Charlotte curtsied. “Your Highness.”
“Oh no, please. No titles.” Brennan waved his hand. “My memory may be betraying me, but I’m almost positive I haven’t encountered you before. I would have remembered our meeting.”
“May I tell him?” Angelia asked. “May I?”
“As you wish.”
“Charlotte comes to us from the Ganer College of Medicinal Arts. She has spent quite a long time there.”
“They don’t let us out much.” Charlotte smiled. “It’s almost like a convent.”
Interest sparked in Brennan’s eyes. She was right—the idea of seducing a woman shut off in a convent appealed to him.
“How peculiar,” Brennan said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met a College escapee.”
“Then I’m flattered to be the first, my lord.”
“Are you a healer?” Brennan asked.
“Only a physician, my lord.” Lucky for her, Ganer College was home to both magic healers and their mundane counterparts. Given that Brennan had gone to visit the Island of Na, he must’ve heard of Silver Death killing people on the island with strange magic. She didn’t want to advertise her talents. He could connect the dots.
“She’s a healer,” Angelia blurted out. “An excellent one.”
Charlotte heaved a small sigh. “Forgive me, my lord. We don’t usually identify ourselves outside of the College.”
“Perfectly understandable. I imagine you would be inundated with requests otherwise.” Brennan glanced at Angelia. “I had no idea you kept such exotic company. I do hope you haven’t been ill, my lady?”
Angelia’s composure crumbled. “Lady Charlotte is a friend,” she squeezed through her teeth. “But now that you mention it, yes, I have been ill. I’ve caught a most unpleasant disease from a most surprising source. I can’t wait to tell you all about it.”
“I would love to hear it, but we’re being rude to your friend.”
“Oh no, not at all,” Charlotte said. “I’m tired from my journey, and I need to do all those small secret female things women do to make themselves presentable before the dinner. Please excuse me.”
“Thank you for your understanding,” Brennan said. “The loss is entirely ours.”
Charlotte curtsied and watched them walk away. Angelia’s spine was rigid like a spear—she was fuming. She was about to reveal to Brennan that he had infected her with Dock Rot, and that conversation couldn’t possibly go well.
“How did it go?” Sophie murmured at her elbow.
“It went well. Now we must lay our trap.”
An hour later, Charlotte paced in her dressing room. Her dress waited on the bed. She wore a long black robe. Her undergarments had been very carefully chosen—she wore the tiniest of black lace panties, a bra that was a collection of translucent lace and black straps, and black stockings held up by thin ribbons simulating leather. She’d had the ensemble custom-made, modeled after some of the sexy garments she had seen advertised in the flyers from the Broken. The outfit wasn’t just seductive, it was erotic, explicit, and raunchy. A woman of her status had no business wearing these kinds of undergarments unless she was aiming to provide very specific entertainment to her lover. Her spike-heeled shoes raised her to dangerous heights. Her hair had been arranged into an elegant wave appropriate to a formal function. Her makeup was perfect, and she was as ready as she could be.
This was a prime opportunity—Brennan still remembered her—and capturing his attention later would be significantly harder. Being unmarried, he would be inundated with women. She had to make an unforgettable impression immediately.
Sophie sat on the bed and watched her pace. “What if he isn’t interested?”
“He will be. Men like Brennan think that every woman is secretly wanton. He loves the juxtaposition of the prim and proper with the dirty and seductive. He loves to corrupt. It makes him feel powerful.”
“How can you walk in those shoes?”
“Practice. Lots of practice.”
“What if he—”
The door swung open, and Jack stuck his head into the crack. “He’s coming!”
Thank you, gods.
The door clicked shut.
“Quick!” Charlotte tossed the robe aside and moved into position in plain view of the door. Sophie grabbed the gown and held it up as if to put it on her.
*
GEORGE leaned against the column and watched out of the corner of his eye as Brennan walked up the stairs. The Guest Keep resembled the Broken’s hotels in its architecture: a stairway led from the bottom floor to a long landing connecting to a hallway, then another stairway at the opposite end of the landing led to the next higher floor. Each of the visiting bluebloods had been assigned a set of rooms, and the roster of the rooms had been posted at each intersection of stairs and hallways. From his vantage point on the fourth-floor landing, George had an excellent view of the lower stairway and the roster.
Brennan was a third of the way up the stairs.
Kaldar, dressed in the gray-and-blue uniform of the castle staff, walked out of the hallway. He casually stepped to the roster, slid it off the wall, hung a new one in its place, and walked away.
Cutting it close. Kaldar liked to live dangerously.
Brennan conquered the stairs and paused before the roster. The original list put Brennan and the rest of the royal relatives on the fifth floor. This roster placed him on the third.
George pondered Brennan’s back. He was a large man, strong, athletic. Thick, muscular neck. Jack could snap it, but he would have trouble.
This man was responsible for Sophie’s torment. He turned slavers from random raiders to an organized force. His hands were stained with Mémère’s blood. He made it possible for John Drayton to sink so low, he drowned.