fingertips were gentle as she made her assessment.
Byrnes looked Gemma up and down. "Are we
going to a ball or something? I had the distinct
impression that this was a house of spies."
Gemma peered down her nose at him. "Don't
you pay attention to anything? It's Malloryn's
engagement party tonight."
"Ah, the Hamilton girl." He shot a look at the
baroness. "Why are you going?"
"It's not as though he loves the girl." The
baroness snorted. "And please, Byrnes, we're all
adults here. Miss Hamilton trapped him into a
proposal. This is hardly going to be a marriage of
like minds, but one of duty."
"Someone trapped Malloryn into marriage?"
The thought actually amused him.
"He's been a proponent of the Thrall Bill,
which enforces proper treatment of thralls and
swift execution of those who think they can simply
force a girl down and drink her blood." Baroness
Schröder peered at Kincaid. "When Miss Hamilton
caught him out in the garden with blood dripping
down her throat and a sudden audience, it wasn't as
though he could pretend it was a setup. Malloryn
had to offer marriage or see the entire bill flung in
his face. It was rather neatly done, actually. I'd
commend the girl on her swift wits if she hadn't
just earned herself a cold marriage bed and her
husband's undying hatred."
"Wouldn't want to be in her shoes," he agreed.
"I really need to speak to Malloryn. Right now, if
possible."
Gemma blinked. "He's at his home."
"And the engagement party is...?"
"In his garden."
"You cannot just walk into an Echelon party,"
the baroness protested. "You smell like blood!"
"As if half the lords there won't smell like
blood!"
"Yes, but they... they...." The baroness
faltered, gesturing at him.
"You look like you kill people for a living,"
Ava supplied, peeling Kincaid's eyelid back and
shining a bright light into his eye. "Most of the
Echelon look like the only thing they've killed is a
mink. Or a lemon tart."
"Why does everyone keep saying that?" He
looked
down
at
himself.
"I'm
dressed
appropriately. I hardly look like some murderer."
"It's not the clothes, Byrnes," Gemma said.
"It's your eyes. Or the look in them."
"Well, I'm not going there to make friends," he
replied, circling the table. There wasn't much he
could do about his eyes. "How's Ingrid?"
"She went out after you, but came back an
hour ago," Ava said.
"What? You let her go out in that condition?"
Ava shot him a steady look. "It wasn't as
though I could stop her. What did you want me to
do? Arm-wrestle her into submission? And she's
fine, Byrnes. Not even a scratch. She just went
upstairs to clean herself up."
"And Kincaid?"
"His pupils are responsive, and his breathing
is normal. I assume he'll come out of it soon,
though he's going to feel rather sore and sorry for
himself for a while." Ava winced.
"A wee woman in a very tight dress kicked
him in the face several times."
Ava blinked. "A what?"
"Some kind of vampire, that isn't a vampire."
Byrnes held his hand up to his chest. "This high."
"You found Ulbricht's mistress," Gemma
Townsend breathed.
"She found us. And I'm absolutely certain
Ulbricht's on her leash, not she on his."
"This will put Kincaid out of action for
weeks! What were you doing at the time?" the
baroness demanded.
"Getting punched. Repeatedly." He shrugged
when he saw their faces, heading for the door.
"What? She was fast. Did you not hear the part
about her being some sort of vampire?"
"How did you escape?" Gemma followed him
to the door.
"She offered me a promotion. I thought about
declining, but decided she might tell me more if I
played coy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I really need
to check on Ingrid, then talk to Malloryn."
The baroness tsked under her breath. "The
carriage is coming around in fifteen minutes. At
least have a shave and clean yourself up. He'll be
annoyed if you show up looking like this."
"I thought annoyance was Malloryn's general
state of being."
"Oh, you've seen nothing yet," the baroness
told him grimly. "Right now, he has a prickle in his
drawers, and it's called Adele Hamilton. You don't
want to cross him, Byrnes. Not right now."
IN THE END they wouldn't all fit in the carriage
together, so Byrnes went on ahead, pacing outside
Malloryn’s as he waited. Although he didn’t
entirely approve of Ingrid’s decision to come
along, he had to trust that she knew her body.
And he strongly suspected he wouldn’t have
won the argument to see her stay behind anyway.
The carriage arrived, dispersing the baroness
and Gemma, who gave him a wink, and then Ingrid.
Or someone who looked like Ingrid, wearing
an enormous gown.
It was bronze silk, with black lace slashing
across the bodice and a trim little black velvet
jacket that showed off her divine curves. The color
framed her eyes perfectly, and it wasn't too girlish.
