Her Quicksilver Lover: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 6 (25 page)

She swallowed, gathering herself for the task ahead. It had been her idea to get this over and done with. The sooner they acted, the sooner the affair would be over. “Is everything ready?”

He nodded. “It is. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Absolutely. It’s the only way.”

“It might not happen today. He might not approach you.”

“Then I’ll wait again tomorrow.” Absolute determination marked her now. She would not stop until she found Patrick and rid herself of the menace. She refused utterly to live her life in fear, always looking over her shoulder.

“I could find him and kill him.”

“If you do that, you are breaking the law. I thought nobody was above the law?”

He bared his teeth in a tight grin. “You may have a point.”

In her book, a man who could concede a point to a woman was a real man. She kissed his cheek, not daring to kiss his mouth because they might end up in bed again. Their passion before their marriage had been nothing compared to their voraciousness afterwards. Their desire might ebb in time, or it might not, but she did not care. She was enjoying herself far too much to worry about something that might never happen.

The current task, though, racked her with concern. Putting her husband in danger, hurting her new friends and destroying her father’s livelihood all had to be paid for.

In blood, if necessary. She had her blade secreted in her pocket, a knife she’d carried with her for years, ever since she was forced to walk through the streets of London on her own. She had found it in the kitchen of the house in the city and kept it sharp ever since. Naturally she had never used it—she didn’t even know if she could, but it was there, and it made her feel safer.

She was as ready as she would ever be.

Trying not to show her nervousness, she sat in her drawing room on her own, and waited. The club was quiet, unnaturally so. She picked up a book, but could not settle, so she went to the window and stood looking out. Debris whisked down the street, stirred by the April breeze. A piece of paper, a woman’s hat, with its owner chasing after it, and a leaf or two.

How good an actress was she? She was about to find out.

Alerted by her husband’s lessons, she felt the brush against her mind when it came. Although the club had not let down its inner barriers, the ones that would detect the presence of a new immortal within its doors, they were significantly weakened, allowing an intruder from outside to pass within safely.

Deep in her mind, Mercury simmered. Nobody could go that deep, except for him. He was her line of safety, her single thread of rescue. The trap was laid. Would he take it, or would she have to go through all this again tomorrow? Unbearable to even think about that.

Was that him? A soberly dressed gentleman glanced up at the building, the brim of his hat flicking up, but not for long enough to give her the chance to identify him. He wore a coat like the one she’d seen him in a few times, but the style wasn’t unusual. She couldn’t be sure.

The man walked out of sight.

A few minutes later, he walked back. Surely it was Patrick Gough. It had to be him. Closing her eyes, Joanna pushed yearning and pain into her thoughts. It was easier than she’d imagined, once she recalled how she felt when her father had lost his arm. Anger too, with Lightfoot for taking the course he did, but she went no further than that. Patrick would pay for that too. Without his intervention, his subtle persuasions and enticements, her father would never have taken the course he did.

Warmth swept across her, a particular kind of warmth, the kind that meant someone was skimming her mind. That sharp pain followed, a sudden, needle-sharp twinge that was there and then gone. They’d prepared for that. The pain indicated a swift, hard reading, and with Amidei’s help, she could show her grief went deep.

Had he seen her? She stepped back and checked the time with the clock ticking above the mantelpiece. Five minutes to two o’clock. She had told him she would be at the side door at two, but she had not wanted to go down too early. If her story was true, she would be watched by Amidei’s servants.

Now she raced from the room, down the eerily empty corridor and through the door at the end to gain access to the stairs. The rustle of her skirts and the tap of her shoes were the only sounds in the house.

After fumbling with the lock, she flung open the door to the outside world.

There he stood, smiling, his eyes shining. She clenched her fist involuntarily, then put it to her mouth and bit, as if working to hold back tears. The slight pain actually worked, and she could blink. She dropped her hand, ensuring he saw the bite marks. “Oh, Patrick!”

He took a step forward, but not enough to bring him to the threshold of the club. “Are you convinced of what I said now?”

