Page 47 of The Duke is Wicked

“Brilliant,” Delaney whispered her favorite English expression, one she’d stolen from Sebastian and didn’t plan to return.

“He left this for you, for when you stepped back.”

Delaney lifted her head. The Soul Catcher rested in Piper’s palm, the stone casting crimson facets along her skin. She placed it in Delaney’s hand and curled her fingers around it. The blinding stillness was breathtaking. For once, there weren’t a thousand images racing through her mind. She gasped and sagged against the veranda ledge, exhausted.

“I can help you gain more control of your gift, Delaney. That’s what a healer does. We can find a way to organize your attic and segment the information so it doesn’t tax your mind so heavily. We can work on it. You should’ve seen the fires Sebastian started before he began working with me. Now we’re down to blazes of much less significance.” She tapped the spoon against her teeth with a click. “He hasn’t destroyed anything substantial in months.”

Delaney laughed at that, when nothing was amusing.

TheLeague of Outcastswas welcoming her while the duke she wanted was pushing her away.

* * *

The men moved the discussion into Julian’s study, where spirits were readily available, and women were not.

Finn poured a liberal measure of brandy and perched on the window ledge, a crimson and gold sunset flooding over him, making him look even more angelic than usual. Sebastian was glad he’d gotten the chance to wipe the smirk from the boy’s face. “Next time, I’m wearing clothes put aside for the rag-and-bone man. This shirt was just in from my tailor.”

Sebastian grunted, unsurprised, and crossed to the sideboard.

“You’re doing an abysmal job of pretending you’re not love-struck, Your Grace,” Finn groused as he fingered the rip in his trousers. “Always telling us to maintain our defenses, and then what do you do? Relax yours to the point of delirium while you were mooning over the Terrible One. I could have gutted you, had we been on a city street, and I’m your shakiest soldier. You didn’t have to come back at me with such vengeance when I was just taking advantage of your stupor. Another scorched bit of earth on Julian’s lawn, too. Temper, temper.” He cursed when he found an injury to his sleeve. “I don’t know why you make us play these games anyway.”

Humphrey laughed, massaging the ribs that had taken a blow during the skirmish. “You’re just vexed he tore your fancy clothes, pretty boy.”

Sebastian poured water in a tumbler, when he wanted gin, and began to pace the study, feeling foolish, irritable and distracted. It was true. He’d been staring at Delaney, unable to keep his gaze from repeatedly tracking back to her, especially when she’d gone into a trance. Gone into her damned attic.

His mind, his body, had been hers to do with as she wished since ‘the orangery incident’. If he lifted his hand to his nose, he could smell the sweetness of her skin, taste her on his lips. Their experience had been erotic and stimulating; the first time he’d reacted from pure attraction without all of society’s rubbish driving his decision to rebel or consent. He’d known the moment she’d stepped from Julian’s house onto the veranda today, not because he’d seen her but because he’dfelther, that hot, misty brume that enveloped him when she was around, more tangible than London’s squalid fog. He was struggling every moment to see through it. “Drills, Finn, not games. And we execute them, so we’re able to protect our families when the situation calls for it.”

Julian gingerly kneaded the blackening ring around his left eye and winced from his spot resting against his desk. “I don’t guess anyone is interested in what I’ve seen by touching the notes from Miss Temple’s extortionist?”

Sebastian startled, the glass bobbling in his hand, water soaking his dirt-stained cuff. “What have you been waiting for if you have information, Jules?”

“Ah, Fireball’s cranky.” Humphrey wrestled his bulky frame into the only chair that would hold him and stacked his filthy boots on the table. “Not our fault the wee American devil has you by the short hairs,” he murmured, taking a long pull from his glass.

“Let’s talk about who has you by yours.” This, a hushed comment from Simon, who stood in a murky corner of the study, working a coin between his fingers in a dazzling presentation of dexterity.

Humphrey slammed his glass atop the table. “No one, that’s who. I’m a lone wolf for life.”

Sebastian snorted, knowing Humphrey had his eyes, and likely his hands as well, all over Finn’s sister, Belle. It would only be so long before he was forced to decide if he loved the chit or not. An exceedingly liberated woman, Sebastian hoped she put the hulking beast through hell first. He shouldn’t be theonlyone suffering.

Julian reached for his sketch pad and began to flip through the pages. Halting, he frowned and tapped his finger on the sheet. “This is who I see, close anyway. The setting isn’t clear. Her location seems to change with each note.”

Sebastian crossed to the desk, took the pad and tilted it into the dying sunlight falling in the window. His breath rushed forth in a tortured exhalation. What had Delaney said about the woman who’d stepped in front of her before she’d tumbled from her mount?Antiquated clothing.He shoved the sketch at Julian, went to the sideboard and poured gin. Closing his eyes, he tossed it back, savoring the sting as the liquor rushed through him. What he wouldn’t do for opium at this moment. “You need to show this to Miss Temple. I believe that’s who caused the fall from her mare last week. Young, female, clothing from another era.” He scratched his temple with the glass. “I imagined she was concussed, speaking nonsense.”

The coin Simon held dropped from his hand to the floor with a thunk. “Let me see it!”

The room silenced as if a church bell had rung. Simon was the calmest of men, until he wasn’t. And he’d never allowed a coin to hit the floor.Never.

Julian passed the sketch to Simon, his lips flattening. He worried over his adopted boys, Finn and Simon, like a protective papa, and likely always would. Even if they were men, or in Simon’s case, trying to get there.

Simon dropped to the sofa, the drawing clutched in his hand, blood rushing from his cheeks until they bleached, the color of snow. His lips moved, but no words arrived.

Sebastian went to his knee beside the boy. “You recognize her, don’t you?”

“I thought she was dead. One of my haunts. In that world, occasionally drifting into mine.” He laughed, but it was frayed, sorrowful. A horribly lonely sound to Sebastian’s ears. “She started showing up a year ago. Fourteen months. Not all the time. She’s the only one I can’t talk to. First time. The ghosts talk my head off, which I had to get used to. At night, anytime, all the time. I don’t know why she can’t. But she can see me. We”—he brought the sketch close, the charcoal marks possibly holding the answer to a vital question—“communicate without words.”

Sebastian rocked back on his heels.Damn. This was the girl they suspected Simon wasinvolvedwith, as much as he could be with someone deceased.

“Miss Temple saw her.” Simon lifted his head, his eyes shining. Sebastian was struck in the chest by the naked emotion on the boy’s face. “The horse reared, so her mare saw her, too. Maybe she isn’t dead. Maybe she’sstuck.”