Now, it was his turn to dislike her.
He needed a means to balance the bond and gain some sense of control.
"Thank you," she said to Mrs. Hastings. "Would you care to take a seat, my lord? We have matters to discuss."
My lord. How strange, but then, technically, he was the Earl of Rathbourne now. His cousin, Robert, had been fighting to have him declared non compos mentis in the courts, the last he'd been aware. Evidently, the case must have stalled, which was something he would have to see to.
"Do we?" Lucien crossed his arms. "I have to admit, I'm surprised to be offered the honor of being your Shield. You're the last person I ever expected to free me from that hellhole, and there are dozens of men who would kill for an opportunity like this."
"And you're not one of them. I know." A flicker of dark lashes obscured her pretty eyes. "This was your father's doing, not mine. Drake insisted."
"He's not my father."
"Your sire insisted," she corrected.
And it was widely rumored that she was his sire's mistress. Perhaps that was why she did not care for him. "Do you always dance to his tune?"
"Drake has earned my respect and my trust, so when he asks me for a favor, I am always pleased to help him."
"My, how this one must have rubbed you the wrong way." Lucien prowled around the room.
"I've had easier missions to contend with, yes." Her eyes narrowed. "Why are you staring at me like that?”
That earned a faint smile from him. He'd give her this, she certainly didn't back down. "Perhaps I'm simply admiring the scenery." It gave him an idea, a way to haul the reins of power out of her hands and into his. "You need me for something."
"Perhaps you should sit and take some tea. We'll discuss matters."
"Unless it's got brandy in it, I'm not interested."
"Somewhat early for hard spirits," she countered, pouring him a cup of steaming brown liquid. "Perhaps lemon would suffice."
In another woman, he would have admired the gall of her. Instead, he sat and watched, rubbing his thumbs over the pleat of his trousers. Touching something helped to anchor him, to stop the overriding morass of sensation that constantly made his mind drift these days, until he wondered if he were truly going mad.
A tabby cat wended its way through her legs, its tail trailing her lavender skirts across the paved floors. Setting her cup on the tea service, Miss Martin reached down and scratched under his chin, eliciting a throaty purr. "Shall we cut to the point, Rathbourne?"
He arched a brow and waited.
"What do you know of the Blade of Altarrh?"
"It's one of three relics." Every sorcerer worth his salt knew that. "They were created by the Prime himself, his ex-wife, Morgana, and friend, the Earl of Tremayne." His mind shied from the memory of what the blade had been created for, and somehow he managed not to lose himself to the sudden narrowing of the room. Focus on the facts. "They were created in an attempt to summon and control a Greater Demon."
"It's missing."
Lucien's fingers tightened on the arm of the chair. He breathed out a half-laugh. "Missing?" Suddenly his mind was supplying pieces of the puzzle. "You want my help in finding it."
"Your talents in scrying would be of tremendous assistance," she concurred. "Few have the depths of your ability."
If he could manage to control them. He hadn't wielded his power in over a year. The backlash caused from trying to halt the demon he'd summoned at the bequest of his so-called father... It had scarred more than his body. "Why haven't you used the Prime's pet seer?"
"The relic was removed from a locked and warded case, in the heart of the Prime's mansion. Drake laid the wards himself. There were no signs of a break in to the manor, no strangers sighted in the vicinity—"
"Someone on the inside then." It all made sense now. "Which is why you're using me. How many others are working the case?"
"Only us."
Lucien started. There were men and women available within the order who dabbled in darker arts than he did. Sorcerers called the Sicarii, who policed the occult world, though few knew their true identities. "The Prime is playing his cards very closely to his chest."
At this, Miss Martin stood, crossing restlessly to the windows, looking toward a ruddy glow in the east. "You've been incarcerated for a long time. I forget what little you would know of the world. Come here."
