Page 10 of Escaping the Duke (The Secret Crusaders #1)

CHAPTER 9

D ear P,

I always conduct my endeavors with careful thought and deliberate action. Whether for political causes or personal undertakings, I do not let anything stand in my way.

By the stalwart way you guard your secret, I suspect you are as determined. Do not add another number to your count of my inquiries, for I am not again asking you to reveal yourself. Instead I ask another question:

Why?

Why are you hiding from me? Why have you kept your identity a secret? Do we know each other? Do you fear me?

Whatever it is, I would like the opportunity to address your concerns and allay your fears. Perhaps I could even persuade you to change your mind…

Yours,

Edmund

He was lucky there were no vases nearby.

Edmund had seen duelists with less outraged passion than Priscilla. Her cheeks were tinged pink, her eyes flashing a brilliant emerald. She did not realize her fiery challenge only made him want her more.

She was glorious.

Yet she was also distracted and out of sorts. She claimed it was her friend, yet the suitor she’d described had obviously been him. Of course her friend may have had a similar situation.

Or there was no friend.

“You arranged for us to sit together?” She glared at him. “Do you realize how high-handed that is?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Domineering?”

“Quite.”

“Tyrannical?”

“Indeed.”

She put her hands on her hips, removed them when she noticed several people staring. She lowered her voice. “Do you have anything to say for this?”

Her challenge had the opposite effect intended, casting the urge to learn more about his beautiful partner. “I’m simply exploring something with the potential to be magnificent.”

She colored slightly. “What if I don’t want to be explored?”

He fought to keep his face passive. Did she have any idea of the images her words produced? In a moment, he could reach out and caress her soft skin, watch as it flushed pink under his administrations. Move into her territory, assert his dominance. It had been far too long since they kissed.

Soon, he would remedy that.

“You don’t have a choice,” he responded softly.

She couldn’t hide her emotions. Not her desire when they touched, her enjoyment at their conversations or her laughter at his jokes. The more time he spent with her, the more it became clear she’d make the ideal duchess. Yet more than anger lurked in her expression. Apprehension and concern, emotions but not the cause.

“What is it, Lady Priscilla? You may be steadfast in your denials, yet you clearly enjoy my company. Now you are acting like a fox trapped by a hound. What changed?”

She looked away. “Nothing. As I said, I have had a difficult evening. If it wasn’t for my family, I’d leave right now.”

“Are you in some sort of trouble?”

The thought her secret could involve some sort of actual peril sent sharp discomfort through him, shocking in its breadth and depth. Could she be in danger? Was something, or someone, threatening her? The urge to discover her secrets took on newfound importance – and urgency.

She grimaced, as if his question held irony. She looked away again. “No. Everything is well.”

By her haunted expression, that was clearly untrue. Yet her lips were as tight as a spy’s, and further interrogation now would be useless. Yet he was a persistent man, and a patient one.

He would continue to search for her secrets.

“Lady Priscilla just told me how much she adores your rocks.”

Bradenton was going to find himself at the wrong end of a vase.

“We had an entire conversation about her affinity for them.”

Daughters of dukes do not get sent to Newgate.

“She said she looked forward to hearing all about them.”

And if they did, it would be worthwhile.

It was a nightmare, no a nightmare within a nightmare. She already knew she’d be sitting next to Bradenton, pretending he didn’t affect her with every smoldering look. Of course she’d be near her mother, who was already counting grandbabies on two hands. But now the sly duke managed to surround her with the suitors on her list, including her favorite rock-loving earl.

Why? No doubt to make their idiosyncrasies seem all the more frustrating. He was wagering she wouldn’t want to spend every day talking about – or to – rocks.

He was right.

“That’s wonderful.” Castleberry gushed. “Tell me, what is your favorite rock?”

The type that can be used to clobber one very satisfied looking duke. “I like…” He had named the rocks a thousand times, yet now she couldn’t remember a single one. “The really…” Everyone was staring at her. “Hard ones.”

Bradenton choked back a laugh while the others looked at her indulgently.

Bradenton turned to Lord Ridgeland, whose fascination with horses went beyond even the most fervent fan. “Lady Priscilla is also quite interested in horses. Of course this is your area of expertise.”

Oh no. Such a statement could only have one consequence.

A speech on every single horse Ridgeland owned.

A very, very, very, very, very long speech.

