Page 23 of The Duke’s Bloody Bargain

In the carriage as Alex, Darius, and I rode to Whitechapel, Alex held my hand, and for the first time since he’d made the pact with Cara, I relaxed next to him. He drew slow circles over my wrist with his thumb, and I focused on our bond. It was muted and tense. Was it because of me? Was I so nervous that the bond stiffened?

The silver dagger in my bag seemed to weigh a tonne. Not that I would ever be able to hurt him seriously, but I’d been abused and attacked by my former betrothed, and Alex was so strong. Vampires were sensitive to silver. A tiny cut burnt their skin. I wouldn’t need to… Heavens. Was I truly thinking of protecting myself from him?

I swallowed past the knot in my throat. The bond had never lied. Something was deeply wrong with Alex.

He laced his fingers through mine, but he remained tense, hiding his hand under the cloak when the sunlight poured through the window. He was also wearing a scarf and a brimmed hat. His neck-cloth covered his throat fully.

“Does the sunlight bother you?” Darius studied him with interest.

Alex squinted. “It has always bothered me.”

“But now more than before?”

“The sun is strong today.”

Darius closed the ever-present magic book he was reading. “It’s March, and this is London. The only strong things here are tea and annoyance when someone jumps a queue.”

Alex squeezed my fingers. “Please, Darius. I’m fine.”

“I hope you are because if you aren’t fine, I’m not sure I can make you feel fine.” Darius resumed reading, but his aura was troubled with steel-grey light rushing through it—worry.

When the carriage stopped at the kerb in front of the mortuary, Alex exited first and offered me his palm, beaming. The tension was gone. His eagerness to help me out of the carriage was irresistible, and I slid my hand into his.

An air of triumph brightened his face. “Isn’t it a fine day? I’ve never felt so free and light.”

My chest tightened for him. His fear had been sheer torture. He had to be so relieved, but I didn’t trust Carabosse or the tension in our bond.

He put on a pair of leather gloves and stepped into the shadows. “Are you sure you want to come?” He caressed my cheek, and a sigh escaped my lips.

“Yes, I am.” I didn’t look forward to seeing dead people, but I didn’t want special treatment either.

The mortuary was an imposing building with bars on the tall windows and walls of sad grey bricks. A heavy-looking set of double doors guarded the entrance, and the front steps had been scrubbed to a polish compared to the walls. I wondered what they’d had to clean them up from.

Hands in his pockets, Darius walked past the front door and beckoned us to follow him. He knocked on the anonymous rear door, and a man in a dark suit and a bowler hat opened it. His aura glowed with a steel-grey light. Worry dominated his feelings and pinched my chest.

“Ravenhill. Strange.” The man beckoned us inside. “Madam.”

“Inspector Talbot, always a pleasure.” Darius crossed the doorstep with a quick leap.

The man hesitated, drumming his fingers on the frame. “Doesn’t Ravenhill need a proper invitation to enter the mortuary?”

“Only to enter private houses,” Alex said. “This is a public place.”

The inspector didn’t look pleased. “Well, anyway, Ravenhill, you’re welcome in the mortuary.”

“Now there’s a sentence you don’t hear often.” Alex entered after me.

“Miss Harlowe, this is Inspector Talbot,” Darius introduced me. “You’ve met his wife, Mrs. Talbot. She’s following Rothbart’s case.”

I’d briefly met Mrs. Talbot a while ago, but I remembered the clever witch who took risks to stop supernatural beings like Rothbart.

The inspector gave me a quick nod. “We don’t have much time.” The inspector gazed around the empty passageway. The worry in his halo intensified. “The surgeon will be back in twenty minutes.”

The corridor smelt of chloride of lime and something else pungent. The inspector pushed open a set of double doors.

A Lister machine rumbled softly in a corner, spraying carbolic acid into the air. The disinfectant formed a mist hanging in the wide room with a soaring ceiling. Light poured in from the floor-to-ceiling windows without cheering up the place. The three-foot-wide walls kept the noise of traffic out, which gave me the unpleasant feeling of being underground.

I paused on the threshold at the sight of the rows of tables with bodies on them, covered with white blankets.