Shadow's End (8 page)

He had said before that he was handling it. Whatever it was. What could he have possibly done to handle anything in the short amount of time he had left her alone?

But she trusted him. Didn't she?

Poking at herself, she realized that, yes, she did trust him, substantially more than she had at the beginning of this gods awful evening, and even more than she had realized.

“You'll tell me if I need to know?” she asked.

“I swear, I'll tell you if you need to know,” he said. “But you don't need to know. Stay focused on your son. This does not have to become your battle.”

She thought about that. Then she gave him a little nod. “Very well.”

He bent his head.

For a crazy, heart-stopping moment, she thought he might actually kiss her.

On the lips, no less.

If he did, it would turn this whole evening completely upside down.

As it turned out, he
did
kiss her, but not on the mouth. He pressed his lips to her forehead, almost as if he thought she might need comfort, which was stupid, of course, because nobody had offered her comfort in a donkey's age.

People always came to Bel with their problems and expected her to fix them, and she did. Somehow, she always did, no matter how difficult the problem or how long it took.

The press of his mouth against her sensitive skin evoked the wildest upsurge of longing she had felt in a winter's eternity. It mingled with the earlier yearning she had felt to fling herself against his chest, to pat his waistcoat, to nestle against the warm, friendly blaze of his aura.

Closing her eyes, she pretended to drift into his caress, as if she had every right to enjoy his touch and they had all the time in the world.

And every single part of that was wrong.

He murmured, “I'm so sorry we didn't get any information about Ferion.”

His words jolted her back to reality.

Reluctantly, she pulled away, and his hands fell from her face. With the same kind of wildness that had gripped her several times already that evening, she missed his touch so desperately, she almost reached for him again, except she didn't have the right.

She forced herself to be relevant. “We did get some information,” she said. “The Vampyre I was questioning when you showed up—he said that ‘his employer' had invited Ferion to an exclusive game at a country estate, a day's ride west of London toward Wembley. He claimed Ferion left right after he had arrived.”

“Did he, now?” Graydon said thoughtfully.

She chewed at her lip. “It's not much to go on, but it will have to do. I didn't think to ask how long ago that happened.
Since Ferion didn't attend the masque, I had assumed he arrived at Malfeasance sometime this evening, but that isn't necessarily true. The only thing I know for sure is that I saw him at breakfast. If he went to Malfeasance directly afterward, he's had almost a day to travel already. I don't have a moment to lose.”

The gods only knew how much financial damage Ferion might do before she found him, let alone how much time she might be gone.

Her absence would be noted, and the chances that she could keep this from Calondir were growing terribly thin. Lianne and Alanna were in her confidence, but none of their other guards and retainers were.

“What do you mean?” Graydon asked.

“A carriage will take too much time,” she muttered. “I'll need to travel by horseback, and take either Lianne or Alanna with me. The other one will fuss, but someone needs to stay behind and try to run interference.”

Big hands settled onto her shoulders, startling her out of her preoccupation. Graydon said, “I said, what do you mean, you don't have a moment to lose?”

Looking up into his shadowed face, she said, “Thank you so much for what you've done. Can you possibly do me one more favor and take me to Grosvenor Square before we part for the night?”

His hands flexed, and for some reason, his body tightened again.

He said, “No.”

FIVE

H
e hadn't meant to sound so abrupt.

He hadn't meant anything at all. As he had gathered her meaning, denial had rolled over him, and the word had leaped out before he realized it.

Looking into Beluviel's beautiful, upturned face in the uncertain light of the moon, he saw that his answer had taken her aback. She blinked and straightened her spine. He could feel the rigidity of her shoulders through the palms of his hands.

He was beginning to recognize her reaction. Whenever adversity struck, she straightened and readied herself to meet it.

He needed to unclench and think of something more coherent to say. Unfortunately, that would require understanding himself more than he did at the moment. Realizing he gripped her too tightly, he forced his fingers to relax.

She said with obvious constraint, “If you need to leave right away, I'm sure I can hire a hansom from Malfeasance.”

Violence flashed through him at the thought of her walking back to that filthy hellhole. He swore under his breath
and reined himself in. “I apologize. I meant, no, I'm not going to just drop you off at Grosvenor Square. I will take you to Wembley, if you'll let me.”

