The Lady of the Storm - 2 (30 page)

Cecily vowed to wear a dress just like this one when she married Giles. She had only to figure out how she might make that marriage come about.

“But I have not given up,” she whispered.

Ellen poked her head around the doorway of the small parlor. “Merciful heavens, Lucy, is it done yet? I’ve finished with her ladyship’s hair and she’s demanding the gown.”

Cecily gathered up the yards of fabric and handed it to Ellen. “Do you need my help in dressing her?”

“Oh, Lud, ye are such an angel! Yes, she’s in such a tizzy over the ball that she can barely hold still. I never seen her ladyship so excited.”

Cecily followed the girl into Lady Longhurst’s dressing room, surprised to see his lordship within. Jimson stood at his side, helping the older gentleman tie his cravat.

“Ah, there you are, Lucy,” said Lord Longhurst. “It seems we are in a bit of a muddle tonight, eh? My valet took a fever and it seems that her ladyship cannot decide on a choice of fans. Quite the quandary, is it not?”

Cecily returned his smile and immediately began the task of getting Lady Longhurst into the voluminous gown.

“What on earth is a quandary?” asked her ladyship, wiggling into the lace.

“A dilemma, my dear.”

“Then why on earth didn’t you just say so? Gracious, as if I don’t have enough to task my mind without trying to decipher what you’re saying. Lucy, dear, the feathers or the lacquer?” And she held up two fans, one with white swan feathers, and the other with an ocean scene painted upon it.

Cecily made a show of serious consideration. “The feathers will make the lace appear harsh in comparison, and the painting will complement the pearls in the gown. Isn’t the lace rather like the spray of the ocean?”

Lady Longhurst clapped her hands. “At last! Someone who makes complete sense. You are a gift from heaven, my dear Lucy.” She slipped the looped string of the fan over her lace gloves. “I shall have to wave it about frequently, so those less inspired can perceive the meaning of the costume. If only Imperial Lord Breden had not left the palace so unexpectedly this evening! Surely he would appreciate the fineness of my new gown.”

Cecily shot a look to Lord Longhurst, who gave a slight nod of his bewigged head without taking his attention off his wife. “We are all saddened by the elven lord’s sudden departure, dearest. But I pray you will not allow it to dampen the evening.”

Her ladyship looked horrified. “I should certainly think not. Why, the expression on Lady Sherwood’s face alone will make the evening a success.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “You see, Lucy, I have kept you a bit of a secret. My dearest friend has no idea I have such a skilled mantua-maker in my service. When she sees this new gown—la! The envy!”

Cecily knotted the last tie of the stomacher. “I am pleased you are happy with the dress, my lady. But I hope your friend does not solicit my services. I rather prefer the solitude of your chambers.”

Lady Longhurst patted her hand and rose. “You are such a timid thing, aren’t you, dear? But do not worry, I shall allow no one to steal you away from me. Are you ready, Lord Longhurst?”

“In just a moment, my dear. I cannot seem to find my pearl stickpin. Wouldn’t that complement your gown quite well?”

She gave a laugh, a spin of her lace skirts, and left the room, Ellen in tow.

Cecily started to follow when Jimson’s hand on her sleeve made her turn.

His lordship studied her through his quizzing glass. “I understand that you may have some… errands to run. And because of your shy nature…” He coughed. “You have solicited my lackey to help you in that regard?”

Cecily dipped a quick curtsy. “If your lordship has no objection, I would be most obliged.”

“Indeed, I have suggested to Jimson that he aid you just as faithfully as he has always served me. Is that satisfactory?”

“It is more than I could have asked for, my lord. I thank you.”

“Tut, tut, none of that. The pleasure you have brought to my wife this evening deserves reward. Now then, Jimson, have you found that blasted pin?”

Jimson produced the jewelry from his pocket with a grin, and his lordship leaned down to allow the boy to affix it to the center of his lace cravat.

“Now, then,” continued his lordship after he’d risen, “I should not keep my lady waiting any longer. Have a productive evening, my dears.”