With a sob, she nodded. “You were right. But not the spying. Something else, something worse.”

Satisfaction spread over his face. “The demons? I could not spread that in a journal. The sedition rumours are flying around town, and I believe the club will close within the month.”

“What happens then?”

He regarded her thoughtfully, his handsome face alight with triumph. “I have plans. This is a beautiful building, and with the right management, it will do well.”

“Still a club, then?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. But I am more concerned about you.”

“There are no people here, only—them.”

He nodded. “Can you step outside?”

She shook her head. “There’s a barrier. It hurts me so much that I can’t bear it. I’m a prisoner here, Patrick. I’ve never been outside since I came. I was so wrong. Forgive me?”

The tears trembling at the ends of her lashes probably helped the effect. Inside her, Amidei planted an emotion. Terror and fear. With those seeds, she could enhance them enough to persuade Patrick that she was telling the truth.

She must not fail. They needed to ensure that Patrick was not receiving help elsewhere, though it seemed unlikely. As a young immortal, even younger than the ones born after the disaster, he would have all the arrogance his attributes bestowed on him and none of the experience. Why should he find help when he could claim all the glory for himself?

“I have a carriage at the end of the street.” Urgency coloured his voice, making his request almost irresistible. “Come with me now. I did this for you, my darling. Just for you.”

“I—I had no idea. If only I’d listened—but Amidei—Lord d’Argento, that is—persuaded me. Patrick, he seduced me!” Her brow furrowing, she wrung her hands together. The tears came now, as she pushed her emotions higher. If she failed, if she couldn’t entice him inside, she would let down Amidei and all the immortals waiting to pounce.

“Seduced?” His brow furrowed. “Is that what you truly meant?”

“Y-yes.” She shook her head. “That is, he said I was meant for him, that I was misled, but when he—he hurt me, Patrick! Then he said I was his, that I could not leave, and truly I cannot!”

He reached out, grabbed her hand, and jerked hard. She fell forward against his chest. In that time, he dragged her off balance, picked her up, and ran, hurtling at speed to the waiting carriage.

It was not a carriage, it was a coach and four, and as soon as Patrick slammed the door, they were off. She was flung against him, and the breath knocked out of her before the man on the seat opposite made his presence felt.

Her father.

Shock held her rigid until she finally found her voice. Betrayal thrummed through her core. “Papa!”

Her father gave a tiny shake of his head, frowning. “When I knew what Patrick planned, I had to join him.” Had Patrick enchanted him again? Or could her father do anything to help her?

Patrick lashed his arm around her, binding her to his side. The hoop rose at the other, and she fought to press it down. How in heaven did women cope with these things all day? Irritation gave her a spark of emotion, enough to fight the instinct to scream and call out for Amidei. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Panic rose, but she quelled that too, with the impulse to pull away. She’d set her course and she had to follow it.

“You have been traduced and seduced, my dear.” Her father put his remaining hand over one of hers as they jolted down the Strand. “Being in the presence of them has perverted you from our purpose. We must hold firm. They took my arm, but they cannot take my sense of what is right.”

They didn’t take his arm. He’d done that himself and he knew it.

Then he winked. She blinked, stilled for a moment. He knew.

“What do we do now?” Her voice quivered with emotion, but not the emotion Patrick might expect. She’d started on this path and if she deviated, she would be in even more danger. All her acting powers, which were not considerable, were needed now. “I have nothing but these.” She touched the gown. And the pearls, she was wearing Amidei’s pearls.

“We can cope,” Patrick said, holding her firmly. “I know you were used, but I will forgive you. I’ll forgive you everything, Joanna, do you hear me?”

That pain came again, but much worse. It lanced through her head, making her cry out in agony. Her stomach clenched and she retched. He was attacking her ruthlessly, opening her up, and she didn’t have the power to fight back. She was paralysed, unable to move a muscle when she tried, while her body slowly froze.

