Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

I woke with a start, drenched in sweat, the lingering dread of a nightmare still hanging in the air, but already as ephemeral as fog.

I blinked up at the ceiling as I recalled where I was. Not in my coffin. I was in Hemlock Manor, in my bed. Moonlight streamed in through the curtains I'd failed to close when I'd stumbled into bed far too late, legs aching from dancing all night. I put a hand to my head. I was parched, but I didn't wish to leave the comfort of my bed. It was so luxurious and soft, a far cry from the soil-filled coffin I'd called my bed previously.

Something scraped at the window and I frowned, sitting up slowly. I pushed my bed linens aside and climbed to my feet silently, before tiptoeing across the room to the window. I peeked out through the opening but saw no dark figures lurking nearby. No men in robes were here to finish the job.

A scratching noise beckoned to me, so I pushed the window open, leaning out to determine what was causing the disturbance. A cat reached up from the ground outside to bat at the window ledge. I smiled and extended the window out farther, providing ample space for it to climb inside. "Looking for somewhere warm to sleep, little lion?" I asked. It lifted sparkling green eyes to mine as I examined its beautiful black coat, shimmering in the moonlight. It let out a mewing noise, and I beckoned it closer with a wave of my hand. "Come in. I'm afraid I don't have any food, but you can get comfortable at least."

The cat hissed at me, and I shook a finger at it. "Ground rules," I told it, "no hissing. You're a guest, and I expect you to treat me with respect."

It seemed satisfied with my conditions, for it leapt up onto the sill and pushed its way inside. It took a moment to examine its surroundings before it strolled through the room and began to sniff about. Carefully, I lowered the water basin to the floor and coaxed the cat over. It stopped to lap at the water for a minute before continuing its exploration.

"Make yourself at home," I told it, bringing a handful of water up to my own lips. I stretched and rubbed at my eyes. "I'm going back to bed. I'll leave the window open for you if you want to scamper off."

I sank back into my bed with a moan of satisfaction and was fast asleep again within seconds.

The next morning, the cat was curled up beside me, likely enjoying my body heat. I pet it softly as it groggily awakened and stared up at me, as if trying to make sense of me. It began to purr and butt its head into my hand. I chuckled as I indulged the creature.

"Appearing to me in the middle of the night," I said, shaking my head with a smile. "If I didn't know any better, I would say you were the devil himself, spying on me, perhaps gauging my progress." I tapped my lower lip. "I think I'll call you Beelzebub. How does that sound?"

Beelzebub continued to purr, rolling over so that I had access to its belly.

"I think Beezle for short. That seems to suit you. Little Beezle." I tilted my head. "You know, I didn't have any bad dreams after you arrived. Maybe you're a little guardian spirit."

Beezle looked up at me blankly and, deciding that it had enough attention, slunk to the edge of the bed and leapt to the ground, rushing out through the window all at once.

I hoped the little feline would return. Black cats tended to be misunderstood creatures. I felt a sort of kinship with it. Perhaps it would bring me back the bloody carcass of some small animal. That would be delightful.

Stuart arrived shortly after I'd freshened up and hesitated on the threshold, peering around my door. "Are you … alone, my lord?" he asked me.

"Alone?" I asked, lifting an eyebrow. "Shouldn't I be?"

Stuart didn't answer, and I recalled that Maxwell had been in my room the last time he'd seen me.

"Oh, no, no," I said, chuckling. "Maxwell didn't stay the night. You don't have to worry, Stuart. I only parade around naked for you."

Stuart blinked in annoyance. "My lord is too kind."

I slid off my nightshirt slowly, in a provocative manner, but Stuart ignored me, avoiding looking at me altogether as he picked out a green suit for me to wear. No fun whatsoever.

Once I was dressed, he smoothed out any lingering wrinkles. "It must have been quite the ball. Everyone went to bed rather late."

"It was wonderful," I agreed.

"And your hand, my lord?"

I looked down at my hand, flexing it to examine the knuckles. They appeared a little bruised, but they no longer throbbed. "I think I'll live." I winked at him. "Worried about me, Stuart?"

Stuart pressed his lips into a thin line. "More worried about Lord Maxwell, if I'm being honest."

