Arcana (20 page)

He jerks his chin toward Lord Blackburn, who stands not far away—but not at risk of overhearing, thankfully. “I see you were quick to take my advice,” he says in a sarcastic tone.

If only he knew. He was right to warn me away from Lord Blackburn, only his reasons for doing so were slightly off-target.

I glance at Penelope to see what she makes of the conversation. Her eyebrows are drawn in concentration, and she is shifting from foot to foot in a way that suggests she’s nervous.

“I’m taken aback you’re talking to me. You haven’t spent more than a few minutes at any event I’ve been at this entire week.”

“And I’m surprised you noticed.”

I cross my arms over my chest, and then realize it makes me look defensive and drop them back to my sides. Penelope coughs quietly.

Lord Thornewood shoves his hand in his hair as if he’s frustrated. Since I’ve never seen him anything but aloof or cavalier, I arch my eyebrows at him in surprise. “Have you a partner for the next dance?” His voice is gruff and abrupt.

“I—”

“Sorry, old chap,” Lord Blackburn’s harsh voice interjects, with—horrors—a pat on Lord Thornewood’s broad back. “The lady promised that dance to me.”

Lord Thornewood turns to Lord Blackburn with such a cold look I’m afraid for half a second he intends to hit him. I wish he would. I wish
I
could. Instead, he inclines his head slightly. “I see.”

Lord Blackburn offers me his arm with an expression that’s trying, but failing, to appear not to gloat. For the second time that night, I curse etiquette. I want to tell Lord Thornewood I’d much rather dance with him, that I hope he will dance the next set with me, but I know it would only make things worse. I say nothing as I follow Lord Blackburn to the dance floor.

We take our places, and I reluctantly look back at where Penelope and Lord Thornewood stand. I thought he would just leave like he’s done every other night, but he watches us, unreadable mask in place.

“Distracted tonight?” Lord Blackburn’s voice jars me from my thoughts.

I force my attention back to the dance. “Forgive me, yes.”

“No need to apologize. I was merely making an observation.”

The dance continues, and I make all the movements without thinking or bothering to add any elegance. My reticule dangles from a satin ribbon around my wrist. I take comfort in the fact there is a weapon so close at hand.

Once my mind is easily a thousand miles away on another continent, Lord Blackburn says in quiet tones easily drowned out by the other dancers, “I’m not the marrying type.” My eyes leap to his. He has my full attention now. “But I cannot deny the attraction I have for you.”

My stomach sinks. He’d alluded to that at some of the other balls, but never in so direct a manner. The dance ends before he can finish, and I seriously contemplate bolting. Unfortunately, he guides me off the floor to a section of wall no one currently occupies.

“My lord—”

“I believe you to be my match in every way.” He is much too close again, the smell of soap and cologne cloying. “We have chemistry, you and me. We could see how compatible we really are.” He lowers his voice to an intimate level. “You could show me all the things you can
do
.” His expression is intense as his gaze travels the length of me. I feel naked, exposed. Etiquette be damned—I’m leaving.

I try to walk away, but he touches my arm. “Come to my townhome tonight.”

“You are too forward, sir,” I snap. “I will do no such thing. Never say that again.”

I avoid looking in Penelope and Lord Thornewood’s direction and head straight for the terrace. My breathing comes in huffed gasps. I feel as though my lungs are being held in a vise, as if every breath is a struggle. I grip the rail of the balcony, taking deep, cleansing breaths of the fresh night air. The moon is bright overhead, allowing me to catch a glimpse of a row of perfectly trimmed hedges, a fountain, and rose bushes. I wander down amongst the vegetation, my muscles relaxing now I’m away from the crush of people—and Lord Blackburn.

I have no choice now but to tell him outright I never wish to have contact with him again. If that risks a scandal, then so be it. I cannot continue this fear of every ball. For some time after the library debacle, he remained over-attentive but still polite. Tonight, he seems to have grown much bolder, insulting me with his disgusting proposal.

There is still the very real threat he is one of the members of the Order of the Eternal Sun. My fingers seem to seek the comfort of the makeshift weapon in my reticule on their own, for before I know it, I’ve pulled it free. The pearl handle shimmers dully in the moonlight.

A crunch of gravel behind me alerts me to someone’s presence, and I spin around, clutching my letter opener to my side.

“My dear Miss Sinclair,” Lord Blackburn says, reaching a hand out to steady me, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“No, my lord. Not frighten—just startled me is all.” My tone is wary. There’s something about his energy—something that raises the hairs on the back of my neck.

He arches an eyebrow. “Enough of this ‘my lord’ talk. Come, we know each other better now. Call me Russell.” He smiles, but I’m not sure I like the look in his eyes—it reminds me of a hound that has spotted its rabbit. “And I hope I may call you Katherine.”

I murmur something in the affirmative and glance back at the house. Can I make a run for it? Or will he grab me as I run by?

“Have you seen Lady Drake’s rose bushes?” He puts his hand on my elbow. “Come, I’ll show you. They’re breathtaking.”

“I’d rather return—”

“Come, I insist.”

His hand on my elbow is firm, and I long to jerk away and dash back to the house. I keep the hand holding the letter opener pressed against my skirts. He hasn’t noticed yet, so I have the advantage. My instincts are screaming to be cautious, that he is like a predator that loves the thrill of the chase. I try to borrow energy from the moon, but it’s much weaker than the sun. Whereas a slice of sunshine on my arm can partly replenish me, it would take prolonged exposure to the moon’s gentle brightness to do the same. It’s no help that my mind is a jumble of worry, and my lack of concentration prevents me from storing up anything useful.

