Mad for Love: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 2 (11 page)

“He’ll take care.” He’d better. Blaize trusted d’Argento to tell him if he was in trouble. They’d always operated as a team. They worked well together, but if Lyndhurst opposed them and refused to listen to reason, they couldn’t count him as an ally. The gods hadn’t always got along together, even the same generation. Even when they’d been siblings.

Blaize got to his feet. “We’ve spoken enough. I have an appointment soon.” Should he tell Lyndhurst he was visiting the dowager? No, because then Lyndhurst would likely arrive too, determined to spoil Blaize’s game.

He would go ahead as planned and secure Aurelia’s hand. Then he’d take her to the theatre, and then to the busiest, most populous balls in town, and since this was the height of the Season, that shouldn’t prove difficult. Announce his intentions in the most public way possible. If that didn’t bring her brother running, nothing would.

He left the room. Lyndhurst could eat everything on the sideboard as far as Blaize was concerned. The sideboard itself, come to that. He had other things to do.

Blaize stood outside the door of the house hired by the dowager for the Season, a gracious residence in a fashionable part of London, set in a street of similarly gracious houses. He gave himself a moment to get his strategy straight in his mind. Be firm, but allow the duchess enough leeway to think she was getting her own way. Lyndhurst was right in one thing—she wanted to ensnare an immortal who would convert her daughter. Something he was sure he would do in the fullness of time. Not every mortal could be converted—in the old days, made a demigod—but Aurelia had immortal blood in her, so she’d be a prime candidate. If the unlikeliest thing happened and she could not be converted, Blaize had a plan for that as well.

With a tug to his waistcoat, he strode up the steps and rang the bell.

Sitting in the stately grandeur of her drawing room, the dowager duchess listened to his carefully worded, formal request in silence. She must know, as he did, that this was the initial foray into what could be complex negotiations. Even in normal circumstances, when both participants were mortal, discussions were complicated enough. With immortals? Worse.

The dowager must know that Blaize was an immortal, but not who. If she knew who he was, she could attack him more efficiently. Otherwise, he’d have taken more precautions. But he was impatient—he wanted to make Aurelia his as soon as possible. Take her away from the conflagration to come, when they started the war with the dowager in earnest, ensure her safety, because that meant more to him than anything else.

Her hard, grey gaze never left his face while he explained. She must be used to receiving requests like this, especially in her son’s absence.

Blaize had recited his speech by rote, he’d practiced it so much, and he didn’t feel in the least nervous while he was speaking, but when he fell silent, his stomach fluttered. This was Aurelia’s mother, and without her blessing they would have a difficult time ahead. Because whatever happened after this, Aurelia belonged to him. He was determined on it.

He forced a smile. “I appreciate your seeing me. I assume we have negotiations ahead. Do you have any questions for me today?”

The dowager raised a brow. “Many. The first, naturally, is your income. I know your status, it’s all too obvious.” Folding her hands in her lap, she prepared to listen.

Aware she had offered no refreshments, Blaize ploughed on. He listed his estates and their incomes, adding with a deprecating smile that he would have to repeat it all when Kentmere returned. “Because, naturally we require his permission.” But not if Kentmere took much longer.

“Naturally.” She sounded frosty, but she usually sounded like that, so he thought nothing of it.

He discussed the situation and convenience of his main country house, and mentioned that he had a project for Aurelia, should she like it. “The formal gardens are badly in need of bringing up-to-date. If Lady Aurelia wishes, she can make them her own.”

“If she ever sees them.” With ponderous majesty, the duchess got to her feet. Blaize quickly stood but she bade him sit again. “I don’t usually indulge in spirits at this time of the day, but I need sustenance. Would you take a drink?”

Cautiously, he nodded. “Thank you.”

A Tantalus stood on the sideboard, and she took a delicate key from the gold chatelaine that hung from her waist and unlocked it. “You have a reputation, you know.”

“For what, pray?”

“For your consumption of alcohol.”

Ah. He’d tried not to make his drinking too obvious around her, to allay her suspicions, but of course the gossip mill would be working exceedingly well. If she hadn’t seen it, she’d have heard of it. “It’s an illusion, ma’am.” He gave her an easy smile. “I am usually to be found with a drink in my hand, but that’s partly to deter people from offering more. I drink at my own pace. Have you ever seen me the worse for alcohol?”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “No.” However hard he tried, Blaize couldn’t read her. Her mind was closed as securely as a mantrap around a poacher’s leg.

Tension invaded the air between them. It snapped tight, although from their conversation Blaize couldn’t detect anything. Only that sense that enabled him to detect moods told him something had changed. The dowager had listened to his petition calmly, no expression on her hard features. But now something else entered the air. Was she about to refuse his request?

