Page 16 of Bloodgrove

“Mr. Frank, I owe you an apology. My work kept me,” Mr. Arcos began.

Will did not answer. He fixed his eyes on the stage, and together they listened in silence to the final passage of the act.

The moment the curtain fell, and the audience poured toward the bars in the foyer, Mr. Arcos guided Will out of the box. Will had barely drawn a breath to raise one of the many issues clamoring through his mind more loudly than the opera’s arias when a cluster of curious patrons gathered around them.

“Mr. Arcos, who’s your guest?” the first nobleman asked, stepping into their path.

They had only just reached the foot of the staircase, where the crowd pressed close, and laughter rang above the clinking of glasses.

Mr. Arcos moved close to Will and placed a hand against his back, precisely between his shoulder blades, where he could undoubtedly feel Will tense.

Will studied him from the corner of his eye. Yellow lamplight outlined his high cheekbones and softened them. Perhaps he truly had misunderstood him; perhaps the ambassador had harbored no ill intentions after all.

“Is he the visitor from the Capitol? I heard he arrived by train two weeks ago,” someone called.

Will drew back slightly and looked around. The cluster of onlookers grew, blocking the entrance to the stairwell. He stood more than a head taller than most of them, but beside Mr. Arcos he fit perfectly; their shoulders were nearly level and brushed in the crush of bodies.

Yet there was something different about these people. Some had gone grey long before their time, their bloodshot eyes sunken deep in their sockets. They were all pale, or—where their complexions did not allow for pallor—an unhealthy grey. Their clothing was fastened so tightly to the throat that the collars seemed to strangle them. More than one hand stroked hungrily over the fabric of Will’s suit, and he forced himself not to recoil.

Mr. Arcos let them squirm, but soon the questions began to repeat themselves. “Who is this radiant guest of yours?”

“We are here for an evening devoted to art,” Mr. Arcos said. The ambassador feigned modesty, but Will caught the faint twitch of his mouth.

“Is he your secret weapon in the contest for the office of the Red Hand?” A murmur swept through the crowd.

“The Red Hand is in excellent health, and no one will be replacing him anytime soon.”

“But you are one of the seven candidates. Everyone knows that.” Several voices threw questions into the air until they merged into a single chorus.

“It would be a great honor to succeed him.” Excitement rippled through those gathered around them, but Mr. Arcos turned back to Will. “We all know the steep price one must pay for a ticket, but it was important to me that this rare visitor be brought to our city,” he continued. “Allow me to introduce Mr. William Frank. My…” He looked at Will expectantly.

And in that moment, Will realized that Eric Arcos either did not know who he was. The ambassador had fallen just as readily for his silver hair and extravagant clothes, believing he had landed some extraordinary prize.

So Will gave them his most charming smile. “Interior designer.”

“My interior designer?” Mr. Arcos could not hide his shock.

“Yes.” Will grinned shamelessly.

“Eric Maximilian Arcos! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Everyone spun around, and Will flinched. Duchess Ormonde stormed through the crowd as it parted before her. He had neglected to tell Elodie about the opera and, to some extent, had deliberately kept it secret. Yet when he looked toward Mr. Arcos, expecting to find him equally startled, he saw only a broad grin that was quickly hidden beneath an expression of feigned shock.

Oh, so it had been a game after all. Only Will had never been its target—Elodie had. Now he remembered the surprise on Arcos’s face when her name had slipped his lips, and the sudden change in his demeanor. Ambassador Eric Arcos had never been interested in him, only in the duchess, and she was furious. Will did not yet understand why, but he was certain that once they returned to the townhouse, some of that anger would be directed at him.

“Duchess Ormonde, I had no idea you were still so… emotional,” Arcos said. “Your father’s fall into bloodlust was more than half a year ago…”

A gasp passed through the crowd, and even Will drew in a sharp breath. That was a vicious blow. He quickly moved away from Mr. Arcos and took his place at Elodie’s side.

“The sight of your traitorous face makes me forget myself,” she hissed, turning on her heel. “Come, William. The opera has become distasteful.”

With that, she swept away, and Will had to hurry to keep up with her. There was no time to untangle the chaos of his feelings.

The moment they stepped into the street and passed the smokers gathered outside, Elodie slowed and looked around. She cursed under her breath. “My carriage isn’t here.”

“Does your driver know you planned to leave during the intermission?” he asked cautiously, looking down the empty street. Anger and betrayal would have to wait until they returned to the townhouse.

When a damp wind swept in from the sea, Will was grateful they had retrieved their coats from the cloakroom.