The League of Illusion: Prophecy Page 5

  Slowly he raised his gaze to meet hers. His cheeks flushed red. “If that’s all you need, Miss Stratton.” He gave her a curt nod, turned on his heel and marched out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

  Corina let go the breath she was holding and sat on the dressing table chair. “Well now, that was unexpected.” She looked down at the ring on her finger and twisted it around.

  “You’re not falling for him, are you? That would be unwise. He’s not the type of man who could love a girl like you. He’d bed you then leave you, just like your father did to me.”

  “Of course not, Mother. He’s a means to an end. That’s all.”

  Her mother kept rambling on in her ear, but she wasn’t having it. She wouldn’t discuss Rhys. Not with her, not with anyone. Her feelings were her own. And if they just happened to be a bit muddled at the moment, no one had to know that either.

  Two hours later, after a quiet tea in her room, Corina met Rhys down in the foyer. As she carefully walked down the steps, her gloved hand trailing the railing, she spied the top of his black hat. He was facing the doorway, rubbing his thumb over the lid of his pocket watch as she descended. When she reached the last step, he turned.

  His eyes widened at the sight of her. Her heart fluttered a little in her chest and she gave him a real smile. He returned it and, taking off his hat, he bowed to her. This time her belly took up the fluttering.

  “You look...” he licked his lips as if struggling for a word, “...stunning.”

  She curtsied. “Thank you.” She patted at her upsweep of hair, making sure everything was still in place. She’d wrapped her braid around her head, pinned it in place and pulled two tendrils out to curl in front of her ears. She’d seen the look once at a county fair and thought to duplicate it. She’d also heard that Queen Victoria often wore her hair this way.

  He settled his hat back on his head and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

  It was moments like these that she almost found Rhys charming. She knew it was just his good breeding and manners that propelled him to act in a chivalrous manner when he obviously had a penchant toward rudeness. She reveled in it anyway, certain by tomorrow he would be back to his usual distant, coldhearted self. Tonight she would pretend he was actually an acquaintance she liked. It would make her job easier.

  She took his arm and he led her outside to the waiting steam carriage, a contraption she still was having trouble acclimating to. She understood the mechanics of it, but it still seemed a bit unnatural to have a carriage move seemingly on its own without a horse to pull it.

  When they arrived at Lord Effington’s home, it was to a long line of carriages, people and footmen shepherding partygoers through the large double front doors. The carriage stopped at the steps and a doorman opened the door. Rhys slid out first, then offered his hand to her.

  Once out, they were ushered up the steps to the front doors. She could hear the revelry already in full swing inside. Music and voices and laughing. She smiled despite herself. Rhys handed his invitation to the man just inside the doors. Rhys leaned in to the man and whispered something to him. The man turned to the crowd.

  “Mr. Rhys Davenport and Miss Corina Stratton.”

  Some of the guests stopped and looked as they entered the hall but most continued on with their merriment. Corina felt very self-conscious as two ladies eyed her up and down with narrowed eyes and pinched mouths.

  They were both wearing dark brown dresses with brass buttons and fasteners. One wore a tall top hat with feathers and ribbons. In fact most of the ladies and gentlemen were dressed in dark somber colors and carried walking sticks and parasols, even indoors. One fine gentleman had a shiny metal parrot on his shoulder much like the one she’d seen earlier on the street. It was an odd thing for people to have animal companions made out of brass and burnished metal. What was wrong with having a real animal?

  She glanced down at her dress to make sure she wasn’t askew or had something staining the material, as she seemed quite out of place. The blue dress she wore made her stick out like a lighthouse beacon. She was startled when Rhys set his hand on hers and opened his mouth to say something. But he didn’t get a chance to speak before Lord Effington had descended upon them, all smiles and handshakes and pats on the backs. The lord’s cheeks were flushed. Obviously, he’d already partaken in a few libations.

  “Oh, my dear, you are positively divine.” He pressed his lips to the back of her gloved hand.

  “Thank you, Lord Effington.”

  He waved his hand. “Call me Percy. Only people I dislike call me Lord Effington.”

  One of the ladies who’d regarded her unkindly approached. “What a grand ball this is, Lord Effington.”

  “See what I mean?” Percy winked at Corina.

  She couldn’t contain her laugh but quickly hid it behind her hand. She looked up to see Rhys also stifling a smile.

  The woman moved on, clearly upset by Percy’s dismissal. She gave Corina a hard look, then disappeared among the crowd.

  “I’ve always despised that woman,” Percy said. “She has no manners to speak of.”

  “I noticed,” Corina agreed before she could stop herself.

  Percy guffawed and slapped Rhys on the shoulder. “Dance with this girl before there’s a long line of suitors milling about, making moon eyes at her.”

  Rhys sniffed. “I doubt that.”

  Corina was taken aback. To her surprise the jibe hurt worse than the hate-filled looks she was getting. “Manners seem to be lacking everywhere.” She went to move away from him but he grabbed her arm.

