Page 29 of Dukes Are Forever
Because while she might have defended her husband, she couldn't deny the truth: Malloryn wasn't spending his nights inherbed.
* * *
"She's late,"said a cold, hard voice in thickly accented English. "You should have sent me, instead."
"If I'd sent you, my dear, you'd have brought me Malloryn's head, and I'm not quite ready to take it. Death is too kind an alternative for what I have in store for him."
Lord Balfour leaned against the stone pillar in the half-ruined tower, silently surveying the night. The old church had been burned during the prince consort's reign when the consort banned the practice of any faith that condemned blue bloods as soulless monsters. From here he could see half the city, including the elegant marble tower where he'd once ruled from on high.
This city was mine. And now I am but a rat scurrying about the shadows, gnawing at the corpses.
His lips pressed thinly together as he chastised himself for the thought. Weak men gave into their emotions and played their cards too early. It was impatience that had brought him so low in the first place.
Just remember, it was a rat that brought London to its knees all those years ago, during the plague.
"The death I would grant him is not kind one," Jelena said.
There was a flicker of movement in the shadows at the base of the church. A glint of gold as someone slipped through the rubble.
"I am tired of games," Jelena continued. "I want blood."
He'd have to let her off the leash soon enough, for her temper could be dangerous once roused. A little bloodletting and she would subside, like a cat that had finally filled its belly.
But he couldn't allow the claim on Malloryn's life to go unchallenged.
Balfour looked at her.
A cold blue eye locked on him, the other shrouded behind a black leather eye patch. She'd always been his most loyaldhampiragent—fanatically loyal, if he was being honest—but ever since Malloryn escaped her clutches in Russia and turned the tables on her, Jelena had thirsted for the duke's death with a vengeance.
"Patience," he murmured. "Malloryn must suffer."
"I can make him suffer. It will not be quick death."
Taking a step forward, he set his hand on her hair, gently stroking it. "He hurt you. I understand. But that sanctimonious prick has been a thorn in my side for years. I died at his hand." Balfour brushed fingertips across the corded scar across his throat, where Malloryn had cut him. "And I was reborn like a phoenix into this new life, this new body. But his death ismine. And mine alone. I owe him that. Mind you do not forget it." He grabbed a fistful of her silvery hair and forced her to look at him. "Do you understand?"
"Da, Master."
When he released his grip, Jelena bowed her head.
Footsteps echoed on the stone stairs.
Balfour patted her hair gently again, and then turned to greet his second-in-command.
"You're late." Jelena's insubordinance put a chill into his tone.
Dido swept into the tower, looking for all the world like a fairy-tale princess in her gold gown and heavy velvet cloak. Albeit one who could rip your throat out with her teeth if she willed it. "Malloryn had his little bitch at the ball. I had to extricate myself carefully, as she was watching both exits."
"Gemma Townsend?"
"Who else?"
"And?"
"It appears the duke has taken your bait." Dido tossed her glittering gold mask on the ash-scarred table in the center of the tower. "Townsend was shadowing Devoncourt, and Malloryn's attention was fully focused on his wife. He was practically panting over her."
Interesting.
From what he'd heard of the marriage, it had been an alliance and nothing else. The duke and duchess lived separate lives, and his spy in Malloryn's household reported that the duke despised her.
