Chapter Three

NATE

That sounded ominous, but he couldn't know for certain why I was here. Could he? I bit down on my surge of anxiety.

"I'm writing a book," I told him. "About Jane Austen's time in Bath. I thought it would be helpful to walk the same streets she walked and experience the city the way she did, but only with your agreement, of course." Staying in his territory without his permission would be a serious breach of the arrangements that had been in force amongst dragon families for centuries. More importantly, so far as I was concerned, it would be suicidal.

James's eyes were both like and unlike my grandfather's. There was the same assessment, the same shrewd summing up of the person in front of them, but where Bim's eyes were cold, James's ran hot. Hot and scary, because they so often looked as if he was about to shift into a dragon and start tearing off heads.

"No disrespect intended, Nate, but I've never thought of you as a scholar."

"Oh, it's not a scholarly sort of book," I said swiftly. "I wanted a break, a change from London, and this gave me the excuse. Knowing there's a built-in audience for anything to do with Austen, I thought either a pop history or a novel would be bound to sell a few copies. There's potential for gossipy scandal in her admiration for Elliston, an actor at Bath's theatre."

Ella shifted slightly where she'd perched on the arm of my chair.

"It will either prove a wild success, or I'll be lynched for besmirching her name," I said."As long as it sells, I don't particularly mind which."

"I see." James's words fell like stones into the silence.

I curled my toes inside my boots, trying to control all signs of nerves.

"Is there a reason you've grown tired of London? I thought you were settled at Mortimer Bank. Mid-level in Investor Relations, aren't you?" For some reason, his hands tightened on the arms of the chair as he mentioned my bank, his gold signet ring catching the light momentarily.

"And likely to remain so for the rest of my life." I was playing a part, yet real bitterness bled through my voice. "You know my family's history. I'm unlikely to proceed further in my career."

Partly because my parents' influence had been lost with their premature deaths and partly because of my brother, Rufus. My red-dragon brother, who was a better person and dragon than the rest of my family would ever be but who had the misfortune to be born that accursed colour. Red dragons were said to be weak—one of the worst things a dragon could be. Even more damningly, Rufus had no interest in gold or wealth. His treasure was something entirely different. If dragons believed in fairies, he'd have been accused of being a changeling. As it was, my family simply tried to ignore his existence.

The family's attitude towards Rufus spilled over onto me. They tolerated me because I was useful in my role at the bank, but I had no illusions about how they regarded me. That was why my investigation had to be successful—the only way I'd ever make headway in the family and my career would be with Bim's sponsorship.

"For old times' sake, you can stay with us," James said, rising to his feet. "Ella will find you a room."

Ella flashed me a smile. When James held the door open for us to precede him out, she took me by the arm. "Where's your car? Get your luggage, and I'll make up the bed for you. You don't mind one of the servants' rooms, do you?"

One of the old servants' bedrooms here was almost as large as my entire flat in London. "That will be perfect," I told her, and tried to believe it. This was preciselywhat I needed, to be in the midst of the enemy.

Yet something inside me, an instinct deeper than thought, warned me that I was in danger. That James had seen through my tissue of lies and knew my real reason for being here. I'd have to be subtle in my investigations.

I have a lot of strengths. Unfortunately, subtlety isn't one of them.

ALEX

Well, shit. I'd been so careful, ensuring Margaret had James Fortescue cornered in conversation and that I looked uber-casual as I strolled along the landing. Nothing to see here. Just a slightly lost dragon searching for the bathroom.

Once the group talking outside the drawing room went in, I eased open the door to James's study and slid into the room. So far, so good.

I froze when I saw the guy from the bar in there. He was staring at me, and I swiftly realised the look on his face was panic. It appeared I wasn't the only one taking the opportunity to have an illicit poke around.

I had no idea why he was sneaking around like this or who he was, other than a dragon who obviously had a history with Charlie. Whoever he was, he bought my lame-ass story while I pretended to buy his, and it appeared we both had the same thing in mind—reading as many of James Fortescue's emails as we could.

Margaret would rip my wings off if she knew what I was up to, but I was impatient. She hadn't yet got out of James what he wanted from us. Talk of forging closer bonds and vague promises of protection were worrying. Protection from what? Whywould he offer it to us, and what did he want in return?

