The thought of bonding with Lowry, joined by alchemy, made Helen ill to her very core. Her mind would be polluted by his violent depravity, her body molested at her most vulnerable moments. She pushed away a sudden vision of poor Lizzie.
‘If I take Lowry, I want something in return,’ she said, forcing steadiness into her voice. ‘I want Mr Hammond’s release.’ Pike’s hard expression gave no indication of agreement or refusal. ‘I also want those pages for the Comte d’Antraigues. Even if there is only a chance that the Comte knows how to cure Lord Carlston —’
‘No.’ He sliced the air with a flat hand. ‘I cannot let a Deceiver have any part of the Ligatus. You are a fool to think one of those creatures would know such a thing anyway.’
‘I believe he knows that I am the cause of Carlston’s madness.’
There, she had said it.
Pike frowned. ‘You are causing it?’
‘I think that something in me is quickening his deterioration.’ Pike drew back, his scepticism palpable, but Helen forged on. ‘I am sure the Duke told you about the charge of strange energy that passed between me and Carlston last night.’
‘He did, but by his account it did not come solely from you, but from both you and Carlston. Nor did it make Carlston mad. He was already in some kind of berserk state, and the charge merely stopped him from destroying even more of the lane.’
‘Listen to me! When I touch Lord Carlston, skin to skin,’ she flushed at the admission of such intimate contact, ‘it brings on fits of violence. And when he is not near me, he improves.’
‘Improves?’ Pike shook his head. ‘You are mistaken. When he went up to London to see Lord Sidmouth — far from your presence — he was in no way improved, Lady Helen. On the contrary, Mr Ryder saw the signs of the madness in him immediately. You are overwrought and imagining things. You are not responsible for his deterioration.’
‘I am; I am certain of it.’ She clasped her hands together to stop herself from shaking the man. ‘The Comte may have a cure. You cannot be certain he does not. I will take Lowry as my Terrene if you release Hammond and give me the chance to find a way to help Lord Carlston.’
‘We are not striking a bargain, Lady Helen. I am ordering you to obey your King’s command.’
‘Please, Mr Pike. Grant me these two things. Please. I will do everything as you say.’
‘You will do everything as I say anyway. It is your duty.’ He regarded her from under hooded eyes. ‘I suppose I should not be surprised that you have allowed your emotions to rule your actions. I will release Hammond, but be assured I will not be so forgiving if it should happen again. As to the other, bring me the Ligatus and I will consider it.’
‘Thank you.’
‘This is still between us, however,’ he added. ‘None of the others may know it is a Ligatus —’
They both heard the smash of an upstairs door slamming hard against a wall.
Pike looked up at the ceiling. ‘What is that?’
A second later, a voice shouted, ‘Carlston, what —’ The Duke’s voice, cut off.
He was awake.
A scream rang out. Lady Margaret. Then Delia shrieked, ‘Let him go!’ and Darby yelled, ‘No, Miss Cransdon, you will be hurt!’
A yelp of pain followed — Delia again.
Helen ran to the morning room doors, wrenched them open and took the stairs three at a time, her hem bunched high in her hands. She heard Quinn’s voice yell, ‘My lord, no!’ and then she shouldered her way through the drawing room doors.
It took a moment for the scene to make sense. The armchair had toppled backward with Selburn in it. Carlston, clad only in buckskins and shirt, had his knee braced against the Duke’s chest, pinning him down, both hands around his throat. The Earl’s teeth were bared, the mad savagery in his face making him almost unrecognisable. The Duke’s hands were locked against Carlston’s chest, straining against the deadly force, his face red, eyes bulging from the choking hold.
Quinn leaped forward and wrapped his arm around Carlston’s throat, trying to heave him off the Duke.
‘Help Quinn, my lady!’ Darby yelled. She and Lady Margaret were holding up a dazed Delia.
Behind her, Helen heard Pike order, ‘For Christ’s sake, Lady Helen, get him off Selburn!’
She ran forward. Carlston had to be pulled off the Duke, but if she touched him … The Duke’s desperate bloodshot eyes rolled to her, his blue lips mouthing her name. She grabbed Carlston’s shoulder. There was no charge of energy between them like last time, but it was like taking hold of a brick wall. Immovable.
Beside her, Quinn released his necklock. ‘I can’t shift him.’
‘Together,’ Helen said. ‘Now!’
Quinn grabbed Carlston’s other shoulder and they hauled backward. He strained against them, muscles rigid under Helen’s grip, but his stranglehold on the Duke shifted for a second. The Duke gasped, drawing at the sudden pathway to air, but the Earl pressed in again.
‘William!’ she yelled in his ear. ‘Let go!’
Carlston lifted his head — a fleeting beat of recognition. It was enough. She and Quinn heaved Carlston back again, their momentum ripping his hands from the Duke’s throat and wrenching him abruptly into their bodies. An elbow slammed into Helen’s stomach as she crashed to the floor, punching out all her air.
Quinn rolled away, his hands to his face. She saw Darby run to Quinn and Delia stagger to the Duke, and then a blur of movement as Carlston hauled himself up again, his face even more savage. She must have touched his skin. He launched himself at Selburn again.
Gulping for air, Helen grabbed at his leg, her hands closing around his ankle. Bare skin did not matter now. She felt herself dragged across the carpet, his forward impetus slowing. His eyes turned upon her, no recognition in their fevered depths. Only fury. He was not going to stop.
Helen launched herself upward, all of her weight behind her fist. Her knuckles connected with his chin and mouth, the heavy blow knocking him sideways and sending searing pain jarring up her arm. She swung into a round-kick, hampered somewhat by her skirts but still with enough force to hit him hard in the temple. He staggered and dropped to his knees. For a moment he looked up at her, puzzled, the question clear in his face — Why did you kick me? — then he crumpled to the floor.
Helen clasped her aching, bleeding fist to her chest, rocking with the pain. The room was silent except for her jagged breathing and Selburn’s wheezing gasps. Quinn hauled himself onto his knees and crawled across to his inert master. Gently he pulled back one of Carlston’s eyelids, showing the white. Dear God, she had hit him so hard, Reclaimer-hard; his mouth was bleeding. Was everything in this world answered with violence?
‘Is he …?’ Helen whispered. She could not say it.
‘Breathing.’ Quinn smiled grimly through his own bloodied mouth. ‘Two well-placed, clean blows. He is not seriously hurt, but he will be out again for a while.’
‘My lady, let me look at your hand,’ Darby said softly.