Gabriel watched us from the corner of his eye as he inspected the tall fire screen.
“The azaleas look lovely this time of year. And the roses magnificent. Do you enjoy horticulture, Lady Winters?” Her voice was soft in the spacious room. Not that it mattered. Gabriel would hear.
“No more than the average person, high lady.”
“Please, call me Melissande. A close friend of Gabriel’s cannot stand on ceremony.”
“Master First Noble calls you high lady.”
“Is that what you call him—Master First Noble—when he is inside you, Lady Second Winters? Pushing cries from you as he plumbs your depths? Seems a bit formal. Oh, Master First, your cock is so large.”
I tried to pull away, but her fingers locked around my arm. “But then High Lord Steelcrest himself has never called me anything but high lady. Annoying, don’t you think? To be so formal?”
I stopped struggling. “You are jealous, high lady.”
“I am, Lady Winters. Terribly jealous that you have my little avenger.” That name rolling from those lips made bile rise.
“Not that he is little,” she continued. “He is terribly lovely in that department. In all departments. My jealousy indeed knows no bounds. He was delightful at sixteen, and he is delicious now. You must set him free.”
“Set him free?”
“He is besotted by you.”
Besotted, no. Magnificently considerate, yes.
She gave a tinkling laugh. “You don’t see it. How wonderful. And better that way. You two will never last longer than it takes for your brother—the younger one, if the papers I finally procured were correct—to go free.”
“You are projecting your own wishes.”
She laughed again, fingers tightening. “And you are projecting yours. You are from two very separate classes—in all respects—it will never last. I do so hope you break his heart. Perhaps he will return to me.”
“You are delusional.”
“Perhaps. But it is all I have now.” Her fingernails curved into my flesh.
I found myself free of her grip and in Gabriel’s instead as quickly as I’d been freed from Kennen’s so many days ago that it felt a lifetime.
She stuck one delicate finger into her mouth and sucked it, her lips making a little pop as she pulled it out. “Naughty, Gabriel.”
“I grow tired of this. Hopefully the murderer will spare me your antics and show soon.”
A faint whistle echoed.
Gabriel motioned toward the screen, which he had moved closer to the desk. “Marietta, behind the screen. High lady, sit at your desk.”
I ducked behind, then watched her saunter to her chair—only her straight back and tensed shoulders belying her concern.
Gabriel crouched next to me and held out his hand. I put mine in his and concentrated on the feeling of being invisible—of connecting and extending the field over both of us.
One minute. Two minutes. I kept a steady grip on the shield. The room sat in silence. Another minute passed. The shield wobbled. The door opened.
A person stepped into the room, face going from the shadows into the light.
~*~
GABRIEL
John Alcroft stepped into the room. I heard Marietta inhale sharply, and John’s attention turned our way before Marietta’s shield did its work and his eyes shifted back, narrowing on Melissande sitting primly in her chair.
