Lost in Time (Blue Bloods 6)

TWENTY-NINE

River Palace

The Duke’s Arms turned out not to be a hotel.

Instead it was a palace, a veritable castle in the sky, a lavish fourplex penthouse in a grand skyscraper located at the far edge of town near the river Styx. The building was gaudy and gilded and frightfully ugly and tacky, with soaring pink columns, golden cherubim, leering gargoyles, decorated in nouveau riche flamboyance, Mimi thought. A real expensive eyesore. She didn’t think it was Kingsley’s fault: the place probably always looked like this no matter who was installed as consigliere. She noticed it was in a better part of town, though; the air along the river wasn’t as gray or smoggy.

The doorman told them they were expected, and ushered them into the elevator.

When the doors opened, Mimi and Oliver found themselves standing in the foyer of a magnificent apartment with a curved, three-story staircase. A group of troll servants dressed in uniform stood in a row: butlers and footmen in livery, the maids and cooks in black dresses with starched aprons. All of them were wearing silver chokers with the sigil of the house engraved on the front.

“Welcome,” the head butler said. “We have been expecting you, Lady Azrael.”

Mimi gave him a queenly nod.

Now, this was more like it, Oliver thought.

“Shall you require supper, or shall I show you to your rooms?”

Mimi raised an eyebrow to her traveling companion. Oliver yawned. “I’m starved, but I think I’d rather sleep first.”

“Our rooms, then.”

“This way, please,” a maid said, curtsying. They followed her down the hallway to another elevator, which brought them to a suite of rooms facing the river’s eastern shore.

“This is where Helda stays when she visits,” the maid whispered as she opened the double doors to a luxurious room with a grand view of the river. Mimi nodded. Kingsley meant it as an honor, surely, and while she was grateful to be so well taken care of, she was also just a little disappointed that he had left her side so quickly. She would have appreciated a shack alone with him rather than all these froufrou accoutre-ments. She said good night to Oliver and prepared for bed.

Oliver turned in as well. His bedroom suite was lavish and well appointed, but as he expected, the pillows were too soft, the bed too big, the air-conditioning turned up too high.

Still, he didn’t complain. He was just glad to have a place to rest at last, even if it was in an ersatz Trump Tower with a creepy troglodyte domestic staff. When his head hit the pillow, he didn’t care that it was too soft; he slept immediately, like the dead, never moving from one spot.

For her part, Mimi sat up in bed for hours. She had found a selection of silk, sheer nightgowns in the walk-in closet, and after a long soak in the marble tub, she had changed into the sexiest one, slipped under the covers, and waited. Finally, after what seemed like hours, she could hear the elevator doors open—and recognized Kingsley’s rolling step. She waited for him to sneak into her room and have his way with her.

She would tell him to stop, of course, and demand that he explain his feelings for her before they went any further. But afterward, after he pledged his devotion and begged for forgiveness for that casual, ambivalent greeting at the club, she would let him do whatever he wanted—and she had to admit she could not wait to be ravished. She squirmed with anticipa-tion, remembering the way they had danced together—the feel of his strong arms circling her waist, and the way his body had moved with hers—and she arranged herself on the pillows to look as sleepy and innocent as possible.

But the steps grew farther away instead of getting closer, and then there was silence. Mimi cocked an eye open in annoyance. She fluffed her hair and the pillows again, made sure her nightgown fell on her body in an attractive, sultry angle, and resumed her position. maybe this was part of the game?

Teasing her again? But the minutes ticked by and still there was nothing. Mimi practically slept with one eye open the entire evening, but Kingsley did not visit her bedroom. Not that first night, and not for the nights after. In fact, she did not see him at all for the next couple of days.

Well played, martin, Mimi thought. Well played. She determined not to inquire about his whereabouts or give any indication that she was waiting for him to make the first move.

He had invited her to his house, so obviously he wanted her there. She thought she knew why he was making her wait. He wanted her to crumble and surrender so his victory over her heart would be complete. Mimi had a little more pride than that. A week after they had been installed at the Duke’s Arms—so named, Mimi learned, because it was traditionally the seat of the Duke of Hell—a week after their awkward reunion, Mimi bumped into Kingsley in the breakfast room, and was able to match his polite tone.

“My trolls taking good care of you?” Kingsley asked, sitting down at the grand dining table with his bowl of fruit and cereal.

“Yes, very well, thanks.” Mimi nodded.

He inquired about the comfort of the rooms and urged her to make herself at home, and to order the staff to do whatever her heart desired. Kingsley was the consummate host. It was totally depressing.

“How do you find the view?” he asked.

Mimi looked up from her granola (which Oliver would describe as too dry and not enough raisins) and shrugged. “It’s all right.”

“I know it’s not Central Park.”

“I didn’t expect it to be.” She looked down at her plate, unsure of how to broach the topic of their relationship. It was as if there were an impenetrable wall around him. They had not seen each other since that first night, and still he had not asked the reason for her presence, had not spoken to her in any real way. He was the Duke of Hell and she was merely an honored guest. She didn’t know how long he planned to carry out this charade.

He picked out a piece of fruit from his bowl and began to eat. “I know it’s all a mirage, and that I’m not really eating this apple. But it helps, doesn’t it? To have the daily rituals, to have some sort of order to the day. It never gets dark here, or light. No sun, of course. Only the light of the Black Fire, which never goes out. Ever burning but never sets,” he murmured.