No, this screamed silk and sensuality, grace and
elegance. A little black hat draped over her left
brow, cocked on an angle, and a tumble of long
golden-brown curls dripped over her other
shoulder.
Quite frankly, Byrnes felt like she'd punched
him in the chest.
"Will I do?" Ingrid gave a slow twirl, her
skirts flaring out around her.
He could barely speak. This— Her— She
was absolutely, stunningly beautiful. "You'll do,"
Byrnes replied, his words clipped. Then he looked
away, out over the garden party at the back of
Malloryn's house, searching desperately for some
composure. Someone had stolen it completely. Or
no, set it alight, and was stomping on the flames.
"I don't believe I've ever seen you
speechless." Ingrid's laugh was breathy. Leaning
against him, she fussed with his collar, for all the
world like a society debutante. However, the look
in her eyes as she glanced up at him from beneath
her lashes was hardly innocent.
"You're enjoying this," he accused, leaning
into her warmth.
"I enjoy anything that involves ruffling your
feathers."
"Consider them ruffled." I'm having a hard
time not dragging you off into the house and
having my way with you. One glance down
revealed that she was having difficulty with her
breathing too. For quite a different reason. "Does
this mean you’re considering my proposal?
Ingrid hesitated. “We’ll discuss it later.”
He swallowed the flare of nervousness this
statement wrought in him. “The bust doesn't seem
to quite fit."
Ingrid rolled her eyes, tugging at the lace that
barely hid her bountiful assets. "Of course you'd
notice. It’s an old dress."
"Perhaps I could help with that?"
Ingrid rapped his knuckles with her fan. "Not
now," she cast over her shoulder, making her way
down the stairs onto the lawn. "Malloryn."
Duty before pleasure. Byrnes followed at her
heels.
"Let's separate," she said, twirling a finger.
"All the quicker to find him."
"I'll take the left."
“Done.” Ingrid sauntered toward a table
loaded with sandwich platters.
Pasting a smile on his face, Byrnes tipped his
head to some woman wearing a peacock on her
head, then nearly collided with another young
woman in gold.
"Pardon," he said, searching over her
shoulder for the duke.
The pretty brunette gave him a curious look as
he stepped past her, and the two men at her side
were both clad in scarlet uniforms, shocked looks
on their faces.
Two seconds later the baroness intercepted
him. "Do you know who that was?" she hissed.
"No."
"The queen."
Byrnes looked back. "Well, what do you
know? She's smaller than I expected." He wasn't
the sort of person who had much truck with the
elite. "Found Malloryn yet?"
"Good God, you're like a blundering ox. This
way." They turned, then the baroness froze.
There was a young blonde wearing peacock
blue in their way. "Baroness Schröder," she said,
tilting her head like one adversary to another.
The baroness drew herself up. "Miss
Hamilton. What a delight. Ah, this is my, ah, my—"
"You're not on the guest list," the young
woman told Byrnes with a suspicious slant to her
eyes. "In fact, I've never seen you before."
"How do you know?" Byrnes stole a glass of
champagne for himself, and one for Ingrid. He
couldn't see her anywhere.
"Because I wrote the guest list myself."
The bride. Just his luck. He was caught
between two snarling felines, both aware of the
tomcat caught between them, despite what
Baroness Schröder had said. Girls of good
breeding politely pretended that their fiancé's
mistresses weren't their fiancé's mistresses.
Unfortunately Miss Hamilton seemed to have
missed that particular etiquette class.
"Long day?" Byrnes asked the young woman.
"It's the moment I've been waiting for," Miss
Hamilton replied. "All my life."
Sounded like it too. "My commiserations."
The baroness sucked in a shocked gasp.
"Byrnes!"
"Quick! I see Malloryn over there waving at
us." He gave the baroness a little push in the back
and she stumbled forward, blundering between two
young lords in stockings. Darting a glare over her
shoulder, she took the opportunity he'd presented
her with and disappeared.
Shrewd green eyes locked on him. "Who are
you?"
"Someone who knows your fiancé well. Call
me Byrnes. And this"—he finally spotted Ingrid's
hat bobbing through the guests—"is Miss Ingrid
Miller, my fiancée."
Ingrid summed the girl up in one glance. "Why
hello, darling," she said, catching on swiftly,
though with a slight questioning arch to her brow.
"I found him."
"Ah, the happy bride-to-be." Malloryn
appeared, his expression at odds with his charming
words as he clasped Miss Hamilton's shoulders
from behind. That icy blue-green gaze raked
Byrnes over hot coals, as if questioning the fact
they'd dared to show up. "Darling, the Reynoldses
are with your mother. They're looking for you."
"Getting rid of me that easy, are we?" Miss
Hamilton offered her cheek, and Malloryn dutifully
brushed his lips against it. "I suppose I should have
known both the baroness and I are disposable."
