Page 47

V aleria barely managed to catch herself, her shoe catching on some manner of twig or root that protruded up through the earth, invisible in the darkness. Her hand shot out to keep her balance, colliding with the splintering wood of a post, a structure of some kind.

From somewhere behind it, a startled yelp went up.

“I think someone is there,” a frightened voice whispered; the same voice Valeria had heard whispering.

She had found them, and not a moment too soon, as the louder voices of the gossiping matrons drifted through the garden, marching ever closer.

Gripping the wooden post, Valeria stumbled around to the front of what appeared to be an old pavilion. Within its frame, two figures sat together on a bench—much too close to one another to be anything appropriate. A young lady and a gentleman.

Valeria did not hesitate, hurrying up to the woman and seizing hold of her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Come with me and do so quickly.”

The woman—a pretty creature with curly blonde hair and wide, startled blue eyes—immediately tried to wrench her hand away. “I do not know you. I will not go anywhere with?—”

“You are in peril, dear,” Valeria interrupted, reasserting her grip. “We must go now and with great haste, or you will soon be ruined. There are people coming who would relish such a thing.”

The lady pulled back on Valeria’s hand, glancing in desperation at the gentleman who had remained seated. All the while, those wretched, cackling voices grew louder.

How does she not hear them?

Frustrated, Valeria shot a dark look at the gentleman, seeing him properly for the first time in the light of a hanging lantern.

In the warm amber glow that spilled across him, angry recognition pulsed through Valeria’s agitated veins.

She knew the man, not personally but by reputation—and his company was not the sort with which any young lady should be associated.

Now, I know who those ladies were referring to… She could have kicked herself for not putting two-and-two together sooner.

If she had thought the young lady was in danger before, she now knew that the woman had placed herself on the verge of catastrophe.

“This way,” Valeria said, shooting a scowl at the gentleman as she tugged on the woman’s hand, pulling her away from the pavilion and the sheltered glade where it sat.

Reaching a gap in some hedges opposite, yanking the woman through, Valeria looked back over her shoulder one last time. The renowned rake met her fierce gaze, the surprise upon his face transforming into an amused smirk; the kind that made her palm itch to smack it away.

To make matters all the more infuriating, the unseemly man put his hand to his heart in a gesture of gratitude.

Do not thank me, you beast!

Muttering under her breath, Valeria continued to drag the young lady through the hedge and onto a less secluded stretch of lawn.

There, holding onto the girl as if she never intended to let go, she pulled her charge back toward the glow of the manor and far away from the chatter of those scandal-seeking harpies.

Indeed, as far away as possible from that salacious gentleman too.

“You are hurting me!” the woman complained, but Valeria ignored her, ushering her to the farthest end of the terrace that bordered the manor house.

Once they were up a set of stone steps and on the terrace itself, where it would not be so unusual for two women to stand alone together, Valeria finally loosened her hold.

There were a few other guests milling about, taking in the fresh night air, but still at a far enough distance to be out of earshot.

“How dare you?” the woman hissed, rubbing her wrist. “You had no right to do that.”

Valeria exhaled the frustration from her lungs. “I had every right. You were about to be in a great deal of trouble. I spared you.”

“Spared me?” The young woman scowled. “You ruined everything!”

Valeria leaned back against the terrace wall, observing the lady properly in the light that shone from the manor windows.

She was very young, with all the petulance and defiance of that youth.

No more than eight-and-ten, Valeria figured she must have been one of the Season’s debutantes.

She had to be, if she did not know the risk she had taken, following a man like that out into the gardens.

She knew him only by the name of ‘Lockie,’ wishing she could remember more about him. Yet, information evaded her as she returned her concentration to the—apparently furious—young lady she had just saved from his clutches.

“I can see you do not understand the danger you were in, so I will forgive your rudeness,” Valeria said. “But, in time, you will see that I was merely trying to help.”

The young lady scoffed. “Perhaps, you should concentrate on helping yourself. I was in no danger. I had a plan, and you have destroyed it!” She huffed and puffed, crossing her arms across her chest. “Indeed, do learn to mind your own business!”