"Ouch, Stuart. Just shoot me in the heart next time. I thought you only had eyes for me."

"You thought wrong. You're utterly incorrigible."

"Yes, I am. But flattery will get you nowhere." I paused, pretending to think. "Or will it?"

Stuart stepped back and squinted at me. "I only beg that you don't lead Lord Maxwell to any trouble. He's a good man."

"That concerned, are you? You must think me quite the scoundrel." I shrugged. "And, fair."

"What were you doing together last night in such a state?"

I raised an eyebrow at how forward he was being. "Oh, no, Stuart. That's not how this works. You answer my questions, not the other way around." I considered him for a moment. Servants did see things that others might not. It wouldn't hurt to put a question to the man. I walked around him in a circle, hoping to intimidate him. "Now, where is Emmett?"

Stuart's brow furrowed. "Emmett, my lord? I haven't the foggiest. He'll turn up though. He always does, in the end." He narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

I shrugged. Either he was a good actor, or he was telling the truth. If I had my powers of hypnotism, I could be certain. In fact, this whole mystery would be cleared up within the day. But alas, I was only a puny human for the moment. "I'm naturally curious." I sniffed, gesturing to the door. "Now, I'll give you the honor of escorting me to breakfast."

Stuart actually had the audacity to roll his eyes as we left, and I couldn't help but admire his spirit as I followed him to the dining room.

"Count Lucian Cross," Stuart announced me as we crossed the threshold into the room, although I didn't miss the muttered "the imperious" under his breath. I snorted before following my nose to the feast and those assembled at the table. Unlike previously, many chairs were filled with guests today, close to thirty-five in all. Fewer than I imagined would have made it past the first round of eliminations. Without masks, they seemed like fresh faces, but I'd probably interacted with many of them last night.

Eyes followed me as I made my way up the table. I felt them assessing me, gauging how I would factor into the competition. I lifted my chin and forced myself to stroll easily. I could leave them with no doubt that I belonged here.

"Oh, what a fabulous ensemble, darling," Zachariah greeted me from the far end of the table. "You must have exquisite taste."

I flashed him a grin and strolled over to him, twirling in place for him, to his delight. A few others in attendance chuckled as well. "Yes, Zachariah, you have done wonders in making me the height of fashion."

"Green really is your color, dear," Flora noted, watching me over her teacup. "It's these jewel tones. They go well with your dark hair and eyes."

"Thank you, my lady," I returned as I took a seat between Maxwell and Ambrose, the chair conspicuously left open for my arrival. I sent Maxwell a grateful look and he nodded.

I noticed that Ambrose was every bit as handsome without a mask, but that was as I'd expected. I looked down the table as it buzzed with conversation, many of my fellow guests already acquainted with each other. I felt a separation from them, as the stranger. But surely there were others from outside the neighborhood. Although having whittled the numbers down so significantly left little room for unknown elements.

"So, what's on the agenda for today?" I asked as I grabbed a biscuit and began to butter it, my mouth already watering with anticipation.

Maxwell straightened, voice low as his eyes strayed briefly to his mother, who was in conversation with Helena at the head of the table. "I thought we could give you a tour of Emmett's room and where he spends his time."

"That sounds like a good start," I agreed, watching the girl on his other side speak excitedly to the boy beside her. We need not worry about being overheard by them.

"I can lend you the key to his studio," Ambrose offered. "I already gave it a thorough once-over, but it may prove useful to you."

I raised an eyebrow. "He has a studio? Is it on the grounds?"

Ambrose chewed a mouthful of eggs as he nodded.

"It's just an extra room that he uses for his art," Maxwell informed me. "He insists on keeping it locked at all times."

"He gave me the spare key because he's always losing things," Ambrose added. "But only important things. He never loses anything useless."

"He holds on to things for sentimental value."

"More like ‘hoards,' like a dragon, only he's saddled with rubbish rather than treasures."

I shrugged. "Just because they're not valuable doesn't mean he doesn't treasure them."

Ambrose pointed a fork at me. "Words like those are only spoken by people who don't have to worry over money. I'm afraid I'm not familiar with your family or the estate you've inherited. I assume it's significant, then?"

"Ambrose." Flora's icy voice cut across us. "We don't speak on such matters. You know better than that."

