“You expect me to believe that’s true?” he asks, eyes piercing mine. The rest of his body language is casual, almost bored, even as he grips me so hard I can feel bruises forming beneath his fingertips. “You’re his one and only valentine. Yet he doesn’t keep you in his confidence?”
I try to swallow my fear, knowing he will only enjoy it, but I can’t keep my heart from racing. “We do not have a usual arrangement, as you likely know, my lord.”
“I had wondered about that,” he says. Still holding me in place, still staring into my face as though he can read it. “I felt quite a disturbance through our bond a few nights ago. And then I heard rumors of all of these parties he’s been attending…”
A few nights ago. The Camelia party. I try to think of something, anything else, to keep the color out of my face. “As you can see, I am not in attendance at these parties,” I say. Not quite a lie. “Perhaps someone else was responsible for whatever… disturbance… you might have noticed.”
Ambrose studies me for a moment longer, and then releases my chin. I step back, resisting the urge to touch my face or flee.
“All for the best, I suppose,” he says, sounding almost disappointed, though I can’t imagine why. “Wouldn’t want Claude to go breaking his contract with you.”
So he knows about that. He knows an awful lot, I’m gathering, though I can’t fathom why Claude’s private life could possibly matter so much to him. But again, I feel the urge to defend Claude. “He hasn’t,” I say. “He won’t. Claude is very respect—”
One minute I’m upright, and the next I’m on the floor, head spinning. It happened so fast, it takes me a moment to processthe shocking pain, the crack of his hand across my face. He just slapped me.
I raise a shaking hand to touch the stinging skin, where I’m sure a red mark is forming. I taste copper from where my teeth cut into my cheek.
“It’sLordClaude to you,” Ambrose says.
I slowly raise my eyes to him. He’s standing casually, hands now in his pockets, head cocked to one side as he regards me. He doesn’t even look angry, just blank, as if this is a commonplace interaction.
My legs are wobbly, but I force myself to stand. I refuse to grovel on the floor in front of this man. “My apologies,” I say. My smile is sickly sweet. I can still taste blood on the back of my tongue, but manners are the only armor I have. “As I was saying,LordClaude is a perfect gentleman. I have no concerns about our contract.”
Ambrose looks away. For a moment I think I’ve just begun to bore him, but then the door bursts open, and Claude is here. He’s dressed in a tight black shirt with a ludicrously plunging neckline, his eyes are smudged with eyeliner, and his hair is in disarray. He looks first at Ambrose, and then at me.
Instinct drives me to turn away, just slightly, to hide the mark on my face. “Welcome home, Lord Claude,” I say, stiff and formal. “Should I wait in my room while you’re with your visitor?”
A long pause. I can feel the weight of Claude’s eyes on me, but I don’t dare look at him out of fear of what my expression will betray.
“Yes, very well,” he says finally. “I’ll come and find you when Ambrose and I are finished speaking.”
I dip into a curtsy and flee the room as quickly as I can. Down the hallway, gulping down my emotions. Once I’m in my room, I shut the door behind me, lean back against it, and finally letloose the sob that’s been growing in my chest since Ambrose hit me. I clap a hand over my mouth and sink down to the floor, shaking all over as the fear finally sinks into me.
The way he hurt me was so casual. So effortless. And over such a small reason. He reacted so quickly, it was like he was just waiting for an excuse to punish me. But why? Does he hate me, or was he using me as a way to get to Claude?
I remember Benjamin’s warning that I didn’t want to get into the middle of a situation between a sire and his fledgling, and I wish I had taken it more seriously. Because if push came to shove… Ambrose has power over Claude. Would my patron even be able to defend me, if he knew?
Chapter Seventeen
It’s very late, just a couple of hours from dawn, when a knock comes at the door. Claude comes in after I call out, and is at my side faster than I can process, his hands skimming my shoulders as he looks at me. Studying my neck, my wrists. At least he’s not looking at the bruise on my cheek, disguised by makeup… but it gives me a flicker of anxiety to realize he’s looking for bite marks. Does he think Ambrose would bite me?Wouldhe have, if Claude didn’t show up when he did?
“Claude.” I reach out and place a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back. I’ve already decided to pretend that everything is normal until I have a better read on the situation. I don’t want to escalate something that I still don’t understand. “Claude, I’m fine.”
His eyes are troubled as he looks at me. “I should never have left you here alone.”
“Why not?” I ask, silently begging for him to tell me more about what’s going on.
He opens his mouth, shuts it, shakes his head. “What did he want from you?”
“He asked me to show him your work.”
I’m watching him for a reaction, but all I see is a sudden stillness, his shoulders braced as if in anticipation of a blow. “And did you?”
“Of course not.”
He relaxes, but at the same time his brow furrows. “You should have. You should agree with whatever Ambrose wants, especially when I’m not here.”
“It wasn’t mine to show,” I say. “Your paintings are yours, Claude. It should be your choice to share them.”