She drew in a breath. Sensing she was about to deny him, he rushed on. “Before you say anything, think about it. I can get you there much faster than anybody other than a Djinn, only I won't demand a favor from you in return. We can stop at the posting houses along the way to make inquiries. You'll locate Ferion and Malphas's estate much faster with me, and besides—”

Besides, I don't want to leave you just yet.

He caught himself before he said it. He had no business feeling that way, let alone confessing such a thing to her.

Aside from the fact that it was inappropriate in the extreme, a part of him—the part that was all cunning and no conscience—realized that if he said it, she might feel forced to turn down his offer.

He wasn't prepared to let that happen.

“Besides what?” Her gentle question brought him back to himself.

“It might be best if you had extra protection,” he finished, feeling lame. Then he gained more surety as he thought about it. He told her, “Malphas will not be happy to have us arrive uninvited, but with representatives of two different demesnes, not just one, on his doorstep, it might check his behavior.”

“Are you certain you can leave your sentinel duties for that long?” she asked. “You traveled all the way from New York to attend the masque. I'm sure you must have meetings and social functions on your schedule. Won't Dragos have need of you?”

He brushed that aside. “Constantine and I have very light duties while we're here. I won't be leaving any task that I can't pick up again once you and I are done.”

“If you do take me, this must be a private arrangement,” she said. “Something just between you and me, not between the Elven and the Wyr demesnes. We must maintain absolute secrecy.”

“Of course,” he replied. “I already promised my discretion on this matter. That extends to the trip to Malphas's estate.”

“We really could travel so much faster,” she said slowly. “We could return to London faster too. Perhaps I can still find a way to keep this from Calondir's attention.”

Now that he had said his piece, he waited for her to make her decision.

She gave him a tentative smile. “Yes, thank you. I would be most grateful for your help. I still need to return to the house, so I can change into travel clothes. I want to see if Ferion has left a note. If he did, we might be able to glean information from it. Also, I need to leave further instructions for Alanna and Lianne.”

“I must return to Vauxhall to let Dragos and Constantine know I'll be leaving London for a short while,” he said. He had another piece of business to attend to, but he would not mention that to her. “I can take you to Grosvenor Square. Then I'll go to Vauxhall. I'll need to stop at our rooms at our hotel so I can change, but afterward, I can return for you.”

“That would be marvelous,” she said with such evident relief, he wanted to smile. “In fact, that would be beyond marvelous. Graydon, I don't know how to convey my deep gratitude.”

“There's no need, my lady,” he told her. “The fact that I've been able to help you is thanks enough.”

He meant it sincerely. He truly did, but the cunning part of him, the conscienceless part, whispered other, less altruistic reasons for what he did.

Getting the chance to spend more time with you, to ease your path, to share a smile or two . . . To touch you in small ways, your hand, your shoulder, perhaps kiss you again, on the forehead or the cheek. Or the mouth.

No, he did not say it. He shouldn't have even thought it.

But he did.

He did, and he realized that he was not only fine with keeping all manner of things from Calondir. He began to understand that he was willing to keep any number of things from the rest of the world as well.

He had arrived at a dangerous place. Constantine had been right. Beluviel was the very definition of unattainable, for so very many reasons that Graydon didn't think he could count that high.

Yet in spite of all of that, he was beginning to develop deep feelings for her. Deeper than mere respect or affection.

Fortunately, this adventure of theirs would be brief, and it had a built-in conclusion. Beluviel would go back to her life, and he would return to his. Perhaps that was why he felt the need to grab onto this experience. This might be the only chance he ever got to share any time with her.

After glancing around at the darkened, deserted street to make sure they were unobserved, he shapeshifted and crouched to assist her in mounting onto his back. Once she had settled firmly at his shoulders, he launched. Lifting his head as he sliced through the air, he relished leaving the heavy urban smell of London below. Her soft, delighted laugh made his soul smile.

The flight was another short one. Soon, he spiraled down toward the park at Grosvenor Square. It was one of the most affluent and fashionable areas of the city. Telltale sparks of Power dotted the neighborhood. Several magic users were in the vicinity.

Taking care to keep a good distance from them, he landed near a large old oak tree. She slid from his back. He told her telepathically
, I'll be quick.

Thank you.
Her gaze flashed up to his.
I will too.

Meet me in this spot when you're ready,
he said.

Yes
. She paused and unexpectedly stroked her fingers down the feathers of his neck.