“Does that satisfy you?” he concluded.

After staring at him in silence for several long seconds, the duchess put down her own tumbler, untouched. Blaize had finished his already. It was very good brandy, not a variety he was familiar with.

“Not nearly enough,” she said softly. A new note coloured her voice, one of absolute certainty.

Blaize cocked his head and asked the inevitable. “What else would you like to know?”

“How long you thought you could fool me.” She got to her feet.

Out of politeness, Blaize tried to get up too, but he found he couldn’t. His feet seemed stuck to the floor.

The dowager watched him, a spider observing her prey. “I knew
what
you were, I only needed to discover
who
. Then I discovered your diamond in Aurelia’s room. I have a friend, one who specializes in divination and some very interesting herbs. Not only did she tell me who you were, merely by touching your pin, she also had some useful mixtures to hand. That brandy was interesting, wasn’t it? It had an extra ingredient. She said the mixture was tasteless, but I didn’t trust it. Anyone who drinks as much as Bacchus would detect something, if only by habituation.”

She sighed. “It took a long time to find that particular brandy, one that is rarely sold in London. There’s enough foxglove juice in there to kill ten men. Or render one god insensible.”

Blaize couldn’t move, couldn’t even close his eyes. All he could do was breathe. How long would that last? His throat seized up and he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

Only one path remained to him. Mustering all his strength, pushing away the black clouds obscuring his mind, he pushed into her, as far as he could, heedless of the pain he might cause.
Who are you?

Giving a shocked cry, she clapped a hand to her bosom and forced him out. A Titan. She was a Titan.

Then the clouds won and he pitched forward into their soft, cushiony depths.

Chapter Eight

Back from her shopping trip, Aurelia waited for the summons from her mother. When her mama had informed her that she was receiving Lord Stretton that morning, she knew what was afoot. So delighted their waiting was about to end, she happily took her maid to her favourite milliner’s establishment on Oxford Street and spent an hour selecting a hat she knew Blaize would like to see her in. Returning, she went upstairs and waited patiently. Surely her mother wouldn’t take more than an hour with him? But as she waited, another hour passed before Aurelia decided to go downstairs.

Her mother sat in the drawing room entertaining a few friends. She gave a sunny smile when Aurelia entered, and bade her join them. She could hardly question her mother in front of company. So she discussed the weather, the fashion in embroidery for twining vines that seemed the absolute vogue this Season and the genius of Mr. Garrick at Drury Lane, showing every evidence of interest. She’d learned to act over the years. Only one thing interested her today.

While disappointed not to meet him, she waited patiently for her mother’s guests to depart. Usually after a proposal and agreement, the bride-to-be was allowed a short time with her groom-to-be in glorious, unsupervised privacy. She’d longed for that, thirsted for his kiss, ached to feel his arms around her. Had he gone to expedite the marriage, to apply for the special licence before the office closed? That must be the answer. She’d see him later.

Having assured herself, she found her store of patience sorely tried, as her mother entertained a steady stream of what must have been her stuffiest acquaintances. When they began to discuss the latest sermon at St. George’s, Hanover Square, Aurelia was hard put not to fall asleep. But she fought to stay awake and smiled and nodded. The people would go home and call her utterly charming, say her manners were impeccable.

At last they left and it was time to go upstairs to dress for dinner. Aurelia could speak to her mother.

“Mama, did he call today?”

Her mother waved at the closed door, her courtly gesture indicating her pleasure in the number. “Patience, my dear. It appears they like us in London, which is a blessing. They could have made your entry into London society difficult. We lingered in Edinburgh too long, I fear, but it isn’t too late. I think we should come here next year, perhaps take up a few of the invitations to the house parties. I already have two.”

Surely she wouldn’t be there. “But Mama—didn’t you have a visitor earlier?”

Her mother’s face cleared. “Oh, you mean Lord Stretton?”

Aurelia stopped herself from stamping her foot in temper. “Yes, of course I do. What did he say?”

“Why, that he had to leave town and if we left for Scotland before his return, to give you his best wishes. I’m remiss in doing that, my dear. Forgive me.”

“He said no more?” Her mind reeled. But he had pledged himself to her! He wouldn’t have done that, surely. “Did he say why he had to leave so quickly?”

“No, I don’t believe he did.”

“Was he agitated?”

Her mother shot her a sharp stare. “No. Why, were you expecting more?”

Tears threatened. She blinked them back, swallowed them down. Any sign of distress and her mother would pounce on it. She always did, never let any chance to dominate her daughter pass without using it. She did it calmly and with the utmost reason. Only when Aurelia examined the dowager’s reasons did she find flaws, or rather, deviations that gave her mother the edge but weren’t necessarily true.

