Davien felt his blood turn to ice in his veins. “What is it?” he demanded more harshly than he intended.
“It has taken on a trusted form—an older woman, a widow—she is a confidante.”
“Dear God,” Charlotte interceded on a whisper. Davien turned to her, noting that her face had turned a sickly pale. “She’s speakin’ o’ Mrs. Woodard, from th’ workhouse.”
“Go now! There is no time t’ waste!” Mrs. Clay cried.
Davien shoved the tablet into his satchel. But before he left, he said, “I will not forget my promise to you.”
With that, he ran out of the asylum, Charlotte right on his heels.
~ ~ ~
“Are you feeling well, Mrs. Woodard?” Cosette asked. “Has something else happened at the workhouse?”
The older woman’s mouth curved upward. “I merely came by to pay a call on a dear friend. I miss you.”
Cosette smiled warmly. “I miss you too, Mrs. Woodard. Would you care for some tea? Or something to eat, perhaps?”
“Tea would be lovely.”
Cosette was about to turn away when something caused her to hesitate. She had known Mrs. Woodard for seven years, ever since she’d came to England and made her home at the House of Perpetual Hope. In all that time, she’d thought the widow’s eyes were blue-gray. Today, for some reason, she noted that they were brown. Like hers.
A prickle of warning began to course through her veins, but she pushed it aside and led the way to the library.It’s all in your head,she told herself.Everything is fine. Nothing is different.But even as she attempted to convince herself, as she began to pour the tea for her guest, she remembered that Mrs. Woodard liked cream and sugar. “I’m sorry. I forgot how you took your tea, Marianne.”
“I prefer it plain.”
The teapot’s lid rattled slightly, the only indication that Cosette’s composure had slipped. When she turned, she was careful to keep a friendly smile on her face. “Here you go,” she said brightly.
As she returned to the cart under the pretense of grabbing her own cup, Cosette bit her lip anxiously. She scanned the items, searching for something that she might use as a weapon. Unfortunately, a spoon would likely do little damage. She grabbed her cup and returned to sit across from Mrs. Woodard. Or, at least, the person she had believed was Mrs. Woodard. She didn’t know who this person was, but it was definitely not Marianne.
“I’ve been thinking, dear Cosette.” The imposter slowly stirred her spoon in her tea. Her gaze was focused on the action. “It pains me to see you reduced to such circumstances, forced to submit your virtue to the duke. Perhaps you should come away with me.” She sat her spoon aside and lifted the cup to her lips, those dark eyes seeming to pierce her from across the expanse.
Cosette swallowed. “I’m quite happy here,” she returned evenly. “I have no wish to leave.”
“Come now,” the widow’s voice cajoled, although there was a decided edge to it, one that sounded terrifyingly familiar. “What is going to happen to you when Blackburn moves on? For that’s what will happen. He will use you quite ill, and then discard you. Men with his sort of strong, sexual appetites always do.”
“What do you know of his desires?” Cosette dared to ask. She held her breath as she waited for the answer, knowing that she would dread it.
“Plenty, my dear.” Those brown eyes shimmered with that same unholy light that Cosette had come to expect from the beast. “It was I, after all, who cursed him that day more than twenty years ago.”
~ ~ ~
Davien felt the blood pumping through his veins as he pushed his mount to the limit of its endurance. He wanted to change into the form of the crow, but the beast had taken over, rising up inside of him like a violent storm. Massive dark shadows followed in his wake, ready to lay destruction to whatever evil he might face at journey’s end.
He could hear Charlotte’s quiet sobs beside him, knowing that she feared the worst, but he didn’t have the time to ease her mind. He had to stay focused on the task at hand. Knowing that the one who had cursed him was with Cosette at this very moment had caused a deadly panic to surge up his throat until it nearly choked him. It was only through sheer will that he was able to channel it into something else, something even more deadly. Retribution. Punishment for a life that was stolen from him—from Cosette.
Today would be the end of it all.
He would make sure of it.
Even if he had to sacrifice himself to achieve it, this Whore of Babylon would not remain free for another day.
He just prayed that he wasn’t too late to save the woman he loved.
He knew it as surely as there was air in his lungs. He’d denied his heart for so long, lost in his own misery that he’d tried to claim the lust and intrigue he felt for her was fleeting, that she was only another passing fancy. Now that he knew the difference, he refused to believe that he might not ever have the chance to tell Cosette how he felt.
“I just dinna understand it,” Charlotte said brokenly. “Why would this entity target Cosette?”
