But he was no longer in the grip of the craving. No longer ruled by the hunger and the heat of his emotions.
Somehow, holding Adele in his arms all the way home had managed to soothe the raging beast inside him, so he could damned well start thinking again.
Malloryn knelt down, a fresh set of trousers pulling taut over his thighs as he eyed the bastard. "I think you will."
"I think he will too," said Byrnes, tossing a knife up and down nonchalantly. "Indeed, I'm willing to bet good money on it."
Gemma tsked under her breath. "Boys. There's no need to make threats. I'm sure Lord Corvus understands the gravity of the situation he's found himself in. The queen wants the head of any traitor, after all."
"She don't need to know he's even in here," Byrnes murmured.
Lord Corvus sneered. "I'm an earl. If you touch one hair on my head, the entire Echelon will be up in arms. You think you're so high and mighty? You think the queen's name cows me? Well, you're going to get what's coming for you soon. There are those of us right beneath your nose. You'll never see them coming. You'll never know—"
"You mean all the lords listed on these pages?" Malloryn tugged the membership list out of his coat and proffered it elegantly.
Corvus froze.
"It was very considerate of you to write them all down for us. Saves me the hassle of having to torture my way through your cohort." He glanced at the first couple of names. "Coded, of course, but Gemma managed to crack it in under half an hour. Sloppy work, Corvus. Adele mentioned the Four Horsemen, and I see you've even given me their names too. Practically giftwrapped. The leaders of this little resurrection of the Rising Sons, I presume?"
"Conquest," Byrnes snorted, looming over the sniveling lordling. "He named himself Conquest. Who does that?"
"Conquest had another name," Gemma murmured. "I think 'Pestilence' suits the earl better."
"I think I'd rather be Devoncourt," Byrnes said, "though titling yourself as 'War' is a little self-congratulatory."
"And my dear father-in-law, Sir George, is masquerading as Famine. There's only one Horseman's name that's not listed." Malloryn examined the lists. "Was it Dido who gave you such names? Or should I say, Death?"
A white mottling settled over Corvus's pale expression. "It's too late, anyway. You won't stop it now."
"Stop what?" Malloryn tucked the papers back inside his pocket. "Maybe I can offer you a deal. Tell me what Balfour plans, and I'll make this very quick for you." He leaned closer, letting Corvus see some of the rage within him. "I don't want to. I want to make it slow and painful, considering you dared lay hands on my wife, but I always keep my word when I give it."
Corvus gave a choking laugh. "You have no idea what's coming for you. I'd rather see you suffer than die a clean death."
"One hundred quid that he breaks in under an hour," Byrnes said.
"Mmm, I think it will take at least an hour. Lord Corvus is a war veteran, after all," Gemma replied. "Two hundred, and you have a deal."
"I can be very persuasive," Byrnes told her. "I once saw a man make another eat his own finger. I've always wanted to try it."
"Done."
Corvus's gaze flickered to the pair of them, and his nostrils flared.
"You will tell us the truth, Corvus. What condition you're in when you speak it, depends on you," Malloryn said. "You told Adele I had less than a week, which means Balfour is setting things in motion as we speak. I wonder though, whether the explosives were designed for the Ivory Tower? Or is it the Prometheus chip we should be wary of?"
Corvus paled. "How did you—?"
"Did you think you were the only target we went after?"
"You son of a bitch."
"Your little house of cards is toppling, Corvus. Just fill in the gaps, and I may make this swift."
"Don't drink too much of it," Ava warned as she liberally laced Adele's tea with brandy. "It'll go straight to your head."
"Thank you." Adele sipped at her tea, sighing with relief as the brandy warmed from the inside. She'd bathed the blood from her skin, and one of the other ladies had managed to find her a new nightgown and robe, but the chill of Corvus's hands on her skin still lingered.
"Ava is speaking from experience." Ingrid snorted, her long legs thrown over the chair's arms as she watched Ava fuss over Adele. "She gets very talkative when she's had too much liquor."
"And I'm sure you and Gemma weren't egging me on at all that night," Ava rebuked, slipping the glass topper back into the decanter.
"We didn't have to."
"Did I miss something?" Lark asked.
"Nothing," Ava replied promptly.
"Battering rams," Ingrid coughed, almost-but-not-quite smothering the words with her hand.
The three women had gathered Adele into their confidences while Malloryn, Gemma, and Byrnes headed off to question Lord Corvus.
"Now I definitely know I missed something." Lark leaned forward in her chair, her hazel eyes glittering. "Confess."
"If you want to know more," Ingrid said, "then you'll need to drink up. One secret per glass. That's the way we played it." Her smile abruptly widened. "We can consider tonight Lark's and the duchess's initiation into COR."
"Oh, no. I don't think this is a very good idea. The duke would definitely not approve." Ava waved her hands in front of her. "Besides, Gemma's not here."
"She can catch up when she returns. And it's not as though you're at risk of blurting something inappropriate," Ingrid said, gesturing to Ava's rounded form and hence her inability to imbibe. No amount of ruffles could conceal Ava's thickening middle. "You can be our chaperone."
Adele drained her cup of tea. As much as tonight had been utterly horrid, a part of her liked the idea of making friends. It was the sort of gossip she might have enjoyed with Lena, but beyond that, she had very few companions, and the camaraderie she'd noticed within COR made her feel a little left out.
"I'm game," she said, setting her teacup onto her saucer with a clatter. "Though you must call me Adele."
Lark's eyes widened. "You are?"