twelve

Poppy

Poppy woke up feeling refreshed and fed, a completely unfamiliar feeling. The smell of fried eggs and bacon reached her nostrils, and she realized, as soon as she was awake enough to get a good grasp of her surroundings, that she was neither cold or hurt: life could not get any better than this.

Heaven, it was pure heaven.

It did not last long.

She was seated on the carpet in front of the fire, with Dante and Rania, each of them wrapped in fur, eating their millionth toasted bread with jam for the day, when the door was flung open and Hades stood at the opening.

He looked, to put it as politely as one might, like death warmed over.

And just as rested as if he had spent the night ferrying souls to the other side.

"Have you eaten your fill yet, Miss Wyatt?" he asked in that hard, arrogant tone of his, leaning his tall frame against the threshold in a completely devastating way.

Wait, why did I just think that?

"Or should I employ His Majesty's armies to keep you in a constant supply of bread and strawberry preserve throughout the day?" he went on. He seemed to draw a perverse enjoyment from finding clever ways to insult her, even though his sculpted face was entirely expressionless. "I hear the Prince Regent serves a luxurious spread in his palace, but I doubt it would be enough to quench your needs."

"What do you want, Alexei?" Dante asked rudely with his mouth full.

"I want this one," Hades replied, indicating Poppy with a jut of his chin. "So we can start."

"Start what?" Poppy asked, her mouth equally full, if not much fuller than Dante's. "My lord," she added belatedly.

"Your cross-examination," Hades replied, in his most unpleasant tones. "Until you spill all your vile secrets."

"Ba wabn't sbaing," Poppy said. It was supposed to have been ‘I wasn't spying', but there was butter in the way.

"Up, Miss Wyatt," Hades said, turning to leave. "The first part of your torture is going to be a tour of the Underworld."

Dante stopped eating so abruptly, a scone fell from his open mouth onto his lap.

"Oh no," he said, and then he said what Poppy's brother would call ‘a rude word' and would assign three hours kneeling on the rice to atone for. "Mikailoff, no."

"Mikailoff, yes," Alexei said.

And turned around, expecting her to follow. To her utter disgust, Poppy's legs, much soothed by Dante and Rania's ministrations, started to follow, trained into obedience.

"Dante!" she whispered in terror. "Do something!"

"Oh, Dante can't help you now," Hades said, still facing the door, waiting for her to follow like an obedient puppy. "No one can."

And he threw back his head and laughed.

She had never heard him laugh before. She had, however, spent one or two foolish seconds wondering how it would sound if he ever did; how it would look. Maybe more than two seconds. Maybe she had lain sleepless and in pain for a large part of last night, thinking about him.

She regretted knowing what his laughter sounded like now.

Alexei

Now that she was rested, the girl looked so beautiful that Alexei had to remind himself to breathe.

Her cheeks were rosy, her lips puffy with sleep, her eyes clear and sparkling. Her small body was clad in a simple gray dress that hugged her tiny waist in a manner meant to give a grown man an apoplexy, and she wore her soft, brown hair in a long braid down her back, little wisps of curls escaping at her forehead to frame that heart-shaped face. As if one could look anywhere else.

Rania was a magician.

"Thank you," Alexei took her aside and told her. "I know you are responsible for putting Miss Wyatt in clothes, and I am grateful. She looks more put together than I have yet seen her."

"I gave her one of my old dresses," Rania said, her lovely eyes examining his face, and looking severely displeased by what they saw.

She was young, younger than most dancers, only a couple of years older than him.

Still, she was more talented and skilled than any dancer he had seen perform in his life.

She had been shipped from India to an English orphanage when she was but a child, and Alexei had happened upon her years later, in a filthy establishment for desperate men, where she was working in abysmal conditions and was nearly beaten to death nightly. He had offered her a position as a dancer in his club, and she had immediately accepted; it had probably saved her life.

Most of his dancers were rescued women like her.