Chagrined, Ambrose ducked his head. "I was only trying to acquaint myself with our guest better, Mother. I know nothing about him."

"It's quite alright," I assured the duchess. "I will say I've never been in want of money."

"And your lifestyle has been nothing short of extravagant," Helena spoke up to add, a small smile on her lips.

A servant stepped into the room at that moment, saving me from any further elaboration, to announce the final guests had arrived. Isabel waltzed in, wearing a sunny dress with delicate lacework, Violetta in her wake.

"Good morning," Isabel said, striding purposefully up to the duchess and performing a perfect curtsy while Violetta mimicked her less successfully at her back. Isabel beamed, perfect teeth complementing her perfectly bright eyes. Perfect, perfect, perfect. It made me want to do something violent. I clutched my butter knife tightly, like a promise, its dull teeth priming my imagination as I stared at her perfectly pretty neck.

And just how was she so perky after such a trying evening? The ball had lasted half the night. I'd hardly been able to bear the sight of the circles under my eyes, clear evidence of the revelry. At least Maxwell hadn't fared much better. He was already biting back yawns.

The duchess nodded graciously toward two nearby vacant seats. "Come, join us."

Isabel glided to the table, eyes finding Ambrose's plate. "I hope you haven't spoiled your appetite. You surely haven't forgotten about our picnic?"

Ambrose sat up taller. "Of course not. I've been looking forward to it all morning. I've plenty more room."

Isabel nodded, satisfied, as she took a seat on the other side of Zachariah. As she exchanged pleasantries with Flora, Ambrose gestured to a servant and spoke to him in a low voice. "Have the kitchen assemble a basket. Just some finger sandwiches and grapes will do."

The servant nodded his understanding and disappeared as Ambrose caught my eye, sending me a shrug.

"And here I thought you were perfect in every conceivable way," I teased.

"Even dukes slip up from time to time," he said with a wink.

"Now, if you'll all excuse me," Flora said, getting to her feet, "I've an appointment with Lady Luna I must be getting off to." The whole table stood with her and she paused to appraise the room. "You're all here because you have mastered a basic talent. Dancing is but the tip of what we expect in a future family member. We also expect kindness and generosity, as well as a certain respect for you at large. As such, you will find a token beside each of your plates. There are drop boxes with each of your names in the front hall. Everyone moving on to the next round will need to earn at least two tokens from their fellow competitors. And as each is engraved with your initials, we will know if you vote for yourself. You have three days to make your decisions."

She let that sink in for a moment, and I reached out to touch a blue metal token beside my knife. Indeed, the initials "LC" were etched across the front, the family crest emblazoned upon the back. I glanced up at the other guests regarding their own tokens. This, of course, meant that at least half of the competition would be eliminated with this round, if not more. It was a clever tactic, pitting us against one another, reminding us that we were only here at the behest of the family. It also encouraged political alliances, another skill I was sure Flora was eager to see in action. Which families would sacrifice this opportunity to gain favor from another? Where would alliances form? I would need to earn the good graces of at least two competitors to move on.

In the silence of the room, Flora turned to Helena expectantly and they left the room together.

"Who's Lady Luna?" I asked, resuming my seat as I twirled the token between two fingers.

"A medium," Ambrose scowled. "My mother has been seeing her more and more lately. And parting with more coin in the process."

"Lady Luna earns that coin," Zachariah said. "Her readings are inspired. And the way she dresses … fabulous. It's nice to see someone else in this town with some fashion sense."

Isabel turned up her nose. "There's something so vulgar about psychics. I'm shocked the duchess indulges in such spectacle."

"I think Lady Luna is very nice," Violetta piped up. "She has a kind word for everyone."

"You think everyone is nice."

"Are you going on this picnic as well?" Maxwell asked Violetta.

"Of course, she is," Isabel said, waving a hand. "A chaperone is surely necessary if Ambrose is courting me."

Ambrose choked on his tea, coughing discreetly into a napkin until the fit subsided, eyes watery. "I would love to have Violetta along, of course."

I had to fight to keep from smiling, and after meeting Maxwell's eyes, I knew it was the same for him. He had to hide his face behind his hands, visibly shaking with suppressed laughter. To save him face, I stood and cleared my throat. "Before I forget, Maxwell, let me show you that book that arrived from France."