And he left the room in a swish of magenta silk and a clatter of diamond-buckled shoes.

Jimson collapsed on the padded bench near the standing mirror. “Lor’. I don’t suppose yer going to tell me who ye really are.”

Cecily tried to look innocent and then settled for a smile. “No one of great importance, I assure you.”

Ellen popped her head around the door. “They’ve finally gone. And I’m famished. Do ye want to go with me to the kitchens, Lucy? Cook made extras of all the fancy dishes the gentry will be served at the ball tonight. We servants will have a bit of a party of our own.”

Cecily’s stomach growled and she considered the offer for a moment. Surely General Fletcher would be at the ball with the rest of the beau monde. But the thought that he might be lurking about the servants’ quarters in wait for her made her shake her head. She had seen the look in the man’s eyes when she’d used her magic. “I think I’ll remain in our rooms. There’s a bit of bread and cheese still on the sideboard.”

Ellen grimaced. “Ye will have to get over this shyness of yers, sometime. But I won’t push ye. How about if I bring ye up some supper?”

Jimson sprang to his feet. “I’ll fetch her some, Ellen. Ye run along now, and don’t worry none about Lucy. I’ll see to her.”

“Will ye now?” Ellen studied her brother with a grin. “Lucy, I think the little scamp is sweet on ye.”

“Mind yer tongue,” snapped Jimson, lunging for her.

Ellen giggled and taunted him all the way to the main withdrawing room.

Cecily sensed a family spat, which they appeared to enjoy and constantly indulged in whenever the lord and lady left the apartments. She followed them with a sigh, hoping to cut it short, for she wanted to take every opportunity this evening to search the passages. With Imperial Lord Breden absent, she felt it safe to explore the tunnels closer to his rooms, for surely they would find one that would lead to an apartment close to his own, if not his very chambers—

A cry. Followed by a splash.

Cecily entered the withdrawing room just as Ellen’s head disappeared beneath the surface of the small pond. Jimson stood next to a rose tree, the freckles on his face standing out against his pale face.

“What happened?” she asked, running to his side.

He looked up at her, shock and terror in his blue eyes. “Water demons.”

“Here?”

“Aye. But they’ve never come to our pond before. Why would they? And what do they want with—”

“Ellen,” breathed Cecily. “Fletcher’s demons.” And she dove into the pond, feeling about the sides and bottom for an opening, for the water stayed fresh, so there must be some type of filtration system, and didn’t Jimson say the demons appeared all throughout the palace—

Ah. The bottom sloped in the middle of the pond and her palms found an opening just large enough for her skirts to smash through. Cecily pushed her way inside, fighting the fear of such a confined space, but it opened up a bit, and a stronger current caught her up and plunged her through the watery tunnels until she lost all sense of direction. She prayed that the water system flowed in the same direction the demon nymphs had taken Ellen, for she could do little but allow the current to sweep her along in hopes of finding the girl.

A light above.

Cecily fought her way toward it, breaking the surface of another small pond, within another nobleman’s room. Empty. She dove again. And repeated the process another three times before she found Ellen.

The girl looked half-drowned, her cap plastered to her dark hair, the two water demons clutching her arms with a grip that would leave bruises.

“Let her go.”

The nymphs smiled at Cecily’s words, an unpleasant sight, for their pointed teeth held a shade of green, like moss over stone, and their scaled faces did not crinkle like human skin. It cracked, fissures running across the glossy surface.

“Now, now,” said a male voice, with the silken tone of an elven lord, “you can’t deprive me of your friend’s company so soon, my dear Lucy. She will be so very useful.”

The bulging eyes of the demons sparkled maliciously at the man’s words, and Cecily slowly turned her head toward the handsome face of General Owen Fletcher.

She recognized this room. Glanced once across the length of it, adjusting for the view she had seen from the peephole. She stood in the same pond where he had tortured the slave girl.

