Nonetheless… “Catching this villain must be top priority—regardless of who he is.” Axel had told her he was mostly frightened for her. “Because you are forbidden to leave me to raise our child alone.” On this point, she refused to compromise.
“I won’t allow that to happen.” He squeezed her hand, but his smile was tight. “As for the other—I’ll look into it. And if there’s any merit, I’ll discuss it with Greys and Blackheart. Until then—”
“Please be careful, Axel.” She turned and buried her face against his arm. “I can’t lose you.”
Suspicions
Mantis took his leave from Bright Place with his heart in a vice and a black cloud where his soul ought to be.
She was wrong.
She had to be wrong.
Did she think so little of him that she imagined his own father wanted to kill him? He marched along the street, knowing that she hadn’t intended to hurt him, but unable to dismiss that she had.
She was scared. He understood that. And even now, guilt was setting in for the abrupt manner in which he’d taken his leave. They had been having a lovely afternoon. For once, their courtship had felt normal.
No, not normal. There was nothing normal where his feelings for her were concerned.
Mantis squared his shoulders, suddenly faced with the discreet façade of his father’s Mayfair townhouse.
Ivy climbed its way up the subdued white brick of the four-story structure. He remembered when the vines barely reached the second floor. The only reason they didn’t wind over the roof now was because they were diligently tended to.
Home.
Somehow, despite making no conscious decision, his feet had carried him here. He glanced down at his timepiece—a quarter past six. Most likely, Crestwood would have just returned from his clubs.
Clasping the cool metal lever, he paused. Although far and few between, his time spent here was not without fond memories; time spent with Cordelia, and even Conner, who could not be blamed for the sour attitude that had been instilled in him. Nonetheless, Crest House had always been his home. The idea that his own father wanted his demise… it was unthinkable.
So why had he come here now?
Inside, the air was cool and familiar, and the tall foyer ceiling loomed majestically overhead. Crest House wasn’t as grand as some mansions in Mayfair, definitely not Blackhearts, the Ravendales, or even Greystones, but it rivaled almost everything else.
A sound from behind made him jump, and he felt foolish to realize it was only Mr. Mortimer, standing patiently to serve him.
This residence had never been the welcoming refuge many of his friends knew growing up, but it was his home.
“I didn’t hear you enter, my lord. My apologies for not getting the door.”
Mantis handed over the hat that he carried more than he wore, along with his gloves, and then rolled his shoulders.
She’d made him unnecessarily paranoid. He had nothing to fear here.
“My father?”
“Is in his study, my lord.”
This, Mantis realized, was the only way he could dispense with the suspicions she had planted.
Forcing a bravado he didn’t feel, Mantis climbed the stairs two at a time and, once reaching his father’s study, pushed the heavy door open without bothering to knock first.
He was tired of apologizing for his existence. He belonged as much as anyone. He was the heir. He was his father’s son.
Eyes nearly identical to his own peered up at him over a pair of spectacles.
“I’m working.” His father kept his head down, revealing what was still an uncommonly thick head of greying hair, effectively dismissing Mantis in order to attend to something more important than his son.
“Someone is trying to kill me.” Undeterred, Mantis stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