When I heard someone approaching, I did the only thing I could to cover our presence. The fact I'd been wanting to snog the stranger since I first saw him was merely a bonus. And God, could he kiss. I was practically trying to climb inside his skin when that piercing whistle interrupted us.

True to Fortescue form, Ella barely registered my presence. Her eyes were eating up the stranger. I was perfectly happy with that—the sooner I got out of here, the less likely she'd be able to pick me out in a line-up. I legged it, though not without some regret that I still didn't know the stranger's name or what he was doing later that night.

As my arousal from the kiss faded, my brain at last started working. I left the house, crossing the road to the small garden in the centre of the Circus, where I leaned against a handy tree. I wished I hadn't given up smoking. Something about evening air always brought back the longing for a cigarette, even though tonight the autumnal wind was gusty and smelled of rain. I breathed in the musty scent of dead leaves and told myself it was just as satisfying.

The text of the emails meant nothing to me, but that subject line… ‘Le Mort d'Arthur'. Whatever the subject line referred to, the content of the email showed it wasn't a book club discussing Malory's epic Arthurian legend. I snorted at the thought of James Fortescue discussing anything. From what I'd seen, he only ever issued orders.

There was a sickness in my gut that I couldn't shake. The reference to Arthur was a direct nod to my family's heritage, and though my French was basic, I knew that mort meant death.

Dragons had split into factions based around families centuries ago. My family had dwindled in influence and importance over the years, but we had something none of them had. If they saw Margaret's presumptive position as a threat…

Cold drops of rain splashed on my skin as I realised I was taking that title too literally. They wouldn't invite us here to kill her. That would be far too obvious.

But the death of Arthur—what else could it refer to? Then, there was the question of why the stranger had been so interested in that particular email. Why had he been in James's study? And why hadn't I wanted to stop kissing him?

I had to put him out of my mind. I needed to talk to Margaret.

Back inside the Fortescues' house, I did some research on my phone while waiting for the interminable drinks party to finish. Margaret eventually left the room, deep in conversation with a couple of Fortescues, and I had my excuse ready to go.

"The abbey is spotlit at night," I told her. "Do you want to come and see it?"

"That sounds delightful," she said, her eyes penetrating. "I'll meet you in the hall in five minutes."

This gave me time to ask Mr Taylor for my coat while hoping the rain had stopped. It would look a bit odd if we went sightseeing in a downpour.

Thankfully, it was dry when we left the house, though the wind was still gusting strongly. "They say Pulteney Bridge is all lit up at night as well," I informed her as we walked. "I don't know about the Roman Baths, though they're on our way to the abbey, so we can have a look. We might as well do the full tourist thing while we're here."

"Makes a change for us to be the tourists," Margaret said. Living in the part of Britain that people only visited for their summer holidays became tedious at times. Tourists tramped anywhere they wanted and batted way too fast down single-track lanes, leaning on their car horns when they—inevitably—became trapped behind a slowly moving flock of sheep.

Once we were out of earshot of the house, I glanced over my shoulder. No one was following us, so I confessed what I'd done and told her what I'd found.

Her grip became uncomfortably tight on my arm, where her hand was crooked through my elbow. "I should rip your wings off, Alexander Teague," she informed me. "If you'd been caught, you could have derailed everything."

"Except for the fact we still don't know what ‘everything' is," I dared to point out. Margaret was head of our family and, technically, our queen, but she was also my aunt, and I was her favourite nephew. The fact I was her only nephew undoubtedly explained that.

"Except for that," she allowed. "Now, shush. Let me think."

We walked on in silence, through streets that became more crowded as we neared the centre of the city. Cars hissed past on the wet roads, and the night grew ever colder. At length, we stood looking up at the Gothic fa?ade of the beautiful old abbey. I'd just noticed that two of the carved angels on Jacob's Ladder were going down headfirst and was wondering why the sculptor thought that was a good idea when Margaret spoke.

