Page 176 of Immortal Rose

“And what’s the matter with Greystone anyway?” Hugh asked. “What did you mean about his scent?”

I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist asking, not when there was another powerful secret to collect.

“I’m not sure I can explain it,” I told him. “His essence smelled vaguely of magic, but it was brittle, like burnt sugar. Finding out is another reason to go, isn’t it?”

I almost laughed at his testy expression, which very much said yes even as those sensuous lips said, “No.”

Truthfully, Greystone’s essence had unsettled me altogether. The wintry chill of long-buried pain with the mineral grit of greed. There were the usual touches of a man of business—parchment, ink, coins, leather—but also blood and steel, and, more than anything, the devastating, heady scent of lilies.

“What if you go to fulfill your end of the bargain and he doesn’t release you upon its completion?” He braced his hands against his knees, staring at them as he collected his thoughts—or rearranged them into another shield for his feelings.

I arched a brow. “Would you allow that?”

“Of course not, damn it, but that’s beside the point.” His expression turned bleak.

“Can I not rely on you to keep me safe?” I asked, wanting to kiss the furrow between his dark brows, wanting all of him, even this foolishness.

“I think tonight proved you cannot.”

“Ah, yes,” I said dryly. “You beast, giving me exactly what I desired. What I still desire.”

He looked up sharply at that, a note of warning in his voice. “Viola . . .”

“It had to be done,” I insisted. “Glenmoor won’t become regent, and once the King learns that the duke is responsible for the poisoning—”

“It won’t matter,” Hugh cut in. “Whatever he has on the King stands. He may not become regent, but he will still find his way into power by marrying Eleanor. There’s only one end for this now.”

I sat back against my seat, speechless. “You mean to kill him.”

“Does that shock you?” he asked, his tone turning mocking and sardonic. But I knew him too well now and recognized it as an attempt to push me away. “I was in denial before. He’s positioned himself too well to be merely knocked off the pedestal now.”

“That’s not true,” I told him. “You’ve only settled on the deadlier path because it’s the one you can carry out alone, at huge cost to yourself.”

He stared impassively at me—through me. I could feel myself growing more upset, as if needing to fill the void of his emotion with my own. But this retreat didn’t feel cruel; it felt self-protective.

“There is no reason Glenmoor can’t be exposed for the monster he is, but that will require everyone’s help, as tonight did,” I continued. “And either you’re terrified of something happening beyond your control, or you’re simply too prideful to allow anyone else to help you bring the man down. So, which is it?”

Breath tore in and out of him, his jaw clenching as he turned to glare out the window.

“I believe it’s the former, but just now, you’re convincing me of the latter,” I told him. “Hugh, do you know why I felt brave enough to confront Greystone after years of running from him? It was because you were with me. It was knowing I could trust you completely. Can you not show me the same trust and tell me why it’s come to this?”

“It’s not for you to understand,” he answered coldly. “Your responsibility is the perfume, mine is to stop Glenmoor, no matter the cost.”

“Then as the only one of us who has experienced Fairgate, I can assure you that you’ll be longing for the gallows after a few days, you bloody impossible man,” I ground out. “It’s pride, then. How disappointing.”

The muscle in Hugh’s jaw tensed. How could I make him understand?

“You . . .” I drew in a steadying breath, my hands curling in my lap until the mask was crushed between my fists. “The reason there was a poison perfume in my mother’s journal, the reason I recognized it, is because she used it.”

Hugh’s eyes darted toward me. His lips parted on his next breath, but I wouldn’t back away from this now.

“She had married Lockwood out of fear, only to find that he had trapped her—trapped the both of us—inside of a prison of it,” I said. “After he could no longer work, there was nothing to do for him but drink and take out the fury of his pain and humiliation on us.” I worked my jaw, trying to ease the stiffness there, to choke out the words. “At first he only struck her. And then I made the mistake of revealing he’d been to a brothel one night, and he birched me for it until I was sure I would die.”

“God,” Hugh whispered, his hands tightening into fists.

“Mama couldn’t petition for divorce, not by the sacred laws of the Church, and he refused to grant one,” I continued. “She was convinced that he would find us no matter where we went, and—and after what he had done to me, she hated him. He was given the gift of her, and he shattered her like a careless child, and when she pieced herself back together, she was never the same. She was jagged, consumed by that hatred.”

Hugh’s attention was rapt now.