  “That came out wrong. I wasn’t referring to the line of suitors, that’s obvious by the looks you’re getting from some men.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that either and simply lifted an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain himself.

  “Er, I meant to say that it was doubtful I would dance with you.”

  “What’s wrong with dancing with me? Am I that horrid?”

  “No, of course not.” He cleared his throat. “It’s just that...I’m not a very good dancer and will likely embarrass myself.”

  She shook her head. “You’re not very good with words either, are you?”

  “It would seem not.” He gave her a small smile.

  “You don’t have to dance with me if you don’t want to. I’m sure some other gentleman may ask me.”

  He glanced around the room, watching as the floor emptied of some dancers only to be replaced by others waiting for the next dance. His gaze came back to her. He offered her his arm. “Up to taking a turn with this daft man?”

  Her first thought was to refuse him, but the helpless look on his face gave her pause. He did look completely lost. She took pity on him and curled her hand around his arm. He led her onto the floor with the other couples. He drew her arm up to the side and placed his other hand at her waist. The waltz started and he moved her around the floor.

  He was tentative at first; she could feel the nerves in his hand that was pressed to hers. Or was that her own quivers she was feeling? Her belly was certainly fluttering as he swirled her around. Rhys was the first man she’d ever waltzed with. By the time he’d whirled her around the room for the third time, her cheeks were flushed. It was warm in the hall, certainly, but she knew that wasn’t the only reason.

  She risked a glance at her da
nce partner. His face was tight and serious. A muscle twitched along his jawline. She had the urge to reach up and smooth it away with her fingertips. He turned his head and met her gaze. His gray eyes were clouded with emotion. As he stared into her eyes, something inside him sparked to life.

  The music stopped and so did they, in the middle of the floor. He had yet to lower his arm or remove his hand from her waist. She could see his pulse thumping hard in his neck. It matched the racing of her own heart. She never thought she would ever look at Rhys and see anything more than a pompous, unflinching man. But here at this ball, in the middle of the room, holding his hand and looking into his eyes, she saw a blossoming of something more than just polite regard.

  After another few seconds of uncertainty, he must’ve realized people were staring at them, because he lowered his arm and escorted her off the dance floor. A few whispers followed them out of the main room. When they entered the drawing room where drinks were being served, Rhys grabbed one off a tray and downed it in one gulp.

  “Was it that bad?” Corina asked, concerned that his face was going red.

  He coughed, choking on the alcohol he’d just consumed. “Of course not.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s because Davenport could never quite handle a beautiful woman.”

  They both turned. A rather dashing man with slicked-back dark hair smiled at them, although the smile didn’t quite reach his empty, cold eyes. He had doll’s eyes. Beside him, wrapped around his arm, was an exotic-looking woman with thick, curly black hair and sun-kissed skin. She wore a tight red dress that accentuated her generous curves.

  Rhys wiped his mouth, then clenched his hands into fists. “Hawthorne.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Are you going to introduce me to your lovely companion?”

  “No.” Rhys stepped in front of Corina, blocking Darin from her.

  Darin leered at Corina, and if they hadn’t been in public surrounded by good society, Rhys would have punched him in his perfect face. Only a couple of weeks ago Rhys would never have considered such a thing, but Darin Hawthorne had proven to be the worst type of man. Someone he dared not underestimate.

  “Now, Davenport, there’s no need to be rude. We’re all friends here.”

  Genevieve smiled at him. “Good to see you, Rhys,” she purred.

  Darin reached around Rhys and took Corina’s hand. “Darin Hawthorne. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He pressed his lips to the back of her hand. “And you are?”

  “Corina Stratton.” She pulled her hand away.

  Rhys could hear the uncertainty in her voice. She looked at him for reassurance. But he couldn’t give it to her. Darin was a very dangerous man and Rhys didn’t like this situation one bit.

  “My pleasure, Miss Stratton.” Darin gave her a salacious wink. She visibly cringed. “And this is my...companion, Genevieve Le Blanc.”

  Genevieve gave Corina an ugly smile, one that reeked of poison.

  “What are you doing here?” Rhys asked.

  “I was invited, same as you.” Darin nodded to one of the high court judges in attendance. Rhys knew the Hawthornes had many paid men in law enforcement and government. It was the only way they made friends.

  “I highly doubt that. Lord Effington despises you almost as much as I do.”

  Darin smiled but there was no warmth or humor in it. Just like there was no warmth or humor inside the man. “You’d be surprised what a few pounds can get a man.”

  “It’s too bad it couldn’t buy you some honor.”

  Darin took a threatening step forward. “You talk of honor, Davenport, but I’m not the one who left my poor cousin Fiona abandoned with a bastard in her belly.”

  Corina gaped at him, then eyed Rhys. He had to admit he didn’t much like the accusing stare.

  “Also, look at how poor Genevieve simpers for you.”

  Genevieve gave an exaggerated pout, which was almost comical with her already plumped up lips.