"If you can create more chances to investigate our hosts without rousing suspicion, do so." She glanced sideways at me. "Stick close to that strange dragon who was also poking around. He could be an ally, an enemy, or entirely irrelevant, and I want to know which it is. Find out who he is, what he wants, and what he's doing here."

"If I must," I said, giving a long-suffering sigh to cover my enthusiasm at the prospect of sticking close to him.

"You're being ridiculous about the idea of an assassination attempt, Alex," she continued. "Our family is of no importance, no significance to anyone any longer. Yet the Fortescues have invited us for a reason. Until I can persuade that tight-lipped old sod to spill it, I'm relying on you to do some digging."

"If I find out anything, I'll invite you to come sightseeing again," I told her.

"In the sunshine next time, please. It would freeze the balls off a brass monkey tonight."

Not only a brass monkey. We headed back to the Fortescues' house and the promise of hot chocolate the way Margaret favoured it, with a healthy dollop of spiced rum. For the first time, my heart didn't sink at the idea of returning to the palatial house that felt like a prison. That strange dragon would be there. The one who looked like a saint and kissed like a very practised and enthusiastic sinner. This visit was shaping up to be more fun than I'd thought.

NATE

Being here was intensely familiar. Charlie and I had spent most uni holidays in the Fortescue family home. But it was strange to be here and not to be part of the family, staying with Charlie in his big bedroom on the second floor. Instead, I was up in the eaves in a room that maids or footmen would have shared years ago.

Mrs Fortescue had welcomed me with a smile and air kisses, though she'd been too busy to talk. I'd been glad to see her again. For many years, she'd been the closest thing I'd had to a mother, and I was looking forward to spending time with her.

I managed, with difficulty, to persuade Ella that I didn't need any help unpacking. She was reluctant to leave, but I finally convinced her I wanted an early night. She kissed my cheek before she left. "I'm so glad you're here, Nate."

Alone at last, I prepared for bed, replaying everything that had happened that evening. James was my first concern. I wondered if he suspected me of ulterior motives. Perhaps that was why he'd invited me to stay with them, so he could monitor me. If he did suspect me, that would surely mean he knew about the attacks on our banks—there was no other reason for my arrival to be suspicious. It was a feeling I'd had when talking to James rather than something I could substantiate, and Bim wasn't interested in hearing about feelings. I'd need something concrete to give him.

I couldn't quite credit my audacity in reading those emails. I wondered again what that bartender had been doing. Of all the rooms on that floor, he'd come into James's study for his break. He hadn't hesitated to look at his boss's private emails. He'd also known he shouldn't have been there, because when Ella had opened the door, he'd acted decisively while my brain was still spinning in panic.

As the Christ Church clock struck the hour, I wondered what would have happened if Ella hadn't interrupted us. Would we have ended up on James's desk? The thought of that power and heat and strength on top of me, of him kissing me and fucking into me, sent my hand to my cock. I was just getting into the spirit of things, thinking of those darkly glinting eyes and the dark stubble that gave him a slightly dangerous appearance, when, regular as clockwork, the memory of Charlie fucking me popped up.

God damn it. Determined not to be pathetic and jerk off to the memory of my ex, I rolled over and thumped my pillow into a more comfortable shape. I hoped Charlie hadn't fallen down the stairs and broken his neck in his drunkenness. The more probable reason for his disappearance was that he'd sat down somewhere and fallen asleep. Once he reached a certain point in his drinking, Charlie was a sleepy drunk.

To be that far gone at a family function at eight in the evening… That wasn't the Charlie I'd known, and after years together, I'd known him well. Ever since he'd finished with me, he'd been a ghost haunting me, reminding me that I wasn't enough. Just the way my family did. Everyone except Rufus. He looked up to me as his big brother, and I couldn't let him see my weaknesses and doubts.

Giving up on sleep, I reached for my phone and messaged Rufus, teasing him about that human, Mark, whom I'd found in his kitchen yesterday wearing nothing but a bathrobe. Rufus was practically a hermit, so that had been a shock. I didn't know what to make of the fact Rufus hadn't toldme he was seeing someone, and Mark had been swift and fierce in his defence of Rufus. It was as if even Rufus didn't need me anymore.

Lost in self-pity, I finally fell asleep.