Except in the dowager duchess’s eyes, of course.

“You know I was expecting more. Lord Stretton has made his intentions very particular.”

Aurelia hated that superior laugh. No real mirth hid in the tinkling notes. “Poor child! You expected him to propose to you? I told you, Lord Stretton is a dangerous flirt. He was amusing himself with you, no more. I daresay he’ll send you a note full of regret. Matters were becoming a little too particular for him. You are well rid of him.” She raised a hand when Aurelia began to protest. “We have some interesting guests tonight, some I think you’ll enjoy. Go and change for dinner and ensure you’re wearing something most becoming. The amber silk would work well, I think.”

“Mama, it was more than flirtation!” Despite her best intentions, Aurelia’s voice went up, both in volume and pitch. She turned abruptly and took a couple of calming breaths.

“My dear, I’ve been on this earth much longer than you. Pray allow me the ability to spot a rake when I see one.” She motioned at the chair opposite her. “Since you insist on discussing this matter, sit.”

Aurelia knew when to concede to her mother’s demands. She sat. “Mama, he isn’t a rake.”

“Yes, he is. He has a wicked reputation, my dear. I investigated his background when he began to take an interest in you. Every Season he chooses a young lady, maybe more than one, to pursue. Then he drops her. It’s a game with him.”

Listening in stunned silence, Aurelia’s first reaction was to deny the accusation completely. But in the moment she found her voice, her mother continued to talk.

“It pains me to tell you, but I hoped you’d come to your senses and send him packing. Then I decided that you were due a lesson. Aurelia, you are a sheltered and privileged young woman. It has sometimes pained me that you have had such a carefully protected life, although I have been the cause of it. Recently I thought that before you engage in marriage, you should learn more about the nature of men. Consequently I allowed the affair to continue. I trusted you not to take your trysts too far—”

There came that hateful laugh again. “What, did you think I didn’t know? Foolish child, as if I’d allow my most precious jewel to escape my notice! I marked every moment.” She raised a brow. “But it’s time to move on. He declared his hand today. In other words, he’s grown bored with the game.”

She fixed her daughter with a steely glare. Aurelia found she was unable to look away, transfixed by that bright stare. “And do you know why he has done it?”

Finally she found her voice, or a trace of it. “No, Mama.” Her mind in turmoil, all her effort went toward controlling everything churning around in there. He was sincere, she knew it. He’d made her promises, asked for hers. Nobody could be that cruel, especially not the man she had fallen in love with.

“He wants to see you crumble in the full glare of society. Do not give him the satisfaction of doing it.”

“But why would he do that?” Swallowing, Aurelia commanded her body to do as she ordered. Later, she’d think later.
Gather information,
her intelligence told her, separate from the emotion churning in her gut.

“Because he gets a perverse pleasure from seeing it.”

“You said he’d gone away?” Aurelia fought to prevent her voice from rising to a betraying wail. “How can he see anything?”

“His friends will tell him. Also, I imagine he’ll return sooner than we expect, to view your downfall. If you’re beginning to recover and he reappears, he will send you into hysterics. At least he did last year. Then it was Lady Susan Spender.”

Aurelia had heard of that lady, but not that Blaize was involved. The whole of society was still talking about Lady Susan’s breakdown in the middle of one of the grandest balls of the year. She’d been dancing and suddenly looked to one side and collapsed in a shaking, sobbing mess. Her parents had carried her away to the country the next day. But Blaize wasn’t part of that—was he?

No, of course not. But that doubt created a small fissure in her mind, a crack in the solid wall of certainty she’d built up around Blaize. The man she loved. Her mother would not move her. Except—while a distant woman who didn’t encourage familiarity even from her own children, Aurelia’s mother had reared her carefully. She’d cared for her relentlessly.

“He wants to see you collapse, preferably in public. Mark my words, Aurelia, he will wait until you are nearly recovered, then pounce.”

“Like a cat?” Aurelia had seen Blaize more as a marauding tiger than a domestic animal.

“Exactly. He’ll appear without warning, as he did last year. If you approach him, he will spurn you. Rather than that, we’ll take another path.”

“No, Mama.” Aurelia got to her feet with every intention of leaving the room, but her mother’s words stopped her in her tracks.

“We’ll speak to the Duke of Lyndhurst tomorrow. I’m sure I can bring him up to scratch.”

Aurelia grasped the back of the chair she stood behind. She had the odd feeling that if she let it go she’d faint dead away. Just as her mother had said. Marry Lyndhurst? No, she could not. Not now, not after Blaize.

A second tiny crack appeared. Was her mother right? No, surely not. She bolstered her resolve. “Where has he gone?”

“Lyndhurst? I believe he’s at home.”

