Evernight (Darkest London 5)

As she had day in and day out for the past seven months. His heart ached for her. She was too thin, her collarbones visible beneath her drab, grey gown. And she was too pale, dark circles ringing her once-bright eyes. They were dull now, seeing yet never engaged. At least she was here, at headquarters, instead of wasting away in Evernight Hous.

She’d gone kicking and screaming, in her own stubborn way, back to work. Forced there by the combined efforts of Mary, Poppy, and himself. In the end, Jack Talent had stepped in, thrown her over his massive shoulder, and physically removed her from her hous.

Perhaps it was the ignominy of being hauled about like a side of beef, or perhaps she realized the futility of further struggle, but she’d calmed then and accepted that she needed to get back to the familiar, to lif.

But she wasn’t living. Sin knew. His cousin was dying. Of sorrow and of loneliness. And though her body would go on, indefinitely it seemed, she’d slowly fade into a ghost of herself. Anger licked through him at the thought, and the room heated about him. On a curse, he strode forward, making certain that his boot heels struck the floor with definitive thuds. Holly stiffened as he approached. Only when he was right before her did she put down her pencil and acknowledge him. Fine lines pulled at the corners of her lips. He stared at her for a full minute, until she scowled and broke their silenc.

“What is it then?” “You are coming out with me tonight.” He’d take no argument. And he’d haul her arse with him if he had to. Holly’s nostrils flared as though she were preparing to lash out. He beat her to it. “I need you, Hollis.” Oh, but he was playing dirty. He didn’t car.

“I need your help. Please.” She sagged, her eyes reddening. “You are a right pest, Sin.” A lump gathered in his throat. He wanted to hold his cousin and tell her all would be well. But he couldn’t promise that.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Holly was in hell. Consigned there by her formerly favorite cousin Sin. Hell came wrapped in a pretty package, a lovely ballroom in an equally lovely hous.

Crystal chandeliers dripped light upon hundreds of elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen. Fragrant white flowers, caught up in massive bouquets that flanked each of the large French doors, thickened the air with their perfum.

A light waltz played. All was hazy and gilded. A swirl of colorful silk skirts and smiling faces. And Holly wanted out of it. Immediately. While she could manage to push through life, putting one foot in front of the other, wearing out each day in an endless cycle, she could not tolerate happiness. She could not hear laughter without wanting to tear her heart out. Without thinking of him. And she tried very hard not to think of him. Heat prickled behind her eyes, the smoke coming off the candles making it wors.

She turned to Sin, who stood dressed in immaculate white and black. “I cannot stay here.” He peered down at her, his handsome face drawn in a frown. “We’ve just arrived.” His expression softened as he touched her arm. “Give it a little longer, Hol, and then we can go, I swear.” Gripping the folds of her skirts, she nodded once and then tried to smooth the damage she’d wreaked upon the crimson satin—if only for something to do. Oh, but why had she worn this color? Why had she let Sin talk her into this dress? Her hands shook. And so she clasped them together. She might have protested again, but Sin uttered a choked sound and turned pal.

Holly followed his gaze but could see no threat, only a young woman in butter yellow taffeta. She was a pretty thing, not in a showy sort of way, but in a clean, elegant manner. Mahogany hair swept up in intricate braids gleamed in the candlelight. She was too far off to see the color of her eyes, but they appeared lively and tilted up at the corners. “You know her?” Holly asked a gaping Sin. At the sound of Holly’s voice, Sin flinched, and with a tiny shake of his head, looked away from the girl. “It’s Layla.” “Layla Starling?” A vague recollection came to Holly. Of a young girl, perhaps six or seven, living on the property abutting Evernight Hall in Ireland. “The American heiress who moved away years ago?” Dully Sin nodded. He looked as though he’d seen a ghost. For the first time in months, Holly found herself wanting to smil.

