Page 112 of Immortal Rose

I sensed that emptiness then, grasping and terrible, as the Duke of Glenmoor made a dispassionate study of me. I rose slowly, proud of how very solid my legs were. His top lip curled.

“As a child, I had imagined the fairyborn might have some special quality, if only a rare beauty,” he said. “Something to justify the perception of their superiority to man. But you are not remarkable at all, are you? Not even memorable. And yet, I’m meant to fear you when your dim magic was so easily thwarted.”

Glenmoor tapped at the silver pendant pinning his cravat in place, unable to hide his pleasure at my flinch. The symbols revealed what it was: a fairy charm. Something to block my magic or dull that extraordinary sense.

I fought to keep my breathing even. I hadn’t been able to scent him coming, and now I wouldn’t know what he was feeling—what his true intention was.

“What do you want?” I asked coldly.

The duke’s gaze fell to the shears I clutched in my hand, and for the first time, I saw something in his expression other than disgust: mocking.

He tsked. “I believe you mean ‘What do you want, Your Grace?’” he corrected. “I suppose it was too much to hope a gutter-born hoyden would know rudimentary manners.”

“And I would have hoped a highborn duke would know trespassing to be not only rude but illegal,” I said. “But, then, I suppose you see yourself as above such laws.”

He shifted subtly, the way a cat might as if it had decided a mouse was worth catching. That small movement was enough to reveal his elegant face and the contempt that flashed in those strange turquoise eyes. “I am the law. I might have thought this morning would have proven as much to you.”

A drip of sweat slipped down my spine. My God, that gaze was terrible; it felt as if my skin were being peeled strip by agonizing strip.

“Oh,” he cooed, as if he’d taken a sip of the finest of wines. “You don’t know.”

My heart rose to a staccato beat. “I know what you’ve done—”

Brigadier tore out of the hydrangeas then, her ears flying back as she barreled toward us with bared teeth. Glenmoor spun at her shrill barking, swinging his walking stick like a club. I lunged for the dog, scooping her from the ground.

The walking stick cracked against my upper arm, sending a bolt of agony through it. I gasped, clutching the whining, barking dog to my chest with one hand and brandishing the shears with the other.

Glenmoor only stared at me, amused. “What a perfectly absurd thing to do.”

The welt on my arm would bloom into a bruise in minutes, but my pulse was so high now, I scarcely felt it.

“If you’d intended to kill me,” I began, “you would have done it by now—or, more specifically, you would have watched from afar as someone did the filthy business for you. And I suspect you would have waited for Foxcourt to return home to witness it.”

The curl of his lips looked unnatural. A mimicry of a smile. “You know nothing of my mind.”

Which meant, of course, I was exactly right.

“Tell me what you want,” I said. “You’ve proven you know who I am, and now you’ve had your look at me. You have confiscated my belongings. You have tried to claim my life. What other purpose could you have for coming here, other than to prove that there’s no safe place for me—no place that you cannot reach me? The trouble is, Your Grace, you have already taken everything from me, and now I have nothing to lose.”

“But that’s not quite true, is it?” he said, with terrifying softness. “There’s that inheritance you so desperately desire.” He leaned toward me, whispering conspiratorially, “And there’s your freedom.”

There was no hiding the way the blood drained from my face. Brigadier growled.

“I have come with a purpose in mind, yes,” he said. “A final choice for you. You may come with me now and use your ability as I command, or you may decline and lose what little you have left.”

The duke’s expression was that of a gambler who had gathered the winning hand before anyone else knew the game had begun. A sickening mixture of smugness and inevitability. But in all that planning, he hadn’t seemed to account for the fact that I wasn’t here alone.

“Your Grace,” came Fleming’s calm voice. I knew it must have terrified and pained him to break with polite customs and speak to a duke this way. He was so pale beneath his wig, he looked on the verge of fainting. “I fear we are not at home to visitors.”

Glenmoor’s mouth twisted at the heavy silver candlestick clutched in the butler’s trembling hands. Behind him, Felicity, Willie, and Tommy stood grim-faced, guarding the way into the house.

I hugged Brigadier to me tighter. Thank God. They must have heard her barking.

“Of course, my apologies.” Glenmoor had an uncanny ability to keep his voice pleasant but luring. In the Brickbats, we called his ilk a “grinning devil.”

He turned to me again, that same terrifying mockery of a smile in place. “As it happens, I’m due to look in on His Majesty. As you have likely seen this morning, he has been quite unwell.”

The words had their intended effect, stilling my breath. As you have likely seen this morning . . .