Priscilla tried to stay interested. She really, truly tried. After all, she hadn’t yet crossed Ridgeland off her list. Yet by the end of the twenty-minute diatribe that ended with Ridgeland insisting his stallion could best a man at poker, he was most certainly off the list.

It was then the Duke of Dewey’s turn to discuss his plants. By the time he was fifteen minutes in, she was considering clobbering herself with a vase. The only other person who managed to get a word in was Bradenton, to whom everyone listened, of course.

“What plants grow best in your garden?” Bradenton asked her.

“Let me answer that.” Dewey chuckled at Priscilla. “It’s quite all right, my dear. I wouldn’t expect a lady to understand the complexities of nature.”

She gritted her teeth. If only men understood what it was like to be judged solely on gender. Yet she nodded, because a duke’s daughter did not argue with a lord in public.

Apparently, the same could not be said about a duke.

“Actually, Lady Priscilla understands far more than the average person.” Edmund’s voice was deceptively low. “To suggest otherwise is unacceptable.”

Dewey paled. “I wasn’t suggesting Lady Priscilla was in any way inadequate,” he stammered.

Others looked on in silence, their expressions ranging from shock to pity to contemplation.

Emotions tumbling, Priscilla stared at Bradenton. His eyes blazed in challenge, devoid of any amusement or scheming. He was not trying to impress her, but simply defend her.

Because helping people was what he did.

She swallowed feelings she could not afford to feel, emotions far more dangerous than anger. “I’m sure he didn’t mean anything.”

“Of course not!” Dewey sputtered, his face as bright as his favorite rose variety. “I regard Lady Priscilla very highly. You must know that, my dear.”

“Of course,” she murmured to Dewey, even as she watched Bradenton.

He held her gaze. Gone was the challenge in his eyes, replaced instead by compassion, concern.

She swallowed, nodding slightly. They did not need words to communicate.

What else could he decipher?

“I believe ladies are as capable as men, and in some cases more so.” Edmund now spoke to the group, as conversation instead of accusation. “I believe society would benefit if ladies partook in activities not currently available to them.”

Priscilla parted her lips, fighting a surge of desire. Other woman coveted flowers and jewels, but she’d take valor over the most flawless diamond.

The others gazed at him in surprise, yet not a single spoke against him. The respect he commanded made him the most important fighter for their cause.

“What do you like, Lady Priscilla?” Dewey turned to her, clearly trying to regain his footing. “We’ve shared our interests. What are yours?”

“She likes vases.”

Why that little–

Priscilla closed her eyes, opened them to universal befuddlement at Edmund’s statement.

“Is that correct, Lady Priscilla?”

“Yes it is.” She smiled at Bradenton. “I particularly like very large and heavy vases.”

Bradenton grinned.

“Of course my daughter also enjoys more traditional things,” her mother broke in, looking back and forth between her and Edmund. “She even leads a sewing group.”

Priscilla held back a sigh.

“Your guild has been most beneficial for my family,” Castleberry spoke up. “As you know, my sister Olivia is in it.”

For the first time, Priscilla gave Castleberry a genuine smile. Olivia was compassionate, vibrant and hardworking, and a true asset to their cause. It was hard to believe the clever woman was related to Castleberry. “She is very gifted.”

“We’d given up hope of her ever pursuing a more…” He hesitated, glanced towards Edmund, “Traditional role. She even tried to sneak into Parliament once. We were so happy, if a little bewildered, when she showed interest in your group. She always claimed to dislike sewing.” He stopped, flushed as if realizing what he was saying. “I’m just glad she found a suitable diversion.”

Edmund narrowed his eyes ever-so-slightly. “I gather her work has improved.”

Uh-oh.

Castleberry smiled widely. “Oh yes, I imagine it has.”

“You imagine?” Edmund frowned. “You don’t know?”

“Olivia is extremely shy,” Castleberry explained. “She won’t let us see her work.”

Lady Olivia was anything but shy. She was bold, assertive and fiercely intelligent. Yet she refused to sew in protest of her strict family, not even small pieces for the ruse.

“That’s impressive.” Edmund turned to her. “You even attract ladies who don’t care for sewing. Tell me, what else do you do during your meetings?”

Learn how to pick locks, trick lords and select the most appropriate vase for clobbering. “We talk about the usual matters, Your Grace. It’s all very innocent.”

