“No,” he said. “I won’t saddle you with that information. I’m handling it.”
She rejected that, categorically. “How on earth could you be handling whatever is back there, when we just walked out? I should know what the cost of rescuing my son is. He should know what his actions cost.”
“That’s not fair or accurate.” He stepped closer. The heat from his body warmed her. “Ferion has nothing to do with this. I caught no hint of his scent throughout the rest of the place. It’s likely he has no idea what happens beyond the gaming rooms.”
Again, her imagination ran riot. She had seen the gambling for herself. What was left?
Drugs and sex. She thought of how several of the men had considered her figure. Even when there was virtually nothing for them to see, other than the fact that she was feminine, they had assessed the possibilities in what lay hidden underneath the cloak. How a few had contemplated rape.
A sudden wash of emotion brought tears to her eyes. She pointed back in the direction of Malfeasance. “Whatever is back there—you would stop it right now if it wasn’t for him, wouldn’t you?”
No, she thought. If it wasn’t for me.
This has nothing to do with Ferion. Graydon checked his behavior for me.
Slowly, his grip on her fingers loosened. He raised both hands to cup her jaw. His hands were so big, she felt completely nestled within the warmth of his hold.
“Beluviel, listen to me,” he said. His voice had gentled. “Normally I do a much better job with my temper. I shouldn’t have lost control like that, or said anything that I did.”
She gripped his thick, strong wrists. “Don’t apologize. Just explain.”
“You’ve done me a great honor by trusting me tonight.” He touched her lips with his callused thumbs, as if he would read her expression in the darkness by touch. “I want you to trust me a little further. Let me handle what I found at Malfeasance. Trust that I am handling it. And trust me when I also say this doesn’t need to concern you.”
He had said before that he was handling it. Whatever it was. What could he have possibly done to handle anything in the short amount of time he had left her alone?
But she trusted him. Didn’t she?
Poking at herself, she realized that, yes, she did trust him, substantially more than she had at the beginning of this gods awful evening, and even more than she had realized.
“You’ll tell me if I need to know?” she asked.
“I swear, I’ll tell you if you need to know,” he said. “But you don’t need to know. Stay focused on your son. This does not have to become your battle.”
She thought about that. Then she gave him a little nod. “Very well.”
He bent his head.
For a crazy, heart-stopping moment, she thought he might actually kiss her.
On the lips, no less.
If he did, it would turn this whole evening completely upside down.
As it turned out, he did kiss her, but not on the mouth. He pressed his lips to her forehead, almost as if he thought she might need comfort, which was stupid, of course, because nobody had offered her comfort in a donkey’s age.
People always came to Bel with their problems and expected her to fix them, and she did. Somehow, she always did, no matter how difficult the problem or how long it took.
The press of his mouth against her sensitive skin evoked the wildest upsurge of longing she had felt in a winter’s eternity. It mingled with the earlier yearning she had felt to fling herself against his chest, to pat his waistcoat, to nestle against the warm, friendly blaze of his aura.
Closing her eyes, she pretended to drift into his caress, as if she had every right to enjoy his touch and they had all the time in the world.
And every single part of that was wrong.
He murmured, “I’m so sorry we didn’t get any information about Ferion.”
His words jolted her back to reality.
Reluctantly, she pulled away, and his hands fell from her face. With the same kind of wildness that had gripped her several times already that evening, she missed his touch so desperately, she almost reached for him again, except she didn’t have the right.
She forced herself to be relevant. “We did get some information,” she said. “The Vampyre I was questioning when you showed up—he said that ‘his employer’ had invited Ferion to an exclusive game at a country estate, a day’s ride west of London toward Wembley. He claimed Ferion left right after he had arrived.”
“Did he, now?” Graydon said thoughtfully.
She chewed at her lip. “It’s not much to go on, but it will have to do. I didn’t think to ask how long ago that happened. Since Ferion didn’t attend the masque, I had assumed he arrived at Malfeasance sometime this evening, but that isn’t necessarily true. The only thing I know for sure is that I saw him at breakfast. If he went to Malfeasance directly afterward, he’s had almost a day to travel already. I don’t have a moment to lose.”
The gods only knew how much financial damage Ferion might do before she found him, let alone how much time she might be gone.
Her absence would be noted, and the chances that she could keep this from Calondir were growing terribly thin. Lianne and Alanna were in her confidence, but none of their other guards and retainers were.
“What do you mean?” Graydon asked.
“A carriage will take too much time,” she muttered. “I’ll need to travel by horseback, and take either Lianne or Alanna with me. The other one will fuss, but someone needs to stay behind and try to run interference.”
Big hands settled onto her shoulders, startling her out of her preoccupation. Graydon said, “I said, what do you mean, you don’t have a moment to lose?”
Looking up into his shadowed face, she said, “Thank you so much for what you’ve done. Can you possibly do me one more favor and take me to Grosvenor Square before we part for the night?”
His hands flexed, and for some reason, his body tightened again.
He said, “No.”
FIVE
He hadn’t meant to sound so abrupt.
He hadn’t meant anything at all. As he had gathered her meaning, denial had rolled over him, and the word had leaped out before he realized it.
Looking into Beluviel’s beautiful, upturned face in the uncertain light of the moon, he saw that his answer had taken her aback. She blinked and straightened her spine. He could feel the rigidity of her shoulders through the palms of his hands.
He was beginning to recognize her reaction. Whenever adversity struck, she straightened and readied herself to meet it.
He needed to unclench and think of something more coherent to say. Unfortunately, that would require understanding himself more than he did at the moment. Realizing he gripped her too tightly, he forced his fingers to relax.
She said with obvious constraint, “If you need to leave right away, I’m sure I can hire a hansom from Malfeasance.”
Violence flashed through him at the thought of her walking back to that filthy hellhole. He swore under his breath and reined himself in. “I apologize. I meant, no, I’m not going to just drop you off at Grosvenor Square. I will take you to Wembley, if you’ll let me.”
She drew in a breath. Sensing she was about to deny him, he rushed on. “Before you say anything, think about it. I can get you there much faster than anybody other than a Djinn, only I won’t demand a favor from you in return. We can stop at the posting houses along the way to make inquiries. You’ll locate Ferion and Malphas’s estate much faster with me, and besides—”
Besides, I don’t want to leave you just yet.
He caught himself before he said it. He had no business feeling that way, let alone confessing such a thing to her.
Aside from the fact that it was inappropriate in the extreme, a part of him—the part that was all cunning and no conscience—realized that if he said it, she might feel forced to turn down his offer.