Her Quicksilver Lover: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 6 (26 page)

Nobody here could do what he could, but they all had their attributes. Opening his mind, he spoke to Jupiter.
If you want to help, strike them down.
He hurtled along the Strand at a height of fifteen feet, the coach in his sights. Other vehicles distracted him, but he knew where she was. He would always know.

And when she died, he’d die with her. So he didn’t care what risks he took, or who he involved. Only one person mattered. He drove forward, harder, faster, until he hovered above the coach, twenty feet up. Nobody had noticed him, but then, why would they?

A crack of thunder rolled above him and at the same time a flash, a jagged fork of fire arrowed down and struck the coach mid-on.

Amidei cursed.
That’s your way of saving her?

She’ll survive,
the answer came.
You converted her. Your enemy is in there with her.

And her father. He was right to trust Spencer, he still had faith in the man, but not whatever Argus had left inside his head.

Streaking down, he landed before the overturned coach. Cries for help came from inside, and screams of pain. He concentrated on her. She wasn’t dead.

He landed lightly on the side of the coach—which was now the top—and bent to wrench open the door.

People were gathering around, but he didn’t care for that. She reached for him and the fist clenched around his heart relaxed. Tossing aside his sword, he reached down and hauled her up.

“Where did you come from, friend?” someone called from outside.

Amidei glanced down. “The other side.”

He had her now, and he wasn’t letting her go, but it took both hands for him to pull her up. As soon as he could, he released her hands to put an arm around her waist and haul her up. Then he just sat, and held her. She was shaking convulsively. He would stay there as long as necessary until she felt safer. They were at the top of the Strand, a mile from the club, but he’d carry her all the way back if he had to.

“Help me!” a voice bellowed from the inside. He glanced down. Her father was reaching up his hand. Argus lay still, either dead or unconscious. It would take more than a coach accident to kill an immortal.

Like that knife sticking out of his neck, for instance. The one Spencer leaned over and pulled out, before dropping it as if it was tainted. Amidei ducked to one side as a spray of blood spurted like a gruesome fountain to the height of the coach, even spilling over to taint her gown.

Now
that
would kill a god. He would not stay to see the gory end.

Numbly, Joanna lay in his arms while Amidei lifted her into the carriage Lord Stretton had driven up in. An open-topped curricle, a spindly affair she would normally not feel safe in, drawn by two high-bred, frisky horses. She didn’t care. She snuggled into the warmth of his body until a sudden thought made her jerk back. “Papa!”

“He’s being taken care of,” Amidei said soothingly but something in the hardness of his tone made her draw back and stare up at him.

“He—he did it. Stabbed Patrick, I mean. He did it for me. Went with him, planned to rescue me. Patrick said he wanted me because you wanted me so much. And he wanted to avenge Juno.”

His mouth firmed in a grim line. “I guessed the last part. Argus was always devoted to Juno, through the ages. No wonder he wanted to destroy me.”

She could still see it, her father’s sudden, clumsy lurch, the knife flashing in his hand. It was the knife he carried with him always, the one he used for cutting his food, slicing open letters and now, to kill the man who’d threatened to wreck his daughter’s happiness.

“I believe you,” he said, grim-faced. “Let me get you both back to the club.”

“Patrick?”

“Dead,” he said shortly. To her shock, she found not an ounce of sorrow within her. She had always been too compassionate, at least that was what her father told her. She was not sorry for Argus.

“What happens now?”

“You rest, and you learn to be immortal. And we will learn each other. Each day we’ll learn a little more.” He kissed her, a man waking the Sleeping Beauty. “Until we are truly one.”

Epilogue

Drawing up outside the house of one of society’s greatest hostesses, Joanna knew a lick of fear. “What if they don’t want us?” She hadn’t been aware of saying it aloud until Amidei covered her hand, gently taking it into his.

“They do. They will, and we don’t have to do anything except be here. Let’s give them the chance to accept us, shall we?”