“No, Stretton.” Her voice had gained so much ice she rivalled her parent for frostiness. A wonder the gilded rim of the chair she held hadn’t shattered like an icicle.

“He didn’t say. Out of town. My guess is his cosy love nest by the Thames. Did he tell you he owned a small establishment there? No? I’m not surprised. The kind of woman he entertains there would never grace the ballrooms of London. Not the respectable ones, at any rate. Think no more of him. If you had a tendre for him, you must obliterate it from your mind.”

“As easily as that?” she said, all trace of emotion gone from her voice now.

“Yes. You can do it, Aurelia. You are a girl of considerable strength of resolve.”

Her mother had told her not to show any sign of her heartbreak. Then she wouldn’t do it. Not to her, not to anyone else. And she would keep her faith with Blaize. If he had to leave town, he’d have left a far different message than the one her mother reported. And a note. There had to be a note.

But over the next week, a note didn’t appear. Neither did Blaize. Lyndhurst had gone too, much to the dowager’s chagrin, but she informed her daughter loftily that he would return. No such faith appeared to extend to Blaize. Society didn’t seem to miss him or Lyndhurst, but carried on in the way it knew best until Aurelia thought she might scream.

As it was, she had to work hard to keep up her façade of gaiety. Nothing of the glitter of London was reflected in her eyes, no joy accompanied her when she shopped, or drove in the park.

Her heart shattered into pieces, she waited for the coup that would complete her devastation. Because after a week, with no word, she was terrified that something terrible had happened. But what? Waiting killed her. She had nobody to confide in and nobody seemed to know Blaize better than she did, so she could discover nothing of his whereabouts.

And all the time she had to act like a woman without a care in the world. She accepted the homage of her various suitors as she always did, with friendliness or hauteur or laughter, depending which one it was that day. She spurned nobody, appeared at all the affairs she was expected to and shared in the activities of a young lady of fashion.

Belinda in Pope’s poem couldn’t have been more miserable once the lock of hair had been stolen from her.

When Lyndhurst finally appeared, Aurelia wanted to throw herself at him and demand to know where he had been and why, but they were in a crowded theatre, and they couldn’t converse. He hadn’t bespoken a private room tonight. But she did murmur to him, in an extremely harrowed voice, that she needed to speak to him
urgently.

He glanced at her, and for an instant she caught a glimpse of someone as concerned as her. But was it about the same thing? “I’ll take you driving in the park tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll call at one.”

Nodding, she separated from him and discovered the sharp but benevolent gaze of her mother burning into her. The Duchess of Kentmere was pleased. At least that made Aurelia’s meeting with Lyndhurst an easy one to arrange.

“You see,” the dowager said to her daughter in the carriage on the way home later. “Lyndhurst is an honourable man and he has returned for you. Your flirtation with Stretton will soon be forgotten and we’ll have things the way they should be in a trice. Take him, girl. I wager he has surprises in store for you!”

Was it the light flickering from the lamps set outside the carriage, or did the great Duchess of Kentmere actually wink?

No, surely not. Heaven forfend.

The next day Aurelia dressed with more attention than she’d shown her clothes since Stretton had disappeared. She chose her dark red carriage gown with the bergère hat decorated with ribbons and white flowers, and knew she looked well. She could speak without being overheard by the footman who hung off the back of the light carriage Stretton drove.

Her mother was in alt, thrilled with the idea of her daughter driving. “He is showing you particular attention. Mark my words, he’ll seek an interview with me soon. If only Kentmere was not from home! But we may have everything ready for him against his return.”

“Mama, I might not wish to marry him.”

“Of course you do! He’s handsome, wealthy and honourable. He’ll care for you well.”

Again that demon of doubt appeared. Did Blaize mean everything he said? He’d never actually said that he loved her, had he? So perhaps he’d balked at that last fence and decided to play his game again.

Angrily Aurelia dismissed the notion. But as soon as she’d climbed up next to Lyndhurst, who dismissed his footman with a casual nod, she said, “Did you know Lady Susan Spender? Of course not, you were in Edinburgh with me. Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Lyndhurst sent her a smiling glance, but his face turned grave when he saw her expression. “Lady Aurelia, please. Not here. Let’s get into the park and we’ll talk.”

He made as much haste as he could in the crowded streets, but soon gained the elaborate gates of Hyde Park, with the broad path of Rotten Row, where society gathered to do what society did. Ride their showiest horses, drive their frailest, fastest carriages and above all, gossip.

“I heard of Lady Susan,” Lyndhurst said coldly. “But from the men at the club. Not women’s gossip. What have you heard?”

“That Blaize—Lord Stretton drove her mad. Flirted with her, then ignored her and she collapsed.” There. She had to know. “Why would he do such a thing?”