Chapter 6
SIX
Mrs. Brogan was delighted with my biscuits, proclaimed them the best she’d ever tasted, demanded the recipe, which I promised to write down, and then began serving them.
I was walked directly to Mr. Gaffney, the house steward’s man, and he had me sign the register over biscuits and jam.
Returning to Mrs. Brogan, when I heard her cough, I recommended some peppermint tea and honey.
She agreed to try, and when I returned, we sat and talked about the tarts I would make the following day, and she said that yes, her throat felt better and thanked me profusely.
I was then directed to return to the kitchen, as many more biscuits were needed.
I baked for another couple of hours until Constance returned, flushed and beaming, and reported that Mr. Corey had cut her a wide berth all evening, and had not even glanced her way when they passed in the hallway.
“All the blessings on you, Xander. I will light a candle in church for you on Sunday.”
“I appreciate that.”
When I was given leave to go to my chambers, a young man showed me the way. There were two of us in a small ten-by-ten room, on cots, and when he told me he was going to have a drink with some others, I wished him a good night.
I was supposed to take a bath—a nightshirt and a uniform for the following day had been delivered to my room—but instead, I slipped out and, sticking to the shadows, moved from one floor to the next, making my way across the long hallway that connected the servants’ wing to the main part of the mansion.
The basement was where the cooking was done and where all the food and drinks were sent up from.
The first floor held an enormous ballroom, several sitting rooms, the library, a room full of sculptures and jewels, another of exotic taxidermized animals, and one filled with a trove of archaic weapons.
I spotted Giles in the ballroom, dancing with a stunning woman draped in crimson brocade.
I studied him from the shadows, moving through, pleased he couldn’t sense me.
It was strange to see him changed from earlier in the night.
There was gray at his temples, lines on his face, and the tawny gold skin that ran through our line seemed to be a dusty pallor on him.
I had to wonder at the change. He’d been so certain Corvus could sustain him, and I didn’t doubt that.
But perhaps what he’d felt had been Corvus with its guardian.
I would love to ask him, to know the answer, but I was not stupid enough to challenge a hedge-rider.
Climbing the stairs, I found that the second floor belonged solely to Giles.
His bedroom, game room, parlor, tapestries, and paintings, treasures I was certain had been collected over the centuries that he could now display.
I would have preferred to miss any and all of his personal stash, but the way the stairs were designed, there was not one steep set of stairs rising up four floors, but instead they were broken up at each level.
I was forced to traverse his suite of rooms to ascend.
This meant seeing his entire funhouse before getting to where I wanted to go.
When I reached the third floor, I realized how bone-tired I was. The perpetual darkness was grating on me, I’d eaten hours ago, I was used to drinking so much more water, as well as tea, and I was still not clean. But the important part was reaching Lorne. I was beyond caring about anything else.
Exactly as Constance had described, when I walked to the left, after what felt like an endless trek, I arrived at ornately gilded double doors.
I was not even remotely surprised that they were locked—Giles would have wanted him shut in.
When I knocked, there was no answer. After a moment, though, I noticed a gold key dangling from a silk cord on the wall on the left.
It hung from the foot of what I was guessing was a solid gold cherub.
I was betting that more than one person had reached for that key, but when I called my power to me and brushed the glamour away, the key showed its true color, a deep, almost pulsing crimson, reminiscent of Giles’s dance partner and the color of her dress. I wondered who she was, and at her power.
I suspected that as soon as I used the key, Giles would be alerted, but the lure of my husband was too great.
Blowing on the key, I watched it turn bright white, then a deep azure blue, and finally the plain iron that it was.
I slipped it into the lock, opened the door, stepped inside, and then locked it behind me.
It was odd inside the room—opulent but not warm, not a place for Lorne at all.
Enormous canvases on the walls of women in various stages of undress, all the frames gilded, lots of velvet, more tassels than I could count, and ahead of me was another set of double doors.
When I knocked, I heard a welcome sound, the high-pitched trill of a daemon masquerading as a housecat.
I was smiling as Lorne roared out the order to go away.
“But I want to see you,” I asserted.
There was a lot of bumping around, something else hit maybe a wall, and Argos shoved his paw under the door and jiggled it like he did in the cottage when he wanted in.
