Chapter 12 #2
‘Oh dear. Lady Langley has given up on the earl and is headed our way. You better dash before she sets her sights on you, Thomas. I shall head her off.’ Cynthia waved gaily at the duchess who was making a determined beeline towards them.
She was as good as her word, leaving Thomas with Clio to intercept Lady Langley before she reached them.
Thomas leaned closer to Clio, her scent wrapping around him like a forbidden embrace. ‘The library. Later. Will you come?’
Sir Robin chirped, tilting his head, his gaze disconcertingly knowing. But damn Thomas if he would be intimidated by a bloody bird. No matter how sharp his beak looked in the wavering candlelight.
Clio bit her lip, and Thomas nearly groaned as his cock grew impossibly hard.
‘Unless you are worried I might win our little battle of wits.’ He couldn’t help himself. He was a bastard for bullying her, but she was a fearsome warrior. He was confident she could handle whatever taunts he might throw.
‘I’m worried I will leave a bloodied mess the maids will have to clean before morning.’
Thomas thrilled at her answer. ‘Until later, then.’ He nearly leaned closer.
Nearly brushed his lips against her cheek just to see if her skin was as soft as it looked.
Nearly let his heart crack. Just a little.
Just enough to know he could still bleed.
But Cynthia’s efforts to distract Lady Langley had failed.
He could see the duchess approaching with Cynthia in tow.
If he wished to escape the drawing room, now was his only chance.
Stepping away from Clio, he nodded his head in an abbreviated bow, abandoning her to the company of the duchess as he swiftly found the nearest exit.
Of all the ridiculous, silly, ill-advised things I could be doing right now…
Clio froze as a creaking board further down the hall had her heart leaping into her throat.
Her magic could do many things, but it couldn’t make her invisible.
After a long stretch of silence where she determined the house was settling instead of a rogue footman wandering the halls at three in the morning, she continued her mad, sneaking journey to the library.
She should never have let Grey provoke her into meeting him.
Alone. And like a fool, she hadn’t even brought Sir Robin.
The poor raven had found himself a comfortable perch on a sturdy lamp in the corner of her frilly guest room, head tucked under his wing.
He showed no signs of waking when she slipped out of the door in her nightgown and thick, woollen shawl.
She had debated keeping her dress on, but when the maid came to help her get ready for bed, Clio worried gossip might stir if she sent her away still fully dressed.
Pushing the door to the library open, Clio couldn’t decide if she was disappointed or relieved that the room was dark and empty.
Perhaps Thomas had already come and gone.
Maybe he was snoring away in his room, oblivious to their missed meeting.
Or he was toying with her. And like an untried fool, she had fallen for his ploy.
‘Or I might be early.’
Damn.
That was troubling. What if he hadn’t arrived yet and she left?
She would be toying with him. The power would be realigned in Clio’s favour, which should have filled her with satisfaction.
But instead, she felt… deflated. Like a child who, on Christmas morning, finds nothing but coal in her stocking.
Something glimmered near the smouldering hearth deep in the recesses of the room. She was drawn to the flash of light as much as the lingering heat from the banked fire. The closer she drew, the clearer the image became.
The viscount solidified.
‘Lord Beachley.’ Clio tried to hide her surprise.
She supposed it wasn’t impossible for a ghost to travel so far.
Spirits were insubstantial creatures after all, and the rules of physics wouldn’t apply, but she had never worked with a phantasm who manifested in such diverse locations.
‘Have you come to see your daughter? Or perhaps to haunt your sister… She seems to hold little love for you.’
‘Anna.’ The echoing timbre of his voice whispered over her nerves as gooseflesh broke out over her neck and arms.
It was the first time he spoke to her, and a huge step forward in her investigation. She wished Uncle Lachlan were here so she could share the triumph with him.
Nerves spiked. If she pushed the ghost too hard, he could disappear. But she might not get another chance to communicate with him. She couldn’t let this opportunity pass. ‘Who took you away from Anna, Lord Beachley? Who did this to you?’
Pewter eyes, which once held colour but were now opaque orbs in an ashen face, filled with silver tears. ‘I lost everything. Everything!’
‘I’m going to help you. I promise.’ Her heart ached for the man. To be taken away from his daughter, his life, it seemed immensely cruel.
He drifted closer to Clio, and something shifted.
The lines of his face hardened in a rictus of rage.
He wasn’t looking at her, but rather through her.
He wrapped bony fingers around her neck before she could react.
‘Murderer!’ The silent scream echoed in her head.
Spots flashed in her vision as Viscount Beachley squeezed.
His face transformed from fearsome rage to heartbreaking grief.
Tears once more filled his pewter eyes but his fingers only tightened.
She struggled against him, power pooling in her belly as panic fought with logic.
I must stop him. He does not mean to hurt me.
But he was choking the breath from her. Magic built, rising within her like lava. ‘I am not your enemy, Lord Beachley. I’m here to help,’ she rasped the words as he increased pressure on her throat. A silver tear tracked down his face. Soon, she wouldn’t be able to breathe.
Heat from her witchflame pulsed out of her like a wave, escaping from every pore in a white flash of concentrated power. Viscount Beachley flew back, swirling and spinning like a dust mote until he disappeared completely.
Clio’s breath came in rasping gasps as she touched her bruised neck. Nausea swept through her on an oily wave.
‘What the fucking hell was that?’ A dark growl dispelled her queasiness and filled her with something far worse: fear.
She turned to the open door. Light from the hall silhouetted a powerful form.
Grey.
He promised to uncover her secrets. And the damnable man was true to his word.
She had been discovered.