Page 81 of Bloodgrove

“We could invite Mr. Frank,” Elodie suggested with a radiant smile. “As thanks for saving me yesterday.”

The duke appeared unconvinced, but Elodie persisted. “You will like him, I am certain. He is exceptionally well educated, a marvelous conversationalist, and possesses impeccable manners.”

With a sigh, Wilkinson rose and offered Will his hand. “It would be my honor to receive you. And you have my gratitude for your selfless intervention. Had I been permitted, I would have done the same.”

He turned to his fiancée, took her hand, and pressed a long, yearning kiss to it. “Enjoy your gifts. You will look enchanting in them.”

With that, he took his leave and departed for a Senate session. Will did not wait to hear the front door close before dropping onto the place beside Elodie on the sofa.

“Why are you dragging me into this?” he asked, lifting a pair of shoes from their box. They were indeed fashionable, and to his surprise, showed the seal of a celebrated Capitol atelier burned into the sole.

Elodie gathered up the wedding-planning notebooks half buried beneath the dresses and handed them to Hedgefort to put away. The moment he had left the room, her stubborn expression returned. Will watched the courteous smile melt from her features like wax as her brows drew together.

“He has something—whatever it is—that allows him to control the Red Hand. His ships leave the harbor every day. He has never been known as a particularly powerful mage, yet the blood tolls should have driven him mad long ago. And all these gifts—as though he meant to flaunt it in my face. He must have found a way around the curse.”

“That would explain why his mother was on the train as well. But how? And why does he not help more people?”

“Because he enjoys his monopoly. No one remains of House Wilkinson except his mother. They quite literally bled themselves dry to build their trading empire. But for the past year…” Elodie shook her head. “Whatever he possesses, he believes it is his key to becoming the Red Hand. We need to discover how he does it.”

“We?” Will smiled in amusement and poured tea into Elodie’s cup. He did not wait for permission before raising it to his own mouth, placing his lips where the print of her lipstick stained the porcelain red.

Elodie rolled her eyes. “Yes, we. I don’t know how often I will be left unobserved. You must use the opportunity to search his castle.”

“In a single weekend? I know nothing about blood magic!”

“You have good instincts…”

“Invite Eric.”

“Eric Arcos?” Elodie stared at him in disbelief.

“He is just as interested in bringing Wilkinson down.” Will was playing with fire. But the nearer his departure came, the more he wished he wouldn’t have to leave Elodie behind to fight alone. He wanted this woman, who had always battled so stubbornly by herself, to have someone at her side. Whatever she and Will had begun the night before would have to wait until they returned anyway.

Elodie pursed her beautifully curved lips, and something like uncertainty flickered in her eyes. At last, however, she nodded. “He is an experienced mage, and his dogs could be useful.”

Chapter 43

It was one of those days that never truly brightened when Will and Elodie knocked on Eric Arcos’ door.

“Do not look so pleased,” Elodie muttered, unwilling to share Will’s delight. Even the orgasm he had given her only a short while ago in a cold guest room, with her pressed against a wall mirror, had failed to ease the tension from her shoulders.

“You know I could never pass up the chance to see Eric’s home.”

He imagined clean lines, bare stone, and bookshelves arranged alphabetically. A simple fireplace before which his dogs slept, and no paintings. Vast, dark rooms he never used, perhaps a few weapons carelessly discarded here and there, a punching bag in the corner of a salon that had once served as a drawing room.

He certainly did not expect the round face of the older woman to open the door. “Elodie! We haven’t seen you in ages! What a wonderful surprise!”

“Mrs. Arcos,” Elodie said, looking somewhat mortified.

A moment later, Will and Elodie stood in a warm sitting room. Two children chased each other with wooden swords and nearly became tangled in Elodie’s skirts. A young woman looked up from her reading on the sofa, while an older gentleman set aside his newspaper and rose from his armchair to greet them.

“May I offer you anything? Tea? Brandy?” Mrs. Arcos asked.

“I have to tell Claire that Elodie is here!” one of the children cried, and both raced away. Their swords fell forgotten to the floor among the other scattered toys.

Will could barely conceal his shock, while at the same time his gaze devoured every inch of the scene. The image he had formed of the Arcos household shattered and was trampled when a pimply adolescent peered around a corner, gave them a brief wave, and vanished again.

Mrs. Arcos spoke eagerly with Elodie while Will shook hands, though his mind could scarcely keep pace. The house was loud and alive, warm and soft. The corners of the furniture had been worn off, and the rug buckled where someone had pushed the sofa across it. Garlands of fir branches and ash berries decorated the windows, and candles waited to be lit. It even smelled like Will’s own home around the solstice—of cinnamon and cookies.