Jonathan leaned forward. “‘Kitty’? This human must be important to you.”
Cordon squeezed his hands on the leather armrests. This was why he didn’t enjoy confiding in his nest siblings. They were close and had been since their maker’s death half a century prior, but that didn’t mean they weren’t incapable of frustrating him. Jonathan’s teasing, in particular, never failed to kindle his temper.
His brother was far too flippant about such a serious matter. Cordon didn’t know what else he could do to express the severity of his situation. He was going to die. Not today or tomorrow, but soon.
“Miss Carteris a pleasant distraction,” Cordon said. “I admit it was foolish to think she might be the one. That is Marguerite’s influence.”
His maker had urged him to never give up searching, but he’d tried everything. The hope that had once burned brightly in his chest had faded to a flicker. Marguerite would have been so disappointed.
“What do you mean, her influence?” Jonathan asked, his voice tight.
Cordon sighed. His brother was so sensitive about their maker. Discussing her would only cause a fight. “I was only thinking Kitty is much like her: stubborn—and feisty.”
“I have my eye on a feisty human myself,” Jonathan said, waggling his eyebrows.
“Man or woman?” Cordon asked. Cordon himself had only been attracted to women for as long as he could remember, but Jonathan and Marcus were far less discerning.
“A woman,” Jonathan said. Then he removed a deep-red handkerchief from the breast pocket of his dark-brown suit andcoughed into it before balling it up and shoving it back. “Do not change the subject. Something is still bothering you. Tell me, brother.”
Cordon stared at his hands, which were stained at the nailbeds with blood. “I fear mate atrophy is catching up to me.”
Jonathan scoffed. “You don’t believe that old fable?” He shoved his cigar in his pocket. “Our maker only told you those tales to keep you from straying from her side. I mean, the very idea that drinking only animal blood of all things is required to find your supposed ‘fated mate.’” He scoffed. “She knew you would never do it. Before she made me, you were the wildest.”
Cordon ignored the jealousy in his brother’s voice. “It’s more than a fable.” He unbuttoned and removed his coat, then did the same with his shirtwaist before peeling back his shirt to reveal a red splotch along his chest. It had spread from his thigh and didn’t hurt, but it itched terribly.
Jonathan’s face paled. “T-That could be anything.”
Cordon restored his clothing before he indulged the urge to scratch. “Believe what you will, but I will not sit idly by and wait for death.”
He had to assume the rash represented a worsening of his condition, which meant it was time to arrange his affairs.
He was running out of time.
Chapter Seventeen
Kitty ran herfinger around the silver edge of a teacup and wondered what Cordon was doing. Her work had gone by in a flash, especially with the memories of her time with Cordon to dwell upon as she cut out sections of muslin and inspected Alyssa’s latest project, but then Kitty’s mother had made a surprise visit and wrangled Kitty into agreeing to join her and Betty for afternoon tea.
Kitty shouldn’t have agreed, but she’d been in an unusually good mood, which had soured ten minutes after she’d arrived at Mrs. Violet’s home, when Mrs. Carter had started with her criticisms and complaints. The seats were too hard, the nearby rosebushes were too fragrant, and Kitty’s pink, linen dress was too plain. Kitty was surprised she didn’t have a jaw ache from grinding her teeth.
“Why, hello there.”
Kitty dropped her teaspoon, sending it splashing into her cup. Cordon stood next to the empty seats her mother and sister had vacated seconds before to visit the retiring room. He wore an outfit Kitty hadn’t seen before, a double-breasted brown-and-yellow coat with a high collar and a cutaway front paired with slim breeches and stockings that rose nearly to his knees. Atop his head was a floppy felt hat with a brim so large, it was almost feminine, and perched on his nose was a pair of tinted spectacles.
“What are you wearing?” she asked with a grin.
He touched his neck. “Do you not like it?”
She wanted to peel the fabric from his body and kiss every inch of skin that she revealed. “That style was outmoded before I was born.”
He flicked the long tails of his coat and sat in her mother’s seat. “Well, it belonged to my grandfather.”
She put her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her palm. “I am happy to see you, but why are you here?”
“To talk to you, of course.” He copied her pose. “I assure you, no one else could have wrested me from my slumber.”
She covered her mouth with her hand to hide her giggle. ‘Slumber,’ as if he would still have been sleeping at five in the afternoon.
Then she spotted her mother and sister making their way toward the table. “You should go, before my mother sees you.”
