“Not until you’re ready.”
Marlene’s mouth fell open, causing her companion to laugh. “It’s wine. Just drink it.”
With an exhale of relief, Marlene drank it down. “Now what?” she asked, as she handed the chalice back to her.
After Lady Catharine had explained what she intended, Marlene considered the risks, but also the benefits of what might transpire that evening. “Do you think it will work?”
“You have all the elements that every witch needs—earth, air, fire, and water. Plus, you have the love of the High Priest, the counterpart to every successful coven. Alaric would not hear of involving you in any way, but I do not see how we might defeat Hector otherwise.”
Allowing it all to sink in, Marlene gave a nod. “I’m prepared to do what it takes to save Alaric. To save all of us.”
Lady Catharine waved a hand at the buzz of activity that was going on inside the glimmering ballroom. “I cannot direct you through the door. You must go of your own volition.”
Marlene lifted her chin slightly, and after clutching her gloved hands at her sides, she strode within.
Chapter 23
Marlene held her breath as she walked across the threshold. She imagined that everyone there was staring at her, but it wasn’t true. Her own insecurities were making her believe something that wasn’t true. In reality, the guests were more concerned with the wine filling their glasses and the ability to flirt with their prospective partners. Several dancers were twirling about the floor in such a number that it was difficult to ascertain anyone in particular.
As Marlene strode along the perimeter of the room, she started to feel a bit more comfortable in her surroundings. Although she had grown up with parents who were hardly paupers, it had been some time since she had been exposed to quite so many members of polite society. A few faces seemed vaguely familiar, but with her debut cut short by the death of her parents and her mother’s need to safeguard her before that, Marlene was feeling as though she’d stepped into a completely different era. This whirl of niceties was as foreign to her as visiting another country.
Nevertheless, she was familiar enough to know to retain an air of aloof mystery. To be present among the gathering, but to hold herself in a way that proclaimed she was not approachable.
As she passed various groups standing together, she pretended as though she didn’t notice the curious glances that were shot her way. They likely wondered if she was someone of note, or perhaps not worth mentioning at all. But her attire and the smooth way she moved likely proclaimed the former. At least, she hoped that was true. It would certainly keep others at a safe distance.
She kept her hearing attuned to anything that might catch her interest when it came to Hector. It wasn’t as though someone would actually stand up and announce that he was present. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe that. But she could sense a presence there that wasn’t completely harmless. It was enough for her to remain on her guard.
As she turned, she casually glanced toward the entrance to the ballroom and spied Lady Catharine there.
She wasn’t alone.
Her lungs seized as she saw her talking with Alaric. He didn’t appear to be pleased. Even from across the expanse, she could see the stiff set of his shoulders, the fury in his glance as he searched the room—and locked eyes with her.
Rather than feeling anxious, a swirl of heat rose up within her midsection, because she could sense his arousal mixed within the anger. Her lips parted in answer, a rush of desire coursing through her blood.
It wasn’t until he started to move toward her that something shifted in the air.
It was slight at first, just the subtle hint of a cheroot’s smoke, but it was enough for her to turn around and see the silhouette standing on the terrace, beyond the open doors. Although she couldn’t clearly see the gentleman, she saw enough that memory sparked. Like a snake slithering down her spine, her every instinct told her to be cautious. More than that, she realized that this man wasn’t unknown to her.
The day she’d stepped down from the mail coach and entered the Gothry carriage, she had glanced back at a man she had shared a ride with. He was tall, with a prominent nose and slicked back hair. But it was his eyes, black as coal, that had made her shiver.
She suffered the same reaction now, because she knew his identity: the same man who had ruined her. He could have intercepted her long before now, but it was as if he’d had the enjoyment of seeing her misery. She wasn’t surprised, because Alaric’s adversary was also her own.
Hector Corinth.
Alaric was in the middle of a dance when he spied Lady Catharine at the entrance to the ballroom. At first, he hadn’t thought anything about it, but as the dance continued, he started to feel an awareness that something wasn’t right—something had been altered.
With politeness forcing him to continue with his partner until the music had concluded, Alaric gave a curt bow and strode toward the witch with an accusing glare. She turned when he approached and offered a smile. That was when he knew that, whatever had occurred, she was to blame. “What have you done.” He didn’t phrase it as a question, but rather a demand.
She tapped a perfectly sculpted nail with black polish against the flute in her grasp. “Only what you failed to do,” she purred.
He opened and closed his fists at his sides, causing her lover, Luciena, to sidle closer to Catharine. “I see your mistress has leashed in your claws for the evening,” he mocked, referring to her usual, feline form.
“Oh, rest assured, Sir Gothry. I can bring them forth if needed.” She held up a hand and each of them boasted long, silver nails meant to do more than maim.
He wasn’t impressed. “It shall take more than that to save your mistress from my wrath.”
“Didn’t you always teach me not to allow emotion to cloud my judgement?” Lady Catherine interjected smoothly. “I believe in this case, Sir Gothry, you have failed in that regard. You know as well as I do that we need Miss St. Clair’s abilities to defeat Hector.”