At the word “innocent,” his gaze sharpened.

She clamped her mouth shut. This was why she couldn’t be near him. Incriminating words simply slipped out. She who protests too much…

“My sister loves to sew.” Edmund gazed at her. “Perhaps she could attend one of your meetings.”

“No!” she cried.

Her suitors froze.

Her mother looked like she was about to faint.

And the suspicion in Edmund’s eyes increased a thousand times.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I didn’t mean she can’t join… when she is older.”

Edmund’s raised an eyebrow. “She’s too young to sew?”

“No, of course not.” She clenched her fists until her fingernails pinched her palms. “We discuss matters for grown women. She would be bored silly.”

“Perhaps.” His gaze bore into her. “Yet with her launch next season, she already attends select social functions.”

“Of course.” Priscilla looked around for help, but the others simply stared, as if watching some sort of stage show. She pressed on, “Still, I believe it would be terribly boring for her.”

He continued his scrutiny for a moment more. “I’ll yield to your discretion,” he finally murmured.

She let out a breath, but no relief came. She had given him yet another clue.

It was her mother who acted an unlikely savior, garnering everyone’s attention with a wide smile. “Now that that is settled, I was wondering if everyone could help me with a conundrum.”

Edmund answered for the group, “We are at your service, Your Grace.”

She nodded. “At my country estate, there is a rare bird, a prized specimen known for its elegance and beauty. It is not caged, but lives among the gardens, coming and going as it pleases.” She paused for a moment. “Not everyone agrees with my decision to leave it in the country. Many who visit encourage me to bring it to London, where it can be lauded and enjoyed by the ton. Of course, I would have to enclose it in a cage so it would not escape.”

She looked to the men. “I would like your opinion. Should I bring the bird to London for the world to enjoy? Or should I leave her in the country, where she can remain free among the gardens?”

Priscilla frowned. The bird her mother referenced was indeed a prize, and all who came to the estate enjoyed its beauty. Visitors had mentioned the possibility of bringing it to London, but her mother always dispelled such suggestions immediately. She loved the bird far too much, she explained.

What was she up to now?

“Bring her here,” Castleberry answered first, his voice booming with certainty. “I’d love to see such a rare specimen.”

“She does sound splendid,” Dewey agreed. “I’m sure she’d be fine in London. She’d get plenty of attention.”

“It’s just a bird,” Ridgeland added. “I agree with the gentlemen. Share her with the world.”

They all turned to Edmund.

He pursed his lips. “You say the bird always returns to the gardens? You do not worry of it escaping?”

The duchess smiled. “There is nothing from which to escape. The garden is its home.”

“In that case, let it remain free. It has already given you the gift of its beauty. Enjoy it and let those who visit admire it. Do not cage the beauty you love, or you may lose it.”

Her mother stared at Bradenton, and a slow smile came to her lips. “I believe I will.” She turned to them all. “Thank you for your advice.”

Priscilla swallowed. Her mother’s inquiry held far more meaning than readily apparent.

She had no more time to consider it, however, as a cacophony sounded through the hall. An army of servants arrived, burdened with heavy platters of creamy cheeses, plump fruits and colorful salads. The conversation died down as the guests turned their attention to the veritable feast, and soon only soft crunching and murmurs of approval sounded.

Thankfully, the conversation turned to lighter fare once it resumed. Edmund’s enigmatic charm ensnared the group, yet she could not relax, not even as he lightened the mood. He did not allow her to remain quiet, however, constantly asking questions and encouraging comments. He asked several more times about her sewing group, and she answered as casually as she could. It didn’t matter. Once Edmund’s suspicions were raised, nothing short of revealing the truth would satisfy them. It got so bad, she actually asked Castleberry about his latest rock.

Somehow, she managed no more major incidents as they continued into far more mundane conversation. Yet, she was far from safe.

No one escaped the Duke of Bradenton.

“I assume you’re looking for my daughter.”

Bradenton hid his surprise as the Duchess of Sherring materialized behind him, approaching with a stealth he usually associated with her daughter. Her intuition was correct. He was indeed searching for his wayward prey.

Normally he stayed far away from matchmaking mamas, but right now he was more interested in the help she could provide. “I am indeed. Do you know where she is?”

“I do.”