“But I’m a journalist’s brat.” A powerful inadequacy took hold of her, but she made an effort to shake it off. She was as good as anyone else here, and she would prove it.

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re a hero’s daughter.” Spencer had risked his own life to save his daughter from Argus.

She wore a gown out of a dream, celestial blue silk with a froth of pink roses embroidered in relief, as if someone had dropped them over her just before she left. Frivolous pink bows fluttered on her stomacher, and lace so fine it threatened to blow away foamed over her lower arms and at her neck.

She wore her pearls. Although Amidei had showered her with jewellery, these remained her favourites, because they were the first he had given to her. Matching earrings and a bracelet completed the demi-parure. She should feel untouchable, but she did not. The armour helped, though.

She had never attended a society ball before, and although Amidei assured her the crisis was over, she could hardly believe it. A month ago they were headed for social outcast status, and now they were back?

The club was full again. Some good fairy had waved a wand and this had happened. In her dreams she thought that, but she always woke up in Amidei’s arms. That was better than any fairy tale.

The steps were let down with a clunk. The footman courteously offered a hand to help her down after he’d opened the door. As if she had not raced along these streets with an armful of journals or stood on the opposite pavement watching the arrivals and making frantic notes so she could run home and record the comings and goings of the great and good. Now she was one of them, or so people told her. She still found it hard to believe.

Amidei stood beside her and she took his arm, trying not to clutch, as they moved forward to the scrubbed white steps that led up to the open front door.

Inside, a butler took their gloves, cloaks, and hats. Joanna tried to look gracious and Amidei touched her. When he did that, everything improved, and it was good already. Now her world was just—better. Not perfect, she’d hate that. But she had a life and a purpose, and, it appeared, a title.

They went upstairs and heads turned. For Amidei, dressed magnificently as always, in a darker blue than hers but to complement her gown. As he’d handed her into the carriage for the short journey here, he’d said, “This is your evening, my love. Your triumph.”

Nevertheless she was happy to see someone she knew at the top of the stairs, in the process of walking into the first reception room. She did not fool herself that Lord Stretton had arrived just at that moment. He’d waited for them. Despite his brittle presence, she had come to know the funny, vital man beneath the arrogance and fine clothes. Not to mention the constant drinking, but as Bacchus, he needed wine to stay sober. It appeared that as well as attributes, gods had curses too. Amidei’s was subtler, but she sensed it now, a constant urge to move on, a restlessness that she soothed in some way. Or so he told her in the dead of night when she woke up and found him watching her.

“You are utterly beautiful tonight,” Lord Stretton said as he bowed over her hand, and gave her a saucy kiss. “But then, I always knew you were a beauty.”

“He did,” Amidei murmured.

Lady Stretton waited patiently for her husband, or not so patiently, since under the skirts of her cream gown she was tapping her satin-clad foot. She was the lovely one. With a beatific smile he took her hand and kissed it too. “Jealous?”

Her ladyship cocked a brow at Joanna. “No.” Her smile broadened. “How are you holding up, Joanna?”

“We’ve only just arrived.”

“Ah. Then shall we go in?”

They entered the main rooms. Lady Howard had a large drawing room with a moveable wall at one end. The servants had removed it, and now the room was large enough to hold most of society, or the members she had invited tonight. Already, this early in the evening, at nine, the room was packed. Heaving, one might say.

Heads turned, and an instant of stillness fell, almost immediately over, as if it had not happened before. Their hostess swept forward in a surge of yellow satin, her famous topaz-and-diamond parure flashing in the light of a hundred candles. “Comtesse, how wonderful to see you. You are fully recovered?”

While the immortals had gone forth to prepare for their coming, they gave out that Joanna was unfortunately suffering from a bout of influenza. Not life-threatening, but debilitating. She was astonished to receive flowers and good wishes from people, until Amidei had almost sheepishly told her the reason.