Sin had always been shy around others. But she remembered him being thick as thieves with little Layla at one point. “Go say hello to her. I am certain she—” Whatever Holly might have said fled in a hot rush as two men entered the room, their arrival causing a stir through the crowd. The younger of the two men was clearly the cause of all the attention. Tall and proud, his strong features striking against the crisp white of his collar, he stood out amongst lesser men. Dimly, Holly felt her flesh prickling. A loud buzzing filled her ears. Her vision narrowed down to him. She ought not to have recognized him. His hair was short, combed in a proper English fashion, and plain brown. His skin had an almost ruddy cast, blooming with basic human vigor. Nothing that resembled the man he once was. Oh, but his face, that blade thin nose, the sharp angle of his jaw, the narrowed gaze, and the firm lips that had touched every inch of her body long ago. Those things remained. William. Her mouth moved over the name, but she hadn’t the heart to utter it. A lady whispered something in his ear, and he canted his head, giving the woman a tight smil.

Thorn.

Her wicked Thorn.

Holly’s breath caught with such force that it shredded her throat. The floor beneath her swayed. Blindly, she turned on Sin. “You bastard.” She could barely speak through her rag.

“You bloody, sick bastard—” He caught hold of her arm—the one she’d raised to strike him with, though she hadn’t recalled lifting it—and tugged her close as those around her started to star.

“I know,” he said under his breath. “I am, and you can hate me all you like.” His head dipped closer. “But I could not watch you waste away any longer. Not when it could end here.” “I cannot…” She struggled not to cry. She would never cry again. That much she had promised herself. “Do you mean to torture me? Do you have any notion how much it hurts, Sin?” So bloody much that she felt as though a barely scabbed-over wound had ripped open upon her chest. “I mean to set you free,” he shot back. “Go to him.” Holly wrenched her wrist from his grip. “He cannot see me,” she hissed. “You know this. If I let him see me, it will undo everything we sacrificed!” Damn Sin to hell, but he knew better. Her stubborn cousin simply shook his head. “No. I’ve been thinking on this. You aren’t remembering Mab’s words properly. She said that you couldn’t remind him of who you ar.

It cannot be your doing. But he”—Sin inclined his head towards the other end of the room where William roamed—“he is not bound by those rules. He can remember on his own without breaking the bargain.” Holly flinched, Sin’s words a hard punch to her belly. “He won’t remember. Those memories are gone.” Just as Will was from her lif.

“Fae tricks,” Sin said. “The memories are ther.

Only obscured.” His mouth tightened. “Believe me, I know this well.” And Holly remembered that Sin’s real father had been a master of altering memories and of playing with fates. “Go to him, Holly.” Sin stared at her. “There is nothing in your agreement that says you and Thorne cannot be together. Is it not worth the risk? Is he not worth it?” She was afraid. Afraid of coming face to face with him and seeing nothing more than bland politeness. Of missing the way he used to look at her, as though she was the world to him. As he was hers. As if pulled by a cord, Holly’s gaze went to William, tracking him as he slowly made his way through the crowd with the reluctance of a man merely doing his duty. Dear God, but he was beautiful to her. So very foreign now, with his short brown hair and darker human skin, but so very familiar in the way he moved, in the stark planes of his fac.

Her breath hitched. Though it was impossible, it was as if he’d heard her, for he suddenly stilled and turned his head. His gaze collided with hers with the force of a bullet. And held. She could not breath.

Could not think past wanting him. Yet somehow, she found the strength to put one foot in front of the other. To go to him. Being the center of attention, Will decided, was hell. A very pretty version of it, but hell all the sam.

People pressed in on him, their sour scents and heavy perfumes clogging his nostrils and making it hard to breath.

His insides heaved, though he was starving. He never ate well. Aside from soups and soft, whipped vegetables, he could not tolerate many solid foods. His sole delight, he eventually discovered, had been hot chocolat.

Until the day he’d taken a sip and a spring breeze had drifted in through an open window, carrying with it the sweet fragrance of lilacs. He’d dropped his cup then, unable to stand the rich, warm taste of chocolate a moment longer. His heart had hurt so badly, a deep, unending ache that had him wanting to cry like a lad. So then, no more chocolate for him. Yes, Will thought, as he bowed over yet another gloved hand in greeting, he was in hell. At his side, Mason leaned close, his breath stale with the stink of old cigars. “At least try to smile, my lord.” Smile? He didn’t know how. He’d never felt the urg.