Edmund waited for elaboration, but none came. She was looking at him with the same shrewd wisdom as when she inquired about her bird. It had seemed more than a simple query for advice, more like some sort of test. By her smile, he had passed.

Was it a parallel to Priscilla? Of course he did not want to cage her.

It didn’t mean he had any intention of letting her go.

“If you would be so kind as to direct me, I would be most grateful.”

“Of course. She is in the gardens. Walk along the path until you see a tree with purple flowers in front of a row of hedges. Behind the hedges, you will find a lovely little moonlit garden. I believe you will find her there.”

She did not offer to guide him, which was surprising. Was she essentially sending him to meet her daughter alone? Suspicion borne of countless attempts at entrapment rose.

It must have been obvious, because she smiled. “Do not worry. I have no plans to stumble upon you. I simply believe you have a few things to discuss.”

His estimation of her rose. She may be a matchmaking mama, but she truly had her daughter’s best interests at heart. He bowed. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Of course. Do not forget my daughter is a very special woman.”

He completely agreed.

Finding Lady Priscilla would have been impossible without her mother’s assistance. It still took a few minutes to locate the entrance to the garden. Glancing around to make certain he was alone, he stepped behind the wall of green.

He stopped. Stared.

She literally took his breath away.

Bathed in moonlight, Priscilla was pure loveliness, an ethereal angel come to life. Golden curls framed a heart-shaped face, an artist’s masterpiece of creamy skin, ruby red lips and sparkling eyes. Generous curves filled out the glittering gown, pure, feminine beauty. She was stunning, and yet what was on the inside was even more extraordinary:

The intelligence she hid so well.

The strength few could emulate.

The kindness so rare.

She was reclining on a bench, gazing up at the stars. Suddenly she looked up, her lips forming a perfect O. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

He frowned at the vulnerability in her voice. That he was the source of it was disconcerting but inescapable, at least for now. Soon she would understand she had nothing to fear from him.

“I had a little help finding you,” he admitted. He walked closer, gesturing to the ornately carved bench. “May I?”

Her nostrils flared as she took in the small space next to her. He thought she was going to deny him, but instead she sat up taller. “Of course.”

He hid his satisfaction. She had a will of iron. Yet he tested it as he sat on the hard slab, closer than he should have, not as close as he wanted. It was not truly meant for two, especially one as large as him, and he brushed against her. Satisfaction surged at her quick intake of breath, the awareness she could not hide.

“I suppose my mother provided the assistance.” Her eyes darted to the opening in alarm. “Should we leave?”

He shook his head. “She promised she wouldn’t intrude, and I believe her. Since this garden is so well hidden, it’s unlikely someone else will stumble upon us.”

She pursed her lips, yet didn’t argue.

“I actually came to apologize.”

Her eyes lit in surprise, and suspicion. “Apologize? You?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Shocking, isn’t it?”

“Indeed.” Bemusement entered her expression, and she relaxed slightly. “Which of your many transgressions would you like to apologize for?”

“My many transgressions?” He feigned indignation. “May I ask the crimes to which you refer?”

“Pursuing me when I have no wish to be pursued.”

Guilty. “A fabrication.”

“Conspiring with my parents?”

Guilty. “Never happened.”

“How about making all my other suitors seem inferior?”

She closed her eyes, opened them. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”

“Never.” He grew serious. “But my apology does relate to dinner. It was never my intention to cast you as anything less than accomplished. I’ll admit to exaggerating your interest in your suitors’ activities, yet I did that to highlight how singularly focused they are. I did not foresee them using it to cast doubt on your abilities. You are a woman of rare talent, and I hold you in the highest esteem. For how they made you feel, I apologize.”

Her gaze softened. “While I will accept your apologies on the other matters, I do not accept this one.”

His jaw set.

She put a hand on his arm. “Because there is no need for you to apologize. You did not disparage me; they did. You defended me when others judged me solely on my gender.”

He frowned. “But I put you in an impossible position. Few command their level of expertise, and I should have guessed they would attribute your lack of knowledge to your gender.”

“That is their error, not yours. I appreciate what you said, and what you did. It truly matters.” She sighed. “They listen to you. Everyone does.”

He touched her cheek. “But not you.”

She smiled lightly, licked her lips.

Clearly, she was trying to end him.

“There is another matter for which you should apologize.”

He looked into fathomless eyes. “Oh?”