She stomped off, disappearing back into the manor with a rustle of skirts and fury. Yet, Valeria would not regret what she had done, despite the lack of gratitude.

You meant to be caught. Valeria shook her head in dismay as she realized the truth. You wanted to be found out there with him, embroiling yourself in a scandal.

Over the years, she had witnessed all ages and kinds of young ladies act with increasing desperation as Seasons came to an end, and they remained unmarried. She had heard of wild schemes and underhand tactics, cunning ploys and endeavors gone awry.

Valeria herself had never been able to understand why someone would risk their reputation with no guarantee of reward, but at least this lady’s foolhardy plan had been thwarted. She had saved that girl from herself, and from the vicious attack of society that would, undoubtedly, have followed.

You are still so young. You have so much time, and you do not realize it. Do not panic and ruin yourself. She wished she had said that to the girl… and perhaps she still could.

Taking a breath to compose herself, Valeria turned, intending to return to the ball and to find that girl.

She made it no more than two steps before a deep, velvety voice stalled her, a voice like the rumble of summer thunder.

“I found a feather, miss,” it said. “I believe it belongs to you.”

Valeria’s head whipped this way and that, unable to figure out where the voice was coming from.

“Down here, where all the devils are,” the voice prompted, a thrum of amusement in the throaty growl.

She gulped at the words, uncertain of whether or not she should seek out the owner of the voice or hurry to the light of the ball. But Valeria had never been able to resist the pull of curiosity; it was a powerful thread that spooled from her chest to the unknown, stretched taut, reeling her in.

Before she could stop herself, she was walking to the balustrade of the terrace, bracing her hands against lichen-covered stone, peering over with her heart stuck in her throat.

“Who is there?” she asked, smothering any fear.

A gentleman stood below, a sleek, black feather in his hand. A familiar gentleman with wavy, dark brown hair that fell across one shining eye, the color undiscernible in the dark. Graceful fingertips gently skimmed the gleaming feather, full lips quirked into an amused smile.

Lockie…

“I came to return what you lost,” he said softly, eyes twinkling.

Valeria cleared her suddenly dry throat. “I lost nothing. The same, however, cannot be said for you.” She straightened up. “You lost your prey. As for your honor and dignity—I suspect you mislaid that a long time ago.”

He chuckled, his teeth grazing his lower lip. “How severe you are in your opinion of me.” He moved closer to the wall, using a ledge below to raise himself up above the edge of the balustrade. “You do not even know me.”

He was taller than she had expected, his shoulders broad, though she still possessed the advantage over his lowered position.

“I know enough,” Valeria replied, her breath catching at the extraordinary beauty of him, now cast in the relief of the manor lights. No longer hidden in the shadows, where he undoubtedly belonged.

He leaned on the balustrade, still caressing the feather back and forth between his fingertips, though his gaze never left hers.

“I came to thank my dark angel,” he purred, setting the feather on the stone.

“I found this by the pavilion and knew what you were. I would ask to see your wings, but I imagine you would slap me first.”

“The gall of you!” Valeria gasped, taking a half step back from the balustrade and the strange gift. “What I did was no favor to you; I do not want your thanks.”

Nor do I want your flirtations. Had he been some gentleman inside the ball, she would have laughed at the compliment of being called an angel.

Yet, from this man’s lips, it did not make her cringe; it made her feel like she was on the brink of scandal, and the gossiping matrons were closing in.

And yet, she could not compel herself to run away.

“My duty was to rescue that poor girl, and my duty is done,” she added, in case it was not obvious.

The man laughed softly. “She did not need saving. Her plan was very thorough, if a little transparent.” He leaned further forward. “She was exactly where she wanted to be, though what she wanted was not what I desired.”

Valeria clenched her hands into fists. “Some women think they know what they want when they are young and panicked, under the inordinate strain of becoming a success during the Season. Some women have entire families relying upon that success and would do anything to fulfil their duty. But those same young, vulnerable women do not always know what the true consequences of their actions might be, nor the limit of their power.”

“Power?” Lockie raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Do tell me more of a lady’s power.”