Shadowbound (The Dark Arts Book 1) (23 page)

Like attics. His heart actually clenched in his chest. He'd never have realized the cause behind such a weakness before their earlier conversation.

Hell, he actually wanted to draw her into his arms and curl her against his chest. "I have a candle," he promised, voice softening, "and I'll be here too."

Those dark eyes surveyed him, as if to gauge whether he was mocking her or not, and then she looked back down the narrow stone passage. A chill breeze whispered over his skin, and he knew what she was thinking.

"It won't blow out."

"I'm not entirely certain I won't make an embarrassing scene if it does," she said dryly, trying for humor and failing. "It's possible I might try to climb you. Like a tree."

"Miss Martin, the devil incarnate, scared of a little darkness?"

"I could thrash you sometimes, Rathbourne," she mock-growled, but faint glimmers of indigo-gray crossed her face.

Fear.

Without thinking, Lucien summoned a mage globe, gleaming with iridescent white light. It came to hand immediately, and Lucien looked down in shock. It hadn't hurt him to summon it. Mage globes of white were virtually powerless, but still... Was the problem his sorcery, or some part of his mind?

"Oh. Thank you."

Lucien gestured, and the faint globe rose from the palm of his hand, hovering in front of them. The strain came immediately, cold sweat springing up against the back of his neck, but he didn't dismiss it. Ianthe stepped into the tunnel, her skirts pressing against his trousers, and one hand on his sleeve, as though his presence gave her some peace of mind.

He couldn't have dismissed it if he'd tried.

"Rathbourne's occult study is not far. There should be a staircase at the end, which will wind down to the cellars." Lucien held his hand out as she stepped forward, as if to prove she wasn't afraid of the dark.
Stubborn woman
. "Let me go first, Ianthe. There might have been something he left behind to guard his private domain."

"Very well," she murmured as he strode forward, "but only because the view is more enticing from back here."

Lucien glanced back, noting her impish smile, and couldn't stop his own from forming. "One would think you enjoy your nights."

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

The sound of her gasps, her body arching up beneath him as he traced her skin with his tongue...

The mage globe dimmed a little.
Concentrate
, he told himself harshly. Her teasing manner intrigued him, however. There'd been little humor between them thus far.

"Tell me about Cross," Lucien said, shouldering through the small passage. It ended, just as a gaping yawn opened up beneath his feet. The staircase.

"
Remy
?"

Remy. His fingers actually curled into a fist. Ridiculous, really. It wasn't as though he'd sensed anything between her and the magician, but then, she'd said the Prime had never been her lover... Which left at least two men, somewhere out there.

"What about Remy?"

"How did the two of you meet?"

"He'd advertised in the newspaper for an assistant," Ianthe replied. "We suited each other. He provided me with an income and a way to thumb my nose at my father, and I wasn't frightened of him, unlike the other applicants. Once you've grown up in Grant Martin's household, there's no stare you cannot meet. It had Remy quite perplexed at the start. I think he quite likes people to either be in awe of him or terrified. I was neither." Ianthe considered something. "I'm certain Drake had a hand in my gaining the position too. He wanted to provide me with pin money, once I'd finished my apprenticeship, but I refused."

Lucien glanced back over his shoulder as they reached the lower floor, and held a hand out to help her down the last few stairs. "Why?"

Those fingers were warm. Ianthe stepped past, examining the darkened chamber before them, but she didn't let go of his hand. "When my father threw me out, I had nothing, Lucien. It was an eye-opening experience. By the time Drake set me on my feet, I had vowed that I would never be beholden to another person again. When I finished my apprenticeship, I trusted Drake, but I didn't want to be supported by him. I wanted to be my own person."

"Cross pays so well?" He didn't forget the luxury of her house, or her eminently fashionable wardrobe.

"My aunt left me a small inheritance a few years ago," Ianthe admitted. "It was time to begin thinking of the future, so I bought the house and channeled the remaining funds into investments."

"So you didn't need to work as Cross's assistant anymore? Why continue then, until three months ago?"

"Lucien." Her smile was gentle. "I enjoyed the work. It gave my life some purpose."