“I am,” she told Lady Howard now. “Thank you. It was not something I wanted to inflict on the world, but there are no ill effects. I have only missed a few weeks of the season.”

“You will not miss any more, will you?” Lady Howard said, as if she meant it. She shot Amidei a coy glance. “You will not deprive us of Lady d’Argento’s company?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am,” he answered smoothly. “My wife is as eager to leave her sickbed as I was for her to stay in it.”

“I’m sure she had plenty to keep her occupied.” The twinkle in her ladyship’s eye revealed that she intended the double meaning. “Now, Lady d’Argento, you have to come to my little salon next week. It’s very select, but I’m told you have an interest in the latest music from the Continent. I have a soprano visiting, quite unexceptionable, and I believe you will enjoy La Perina as much as I do.”

“I would love to.” Faintly confused by the attention, she smiled at Lady Howard, and waited for the inevitable question.

“Does your father feel able to attend, by any chance?”

Yes, that was it. “I’m afraid he has retired to the country for a few weeks.”

Amidei had purchased a house for her father, a villa on the banks of the Thames, close enough for them to visit, and for her father to travel into the city when the fancy took him. He had not accepted the gift easily, blaming himself for allowing Argus into their lives. But his last act had wiped the rest away. He’d risked his life, and by killing Argus, he could have been hanged for murder. Fortunately, the court found him innocent, and the accident the result of a shard of glass piercing Patrick’s neck. Nobody mentioned a knife.

With Amidei’s help, her father had become a wealthy and eccentric man, a relative of the great Spencer family. Which, in fact, he was, although so distant as to need a telescope to see the mighty Duke of Marlborough, the head of the family.

Once society realised she was of good birth, and her father was fabulously wealthy from his mysterious inheritance, society took her to its mercenary heart.

“Such a pity! But you will enjoy the musicale, I am sure. Do come and meet the Earl of Carrigan. He is dying to meet you.”

Although she allowed her hostess to draw her away, Amidei remained with her deep inside, where it counted.

As it always would.

* * * * *

Later that evening, Amidei walked into the room they shared and with a flourish, gave her a key. Dismissing Betty with a smile, she turned the key over in her hands. “If you say this is the key to your heart, I swear I will hit you with it.”

“No, my love, it’s more pragmatic than that. I’ve taken a lease on a house. It’s close by, but near enough that you need not be concerned with the day to day running of the club.”

“A house? You wish to keep me like a mistress?”

“No, I wish to share it with you. I think it’s time.” He took her hands in his, removing the key and laying it on the dressing table. “I want to spend more time with you. Lightfoot can see to the running of the club. The recent crisis was good for me. It made me reassess what was really important for me, and that is you.”

“Oh!” Clutching his hands, she leaned forward to kiss him. “But we will not be strangers, will we?”

“No. I thought we’d turn this apartment into guest suites. We’ll use one when the fancy takes us.”

Touched, she smiled, and finally realised why he’d done this. Since the knowledge that Argus had been in these rooms, if only by a distant vision, she had not felt safe here, as if there were peep holes in every wall. “How did you know?”

“I know everything, because you are generous enough to let me in. Every day we will grow closer to each other, and I will give thanks for that with every breath.”

Her heart went out to him. He had done so much for her, and when she tried to stop him, he’d told her that doing so gave him the greatest pleasure in the world.

“We will continue to move forward,” he promised her.

She put her finger to her lips in mock thought. “How do you feel about a child?”

And she watched his shock, and his growing delight.

About the Author

Lynne Connolly has the best job in the world. She writes historical, paranormal and contemporary romance and she doesn’t seem to be able to stop. She has won a number of awards, including two EPPIES, and she lives in damp, rainy England with her family and her mews.

Once a year she crosses the ocean to visit friends, attend conventions and other shindigs, and promote her books, so watch her blog if you want to meet her. She loves travelling and meeting people who she will then use in her books, but then, authors are like that.

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One day she’ll grow up and get a proper job, but not just yet!