"Careful now," Malloryn whispered in her
ear. "If you start rumors, I will finish them."
"Your friend here was just offering his
commiserations. He seems to know you far too
well." Offering Malloryn a challenging stare, Miss
Hamilton moved away, her blue bustle swishing
flirtatiously.
"My apologies," Malloryn said smoothly,
watching her go with a decidedly hawklike
expression. "It's been a trying day for Adele."
"No apologies necessary," Byrnes assured
him. "I quite like her."
"Want to marry her?"
"I wouldn't want to deprive you of the
pleasure."
Malloryn grimaced.
Both Byrnes and Ingrid exchanged amused
glances, falling into place behind the duke as he
swept them toward the house.
"My study," Malloryn said, shooting them
both a look as he made smiles and nods to various
people, all whilst propelling them toward the
house. "I assume this is important?"
"YOU'RE CERTAIN?" Malloryn asked after
Byrnes filled him in on everything.
"Well, yes," he replied. "She said her name
was Zero, and that—"
"Not about that—about what she said about
blue bloods being the first stage of the
and held the intensity of a man who'd just been told
the entire kingdom was about to sink into the
ocean.
"Is there something we should know?" Ingrid
asked, picking up on the tension.
Malloryn's lips thinned. "You were right to
come to me with this immediately. This.... Christ.
We're in trouble."
"You know what she is." Byrnes was certain
of it.
"I wish I didn't." Malloryn paced to the bell
pull and rang for a servant. One appeared
promptly. "Send for Lord Barrons and his wife—
tell them it's urgent, and be discreet. They're in the
garden somewhere. And bring us some blud-wein,
brandy for the lady. Oh, you'd best postpone the
cake too. I'm going to be a while. Make sure the
guests have plenty of wine."
The servant vanished.
"Malloryn?" Byrnes asked.
"Wait," he was told by the icy duke. "This is
something Barrons needs to hear."
And so they waited.
Barrons and his wife, the Duchess of
Casavian, arrived promptly. If Byrnes wasn't
mistaken the duchess was with child, though her
midnight blue gown was designed carefully to
conceal this fact. She was quite possibly the most
beautiful woman he'd ever seen too, though in a
cool, marble blue blood way. Not like Ingrid, who
wore her passionate nature like a dress, or whose
very touch seemed to burn him alive.
&nbs
p; One glimpse at her husband revealed a
dangerous man. Byrnes knew Barrons—had
worked with him in fact—but never intimately. The
Duke of Caine's heir wore a winking ruby dangling
from his ear and was dressed in strict black, with a
dueling sword at his hip. The first time they'd met,
Byrnes had dismissed him as some peacock from
the Echelon, but Barrons had earned his respect.
This man had helped pull down the corrupt prince
consort and now resided on the Council of Dukes
with Malloryn and Lynch.
"Something urgent?" Barrons was straight to
the point.
"My agents have discovered something about
our nameless villain." Malloryn poured them all
blud-wein, with a small glass of brandy for Ingrid,
and dismissed the servants. "Tell them."
So Byrnes repeated himself.
This time he watched their faces. The moment
he mentioned the metamorphosis, Barrons's gaze
cut to Malloryn's. "Do you think it's possible?"
"Do you think what is possible?" Byrnes was
tired of being kept in the dark. "Who the bloody
hell is this Zero?"
Malloryn swirled his blud-wein, staring into
its bloodied depths as though he could see the
future within the liquid. "The question is not who
is Zero? The question is, what precisely is Zero."
"Annabelle Underwood was a young woman
who was sentenced to a mental asylum when she
was barely sixteen," Barrons explained. "On the
official register, Annabelle conveniently passed
away at the age of twenty, following some sort of
incident where she contracted the craving virus.
According to a set of secret diaries I own, she was
taken under cover of night and imprisoned in
Falkirk Asylum, a private facility where she was
under the care of a Dr. Erasmus Cremorne. She
was the first of Cremorne's test subjects. Subject
0."
"Test subjects for what?" Ingrid demanded.
"What is about to be said does not leave this
room," Barrons told them, and any sign of a cordial
young gentleman vanished. This was a future duke,
dangerous and powerful.
They both nodded. Byrnes would have
promised the moon to discover this secret.
"Cremorne was testing a serum. An elixir
vitae that he was trying to resurrect out of old
documents from Tibet, the birthplace of the craving
virus. They spoke of... creatures beyond a blue
blood. Or, what a blue blood could have been. Our
understanding of the craving virus has always been
narrow. It was thought that the Fade led to a blue
blood turning into a vampire, and following the