“Our kiss.” Her voice had lowered to a whisper, and her eyes darted to his lips. “It has been far too long since our last.”

It was a hint. A suggestion. A command. She couldn’t ask the question, but he knew the answer.

“For that I am most definitely sorry.” He leaned down. “I shall make it up to you immediately.”

Spectacular. No other word could describe the kiss, or the woman. She tasted of chocolate and cream, and the urge to claim her surged through him. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her supple form against his length. Her skin was as soft as petals, her gardenia scent a tantalizing aphrodisiac.

She was so delicious, so soft. So perfect.

They kissed and kissed and kissed. He drank in every moan, caressing, smoothing, fondling those delicious curves. He ran a hand through her hair, twirling the sultry locks. Desire swirled, accompanied by a thousand tangled emotions. She was where she belonged.

Yet the noises of the party reached them, and reality fought for acknowledgement. He was a gentleman, he reminded himself once and then a hundred times as he finally pulled back, barely regaining the control only she threatened. Then they just held each other, heaving in breaths, hanging on to what far transcended passion.

As he lifted her hand for a final kiss, he made a silent promise. One day soon…

She would be his.

Rules a lady should ignore:

Never pretend to be a man.

Never dress like a man.

Never visit a gaming hell to spy on a man.

Priscilla had sneaked through lord’s homes, spied on criminals and conducted covert investigations. Yet this was a first.

A gaming hell.

The ton would not approve. Her family would not approve. And Edmund?

He would lock her in a tower.

Yet as she sat in a corner booth in Diamond Dust, one of the rowdiest gaming halls in London, none of that mattered. Nor did it matter that the place reeked of cheap spirits or that it was filled with men who would be shocked if they knew the paragon of propriety walked the hall in breeches. If Lady Priscilla couldn’t investigate, Lord P would have to take his place, dressed like the man she pretended to be.

The transformation had been more jarring than she’d imagined, but after two hours spent dressing, fussing, tucking and binding, she resembled a young lord. Hopefully Lord Roxbury would think so, too.

She picked up her cup and took a swig of liquid courage, barely managed not to spew it across the dimly lit room. Her eyes watered as fire singed her tongue and burned her throat. She stood. She could do this.

She strolled, no strode, to Roxbury’s table.

Roxbury sat with several other lords at a Vingt-et-un table. She clutched her pin money tightly, plastering a smile on her face. “Mind if I join you?”

Roxbury snorted as the other men gave her looks.

Right.

Men do not ask, they simply do.

“You got money, lad?”

“Of course.” She held up the money, with the largest on top to make it appear more substantial.

He grunted as she slid into the narrow seat. The pungent odor of spirits, sweat and urine assailed her.

“You even know how to play?”

She nodded, carefully counting out the money for the round. The others snickered at the amount, but it couldn’t be helped. She needed it to last until she elicited some information from Roxbury. The play started.

“Wake up, boy, it’s your turn.”

“Sorry.” Priscilla quickly made her move and winced as a senseless mistake handed her an immediate loss.

Roxbury grinned as he collected his earnings. “I like the way you play, boy.” He looked closer, and his smile faded. “Hey, you look familiar. Have I seen you before?”

She swallowed. “I’m Peter. You went to school with my cousin, Frankfurt.”

He continued to stare. Hopefully he was too inebriated to realize he didn’t know anyone named Frankfurt.

Sweat broke out under the thick wool she used to bind her breasts. If he discovered who she was…

“I do remember him. Funny for such a big guy to have a puny cousin.”

She forced a smile. “Yeah, well, he said they always looked up to you.”

Roxbury puffed out his chest. “Course they did. Nothing’s changed in that respect.”

If she wasn’t so nervous, she would have snorted. No one looked up to the vicious man. “I can see why. You’re a real leader around here.”

He grinned wider. “You may be small, but you’ve got some sense in your head.” He clamped a meaty hand on her shoulder. “You and I are going to be good friends.”

She let out a choked laugh.

What had she gotten herself into?

“Do you know that boy? You’ve been staring at him all evening.”

Edmund frowned, yet did not look at Crawford. Instead he kept his eyes on the… boy. The diminutive form perched on a chair next to Roxbury, holding a mug half as large as he was.

“There’s something strange about him.”