Maxwell got to his feet and nodded, turning away quickly to continue the subterfuge as we hurried to the door.

"I should select the wine for our picnic as well," Ambrose said behind us. "I don't trust the servants to do it for me. I'll be but a moment."

Once in the hall, Ambrose closed the door behind us and Maxwell collapsed against the wall in a fit of laughter. I followed suit, while Ambrose looked on us both with disapproval. "It's not funny," he scolded, although the smile inching across his face told another story.

"That is the most Isabel thing she has ever said," Maxwell proclaimed as he caught his breath between tapering fits of giggles. "Good lord, the ego on her."

I shook my head as I turned to Ambrose. "What do you see in her?"

Ambrose shrugged helplessly. "She's one of the most sought-after girls in Hale's Corner. Her family would be an asset to us."

"She's also beautiful," I pointed out.

"Yes, she is. That's not nothing."

I nodded slowly. "Is that very important to you? Appearances?"

Ambrose met my eyes. "Of course. I'm going to be a duke. My partner should be one to be admired."

I looked away. "Of course."

"It's not all about appearances though," Maxwell said, looking between me and his brother. "You know how father and mother adore Cecelia. Surely she's the frontrunner."

Ambrose bobbed his head in agreement. "Her family is the most connected. They are often guests of the queen."

"She also has a keen intellect."

Ambrose shuddered. "Yes, you're right. That could be a detriment. A duke's partner should be seen, not heard. I wouldn't want anyone with grand ideas stepping into that role."

Maxwell frowned. "That's not … I meant that beauty fades, and you'll be able to have interesting conversations with her your entire lives."

Ambrose seemed to consider this, as if the thought hadn't presented itself to him before. Perhaps it hadn't. "I suppose there's truth to that."

Despite myself, I felt any lingering interest in Ambrose sour. He was shallow, insipid, and … infuriating. It really should have been Maxwell inheriting the dukedom, not this … preening showboat.

"Oh, but don't worry, Lucian," Ambrose said, as if remembering that I was still there. "You are very pretty yourself."

I swallowed my pride and sent him an adoring smile. "That means so much to hear."

He nodded to himself, and when he turned his back, I clenched my fists tightly at my sides. I would rather strangle him than stroke his ego any longer. Would it be worth sacrificing immortality to bludgeon him to death? I was debating.

Maxwell looked expectantly at Ambrose. "I think you have a bottle of wine to select, brother?"

Ambrose rolled his eyes. "That I do." He turned and walked down the hallway.

Maxwell cleared his throat. "Thank you for the save. I appreciate it."

I nodded. "I needed a moment myself, if it wasn't obvious."

"Meanwhile, I was drowning in laughter. I've only ever made a spectacle of myself in public once, at church when I was young. I tripped on my way to receive communion and knocked someone over. I received quite a reprimand from father. You can believe I was careful from then on."

"Your father is strict?"

"Quite. Especially when it comes to religion, so embarrassing him at church was a cardinal sin. He was always very involved with the church until his health declined. He saw it as a calling. Before he grew sick, he would …" He let his voice trail off and shuddered. "Well, he knew how to ensure we fell in line."

My eyes narrowed. "What did he do?"

Maxwell hesitated. "Don't be too hard on Ambrose. Father was hardest on him. The expectations are crushing, you understand. He doesn't have the luxury of fostering love. This is duty for him, pure and simple."

"I see." I frowned, noting the deflection.

Maxwell blinked, then smiled. "Sorry. I shouldn't have … it's really not my place to …"

"Don't apologize for speaking the truth," I told him.

He raised an eyebrow. "Very well. I'll do my best to honor that. But while we're here, I want to show you something, and this presents the perfect opportunity." He walked over to a door I hadn't noticed before, opening it to reveal a shallow closet. Frowning, I took a tentative step inside, avoiding a shoe rack as he pushed coats and garment bags on hangers aside. It smelled of mothballs and wool, and our disruption had sent at least one spider scuttling to seek darker shadows. Before I could ask for an explanation, Maxwell bent forward to press on a stone halfway up the wall. A click resounded before a panel slid aside soundlessly.

