Her eyes turned glassy and bright. He knew that look well.
Of course, she murmured with a little smile. Her gown made a rustling sound as she turned and bent over the table. Over her shoulder, she sent him a sultry glance.
He gathered up her skirts, his hands filling with silk that felt like brittle, dead leaves. He did not look at her legs, though they were soft and satiny, but concentrated on the back of her neck, where a line of fallen hair powder had gathered and mixed with her sweat.
The need took hold of him, brutal and demanding. To fall into the torrent of lust, where only bodily pleasure existed, and he could forget the collapsing world.
He reached for the fastenings of his breeches.
Lady Girard stirred. Are we to have an audience?
Frowning, he said, Were alone.
Then who is that? She nodded toward the farthest corner of the room, veiled in shadow. And why is she in fancy dress?
He stared. A woman stood in the corner, watching them with a mixture of bewilderment and fascination.
She wore the clothing of ancient Rome: draped tunic, diadem in her artfully curled hair, snake-shaped bracelet winding up her arm.
He cursed. He knew her. All too well. Valeria Livia Corva.
Leave me the hell alone, he growled.
Livia started. She glanced down at Lady Girard, then back up at him. You . . . see me?
Of course I bloody see you. Though Lady Girard shifted beneath him, he would not relinquish his hold on her skirts.
I do not . . . how am I . . . ? Livia drifted closer, out of the shadows.
Oh, my God! Lady Girard pushed away from the table and Bram with a scream.
For the light revealed that Livia was translucent. The details of the chamber could be seen through her softly glowing form, and she did not walk upon the floor but hovered. As she moved nearer, she passed through a chair as if she were made of vapor.
A specter! Lady Girard bolted toward the door. She did not look back as she tore it open, then ran out into the corridor, her slippers pattering like raindrops.
Bram wanted to call her back. Yet he had used his power upon her already. It worked only once for each person. And he doubted very much that even a man as skilled in seduction as he could woo her back. For most people, the sight of a genuine ghost was terrifying and strange.
He was overly familiar with the terrifying and strange. And it enraged him.
Spare me from your invectives and lamentations, for I havent the stomach for them tonight. His gaze raked her as he straightened his coat. Thwarted lust seethed beneath his skin. At least you once had the good manners to appear to me in private.
She drifted closer, hand outstretched in demand. You must
None of this. I cannot abide hearing more of your dictates.
But
Enough, he snarled. My pleasure here is ruined, so I must seek it elsewhere.
She scowled. Theres far more at stake than your pleasure .
As though he needed reminding. Edmund was dead. Whit and Leo were lost. And John . . . Bram didnt know who John was anymore. The five Hellraisers now scattered to the winds like ashes as the world burned. And they were the ones who lit the tinder.
He stared at the specter. I dont bloody care.
Before she could speak again, he strode from the chamber. Returning to the ballroom, he saw Lady Girard being comforted by three swains. She turned her stunned gaze to him, but he didnt linger. Like everything in his life, tonight had been thrown to hell. He shouldered his way roughly through the sweaty, perfumed crowd, ignoring those that called to him or pulled at his sleeves.
Finally out
of the ballroom, he sped from the houseLord Dunfreys place? Did it matter? His long stride took him away from the assembly, the voices, his hindered seduction, that damned ghost , and into the night. Into the darkness.
Night lay heavy over the city. The few lamps lining the avenues burned fitfully, trails of smoke curling toward the sky. Linkboys torches barely penetrated the darkness. Even here in elegant St. James, shadows felt endless, choking.
He didnt know where his legs took him this night, only that he must move, and keep moving, as if the hounds of hell snapped at his heels.
Turning a corner, he heard the shouts before he saw the men. Guttering lamplight revealed two figures locked in a fight. Knives gleamed in their hands and made metallic arcs in the air as they swung at each other. The men werent beggars or drunkards. Their coats were clean and of fair quality. Both had lost their wigs in the scuffle, so the weak light turned their shaved heads to bare skulls.
He knew these men. Lesser nobility, and brothers. Their thrown punches and jabs with their knives revealed that they meant to hurt each other.
Goddamn son of a whore, one snarled.
Youre a liar and a rogue, the other spat. Ill spill your guts upon the ground.
In an instant, Bram stood between them, his sword drawn. His was no gentlemans decorative blade. The weapon had seen use.
The both of you, stand down.
The two men stumbled backward, their gazes moving from his sword to his face and back again. He stood lightly, ready to fight.