Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
It took precisely five minutes to break into Rathbourne Manor on the outskirts of Kensington.
Lucien strode into Lord Rathbourne's study, raking the room with a hard gaze as he set the candle he carried on the mantel.
Little had changed. Over the mantel hung Lord Rathbourne himself, sneering down at the room, forever caught in his favorite expression.
The artist had done a brilliant rendition, all the way down to the thin moustache that flagged Lord Rathbourne's lip and the pinpoint glare of his pupils.
Lucien turned his back on at least one of his ghosts. Rathbourne held no sway over him anymore.
White sheets draped the furnishings, heavy with dust. Until his case was heard later this summer, the courts would hold the property in trust. How Robert would hate that.
It gave him some grim amusement, until he realized that this grim mausoleum and the old, ancestral estate were the only things he truly owned in this world, if the courts ruled him sane.
What kind of future was that?
To allay the answer, Lucien paced to the window and flung the heavy velvet draperies back. Within seconds, he was overwhelmed by a miniature dust storm. "Damnation." He coughed, turning away and waving his hand in front of his face to clear the air.
"What did you expect?"
Ianthe stepped inside the study, lifting her pale, oval face to survey the heavy bookshelves.
Her creamy skin held no watercolors right now.
Her emotions were muted, bearing only a faint, radiant shimmer of amusement.
A beautiful woman of ivory tones and faint rosy blushes, wearing a red gown.
His gaze slowed as it traced the pale curve of her shoulders.
It was difficult to think of her as he once had—as the enemy.
Something hard and tight within him softened as he looked at her.
This was not the mad villainess he'd spent the past year picturing in his revenge-fueled fantasies.
She was warm flesh and blood, with her own demons, her own secrets.
He wasn't certain he particularly liked this slow-building camaraderie between them, or perhaps he didn't fully trust it, but a part of him was intrigued to discover more about her.
Kindred spirits, in some ways. She alone understood what it felt like to be betrayed by your flesh and blood, or the man you thought was such.
"Here," she said, stepping forward and brushing dust off his coat. "Dust looks like it's going to be the greatest danger here."
He'd been cautious as they entered, however. Lord Rathbourne liked his privacy and had once employed a host of wards and hidden tripwires to all manners of magical mayhem. Nothing of them seemed to remain. They'd faded into dust and air, along with their master. "Hopefully."
"Where would he hide the grimoire?"
"Not here." Lucien crossed to the bookshelf, tugging on some ancient play of Euripides. With a groan, the fireplace began to move.
"Hidden staircases?"
"It gets better. Lord Rathbourne was the sort of sorcerer who liked the darker practices. Anything that gave him power."
"Please tell me we're not going to find bodies down there."
"No. A skull or two, perhaps."
The grinding in the walls slowed. Lucien lifted the candle and waved it into the darkened tunnel.
"Suitably gothic." His proud, invulnerable Miss Martin looked like she was going to faint.
"Are you all right?" Lucien asked her.
Miss Martin let out a slow breath, her eyes darting around. "I'm fine. I'm just not... fond of small dark spaces."
Like attics. His heart actually clenched in his chest. He'd never have realized the cause behind such a weakness before their earlier conversation.
Hell, he actually wanted to draw her into his arms and curl her against his chest. "I have a candle," he promised, voice softening, "and I'll be here too."
Those dark eyes surveyed him, as if to gauge whether he was mocking her or not, and then she looked back down the narrow stone passage. A chill breeze whispered over his skin, and he knew what she was thinking.
"It won't blow out."
"I'm not entirely certain I won't make an embarrassing scene if it does," she said dryly, trying for humor and failing. "It's possible I might try to climb you. Like a tree."
"Miss Martin, the devil incarnate, scared of a little darkness?"
"I could thrash you sometimes, Rathbourne," she mock-growled, but faint glimmers of indigo-gray crossed her face.
Fear.
Without thinking, Lucien summoned a mage globe, gleaming with iridescent white light. It came to hand immediately, and Lucien looked down in shock. It hadn't hurt him to summon it. Mage globes of white were virtually powerless, but still... Was the problem his sorcery, or some part of his mind?
