Dukes Are Forever (London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy #5)(3)

"A conclusion I'd reached myself, thank you." He looked up. "You're dismissed."

Byrnes took his leave. Malloryn leaned back in his chair and scratched at his jaw. He didn't throw the file or burn it. Which he was shockingly tempted to do. Instead, he steepled his fingers together and stared into the distance.

Was Adele merely a means for Lord Balfour to get access to him?

His old enemy had been thwarted by the Company of Rogues in Russia and would be out for blood. Malloryn had spent the past three months looking over his shoulder, just waiting for Balfour to finally reappear.

Or had Balfour already succeeded?

His blood ran cold. He'd never thought anything more of Adele's obviously desperate attempt to force him into marriage, and he'd never asked her why. They rarely spoke, if at all, and of frivolities only. If she was indeed a spy, then he had given her poor value indeed.

But the idea rankled. She could be dangerous to him if her allegiance was indeed suspect. How the devil could he know precisely what her game was or if she was achieving it?

Or was she waiting for some signal from her master?

You're seeing Balfour in every corner. Malloryn rested his fingertips against his temples. Adele couldn't be one of his agents. She couldn't.

But that little niggling feeling wouldn't go away.

He could hardly question her about it, regardless of which methods he chose to use—and there were many available to him. Malloryn had long since given up on any squeamishness, but torturing one's wife?

Flipping the file open again, he took a long, slow drink of his blooded scotch. None of the photographs interested him, particularly the one of her kissing Devoncourt. But the other.... That look upon her face. He stared at that for a long time.

He'd told her to make her own arrangements.

He'd given a callous shrug at the time and assured her he intended to make his own, though he'd been too busy, perhaps, to make good on his threat.

But the sight of her in another man's arms had the same effect as someone dumping a bucket of iced water over his head.

Why the hell did he care?

Because there might be an enemy in your house.

That had to be it.

"So you want to play games, my dear?" He threw the rest of the scotch back, the blood igniting his darker, well-checked urges. Igniting something inside him he hadn't felt for a long time; a dangerous kind of fury, of need. "Then let us play."

There were, after all, other means to find out precisely what his wife was up to.





Chapter 2





Alex Carver grabbed a fistful of Adele's pearls and tried to strangle her with them.

"Goodness." Adele winced. "He has the grip of a sailor."

"His father, rather," her dearest friend, Lena Carver, said wryly, reaching forward to rescue her. "Will's lack of manners too," she scolded, pressing a kiss to the baby's chubby cheek as she untangled his grip on Adele's pearls and tugged him into her arms. "Stop being such a beast to Adele."

Despite her words, Lena was smiling as she turned and lifted the baby into the air. He gurgled and stared down at his mother as if she'd set the sun and the moon in the sky.

"He's growing so swiftly," Adele noted, rubbing at her throat tentatively.

"Verwulfen are like that." Lena brought him down into the curve of her softened body, tucking him against her shoulder. Her bronze eyes danced and Adele felt a faint stab of jealousy as she realized her closest—and perhaps only—friend was leaving her behind.

Lena had a husband now, a man who adored her with almost embarrassing fervency, and her six-month-old son, who was burbling up at his mother as he stuffed Lena's gold chain in his mouth.

The work they'd shared as part of the Society of Roses, to help protect young debutantes in need of a safety net from the blue bloods of the Echelon, had faded in recent times with the queen cracking down on certain activities. No longer were debutantes bearing the brunt of a blue blood lord's bloodlust. Several lords had been exiled from the Echelon for such behavior, one had even been executed, and the rest of them had very swiftly become the model of decorum.

There was no longer the need for rings filled with hemlock—the only means of defense one had against a blue blood in the grip of the blood thirst.

No longer a crop of frightened debutantes turning to Adele in the powder rooms of every ball and begging for help.

Adele looked into her teacup.

The Society had given her a sense of purpose in recent times. It helped ease the boredom of her days of constant tea parties, shopping expeditions, and wondering precisely what kind of woman her husband's new mistress was.

A Mrs. Danner someone had told her.

Presumably to replace the baroness, who'd been at his side for years, before her death several months ago.

No matter where she looked, it was clear her husband preferred the company of other women to her.

"I never thought I'd love someone as much as I love Will, but I cannot describe the feeling of being a mother," Lena continued. "It's like Alex's entire being lights up when I walk into a room. It's a lovely feeling."

"I'm sure it is."

Lena's smile faded. "Oh, Adele. I'm so sorry. That was unforgivable of me."

"Nonsense. You're entitled to your happiness. Please don't hide it from me just because I shall never know the same."