But she, on top of being as beautiful as the Indian princess of a fairytale, with her flawless brown skin, dove-like black eyes and full lips, was exceptionally smart as well. Alexei had turned to her for advice on many an occasion, and she, as a show of her gratitude, had done her best to try to mother him and the men in his employ. So far, she had been mostly unsuccessful in her endeavors, but this was the thing about Rania: she never gave up.

"Is she a whore, my lord?" she asked now in her frank, business-like manner.

Alexei bristled. No matter what Rania did, had done, or was about to do, he hated listening to her speak in such a way.

"Are you?" he asked her sharply.

"No," Rania replied.

"No what?" Alexei pressed her. They had talked about this.

"No, I am not," she said.

"Good girl," he nodded, then his voice dropped to a gentler tone. "And neither is she. It is just important that she stays here, safe, while I am gone about my business."

"I thought she couldn't be," Rania agreed. "She looks to be of different ilk than us," Rania said, tearing his heart into a million pieces.

"I had not considered the possibility, when I brought her here, that you would start thinking things," he said.

"Alas, it is my cross to bear," Rania said, but she was smiling. "At any rate, not knowing her rank, I didn't know how much color to dress her in. I thought I might put her in something green to bring out the color of her eyes, but…"

God, please, no.

"But my green dress is an evening gown, meant for a formal occasion, and also meant to draw all eyes on her, if you know what I mean, Your Lordship. It is tight around the bust. But no matter," she went on blithely, "I am sure I shall have reason enough to put her in it someday soon."

Alexei changed his mind: Rania was an absolute demon.

…

"I am going to show you around now," he explained to Poppy as they left the warmth of Dante's rooms behind.

He was not in the habit of explaining himself, but Miss Wyatt looked so frightened and so beautiful, he had turned his back on her, just to be safe.

"A little tour of the Underworld ought to put the fear of God in you."

How could he be so angry and so aroused at the same time? By the same woman.

That's why I don't like leaving the club, he thought for the millionth time.

Poppy stayed mute: whether out of stubbornness or not, he did not know.

All he knew was that his heart had stopped when he saw her, and had not started up yet. Excellent.

"This is the grand hall," Alexei said.

Next to him, he felt rather than saw Poppy tilt her head up to take in the enormous tapestry depicting the death of Hector in the Iliad; it presided over the curved staircase, covering the greater part of the wall. Above their heads, a chandelier looked positively weary with crystals and diamonds.

"I wouldn't be surprised if the owner of this hall was a very slightly poorer relation of God Himself," Poppy said.

"I am the owner," Alexei replied.

"Well. Same thing."

She took in the opulence calmly, hobbling along behind him, and he watched her instead of the round tables, Chippendale chairs, silk sofas and paneled corridors. They descended to the second floor below ground, and reached a cozy, well-stocked library with no windows but several hearty fires.

"So beautiful," she murmured. "For a den of iniquity."

Alexei chuckled harshly. "So you keep telling me," he said. "But you seem to be able to find beauty in everything."

"One must," she replied without looking at him. "Otherwise, there is nothing but ugliness wherever one looks, don't you agree?"

Nothing but ugliness. Did he agree?

He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

"There is a river running through the club," he said instead of another reply. "It is rather helpful to have access to water from inside, because it allows me to communicate with ships, sympathetic officers of the law, and even pirates. Does that shock you?"

"The river or the pirates?"

"Lots of people come and go through this place, politicians come in for meetings, and the fate of entire armies or palaces is decided within the span of a game of faro. Negotiations take place down here nightly. It is the main reason the Hellion Club is still open. It's a meeting place, not a pleasure den, in spite of your opinion. All of that is a theater: just for show, to keep the poor away. I need to have a way of escape for anyone who walks into my club, and for one reason or the other is unable to walk out."

She said nothing, but as they started walking once again, he saw that her head was down, and she was thinking about what he had said.