I know I can use my weapon if I have to, but I hate to think of the repercussions.

Before I can summon an excuse, he leads me farther into the shadows, the smell of the roses almost as overpowering as the soap and cologne on his skin.

“You were very clever to come out here,” he says in a low voice. “I take it you agree to my offer?”

I take a step back as a cold sickness settles in my stomach. “You think I would agree to be intimate with you?” My cheeks flush with anger, and my palm itches to slap the lascivious look off his face.

He smiles again, but the dangerous look in his eye hasn’t lessened. “Why else would you come out here alone?”

“To find a moment’s peace, nothing more.”

His smile drops away as quickly as it appeared. “You are saying no to my offer?”

“That’s absolutely what I’m saying. You’ve given me no choice but to be blunt. Not only do I have no romantic interest in you, I want nothing to do with you.” I turn on my heel to return to the house, but his hand darts out and grabs my arm. I raise my eyebrows. “Unhand me at once.”

His grip tightens, and his mouth forms a close-lipped smile.

The whispers of worry increase in decibel until they’re all but shouting in my mind. I try to gather energy to me but every time the moon grants me its power, my emotions swirl it away like a tornado. Concentration is needed to channel arcana, and a calm state of mind is something I do not have at the moment.

He pulls me against his chest and shoves me roughly against the wooden fence. My heart is beating so hard I’m afraid it’ll burst free from my chest. If we’re caught, I’ll be ruined. My father will be forced to make this horrid man marry me—which Lord Blackburn might actually do for my dowry alone—and I’ll be trapped with this monster until the day I die.

He leans in close. His breath is on my cheek. “I know what you are. I’d suspected before, but after that day in my library, I
knew
.”

A shiver of fear racks my body. He breathes in deeply as if savoring a delicious aroma before taking hold of both my shoulders. I feel the slight tug in the core of me—the one I only feel when I use arcana.

True terror licks at my insides like flames. My mother was right to fear I would be caught at a time when the sun’s energy could not help me. My thoughts are as rapid as my breathing, and I lose all hope of calming myself when he presses his lips to mine. I struggle, clamping my mouth shut and twisting this way and that, but his grip is tight, bruising. The tug on my abdomen is stronger as more of my power is taken from me. Sour nausea churns inside of me. He is
forcing
the energy away from my body; violating me. My limbs become heavier as more power leaves me. I try to hold on to it, grasping fleetingly with my mind as a child may try to catch the string of a kite before it flies away.

I try to bring my knee up to kick him, hurt him, but he has me flush against the fence. The wood digs into my back and my bare arms.

I manage to free one arm and bring the letter opener toward him. Everything is in slow motion. I feel as though I’m moving underwater. He grabs my hand with a sneer, squeezing my wrist until I cry out. He slams my hand against the fence until my grip loosens and the letter opener falls to the ground.

A shout rings out, and I struggle harder. With a mighty wrench, I manage to free my arm and shove Lord Blackburn with all my strength. He goes flying backward, and I stumble to the side.

Did I shove him that hard?

And then I see him.

Lord Thornewood.

Lord Blackburn whirls on him like an angry dog, even takes a swing at him, but Lord Thornewood dodges it. He watches Lord Blackburn with a look of contempt.

“How dare you interrupt us!” Lord Blackburn shouts. His pale eyes convey such malice, I flinch. Curiously, his previous fragility seems to have disappeared. No longer does his skin remind me of porcelain. The lean wolf appearance of his face and body has been replaced by a complexion almost glowing with vitality.

Lord Thornewood appears calm, but his jaw is tight and his right hand is curled in a fist at his side. “The lady didn’t seem to be enjoying your company.”

Lord Blackburn must realize his attempts at intimidation have no effect because he wears a conspiratory grin. “Come now, Lord Thornewood. We’ve all heard the rumors about you. You know how these elegant ladies can be. They like to play at being hard to get.”

Lord Thornewood narrows his eyes. His face is murderous, and a muscle in his jaw twitches. He takes a menacing step forward. The tension between them is so taut, I’m afraid they will start a row amongst the rose bushes. But Lord Thornewood must shove his fury down where he stores all his emotions because all he says is, “Enough of this. We’re leaving. Come, Miss Sinclair.” I move to his side on shaky, newborn foal legs, and his arm wraps protectively around me. To Lord Blackburn, he says, “You are to never speak to Miss Sinclair again. Is that clear?”

Lord Blackburn tilts his head and raises his chin slightly. “Or what, precisely?”

“Or I ruin you.” The threat is delivered so smoothly, without any further explanation, and I watch Lord Blackburn’s Adam’s apple bob as he takes in Lord Thornewood’s meaning. With his influence, a mere word from him will end Lord Blackburn’s reputation forever. He will be barred from every club in London, uninvited to every elegant ball, blacklisted by every member of Society.

We start back to the house, but Lord Blackburn calls out to Lord Thornewood. “And what if the lady welcomes my touch?”

Without even turning, Lord Thornewood says, “If you touch her again, I will kill you.”

FOURTEEN

A
FTER
we enter the ballroom, Lord Thornewood guides me to a quiet corner of the room. His movements are stiff and his jaw is tight as he blocks most of my body from view of the others.

“Did he harm you?” he asks, his voice pitched low enough I hope no one around can hear.