Nobody was watching them, but she couldn't afford to be seen here.
And she owed Devoncourt the truth: that while his flirtations had made her feel, for a moment, as if someone cared, they could not continue.
She grabbed his sleeve and hauled him into a nearby alcove. He wasn't even wearing a mask, as if he wanted the world to see him act so familiarly with her. "Are you trying to ruin me?"
"Trying, my dear. You've led me a merry chase."
Rough hands captured her face and his lips loomed close. Adele twisted her face away, her heart hammering as Devoncourt's mouth mushed wetly against her cheek.
"Unhand me, you idiot," she whispered, shoving against his chest. Every hint of desire she'd felt in the gardens with her husband shriveled up. What was he thinking? "My husband will kill you if he sees you."
Devoncourt staggered back, his brows drawing together. "He knows?"
The second his lips quirked, she realized he wasn't entirely displeased with the notion.
"He knows," she replied, then dragged her silk glove against her saliva-wetted cheek. Really. "He was displeased and insisted it go no further."
Devoncourt's smile held an edge she didn't like. "Malloryn can go to hell." His eyes focused on her again. "It's not as though he's ever given a damn about you, Adele."
"I'm quite aware of his feelings toward me, thank you very much." Probably more than you yourself are. Adele mimicked a smile. This needed to end. "Devoncourt, while I am fond of you, you caught me at a weak moment the other night. I owe my husband a debt I can never repay. I do not intend to cuckold him."
"So you'll play the dutiful wife, even as he flits about town with his mistress."
Her smile died. "That is between me and Malloryn."
"Did he threaten you?"
You don't have to look so happy about it. "No. He simply insisted I end this flirtation. Think what you like of him, threats are not Malloryn's style."
Though she'd never expected seduction to be his style, either.
Devoncourt took a step closer, shadows obliterating half his face. "Be careful, my cherub. You wouldn't know what your husband's style is."
"Considering I spend most of my days in his home, I would like to think I have some idea. Malloryn doesn't care for scenes. And he certainly isn't violent. Particularly with women."
Cold and distant, perhaps.
But never cruel.
She might find herself starved of affection as his wife, but she'd never outrightly fear him.
"Isn't he?" Devoncourt leaned closer to whisper in her ear, "Do you have any idea what your husband gets up to of nights?"
"I'm not an idiot. I've heard the rumors. He promised me he's ended it." And she trusted her husband's word of honor, if nothing else.
"Poor, sweet cherub. He's pulled the wool over your eyes quite neatly, hasn't he?" For a second, his smile seemed almost a sneer. "I wasn't talking about his mistress, my dear. You know nothing about the duke. You have no idea what manner of man you married. I only thought to protect you, Adele."
What on earth was he speaking of?
She wanted to look down her nose at him, but a hint of unease trickled through her. What did she really know of Malloryn? Devoncourt spoke as if he was up to something nefarious.
"Protect me from what?"
"What's coming." His eyes hardened as he brushed a finger against her mouth again. "Why don't you ask your father about Malloryn's extracurricular activities?"
"My father? What does my father have to do with any of this?"
Sir George Hamilton had been unhappy upon her engagement, to be sure, but he'd never said anything else to her.
"Just ask him."
If there was anything she disliked more than being ignored by all of the men around her, it was when they spoke over her head like this.
"If you have something to tell me about my husband, then pray tell me. I dislike innuendo, Devoncourt. It smacks too much of insubstantial rumor, and I've been the victim of said rumor in the past. I don't appreciate it. Nor do I appreciate this attempt to put doubts in my mind. What do you know of Malloryn?"
"Just... be careful, cherub. Malloryn's made many enemies in the past few years. One day that's going to return to bite him, and that day might be sooner than you'd like. I wouldn't care to see a woman as beautiful as you torn down with him."
And then he was gone, and despite her bravado she couldn't help frowning.
Just a little.
Because while she might have defended her husband, she couldn't deny the truth: Malloryn wasn't spending his nights in her bed.
"She's late," said a cold, hard voice in thickly accented English. "You should have sent me, instead."
"If I'd sent you, my dear, you'd have brought me Malloryn's head, and I'm not quite ready to take it. Death is too kind an alternative for what I have in store for him."
Lord Balfour leaned against the stone pillar in the half-ruined tower, silently surveying the night. The old church had been burned during the prince consort's reign when the consort banned the practice of any faith that condemned blue bloods as soulless monsters. From here he could see half the city, including the elegant marble tower where he'd once ruled from on high.
This city was mine. And now I am but a rat scurrying about the shadows, gnawing at the corpses.
His lips pressed thinly together as he chastised himself for the thought. Weak men gave into their emotions and played their cards too early. It was impatience that had brought him so low in the first place.
Just remember, it was a rat that brought London to its knees all those years ago, during the plague.
"The death I would grant him is not kind one," Jelena said.
There was a flicker of movement in the shadows at the base of the church. A glint of gold as someone slipped through the rubble.
"I am tired of games," Jelena continued. "I want blood."
He'd have to let her off the leash soon enough, for her temper could be dangerous once roused. A little bloodletting and she would subside, like a cat that had finally filled its belly.
But he couldn't allow the claim on Malloryn's life to go unchallenged.