Not for him the art of espionage. Though he had more than enough experience at creeping about ballrooms unaware, he'd known there'd be too many eyes watching him tonight. He'd sent Gemma and Obsidian to follow Sir George instead, while he played decoy, wondering whom he'd lure out of the shadows.
And of all the people....
"Quite." He bit off the word.
"A bloom just ripe for the picking. It was remarkably easy to capture her attention, did you know? A few small compliments, a man's unabashed focus upon her—if you've ever seen her with Sir George, you'll understand why. She longs to be seen."
"Is there a point to this?"
Devoncourt's smile widened. "It bothers you, doesn't it? That my lips have known hers. That I could have had her if I wanted to."
It was far easier than expected to play the role of jealous husband.
"But you didn't, did you?" He had his hands on the lapels of Devoncourt's collar before he even knew it. Devoncourt caught his wrist, and their gazes clashed, before Malloryn forced a smile. "And it wasn't for lack of trying."
"Careful," Devoncourt chided, his fingers digging into the nerves in Malloryn's wrist. "You wouldn't want anyone to know I struck a nerve."
Malloryn made a great show of glancing around, before he let him go and stepped back, straightening the rumples in his own coat, as if the altercation hadn't even occurred.
"And you're right," Devoncourt conceded with a smile. "She likes to play her own games. She's an elusive creature."
"Which seems to have worked to my favor. You may have offered her flattery, but Adele's quite good at baiting her own hook."
The faintest flicker of darkness flashed through Devoncourt's blue eyes. "I would never have guessed her to be working for you. Her animosity was quite convincing."
"Perhaps because it is." He couldn't afford to betray his feelings, and sometimes there were benefits to playing the Duke of Malloryn. Everyone knew he was made of polished steel. Ruthless. Indifferent. Cold. It was like slipping into another skin; one he'd mastered years ago. "You think her loyalty belongs to me? She has other buttons to push, beyond her father's indifference to her." His voice lowered. "It's just a matter of pushing the right ones to get what I want."
Devoncourt swallowed the lie. "You played the both of us."
He merely smiled. "I needed a weapon you'd never see coming."
"Yes. It's strange how Adele vanished from Angel's Fall at the precise moment Corvus did."
There was no point prevaricating.
"He sends his regards," Malloryn replied. "Or he would if he could speak."
Devoncourt's lips thinned. "I hope he suffered. There's no love lost between Corvus and me, so your barb draws no blood."
"It wasn't intended to. Do you have anything of interest to say to me? Or are you merely tilting at windmills, when there's nothing either of us can do?"
"Too public," Devoncourt agreed.
"It's going to be private, one day."
"It will."
Their eyes locked on each other.
"Actually, I was merely meant to draw your attention," Devoncourt said, brushing lint from his sleeve. This time, it was he who held the upper hand.
Malloryn's gaze jerked to the ballroom.
Too late.
There was no raspberry pink anywhere to be found. He spotted Barrons immediately, laughing at something Mina said.
But Adele wasn't there.
"How interesting. You appear to have your own blind spot. You may not want her, but you do not want anyone else to have her either. Distractions are dangerous, Your Grace," Devoncourt said, with a faint smile. "I do hope you can find her in time."
Malloryn shot the man one last murderous look, teeth gnashing at the thought he may have bought into the game just a little too well, before he stalked along the balcony, hunting through the crowd.
Where would she have gone? She knew better than to leave the ballroom.
Slipping down the stairs, he found himself in a crush of people all looking to speak to him. Something about his face must have warned them, for suddenly his path opened up.
And then he paused as a prickling sensation ran down his spine.
And not just from Adele's disappearance.
Something had roused the predator within him and sent it hissing like a cat arching its back when another tom walked into its territory.
What had set off his darker side?
A hint of bergamot scented the air.
He looked around sharply.
It could have been in any perfume or cologne. It was a popular base scent, after all. But as the clammy sensation spread across the base of his spine, Malloryn couldn't help feeling as though someone had walked over his grave.
He didn't believe in coincidences.
His worst nightmare was here.
Somewhere.
And his wife was missing.
Chapter 23
Gemma ran along the hallway at the back of Lady Haynes's house, holding her skirts out of the way.
She'd been caught between two drunken fools who were threatening fisticuffs, and had lost visual on Thomas Mowbray for a second.
"Obsidian?" she whispered, putting her hand to her earpiece.
"Yes?" said her lover.
"I've lost Mowbray."
There was a moment of silence. "I've got Sir George in sight. He's prowling the garden folly."
"Good. Stay on him. I'll find you."
Blood flavored the air as she turned a corner. All of Gemma's senses awoke, the hunger surging to the surface and darkening her vision.
"Oh, heck," she said.
"What?"
"I think I've found Mowbray." Turning another corner, she saw the elderly gentleman crawling across the marble floors, a bloodied trail behind him.
"Sir!" She slid to his side and rolled him over. "What happened?"
"There was a woman," he gasped, one hand clasped to his chest. Gemma could see hot, red blood spurting between his fingers in pulses. A human. He was not long for this world.
She tore his waistcoat off and wadded it against his chest, though there was little hope of staunching the bleeding. Heart blood, by the look of it. She could smell it in the air and her mouth watered as the predator within her awoke. "What sort of woman? Blonde? Was she very blonde?"
"Yes." Blood flecked his lips. "Hair like... snow."
Oh, heck. It had to be either Dido or Jelena. Gemma drew one of the knives attached to her thigh. "What did you give her?"