He froze. She couldn't know how intimate that seemed, or how sensitive he was to her touch even through the sleek covering of eagle feathers. Pleasure at being petted ran down his spine.

He should say something or step away. He did neither. Instead, ever so slightly, he leaned into her touch.

It was wrong of him, but his wrong button seemed to be broken, and he didn't care.

When she stepped away, for a moment, he felt bereft. He lingered long enough to watch her stride toward one of the houses that contained several sparks of Power.

As she left, it became harder for him to see her. Within a few more steps, she disappeared completely from sight, and he realized she had a serious talent of her own for cloaking.

With no further excuse to linger, he turned away and launched again, heading back to Vauxhall and the masque.

This time, without Beluviel, he didn't care if he was observed. He landed inside the Gardens, shapeshifted and took a main path that led to the dancing area.

Midnight had come, and everyone had removed their masks. Quickly, he strode past several groups of drunken partygoers as he searched for Weston.

He found the earl in close conversation with a striking redheaded woman dressed as Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom. Walking past the couple, he said telepathically,
Weston, forgive me for interrupting. May I have a word?

Of course,
replied the other male.
Give me one moment.

While Weston made his excuses to his companion, Graydon wandered over to the refreshment area. The cocktail fountains were still flowing with brandy and champagne, and plentiful heaps of food remained on the tables.

Helping himself to a large plate of sausages, he ate with quick economy.

From behind his shoulder, Weston said, “You look like you're eating to store energy for a flight, not for enjoyment.”

Weston was an avian Wyr. Graydon shouldn't have been surprised that the other man was so astute.

He chose not to respond to that observation. Turning away from the table, he said, “What do you know about Malfeasance?”

Weston's mild expression never flickered. He was a tall man, although not as tall as Graydon, with chestnut brown hair, aquiline features, deep-set eyes, and a mouth that was tilted, more often than not, in a slight, ironic smile.

Known as a private man, Weston held a quiet Power. Graydon liked and respected him. He also knew that a
number of people feared Weston. But a number of people feared him too.

As Graydon watched, the other man took a plate and helped himself to a meringue and a savory jelly, and then he turned to face the crowd.

Weston said, “I doubt very much you would enjoy what Malfeasance has to offer, my friend.”

Graydon switched back to telepathy.
Are you aware that they hold women against their will and sell children for sex?

The earl's aquiline features remained impenetrable, but instead of taking a bite of his meringue, he set it carefully on his plate. Nothing about the man revealed what he was thinking. Not even his pulse had increased.

One might almost have thought Weston truly indifferent to the news, or that he already knew, but Graydon had been acquainted with the earl for a very long time. He didn't believe that Weston had known, because if he had, he would have already done something to stop it.

No, this was news of a most tragic, revolting sort, and yet still Weston never exposed his reaction. Graydon admired his iron self-control.

With one forefinger, Weston nudged his meringue a minuscule distance on the plate. He said,
I was not aware of this. You have been to Malfeasance? You've seen this for yourself?

Yes. I've just come from there.
I was pursuing a private matter. Because of that, I refrained from doing . . . a lot of things. I paid for the children for the night. They're being fed supper.
Rage flared up again, and he clamped down on it. With dogged determination, he finished the last of the food on his plate then set it aside carefully.
I'm fully prepared to go back, but your government may have a serious problem with the Wyr of New York if I take the kind of action I feel needs to be taken.

Weston set his plate aside as well and met his gaze.
Thank you for coming to me instead. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been to leave. You have my word, I will have the children in my custody within the hour and make sure they will be returned to their families or acquire good
homes. I will also ensure the women receive the care they need, including respectable employment, if necessary.

And Malfeasance?
Graydon growled.

The falcon's eyes flashed. The difference between his feral gaze and impassive expression was jolting.
Rest assured, in a very short while, Malfeasance will no longer be in existence.

He blew out a breath.
Thank you.

If you'll excuse me.
Weston gave him a slight bow.
The evening has grown late, and I have just discovered I have much work to do.

Watching Weston stride away, he recognized the liquid shift in the earl's body. Civilization had receded, and the man's predator had come to the fore.

The tightness in Graydon's muscles eased somewhat. The earl was a man of his word. Graydon had no doubt that Weston would do what needed to be done.

Glancing over the crowd, he located Dragos easily enough. The dragon was surrounded by people, and he stood head and shoulders over almost everyone in his vicinity.