The boy had glanced at him, too, the first time with panic in his eyes, and several times after that, although he quickly looked away. Edmund tried to peer closer, but his features were undefined from across the dim hall. Now the boy slumped down with his hat low on his head.

Peyton took a swig of his own drink. “His outfit shows him as quality. You probably know his family.”

“Perhaps.”

“Why does it matter anyway?”

Edmund frowned. Why did it matter? Yet there was something familiar about the boy, and an insistent feeling he should recognize him, that it was important . “I just can’t think of it, and it’s puzzling me. I don’t care for mysteries.”

“We know that.” Crawford sat back and relaxed. “How long must we remain here?”

“Not long,” Edmund promised. “I like these establishments as little as you. Yet nothing has been effective in changing Roxbury’s vote. I was hoping he’d be more amiable when into his cups.”

Peyton looked over at the drunken man. “Hard to imagine he’s ever amiable. Are you planning to let him win?”

Edmund grimaced. “I was going to try reasoning with him first. Or perhaps offer some sort of wager, where I might win favor for our measures.”

Crawford leaned forward. “You want to bet for his vote? Is that allowed?”

“You think Roxbury cares what’s allowed?” Edmund took a final gulp, then put down the glass. He stood and started towards the Vingt-et-un table.

As if he sensed his approach, the boy glanced his way. For a moment, he looked about to flee, but then he hunched lower, shifting towards the wall. By the time Edmund arrived, he was turned fully sideways, with only the top of his cap and the back of his jacket visible.

Stranger and stranger.

Roxbury was not happy to see him. “What are you doing here, Bradenton? I thought this place was above the lofty lord.”

Edmund gave him a mild look. “There are far better entertainments available, yet sometimes I like to sample the less tasteful offerings.”

Roxbury’s gaze darkened. Although he was a lord, his abrasive tendencies excluded him from many social events. He more than deserved it, yet Edmund was here to build connections, not break them.

He inclined his head toward the piles of money in front of Roxbury. “I see fortune has smiled upon you.”

Roxbury brightened. “Jealous, are you? Even the famous Bradenton fortune can’t match me tonight.”

Roxbury’s holdings were a fraction of Edmund’s, and if he continued gambling, it wouldn’t last to his heir. Yet he didn’t mention it as his attention once again strayed to the figure next to Roxbury. “Is he the source of your luck?”

Roxbury guffawed, slapping the boy’s back. The youth jerked forward, only just managing not to fall off the stool. “I’m just showing him how to play. He looks up to me.”

By the way the boy stiffened, Edmund very much doubted that. He tried to see his face, but he’d pulled his jacket up so high, it covered his cheeks, almost meeting the bottom of the low-slung hat. “What’s your name, son?”

The boy mumbled something unintelligible.

The sense of familiarity hit again, now a thousand times stronger. He touched the boy’s shoulder. “Why don’t you turn around, lad?”

Under him, slender muscles tightened, and the boy lunged out of his grasp. “Had too much to drink!” he gasped out. “I’m going to cast up my accounts!”

Edmund moved back, but frowned. The boy had nursed the same drink the entire evening. Even a lightweight like him shouldn’t be drunk. “You need some water?”

He shook his head.

Roxbury took another swig of his cloudy brown drink. Unlike the boy, he was well on his way to getting foxed. “Leave the scamp alone, Bradenton. Not everyone prefers you.” He gave a lecherous grin. “What’s wrong with you anyway? Having trouble with the Livingston chit?”

Edmund gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to break something, mainly a smug, vicious lord who took advantage of every woman he could find. The man wasn’t fit to utter Priscilla’s name. “There’s no problem with that.”

“Oh yeah?” Clearly unaware of the danger he was courting, Roxbury leaned in. “Has she given you any favors? I must say, she is lovely. Sometimes the prim and proper ladies are the most wild underneath, if you know what I mean.”

If he was careful not to kill him, perhaps no one would notice if he broke a leg or two.

“I’m not here to discuss Lady Priscilla.”

“Really? If you’re not set on her, mind if I take a go?” Roxbury grinned widely. “Just a little taste?”

Forget the vote. He was just going to destroy the monster.

He glared. “You will not touch Lady Priscilla. She belongs to me.”

The boy gasped.

Edmund froze.

There was something about that gasp.

He turned back to the boy. Leaned closer. Took a deep breath… of gardenia-scented air?

That was when he knew.