"I suppose you already know most of that, don't you?" Alexei went on, trying to goad her into making a reply, any sort of reply. Heaven help him, but he did not know to what he might have to resort to if she stayed unresponsive like that. Nikolaos's safety was in her hands, dammit. "You are here, after all, for that express purpose."

"Am I?" she sounded distracted.

Alexei wanted to strangle her. So, instead, he took her down to the river.

They climbed seven flights of increasingly narrowing stairs, and he bit his lip as he saw her struggle with the many steps, but he had to let her suffer. It was his last hope.

Besides, he could not offer her his elbow.

The smell of still, enclosed waters met his nostrils as soon as they entered the large, cavernous space that marked the entrance to the underwater river, and he stifled a curse. He hated the water. Hated it.

He could only hope that she hated it too.

"Can you step onto the boat there?" he asked her, indicating one of the many long barges docked on the rocks against which a small lake's waters was lapping peacefully in the darkness. "I would rather not touch you. I shall push you on the water as soon as you are in."

"Shall you…" her breathing was shallow, and her words were cut short. She was terrified. Good. Still, she obeyed him, getting into the boat without protesting. What is wrong with you? "Shall you stay on the shore?"

Oh. She was afraid that he would push her out into the water all by herself, in a shallow boat without oars. To die.

"You still think I am trying to kill you, don't you?" he murmured, wincing at the thought. He jumped in, beside her, and his thigh brushed against the hem of her dress. A shiver shook his entire body. "While in fact, it's the exact opposite. You are trying to kill me."

"I—I don't—"

He was supposed to be glad that she was so flustered and disoriented, but instead he felt like a monster.

He grasped the oars, a little tighter than was absolutely necessary, and started rowing, his knuckles white, his lips set.

"It truly is a lake," Poppy said at length, distracted from her fear by the expanse of the water. They were a good fifteen yards far from the shore now. Over their heads, the cave echoed their every breath, its ceiling glowing silver with the water's reflection. "It's enormous. I had not thought it possible."

Alexei did not share her fascination. Proximity to water was always an excruciating agony.

"It feeds into a river, eventually," he said. "The lake goes out from this cave to a river, and then to the sea. It passes through the Thames, you see. My friend Lord Darlington once escaped his captors via this very lake. Very useful. But deadly, too. The lake gets deep the farther from the shore we wander."

"I thought it would be shallow water." Her voice was trembling again.

"It is the opposite of that," Alexei said, seeing his opportunity and grasping it with both hands. "Be careful. If you fall in, you'll drown, because I cannot swim myself. I mean, I would dive after you, naturally, gentleman and all that, you understand. But I don't swim, so we shall both drown, and they won't find our bones until centuries later. There is no natural light here, and the water gets deep over twice my height in the middle there."

He pointed with a jut of his jaw.

"How on earth do you know that?" Poppy shuddered.

"I tried it."

"You tried it? You…you mean, you dove in, when you can't swim?"

"Well, that is irrelevant," Alexei shrugged. "I wanted to see how deep it was. Turns out, too deep," he chuckled. Poppy's face was bloodless. "Oh, don't look so horrified, Dante was here."

"And what if he hadn't been?"

He shrugged again. They rowed on in silence, the oars gently lapping against the still black waters, the cave echoing their rhythm.

He watched her. Even though she was so frightened she was practically trembling with fear, her features exuded serenity. God, she is beautiful.

After a few minutes, he realized that she was cradling her one arm, and gently massaging her fingers. It matched her bad leg, and he felt a sharp pain on his chest as he saw it.

"Does it hurt?" He glanced at her hand, then away.

"Yes," she replied simply.

His head gave a little jerk, but otherwise he didn't react.

She leaned over carefully, and touched her palm to the still surface of the water, her fingers parallel to the silvery liquid. He had to bite down hard on his lip so as not so shudder at the idea of someone putting their hand in contact with the water intentionally.

She closed her eyes, thick lashes leaning against velvet cheeks, and breathed out a sigh of pure pleasure.

That's it. I can't take any more of this.

I brought her here to torture her, and I am the one burning in the fires of hell.

