he said, patting the bed next to him.
“Thank you, but I cannot. When you have rested, will you let me know convenient times for you to meet with the Queen and the duke? I assume both will want to meet as soon as possible, given that the Exhibition is in less than a week.”
He grimaced. “Sometimes I wish my father wasn’t quite so lazy. Anytime is fine—it is not as though I am otherwise occupied.” He dropped his gaze down my body, and I felt it like a palpable touch. “More’s the pity.”
I spun on my heel before I did something foolish, like leap on him, and made my way to the door. “I will see you tomorrow, then.”
His chuckle echoed in my ears as I walked down the stairs to the exit.