I quirked an eyebrow. "And what is this?"

Maxwell grinned as he shut the closet door behind us, bathing us in darkness. "A secret." He fumbled for my hand, and I allowed him to pull me through the opening that had revealed itself in the wall. The panel slid back into place behind us after a moment, leaving us in a chamber hardly big enough for the two of us. It was suddenly too close, the air stuffy and filled with the sound of our breathing.

"Did you bring me here to murder me, or to have your way with me?"

Maxwell snorted. "Look." I couldn't see where he was pointing, but I did notice the only light in the room came from two small holes in the wall. "This is a spy post. You can see what's happening in the dining room, and the acoustics allow you to hear most things above a whisper."

"Truly?" I asked, intrigued. I had to lean down to line my eyes up with the holes, but I could see clearly into the room we had just vacated. The remaining suitors were clustered in small groups, many of them in heated exchanges, the sound slightly muffled, but almost like they were in the room with us. Naturally, they were discussing their tokens, my own feeling very heavy in my pocket. "Are there many of these spy posts in the house?"

"I'm not sure. I only know of one other, but there are likely more."

I pulled back and, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, focused on the outline of his face. "Who knows about these?"

"Me, Emmett, Zachariah." He hesitated. "My father probably knows, but I'm not sure about mother or Ambrose."

"I assume these were built to eavesdrop on visiting dignitaries."

"Naturally. Nowadays, they merely offer a respite from our boredom. Tragic, really."

"Zachariah." Isabel's voice suddenly stood out louder from the others. "Where's Emmett?"

Maxwell sucked in a breath and leaned forward to peer through the peepholes. After a moment, he realized that left me out, and gestured for me to use the right one as he made do with the left. I lined my eye up with the hole and watched as Isabel sat forward in her chair.

Zachariah shrugged as a few people nearby turned to watch them discreetly. "I'm not his keeper, my lady."

"Why is he avoiding everybody?" Isabel pressed, ignoring his remark. "I'm very upset with him. He should be here supporting me."

Maxwell's hand found my shoulder as he leaned on me to keep still. I glanced at him, and the light was enough for him to briefly meet my eyes before returning his attention to the activities of the room. His breath mingled with mine, warm and smelling slightly of butter from his breakfast.

" Is he avoiding everyone?" Zachariah asked innocently, examining his nails. "Perhaps he just doesn't like this sort of spectacle."

Isabel snorted. "He loves spectacle."

Zachariah's eyes slid to Violetta, then back to Isabel. "Then perhaps he doesn't want to see his dearest friends throwing themselves at his brother when they clearly belong together."

Isabel's face darkened, and she scowled as she turned to catch a girl gawking at them. "Mind your own business," she told the girl, who quickly vacated her seat. She turned back to Zachariah with a tight smile. "My affairs are none of your concern."

"And I don't mind," Violetta piped up. "Truly. I just want Isabel to be happy. Ambrose can do that for her. He can give her a title that I never could."

I turned to Maxwell. "Did you know that?"

Maxwell shushed me, and I turned back to the scene playing out before us.

"I need to speak with him," Isabel hissed. "I know he's mad at me, but I didn't say any …" She shook her head. "Look, you're close to the family. You must know where he is. Can you just tell him to come see me at his first opportunity? Can you deign to do that much?"

Zachariah blinked lazily at her. "I'll see what I can do, darling. But don't mistake me for an errand boy."

Isabel threw up her hands in frustration. "You boys are all infuriating. Sometimes I wonder why I bother at all."

"What did you need to tell him?"

Isabel stilled and stared at him. "What?"

"I can relay a message for you, if you'd like."

Isabel shrugged, looking away. "That's between Emmett and me."

"Suit yourself."

Isabel dropped back into her seat and crossed her arms, looking pointedly away from Zachariah. It didn't seem like the subject would be brought up again.

I turned aside to find Maxwell's face inches from my own. We stared at each other for a moment, outlined in the dim glow of light from the dining room, and I held my breath. Was he … was he going to kiss me? My eyes dropped to his lips. They were close, parted, as if ready to inch forward to meet my own. I felt a tremor run through my body, anticipation for the contact.

