Page 89 of Soulbound

Bishop suddenly flinched, as if something invisible swatted him across the ear.

"Utter codswallop," Lady E muttered, slurping her tea. "While you might fool Morgana, there's a possibility you propose to waltz beneath a demon's nose. A demon can see through time, you fool, let alone any cloaking spells you intend to use. Then there is the matter of your father, and he would never fail to recognize you, no matter what face you wore—"

Sebastian tuned out, sensing the sudden strengthening on the soul-bond. He turned his head toward the door, drawn unerringly toward the focus point of his sudden awareness.

The ladies appeared, Verity linked arm in arm with Cleo. The second she walked in the room, his heart started to skip. A dark green gown caressed her slender curves, and the bodice was cut far lower than anything he'd ever seen on her before. The jacket was black velvet, with ribbons of green silk and black lace adorning it. He sensed Lady Rathbourne's hand all over it.

Sebastian looked away. He almost missed the virginal lace Cleo's father had draped her in, if only for the sake of his sanity. Green suited her pale skin, and his fingers itched to begin unhooking those little brass buttons down the front of her jacket. Touching her that night hadn't been enough. His long-dormant desire was stirring, and it had a particular destination in mind.

Verity blinked when she saw her husband. "What the devil are you wearing?"

Distraction, thank goodness.

Bishop scratched at his jaw. "Sebastian thought my attire needed brightening up."

"That's hideous," she continued, looking amused as she lifted the tureen lid on the kippers. "Where on earth did you find it?"

"Sebastian loaned it to me."

"Oh, no," Sebastian broke in. "Don't pretend that came out of my wardrobe."

"Is that my old dress? Is that what you wanted it for this morning?" Cleo frowned. There'd been shadows under her eyes earlier, but she seemed to have rallied. "You said it was an emergency."

He relaxed back in his chair. "It was. I'm hardly about to let him get away with losing a bet. It's a worthy cause, if only to see Bishop wear it for a week. I cut the skirt, and Agatha helped me hand-stitch it to the front of his waistcoat. It took almost two hours."

Cleo smiled her secret smile—the one that made his insides stir—and took her seat. "In that case, I'll consider it a worthwhile loss." She poured herself some tea, and appraised the man. "You look positively smashing in pink, Bishop."

Verity chortled.

"Thank you, my dear," Bishop drawled.

"So what are we up to?" Cleo mused. "I'm well rested and if I stay in the house one more day, I think I shall scream."

Verity touched the watch. "What is this?"

Bishop swiftly explained.

"I have a plan to steal the Blade back," Bishop said. "The only problem is we still cannot find Morgana. Lucien's tried scrying since the ball. Lady E tried. And Verity attempted to lock onto her location using her particular talent for finding anything she sets her mind to. Ianthe's had all her contacts out searching. She even set the rest of the Sicarii to hunting last night. And Verity and I have been all through Seven Dials, and Balthazar's Labyrinth. None of her usual allies know where she is."

Cleo's dark eyes locked on Bishop. "Are you trying to tell me you asked Lucien and Lady E to scry for Morgana's whereabouts and you didn't think of me?"

"I thought of you," Bishop said, resting one arm across his neighboring chair, revealing his delightfully pink waistcoat. "But you've been under the weather since the ball, and I was under strict instructions not to bother you."

Sebastian didn't quite look at his brother.

"Give me the watch," Cleo growled.

Bishop crossed his arms and looked quite pointedly at Sebastian. "Is she allowed to use her scrying gifts?"

"I am sitting right here," Cleo said sharply. "Oh, for heaven's sakes." She reached across the table and snatched up the watch, shooting him a particularly challenging look.

"Madrigal said you'd overstretched yourself," Sebastian pointed out. "I didn't want you to harm yourself. And I thought you couldn't scry her either?"

"Something's shielding her from Sight," Cleo said grimly. "We've all tried. But that was before I laid hands upon Farshaw's book."

"Something?" Bishop murmured.

"Fine," Cleo replied. "The demon. Lascher. I could sense it watching over me the last time I tried to scry. I can feel Morgana out there, but Lascher obscures her whereabouts with some sort of shadow I can't penetrate."