Page 30 of Hexbound

Once they'd finished dining, she glanced at the fireplace in the sitting room. "Could you... could you tell me more? In there?"

"You're cold?"

"A little."

Pouring her another glass of wine, he directed her through into the sitting room, leaving her alone while he took the dishes down to the kitchen for the staff in the morning. Verity prowled the room, stopping before the fireplace and holding her hands out to warm them as she peered at the portrait above it.

The woman in the painting reclined upon a daybed, holding a rose to her lips as if to hide her faint smile. She was stunningly beautiful, with waves of golden curls flowing over her shoulders and dark eyes that seemed to hold a thousand mysteries. It was an intimate portrait, with the woman's gown slipping from her shoulder to reveal the faintest curve of her upper breast, and her expression seemed to belong to that of a lover.

The door clicked open behind her as Bishop returned. Verity jumped, feeling slightly nervous. Why would a man have such a portrait in his sitting room unless it belonged to someone he loved? All of a sudden she wondered if Bishop were unattached after all. His coolly reserved manner seemed aloof, all of a sudden. Perhaps he had a lover somewhere? Perhaps he wasinlove.

"Here," he said, bringing a book over from the bookshelf in the corner. "You can read, yes?"

"Slowly," she admitted, taking the book from his hands. "A S-study of Sorcery, and the Dawning of the Order." Flipping the book over, she examined the back of its cloth cover. "What is it?"

"Some background on the Order if you're interested? To get you started."

Started. She stroked her thumb over the cover. He was serious then, in teaching her more. Verity's gaze lifted to the portrait, and she flushed when he caught her. "Who is she?"

"My mother."

Verity blinked. "She's beautiful."

That earned a faint scowl, and a withdrawal as he turned toward the sofa. "She was, yes."

Which meant she was gone. Verity looked again. It was entirely easy to see how this woman would have captivated dozens of men, but Bishop obviously didn't like the reminder of his mother's days as a courtesan. "How did she meet your father?"

"A ball, I believe. Drake was in mourning for his nephew. Morgana had poisoned the boy, which led to the divorce, and so he withdrew from society and the world for almost a year. My mother needed a protector at the time and so he and my mother... formed a relationship." Bishop glanced at the sofa. "Do you mind?"

Verity stared at him.

"I cannot sit until you do."

Hastily she sank into the chair opposite him, collecting her glass of wine on the way. "You're not going to tell me some poppycock notion about ruining my reputation by sleeping under the same roof, are you?"

"No. The Order is somewhat more lax in social requirements than others. However, my mother raised me better than that."

"Did she love your father?"

"It was an arrangement, Verity. My father was grieving, yet he was kind. They became very good friends, until it became clear that I was... on the way."

"Oh."

Bishop raked a hand through his hair. "It wasn't like that. He didn't abandon her, or me. There's always been a prophecy stating that if Drake were to know his sons, then disaster would befall them. He thought it best to stay away, and watched from a distance. He settled a small inheritance upon my mother so she could live her life freely, and they corresponded regularly."

"But you didn't know him?"

"Not until I was older, no." He glanced up at the painting, his voice softening with some emotion she couldn't name. "I always knew he was my father, I just never knew that he was a sorcerer until it was too late. He wanted to keep me out of this world. Wanted to keep me safe."

Too late.What did that mean? "But if he knows you now, then aren't you frightened of the prophecy?"

Bishop stared into the crackling fire. "I think of it sometimes. Sebastian's death last month was an enormous blow to my father. He blames himself for coming into our lives, and sometimes I wonder if the prophecy is already claiming us."

"What does it say?"

"I'm not entirely certain. I don't hold much truck with prophecies. They're usually so opaque you can barely understand them until they come true, or so vague that anything can fit the words. Something to do with'Three sons, three relics, three sacrifices.'"

Relics? She felt ill. "Do you think—?"