"When you're not hunting miscreants for the Prime?"

"Yes, well, there's that."

It seemed somewhat lonely. "You've never considered marriage and children?"

Those pale features froze in a polite expression. "What man would have me? I'm a sorcerer's whore, according to popular opinion, and if I'm honest, why surrender my authority to a man? I am in the unique position of living my life according to my own whims."

"You don't want children?"

She turned away, examining the small cellar room they'd entered. "I don't know whether I would be a good mother."

Something about the softness of her tone drew his eyes. Not the entire truth then. "And your father? How did becoming a magician's assistant help 'thumb your nose at him'?"

"He'd been making noises about taking Drake to court and suing him for destroying my character. The words he painted Drake with were ghastly; a sorcerer preying upon innocent young maids and seducing them to Satan's side. It was ridiculous considering he was the one who threw me out, but a few of my father's friends were muttering about it. So I wanted to put a stop to his plans to paint me as some innocent young girl and Drake as a vile seducer. I sent him front row tickets to my first show from an anonymous source.

"I knew my father would show up. He could never resist a chance to mince around with his social class. So I put on my spangled outfit and stepped on stage, and showed my father what I'd become. He stormed out after the first act, but he was waiting for me in my dressing room." Shadows darkened her eyes. "It's the only time I've seen him since I left his house. It was terrible and confronting, but a part of me exulted. I finally had power over him. I told him that if he continued to make his threats against Drake, then I would tell the world who 'Sabine' was. I threatened to take a lover and flaunt myself to the world as some rich man's mistress. I would ruin him, if I could." Ianthe sighed. "I was younger then, of course."

"You wouldn't do the same now?"

"No. I think I'm weary of making decisions for the sole purpose of striking at my father." A faint Gallic shrug. "Other things seem more important these days. The people in my life who truly care for me, not the ones I was cursed to have the misfortune to belong to originally."

That stung, because whilst she had those people in her life, he had no one. He'd never realized what was missing from his life before she walked into it, but although she was part of the problem, she was not the whole of it. Lucien gazed around the darkened cellar they'd stumbled upon, a bleak scowl upon his face.

"Call it age bringing about a certain amount of wisdom." Ianthe's smile seemed wistful, but then her attention turned to the room below. "Well, this looks... friendly." Ianthe stepped forward, beneath the heavy gothic arches that supported the ceiling, her fingers trailing over one of the massive stone gargoyles that stood watch.

Lucien barely heard what she said. His entire body was still vibrating with the truth that had struck him: he was alone. Not one person gave a damn about him these days. The ache of it struck him right through the heart.

He tried for nonchalance, however, as he didn't want her to notice that aught was amiss. "You cannot be so old as that."

"How old do you think I am?"

Lucien leaned one hand against the arched doorway, considering her from the top of her elegantly coiffed chignon to the tips of her toes. "If you think I'm going to answer that, then you think me a fool. A gentleman never comments on a lady's age."

"I though you weren't a gentleman. Isn't that what you said before?"

"It has nothing to do with etiquette. It's an act of pure preservation. Nothing more."

Ianthe's smile softened, the shadows of the room limning her features and highlighting those dangerous eyes. They were like darkened clouds—endlessly changing, as restless and dramatic as an approaching storm. She was beautiful. He could never forget that. Nor could he stop his gaze from seeking her out as she turned to the books on the desk.

Perhaps it's because you haven't been with a woman for so long?

Perhaps... Or perhaps not. The thought discomforted him a little. She reminded him of himself. Both of them had been effectively orphaned by cold, distant parents, but whereas she seemed to have found herself and thrived, he was still trying to find his feet. That showed a strength of will he both admired and respected.

And envied, if he were being honest with himself.

"Here, I think I found something," Ianthe said, flicking through the pages of a book. Every inch of her face lit up in animation, and he felt something clench inside his chest. "It's not a diary. Oh." Her expression fell as she flicked through the pages. "Rather monotonous, truly. A study on theosophy, though Lord Rathbourne seemed hardly the enlightened sort." Her nose wrinkled up as her eyes traversed the page. "Good gods, what a bore."