"I wasn't expecting that," Maxwell said after a few more excruciating seconds, sighing as he straightened.

I blinked, then let out a breath, blood rushing to my cheeks despite myself. Thankfully, Maxwell wouldn't be able to make out my reaction in the dark interior of this chamber.

Why had I been thinking about kissing Maxwell anyway? I was here to seduce Ambrose. And I … I wasn't here to court boys at all, not really. I was only using Ambrose to get what I needed: my life back. I had to remind myself of that. None of what happened here had any real bearing on my existence. The only thing that truly mattered was fulfilling Vrykolakas's quest. Everything else was a distraction.

We had just stepped out of the panel at the back of the closet when we heard a commotion from without. A woman screamed, a man cursed, and people stampeded by in a hurry.

"What in the world …?" Maxwell waited for the panel to slide back into place before I peeked my head from the closet and, seeing no one, ventured out. Maxwell followed suit, pausing as we noticed Ambrose suddenly standing on the other side of the dining room door. He stared at us, and I could guess how scandalous we appeared.

"It's not what you're thinking," Maxwell assured him, hurrying over. "There's a spy post at the back of the closet."

Ambrose's eyebrows shot up. "Is there now?"

"I'll show you sometime."

Ambrose nodded and he met my gaze. Did I imagine relief there? "Very good. You both disappeared so suddenly. I didn't know what to make of it."

"You picked out a bottle of wine quickly enough," I observed.

He shrugged. "I ran into a servant. He'll add an adequate vintage to the basket."

I nodded somberly. "Something tells me her focus will be elsewhere, anyway."

Ambrose chuckled, before the sound of footsteps drew our attention back up the hall, where two servants were chasing Beezle along the corridor in our direction.

"You little beast," one of the men shouted, waving a broom.

I stared at the scene for a moment before bursting out laughing. As soon as Beezle noticed me, he made straight for me and leapt into my arms.

The pursuing men stopped all at once, one of them leaning against the wall and gasping for breath.

Ambrose crossed his arms, a glower pinching the space between his eyebrows. "What's going on?"

"Apologies, my lord," one of them answered. "That little terror was getting into the food in the kitchen. Scratched the cook up good when she tried to shoo him away."

"Then I expect he was hungry," Maxwell said. He waved them off. "We'll take it from here."

The men grumbled as they left us.

I scratched the cat behind the ears to soothe him and cooed to him.

"I can't believe he went right to you," Maxwell said, rubbing the back of his head. "He doesn't like anyone. Well, no one but Emmett."

I raised an eyebrow. "What? Beezle is a sweetheart. Aren't you, Beezle? Did those mean old men scare you?"

Ambrose snickered, stepping up to have a look at the cat. He reached out to offer a pet, but Beezle stilled, sending him a warning look. In response, Ambrose held up his hands in surrender. "You really have the magic touch, Lucian. You've met him before?"

"He came into my room last night," I confirmed as Beezle yawned, the recent excitement already forgotten.

"I'm sorry," Maxwell said, shaking his head, "did you name my brother's cat ‘Beezle?' He already has a name. It's Toby."

"Beezle is definitely not a Toby," I countered. "That's not a dignified name for a creature of the night. And anyway, you like Beezle, don't you, Beezle?"

Beezle purred in response.

Maxwell and Ambrose exchanged amused looks.

"Well, you sure are full of surprises," Maxwell admitted.

I adjusted Beezle in the crook of my elbow as he contentedly licked at a paw.

"We should get him back to Emmett's room," Maxwell said, watching me dote on the cat. "His valet is supposed to leave food out for him. If he's been out exploring the house, it's no wonder he's looking for a meal."

Ambrose nodded, sighing as he glanced at the closed dining room door. "I suppose I'd better see to Isabel."

"She doesn't seem like one who likes to be kept waiting," I agreed.

Maxwell grinned. "Don't have too much fun, brother. Do tell Zachariah I said goodbye. I know he has an engagement shortly."

Ambrose nodded, his face settling into resignation as he marched toward the door.

Maxwell shook his head at me as I continued to stroke Beezle. "Well, this is as good a time as any to have a look around Emmett's room, at least. Maybe you'll spot something I didn't."

"We shall see," I agreed.

Beezle mewed with delight.