Alexei was considering throwing himself over the side just so that he would drown and end this torment, when she turned to him and said:

"Did you build all this, my lord?"

"Not with my own hands," he replied, and, in an effort not to let his voice sound strangled, he sounded stern. "I am a gentleman, after all, all evidence to the contrary notwithstanding. But yes, I built it all over the course of five years. I didn't belong in any of the worlds that hosted me, you see: not in my ancestral home or country, not in my father's palace, not at school in England. So, when I grew up, I brought over my inherited wealth, and I created my own world here. I created life, where there was only darkness and dirt. Anything less Hades-like than that I would like to see."

"It really bothers you, doesn't it?" she said. "The name."

"It does. You know, I have struggled all my life against the thought that I am unwanted."

"You are n—"

She would start to protest out of politeness, and he wanted to murder himself.

Her pity, that is the one thing I have managed to win.

How positively pathetic.

"I know I am not, in fact, wanted," he interrupted her with impatience. "I know this, Miss Wyatt. No need to say it."

"That was not what I meant to say. But proceed."

"Oh, how generous of you." Would nothing ever make her lose her calmness? He was over here losing his damned mind. "As I was saying, I did not expect to be welcomed, or even appreciated here, but I did not expect to be dubbed Death himself for owning one of the most prestigious gentlemen's clubs in London."

"Was not the name given you when you were a child?" Poppy asked.

He had pretty much stopped rowing.

"It was," he said, running a finger down the oar's smooth surface. "Can you imagine how flattering? Of course, poor Dante has it worse. Much worse than anyone else on God's green earth, but that's another story—well, except for you, possibly, my dear. But I did not expect the silly name to follow me into adulthood; into the lips of every insipid lady in London's tearooms. I expected…"

"To feel enough," Poppy said, her eyes round, as though her words had surprised even herself. "To feel as though what you had achieved would finally be enough."

Hades turned and gave her a look of such absolute shock, she nearly upset the boat. Then his shock turned into disgust. At both her and himself.

"Quite," he said. "For someone who has been trying to play the fool for the past day, that was very insightful, Wyatt."

It seemed a proper time to drop the ‘Miss' entirely. It had been a nuisance anyway.

"I am surprised myself at the—"

"That is enough out of you," Alexei cut her off rudely, and turned around to row with vengeance.

If it was possible to rise a wave in that still, dark lake, he would have done it.

…

He had to touch her.

This had never happened to him before; of all the things he had done since meeting her, this was the most inexplicable. He had to touch her or he would splinter into a million, furious pieces of broken tissue and bone.

He had to touch her or he would die.

So, naturally, he rowed furiously for the shore, and jumped out of the boat, letting her stumble out of the boat by herself. He saw her struggle with the pain both on her weak leg and her hurt knees, and pretended to not even notice.

But he did wait for her to step safely on firm ground. Once he was sure that she was out of the water, he walked on, steering well clear of her, even though his fingers ached to wrap themselves around her delicate wrist and offer her support, warmth and comfort.

He hoped to God she would do or say something to irritate him soon, because if something did not put an end to this irrational need to touch her soon, he would expire.

"I have gotten nothing out of you," he told her, making his voice as hard and hostile as he possibly could.

"What would your lordship like to get from me?"

He nearly choked on pure air.

"The truth," he finally managed to say.

She remained silent.

Dammit.

This had certainly not taken care of his absurd need to touch her.

"I shall have to seduce it out of you, I see," he said, willing his voice not to break. It broke. Dammit.

"What do you m…?"

Now he had gone and done it. And since he was already damned, he might as well be thorough.

He might as well enjoy it.

As much as anyone might enjoy being killed.

"This way," he said, hurrying up in order to put as much distance between them as humanly possible. He heard her uneven gait as she struggled to keep up, he heard her pant in pain, and still he didn't slow his steps. "To my chambers."

And may God, if He exists, probably not, have mercy on my soul.

Well, what's left of it.