The way it worked, though, the moment you let him in, he wanted to go back out.
I often wondered if he was truly more spirit, or maybe even sprite, or more cat.
After another thump and some swearing, the door was thrown open, and there he was.
It was amazing. I had so much to say, but I was distracted by his outfit, as well as Argos leaping into my arms and curling into a ball, which was new. He was not, as a rule, overly affectionate with me.
“Xan,” Lorne breathed out, and instantly, his eyes filled.
Giving Argos a squeeze, I lifted my head for Lorne so he could see there was no wound on me. “All healed.”
He nodded. “I knew that. I saw the wound close the second you hit the snow. We were on Corvus, after all. No way you’d die there. Giles didn’t know.”
“There’s so much he doesn’t.”
“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Which is good.”
“And then?”
“After he threw you out into the snow, after I saw you heal,” he rasped before swallowing, having trouble getting his voice to work. “I must’ve passed out.”
“You were scared when you woke up.”
Quick cough to clear his throat. “I was, but still, I was confident you’d be okay. I had faith.”
“Were you losing hope?” I asked, the words coming out before I even had time to think.
“Never. I knew I just had to be patient.”
He was, without question, the most incredible man. From the beginning he’d had faith in me, accepted my magic, and been practical in the face of absolute craziness that would have sent a lesser man to therapy. I was blessed to have him as my mate.
“What are you wearing?” I squinted at Lorne, changing the subject, needing to, not wanting to break down crying.
He shivered, then huffed out a breath.
“Are those breeches?”
He shook his head. “Shall I start from the bottom and work my way up?”
“Yes, please,” I husked, catching my breath as I stared my fill of him. He was, and had always been, a beautiful man, but now, eyes glinting as he held my gaze, I was overwhelmed being close to him.
He lifted his foot. “These are Hessian boots.”
I nodded as a slow, sexy grin curled his lush lips.
“And no, these are not breeches but in fact simply trousers that have straps underneath so they don’t ride up my legs. That’s never good.”
“No, of course not,” I agreed, stepping closer, needing to be closer.
“I have a linen shirt on under my silk waistcoat, and on top is my double-breasted frockcoat that you can plainly see.”
“All the navy-blue suits you.”
“Giles has a companion, a friend he brought through the veil with him, who is very interested in what I wear,” he informed me with an arch of his brow as he took Argos from me and placed him gently on the floor.
The cat sprinted to a massive four-poster bed, leaped up onto it, then lay down at the end.
I stepped in against him, my hands on his hips as I stared up into his inky-blue eyes. “This woman dresses you?”
“It’s either her choice or I go naked. So I wear them now that she knows she can’t enchant them, and she understands I won’t eat anything I don’t prepare myself.”
“She tried to poison you?”
“I think her intention was to coerce me, bend me, but I knew better than to eat what was served to me. I live with you, and I watch you add ingredients to your bread and muffins, and sprinkle herbs in my soup. I feel your love in the things you make for me, so wouldn’t the reverse be true?
Couldn’t I be made pliable if she fed me? ”
“You’re very clever,” I praised him.
“Oh, I know.”
I smiled. “I love you very much.”
“I know that too.” He took my face gently in his hands.
“I was so scared.”
He made a noise in the back of his throat, like a growl or a rumble, before kissing me.
My whine was loud. I couldn’t help it. I was desperate to taste him, to have him, to remind him whom he belonged to.
He wrapped me in his arms, and I pressed against him tight, my hands clawing at his back, wanting everything off, nothing between us, just his skin on mine.
I bit him, and he chuckled into my mouth, breaking the kiss to gulp air before recapturing my lips, the kiss becoming devouring, mauling, his teeth bumping my lips.
I was writhing in his arms, against him, and then I was off my feet and crushed against his hard, muscular chest, my legs wrapped around his hips before we fell down onto the bed and I was pinned under him.
Only then, with the weight of him, his heat, his smell, did I break the kiss and tell him I was filthy.
“Not yet, but you’re gonna be.”
It took my brain a moment to process that cheesy line—he had all my senses clouded with passion, after all. When I did, I gasped loudly.