But he tried. And then he felt the weight of a star.

It tickled the back of his neck, a hot finger of awareness stroking his skin. He hadn’t felt heat, not in all his living memory. Shock had him tensing. He turned, seeking the source of this heavy gaz.

And caught sight of the woman. Everything within him tensed, prickling in an alarm that was close to panic. His breath stilled. Deep inside of him, a voice seemed to scream, yes, her, that on.

Will blinked, trying to focus on the woman who stood at the opposite side of the ballroom. Surrounded by ink-black hair, her face was a pale oval, solemn and sorrowful. And beautiful. She was heartbreakingly beautiful to him. Delicately wrought features and a direct gaze that bore into him and set his flesh aflam.

The deep crimson color of her gown stood out amongst duller colors. She stood out. Apart from everything, as though she was the only one in the room with him. And then she was moving, her stride slow but as confident as a man’s. Something shifted in his mind, like a breeze blowing through, trying to stir the cobwebs. But then it was gon.

It did not matter. She was walking towards him. To him. Will broke out of his stupor, and without a backward glance, went to meet her. Anticipation clenched low in his gut. He wanted to break into a run, so great was his desire to get to her. He forced himself to remain calm, lest she find him as mad as he suspected himself to b.

Closer. Closer. They met in the middle of the room, stopping when there was little more than a foot between them. Hells bells, but she was even lovelier up clos.

Her eyes were blu.

A dark blue that called to mind cool lakes and twilight skies. A man could lose himself in such eyes. And not even mind if he were drowning. “Hello.” He found himself smiling. Like an idiot. She blanched, her gaze going to his inane grin then back to meet his eyes. Ruddy, bloody hell, he’d bolloxed this up before it had truly begun. But then she cleared her throat and spok.

“Hello.” Her voice sent a shiver through him. It was calm and smooth, just as it ought to b.

Will fought not to lean forward and crowd her. Awkward silence fell over them. He ought to ask a mutual acquaintance for a proper introduction, but she was alone, and he was impatient. From the sweet swells of her bosom, gloriously displayed by her evening bodice, came the scent of lilacs and something sharp that he couldn’t quite recognize but somehow gave him comfort enough to blurt out the first words that came to mind. “I feel like a fool.” She blinked up at him, the black wings of her brows knitting in confusion. Will’s face heated. “What I meant is that I feel as though I know you. I have so much that I want to tell—” He broke off, mortified at his inane babbling. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nos.

Her lips twitched again. Likely she thought he’d escaped Bedlam. Will pulled himself straight. “Let’s try this again. I am William Thorne.” He extended his hand, propriety not allowing him to take hers, but hoping she’d offer it all the sam.

She hesitated, the tendons on her neck moving as she swallowed, but then she relented. Her slim, gloved hand rested lightly on his fingers. Just that small touch sent a shock of feeling through him. “The Marquis of Renwood,” she acknowledged faintly. William. Call me William. Having acted the idiot more than enough this night, he kept his council. “I’ve been… out of the country.” The words were a bitter lie on his tongu.

But she accepted them with a short nod. “And are you…” Her voice grew fainter. “Have you been well?” It was too intimate a question for polite society. But he wanted to answer. He wanted to confide in her. No, I’ve been in hell. Until you cam.

It hit him then. She made his backward world feel righted. It made no sens.

Will did not know if he’d ever believed in love at first sight, but he knew with utter conviction that he wanted this woman in his lif.

“Dance with me.” It was blunt, not at all a request. And she blanched. Her twilight eyes going wid.

“I… I don’t dance.” “You don’t? Or won’t?” The words were out before he could stop them, and Will silently cursed. Satan’s balls, but that was rud.

Shockingly, she did not frown at him or turn away. The corners of her pink mouth twitched, as though she fought a smil.

In turn, it made him smil.

“Then take a turn about the room with me,” he pressed. “Tell me about yourself.” It occurred to him that she hadn’t even given him her nam.

“Come now, lov.