“You’re mine, Joanna, you always were,” Patrick said, as if talking to a child. “You will learn that, and you will be happy for the opportunity. D’Argento caused the death of my mistress, Juno. I have always been Juno’s servant, and I have a duty to avenge her death. Since he wants you more than anyone else, taking you will make him suffer. Then I will kill him, and his friends who helped him in the endeavor. I have been planning this since I lost her, a year ago.”

Mutely, and only to appease him, she nodded.

A breeze slipped past her ear. They were driving past the Thames, and in April a touch of wildness remained in the great river. White tips edged the waves. The coach thumped along, dipping when it went over a deeper than usual rut. Warmth heated her, deep inside. Amidei was with her. Had he seen her abduction? Was he already chasing her?

The whole incident had happened so quickly Joanna hadn’t had time to think, or to cry out. The conviction that she had to remain with the story she had spun remained with her, and she had concentrated on that.

“Papa, how did you get here?” She tried to force a smile, but it turned into a rictus.

He smiled broadly. Too broadly. “They were so busy watching you that I walked out the front door. I told the doorman I wanted a breath of air, and I just stepped into the carriage.”

Her heart broke. She had given him the information he’d needed. “And you feel well, Papa?”

Her father tried to shrug, and then groaned and winced. “Better than I was.”

“But I married him. Lord d’Argento, I mean.”

“Under duress,” her father said. “We will have the marriage annulled. They use trickery and lies, so why should they not do that with you? He is obsessed with you, my dear.”

“He might come after me.” Terror filled her when she thought that he might not.

Patrick answered her. “I’ve left a few distractions for him. He thought I could not see inside that place. I can.”

“How?”

Patrick lifted a shoulder. “I have spies.”

People who gave him access to what they were seeing. Had any of them gone into the apartment she shared with Amidei? Had they seen?
No!
Her mind rejected the notion, every part of her rebelling against the idea. Nobody should see the passion that had flowered between her and her husband.

Where was he? What had Patrick done to him? “How did you get me past the barrier?”

Patrick smiled in smug satisfaction. “There was never a barrier, my dear. They put that thought into your mind and you believed it, just as you married him with complaisance. They slide into your mind, and they take your spirit. We cannot allow that to go on.”

If she had not dwelled so closely into his mind, if Amidei had not opened up his heart to her so completely, she could have believed Patrick now. But her heart was steadfast and she would not waver.

She fell silent, and did not struggle. She would break away the first chance she got. Not here, though. In a moving carriage, driven by Patrick’s creatures, she would stand no chance of escaping.

A great cry went up, first from the men at the front of the coach, then the footmen clinging to the back. “Whoa!” The horses neighed and the coach slowed and rocked, then swayed from side to side.

Glass smashed and wood splintered as the coach rolled over, scraping its way up the road while the horses screamed.

Patrick tightened his hold on her, squashing the breath out of her even as chaos reigned around them.

* * * * *

At first, fury filled Amidei when he realised their elaborate trap had been in vain and Gough had not sprung it. But that lasted a bare minute before he swung his mind into action.

Argus had smashed through their defences while pretending to fall into them, and now he had her. Cold fury simmered through his veins.

But he would not escape. Seizing his sword from Lightfoot, Amidei strapped it on. The men’s room at the front of the club had the best access.

Ellesmere hove into view, taking the stairs three at a time as Amidei headed for the room. “I know what you’re planning. Wait, we must think.”

Amidei spun around, sword in hand. “Wait? They’ll be out of the country by then. He knows I won’t risk her life, and he’s gambling with that knowledge. I will not allow it. Today is a good day for someone to die, and it won’t be me. If you can’t keep up, then just get out of my way!”

He could move, and he would. Heedless of damage, to him or anything else, he took a run at the window and plunged through it.

The crash of broken glass was followed by shouts and yells. He’d gone through the window too fast to cause himself damage bar a few scratches. He kept in the air, speeding up. Mercury he was now, man and god working together to one end. To rescue the woman who meant more to him than anyone else in the world, even himself.