"One could say that you have his measure already."

She moved on, examining the bookshelves and the smattering of leather-bound books on the desk. "A translation of the
Epic of Gilgamesh
," she murmured, casting aside books. "
The Parabola Allegory
,
The Sixth and Seventh Book of Moses
. Interesting collection. Lord Rathbourne seems to have been a dabbler, rather than one allied to a particular field of study..." He sensed the moment that she realized his quietness. Those dark lashes swept up, a faint frown furrowing her brow. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Nothing
. Lucien panicked.

"You can tell me, you know. After all, you know some of my worst secrets. In a way..." Ianthe took a deep breath. "I know we're not friends, but I feel this odd sort of kinship with you. Neither of us were wanted, not truly. And I would never share what you told me with others."

Not alone. Not if he gave in to this. But the hesitation remained. How long had it been since he'd placed his trust in another?

The answer to that lay all around him. A year. A year since he'd been shown the value of another's trust. Bitterness and cynicism had swallowed him up in that time. He had the sudden shocking realization that he didn't know himself anymore. He had become someone who watched the world through wary eyes.

"It's difficult, isn't it? To place one's trust in another's hands. Or your body perhaps, hoping that you won't be hurt," she said.

That
jerked his head up. She'd feared his intentions when she'd given herself to him? "You weren't afraid of me."

"Of course I was frightened, Lucien. I barely knew you, and you yourself admitted you wanted revenge. Or want revenge," she corrected. "But you didn't hurt me. My trust was not misplaced, and now you know some of my secrets..."

The offer lay between them, tremulous as a truce between warring armies. He had the feeling that it wouldn't come again if he refused her this one time.

Take it, or don't...

"It gets to me." Something unfurled within him, something he'd been holding onto for a long time. "Being here, under the shadow of
him
."

Ianthe glanced around, but he knew she saw only the bookcases and the heavy desk. This room wasn't weighted in memory for her, the way it was for him.

The desk where Lord Rathbourne had spent most of his life behind, scratching out his notes in the bloody grimoire that Ianthe held in her hands right now. Ignoring him as a child, but lavishing attention on his chubby, spoiled cousin, Robert. Robert who always pleased Lord Rathbourne. Robert, who, for some inexplicable reason, was better than Lucien. More. No matter how hard he tried.

Everything held a ghost of memory: the heavy skull that sat atop the desk; the hourglass; the scarred bench surface where Lord Rathbourne had worked his alchemies; the drawer where the Earl kept the strap he'd used to punish Lucien whenever he'd caused some minor indiscretion; the silver circle set into the floor, where Luc had stood when he called for the demon...

His chest tightened, nostrils flaring, and he clenched his eyes shut, turning his face away. "I was here... When I called the demon forth." An eerie prickling stirred over the back of his neck. This was where his life had changed, and not for the better. The last time he'd been here, pieces of Lord Rathbourne had been splashed all over the walls. Lucien had broken free of his collar, as the ring controlling it had been destroyed in the blast, and found himself covered in blood, and filthy with the oily stain of the demon upon his soul, knowing that he could not stay. Anywhere. Anywhere, but here...

That was when she'd found him, three days later, at the Grosvenor Hotel.

"It's just a room, Lucien," Ianthe said softly. "Just memories." He looked up and those gorgeous eyes shuttered. "We all have them. No doubt yours are as pleasant as mine."

Closing the book she'd been perusing, she set it aside, moving toward him with a faint swish of her skirts. It was as if she could see right through him. "You're not alone, Rathbourne. Not this time."

It helped ease the jagged edges within him. Lucien bowed his head, hungry for her to touch him, but unable to ask for it. "It feels like I've always been alone. I've never belonged to anybody."
And I want to, damn it
.

"Forget those memories," she whispered, her hand sliding over his cheek, "and look again. It's just a room."

Lucien let out the breath he'd been holding. She was right. He cupped his hand over hers, holding it to his cheek. Not enough. He wanted the crush of her body against his. Curling his arms around her, he dragged her close, burying his face into the side of her neck.