Cecily gathered her magic, creating waves across the surface as it responded to her fear and anger. The nymphs grinned even wider, and one of them held up a knife carved from a seashell—strong and as wickedly sharp as steel, and laid it across Ellen’s throat.

“You see, my dear,” said Fletcher, striding over to the pond, his green silk coat whispering with his movements, his bright yellow shoes clicking on the mosaic floor. “I rather suspect that your magic might be greater than mine, and I’m not in a mood to discover the truth of it. Don’t quite have the time, you see.”

Ellen whimpered as the sharp blade pierced her skin, a trickle of scarlet blood looking dreadfully brilliant against her pale neck.

Cecily gritted her teeth as she tamped her magic down. “What do you want?”

“Ah, capital. You have abandoned any pretense as to what you are. Now as to who… I rather think your name isn’t Lucy, is it?”

He held out his hand to her as if he were a beau asking her to dance, and Cecily rose from the water on her own, refusing to touch his fingers like one would refuse the touch of a snake. She needed to find out what he wanted from her, for she suspected she now had but a small chance of completing her task for the Rebellion. She hoped only to save Ellen’s life. Fletcher would never have bothered with the plain girl if not for Cecily.

Fletcher had changed all of her plans so quickly that her mind still reeled from the suddenness of his attack.

“What do you want with me?”

Fletcher stretched his full lips in a wide grin, his brilliant blue eyes sparkling like sapphires. “You are making quite a puddle, moppet. Allow me.” And with a wave of his fingers, water sprayed from her clothing back into the pond. “You know, I’ve been looking for you for months now. We’ve had reports of a half-breed with enough power to call a storm, but the Imperial Lord dismissed it as nothing more than ignorant soldiers in awe of magic.” He took a step toward her, caught her hands up within his, and smiled as she struggled against his hold. “The arrogance of the elven lords will be their downfall. But not mine, for I have enough humanity within me to be wary.”

Cecily gave up trying to escape from his hold and settled for glaring up at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, my dear. Many a noble can call upon the water, make it snake around my neck the way that you did. But not a one of them has the power to alter it to near solid form, except for me. And Breden of Dewhame. And perhaps his daughter.”

Cecily stilled. The bastard had taught her that trick himself. And she had fallen for it, using the new skill so quickly. So easily.

He lowered his head, that perfect mouth so close to her own. “Who would have ever thought that you would come to my very door? That I would find you in the last place you should ever be?”

His breath felt hot against her lips. Heaven help her if he tried to kiss her again, for Cecily did not know what her magic might do.

“Since you’re a woman,” he continued, “I suppose you could not help but return to your home. That you thought your dear father would welcome you back to the fold after all these years? Poor thing. Don’t you know he will kill you?” He lifted one hand and stroked the side of her cheek. “No wonder I was instantly attracted to you. All that elven beauty wrapped in equal parts magic. I could drown in those eyes… so very like your father’s.”

Cecily could stand his touch no longer. “I won’t be your mistress, you… you libertine.”

“My…?” The general froze for a moment, then threw his head back, blond hair flying over his shoulders, loosening his other hand so Cecily could gain some distance between his body and hers. He laughed, and as much as she despised him, she could not help but compare his laughter to some glorious song. Damn his elven blood.

Behind them, Cecily could hear the echoing laughter of the demons.

He wiped his eyes with the ruffle of his sleeve. “My mistress? And… and… libertine? Is that the best you could do?” He turned to a cupboard shaped like a curled shark and poured dark liquor into a glass, swirling it about while he studied her. “Devil take it, you are most amusing, Lady Cecily Sutton. For that is your name, is it not? And poor Breden thinks you were tested and destroyed by the fire lord himself.”

Fletcher planned to kill her, then. But hadn’t she known this the moment he’d taken Ellen? She glanced over her shoulder at the young woman, who sat very still between the two demon nymphs, her eyes wide with shock and terror.

She turned back to Fletcher, grateful that her voice did not shake with the pounding of her heart when she spoke again. “Let Ellen go. And I promise… you can do with me what you will.”