"Oh. Thank you."
Lucien gestured, and the faint globe rose from the palm of his hand, hovering in front of them.
The strain came immediately, cold sweat springing up against the back of his neck, but he didn't dismiss it.
Ianthe stepped into the tunnel, her skirts pressing against his trousers, and one hand on his sleeve, as though his presence gave her some peace of mind.
He couldn't have dismissed it if he'd tried.
"Rathbourne's occult study is not far. There should be a staircase at the end, which will wind down to the cellars.
" Lucien held his hand out as she stepped forward, as if to prove she wasn't afraid of the dark.
Stubborn woman. "Let me go first, Ianthe.
There might have been something he left behind to guard his private domain. "
"Very well," she murmured as he strode forward, "but only because the view is more enticing from back here."
Lucien glanced back, noting her impish smile, and couldn't stop his own from forming. "One would think you enjoy your nights."
"Whatever gave you that idea?"
The sound of her gasps, her body arching up beneath him as he traced her skin with his tongue...
The mage globe dimmed a little. Concentrate, he told himself harshly. Her teasing manner intrigued him, however. There'd been little humor between them thus far.
"Tell me about Cross," Lucien said, shouldering through the small passage. It ended, just as a gaping yawn opened up beneath his feet. The staircase.
"Remy?"
Remy. His fingers actually curled into a fist. Ridiculous, really. It wasn't as though he'd sensed anything between her and the magician, but then, she'd said the Prime had never been her lover... Which left at least two men, somewhere out there.
"What about Remy?"
"How did the two of you meet?"
"He'd advertised in the newspaper for an assistant," Ianthe replied.
"We suited each other. He provided me with an income and a way to thumb my nose at my father, and I wasn't frightened of him, unlike the other applicants.
Once you've grown up in Grant Martin's household, there's no stare you cannot meet.
It had Remy quite perplexed at the start.
I think he quite likes people to either be in awe of him or terrified.
I was neither." Ianthe considered something.
"I'm certain Drake had a hand in my gaining the position too.
He wanted to provide me with pin money, once I'd finished my apprenticeship, but I refused. "
Lucien glanced back over his shoulder as they reached the lower floor, and held a hand out to help her down the last few stairs. "Why?"
Those fingers were warm. Ianthe stepped past, examining the darkened chamber before them, but she didn't let go of his hand.
"When my father threw me out, I had nothing, Lucien.
It was an eye-opening experience. By the time Drake set me on my feet, I had vowed that I would never be beholden to another person again.
When I finished my apprenticeship, I trusted Drake, but I didn't want to be supported by him. I wanted to be my own person."
"Cross pays so well?" He didn't forget the luxury of her house, or her eminently fashionable wardrobe.
"My aunt left me a small inheritance a few years ago," Ianthe admitted. "It was time to begin thinking of the future, so I bought the house and channeled the remaining funds into investments."
"So you didn't need to work as Cross's assistant anymore? Why continue then, until three months ago?"
"Lucien." Her smile was gentle. "I enjoyed the work. It gave my life some purpose."
"When you're not hunting miscreants for the Prime?"
"Yes, well, there's that."
It seemed somewhat lonely. "You've never considered marriage and children?"
Those pale features froze in a polite expression. "What man would have me? I'm a sorcerer's whore, according to popular opinion, and if I'm honest, why surrender my authority to a man? I am in the unique position of living my life according to my own whims."
"You don't want children?"
She turned away, examining the small cellar room they'd entered. "I don't know whether I would be a good mother."
Something about the softness of her tone drew his eyes. Not the entire truth then. "And your father? How did becoming a magician's assistant help 'thumb your nose at him'?"
"He'd been making noises about taking Drake to court and suing him for destroying my character.
The words he painted Drake with were ghastly; a sorcerer preying upon innocent young maids and seducing them to Satan's side.
It was ridiculous considering he was the one who threw me out, but a few of my father's friends were muttering about it.
So I wanted to put a stop to his plans to paint me as some innocent young girl and Drake as a vile seducer.
I sent him front row tickets to my first show from an anonymous source.