Where was everybody?
Sharp heels rapped on the floors to her left, and then Gemma burst out of the parlor in a hurry. She slammed to a halt, her mouth falling open as she clapped a hand to her lips. "Adele?"
"Alive," Adele managed, her smile trembling.
Gemma became a blur of movement and then her arms were around Adele and she was gasping softly. "Oh, my goodness. Oh, my goodness. You're alive. He's going to— He's— Oh, you have to see him!"
"Malloryn's here?"
"He thought you were dead." Gemma looked like she wanted to cry. "I've never seen him like this before. He arrived at the opera house too late. And it was burning, and.... Oh, my goodness."
"Wait." Adele tried to capture the other woman's hands, tried to make sense of what she was saying. "Malloryn thinks I'm dead?"
"I sent the others away for the night. All except Obsidian. He's distraught—"
"Obsidian's distraught?"
"No! Malloryn." Gemma suddenly examined her. "He's in his study. Just go to him, please. I'll pour a bath and fetch some tea, and.... Well. They'll be ready when you are."
"Thank you," Adele whispered, glancing upstairs, toward the study, as she finally realized what state of mind she'd find her husband in.
"I will not add your name to that list."
Oh, God.
It hadn't really hit her until then. If Malloryn thought she was dead, he'd be blaming himself.
Someone opened the door.
"Get out," Malloryn said flatly, one hand resting on the mantelpiece as he stared into the flickering flames. A half-empty glass of scotch dangled laxly from his fingers. He was barely aware of it. He felt nothing.
Nothing but hollowness.
There was a rushing roar in the distance, as if something threatened to sweep over him and roll him under, but he'd kept it at bay so far. Or perhaps shock was protecting him from that screaming roar of darkness.
"I want to take every single thing you ever loved away from you."
"You already killed the woman I loved," he'd taunted.
God, he'd been so blind.
The person behind him didn't leave. And suddenly Malloryn couldn't take it anymore. "Get out before I kill somebody—"
"Is that any way to speak to your wife?" demanded a very familiar, very not-dead voice.
Malloryn spun around, dropping the glass of scotch. Glass shattered, but he didn't even flinch.
Adele stood in the doorway.
Adele.
He barely had time to take in her bedraggled state and her wet skirts before his heart punched right into his ribs. Malloryn's jaw dropped open. No. There was no way she could have— But he could hear her breath and if Adele were going to haunt him, it wouldn't be wearing half the Thames, by the look of it.
"You're alive," he rasped, taking a step toward her.
"Well, of course I'm alive," she replied with a faint, hesitant smile. "You didn't think I was going to let Devoncourt do away with me so easily?"
"Devoncourt?"
"He's the one who kidnapped me. And then he tied me to a chair on the opera stage and left me there along with over a dozen barrels of Greek Fire, and—"
One stride. Two. Then he was in front of her, capturing her face in his hands.
His lips met hers, and they were real beneath his caress.
The heat of her skin filled his chilled hands, her tongue slick beneath his as he kissed her to hell and back, drowning in the realness of her warmth beneath his touch.
Alive.
Alive, and safe, and wet, and...
Perfect.
Adele reared back, meeting his gaze. She held on to his wrists, as though he'd almost knocked her over. "Auvry?"
"I thought you were dead," he somehow managed to say, and his voice was a mess of raw emotion that even he heard. "I thought—I thought you were gone, and he'd won, and I was never, ever going to be able to tell you...."
A thousand thoughts danced across her expression: uncertainty, disbelief, shock, confusion, hope.... But the one that finally settled was an odd sense of understanding, as if she knew what he was trying to say.
"Tell me what?" she whispered.
He closed his eyes to avoid the way she sought the truth of him with her own gaze. The truth he'd barely begun to recognize himself.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
He wasn't supposed to feel this way.
He wasn't supposed to want her.
To crave her.
Not just physically, but her smile, her teasing flirtations, the way she would link their fingers and rest her head against his chest, as if listening to his heart beat.
Her affection.
Adele was a dream he'd never expected to dream again.
He couldn't say it.
Instead, he kissed her again.
Poured everything he had into that kiss, his hands curling through her tangled hair, his body meeting hers and bending it back until she practically lay in his arms. He ravished her mouth, breathing in the taste of her, hungry for each and every little part of her. Hungry to consume her, though it was not merely passion he sought, but her.
Her.
I thought you were dead, and I did not know until that moment what you meant to me.
Somehow, her smiles had become a gift he lingered over. Somehow, without him even realizing, Adele had crept into his heart—into his arms—and started to lure him out of the darkness of his world.
He'd been granted a second chance. And this time, he wasn't about to waste it.
They staggered.
Then the desk was there, and he hitched her up upon it, sweeping a hand across the desk to clear it. Paperwork cascaded across the carpet like fluttering moths. But the center of his awareness was locked on her. On the fistful of skirts he held. The cold, clammy feel of the fabric against him, as he yanked them out of the way, stepping between her parted legs. Of the taste of her mouth as she kissed him back as if she had nothing more to lose.