  “You see how she misses your touch.”

  Again Corina eyed him, probably wondering just how many women he was bedding. But he didn’t have time to defend himself before a rather large man stepped into their little circle, right behind Corina. As if sensing him, she glanced over her shoulder. The man leered down at her and grinned unpleasantly.

  “Play time is over.” Darin nudged Genevieve away. “Go get some air.” She gave a little curtsy, blew Rhys a kiss, then disappeared into the crowd behind them. “You have something I want, so give it to me, or Bruno will hurt this little strumpet you seem fond of.”

  Corina’s eyes widened as Bruno wrapped his large arm around her, pressing his ham-sized hand to her belly. To onlookers it could appear as though they were about to dance. “I’ll scream,” she said.

  “If you do, Bruno will snap your neck before you get a sound out,” Darin said. “He’s surprisingly quick for such a brute.”

  All the muscles in Rhys’s body tightened and he had to fight back the knee-jerk reaction to strike at the man holding Corina. He dug his nails into the palm of his hand and stepped right into Darin, so they were but an inch apart. “Leave her out of this.”

  “It’s too late for that. You brought her in.” Darin brushed at Rhys’s jacket lapel. “I recognize her from Stonehenge. She’s very much a part of this. Fair game, so to speak.”

  Anger flared up inside Rhys. He held his cane tight in his left hand and settled his right on the sliver-tipped handle, ready to unsheathe the rapier hidden inside.

  Darin noticed and grabbed his hand, squeezing hard. “You’re not really going to stick me with that are you?” He waved his other hand around. “In front of all these people. You want to be labeled a murderer like your brother?”

  “Sebastian is no murderer,” Rhys spit out between clenched teeth.

  “Maybe not, but he’s not exactly around to defend himself now, is he?”

  Rhys yanked his hand from Darin’s and shrugged him off. A few people nearby started to take notice of their discussion.

  “Let’s take this outside, shall we?” Darin clenched a fist. A faint red glow could be seen between his fingers. “You see, I have no qualms about hurting some of these people.”

  Rhys glanced at Corina. She was staring straight ahead, eyes wide, breathing deep and twisting her ring around her finger. He wondered if she was having a conversation with her mother. She appeared quite calm, considering. If it had been another woman in this predicament, she would’ve screamed or fainted by now. Obviously Corina Stratton was made of sterner stuff.

  “I’d rather not go anywhere with you.” Rhys pushed his magic onto the man holding Corina.

  A huge black and red spider formed on his shoulder. Bruno’s eyes widened as one fuzzy leg reached menacingly toward his face. “Bloody hell!” he jerked back, shaking his arm. In the process his hold on Corina loosened.

  Rhys grabbed her hand and dashed into the crowd, pulling her with him. “Stay with me.”

  She nodded, and he heard Darin’s voice follow them out.

  “Grab them, you idiot!”

  Heads turned toward the ruckus. Some watched as Rhys and Corina pushed through the guests. Rhys spied Percy ahead, chatting up a small crowd. He made a beeline toward him. Making eye contact with the man as they passed by, he said, “Little help.”

  Percy’s eyes widened and he scanned the buzzing crowd until he spotted the large goon disrupting the party by nudg
ing lords and ladies aside. Lord Effington prided himself on his gossip-worthy parties and he despised party crashers.

  Stepping out of his conversational circle, Percy swung his walking stick as if gesturing with it and struck the hulking man in the knee. It was enough of a blow to bring him down.

  “Oh, my dear boy, are you all right?” Percy reached for the man, feigning care, and winked at Rhys.

  While the crowd circled the downed man in curiosity, Rhys pulled Corina out of the main room and headed toward the staircase leading up to the second floor. Two servants stood guard, but they recognized Rhys and nodded to him as he ran by.

  “Shouldn’t we be getting out of the house?” Corina asked as he prodded her up the steps from behind.

  “Yes, but we can’t get to the main doors without having to go through the crowd again and past Hawthorne, who I suspect is watching for us there.”

  At the top of the stairs, they ran into one of the housemaids with fresh linens clutched to her chest. “Mr. Davenport,” she said with surprise.

  “Good evening, Claudine.” Rhys ushered Corina toward the stairs leading to the third floor and the servants’ quarters. “You didn’t see us.”

  The girl smiled and curtsied. “Of course, I didn’t.”

  As they rushed across the floor to the second staircase, Corina gave him an odd look.

  “What? Did I do something wrong?”

  “You knew that maid’s name.”

  “Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I? She’s a good, hardworking girl.”

  Corina just shook her head. “You’re a strange man.” She pointed to the stairs. “Are we going up again?”

  “Yes.” He followed her to the next floor of the house, going over her last words to him. Strange? How was he strange? Despite being a sorcerer, mind. She was the odd one here, not he. He was about to point that out to her when something tweaked his ear. Stopping, he whipped around to see if someone had snuck up on them or if Claudine for some reason had decided to follow them. They were alone in the narrow gloomy staircase.