Belladonna (Belladonna #1)(56)
Signa hadn’t realized she’d been silent for some time until Blythe patted her on the thigh. “What about you, cousin?” she asked. “I did not mean to steal your excitement. Tell me, is there someone you’ve got your eyes on?”
Signa clawed at her memory for the name of the eligible bachelor Eliza had given her during their tea. “It seems Lord Wakefield is a popular choice.”
The reply earned pursed lips from Blythe. “He’s handsome enough, I suppose. Honorable and titled, which makes him a fine match. Though I never would have guessed he’d be your type. He’s very… proper.”
“You think I can’t be proper?” Signa laughed, letting herself imagine for a moment what Lord Wakefield might be like. He’d have broad shoulders, she thought, and would look quite dignified. But the more she fleshed out an image of him in her mind, the more the image began to shift, until she saw smoky eyes and a man as tall as a willow. Until she saw Sylas. Her thoughts strayed to the feeling of her body against his when they’d been hiding in the closet at Grey’s. Yet the more she thought of that, the more she thought of her past night spent hand in hand with Death—and of how natural it had seemed. She remembered the thrill that seared her veins when they’d touched, and the curiosity that kept her thoughts wandering back to him.
So thoroughly did these men fill her thoughts that Signa moved to the open window to cool the heat upon her skin. What was wrong with her? It was Lord Wakefield she should have been thinking about. For if a gentleman like him was to call upon her, Signa could guarantee her place in society, and a life full of good company and grand, joyous balls. Yes, that was what she should think about, indeed—security. Not late-night trysts with Sylas or midnight romps with Death. She needed to get a hold on herself.
Signa chose to focus instead on what she needed—to pry at the dam of the Hawthornes and see what information she might be able to break free from it. To learn something that could help save Blythe.
“It’s Percy that the ladies are truly after. He was helping me learn to dance today when your father walked in. Forgive me if this is not my place, but I’ve been here for a few weeks now, and it’s becoming increasingly clear that the two do not get along.”
Blythe curled her fingers in the sheets, and Signa held her breath, wondering if she’d already pushed too far. She remembered how it’d felt to have Eliza and Diana prying at her, scavenging for gossip they could take and spread to whoever might listen. Blythe would be a fool to believe that Signa—a girl she hardly knew—wouldn’t do the same. But Signa had no mind for gossip. She wanted only to save Blythe, and for the puzzle pieces in her head to begin their assembly.
Blythe, it seemed, recognized this. “For twenty years, my father and uncle raised Percy to take over the family business,” she began. “When my mother died, my father became a different person. He forbade Percy from ever working at Grey’s again. My father no longer spends his days there but instead holes up in his study, as though he’s trying to let the business rot. Should Grey’s burn down, I don’t think he’d so much as bat an eye. It’s more than our livelihood—it’s how our family maintains its status. And as for my brother, it’s always been his future.”
The bags under Blythe’s shut eyes were like two purple bruises as the conversation took its toll on her. She had to force the next words out, speaking softly. “My father won’t tell us why he’s taken the business away from Percy, but I think it’s clear that my mother’s death has rotted his mind. He’s no longer thinking logically.”
If Blythe was saying that her father didn’t take the business away until after Lillian’s death, that didn’t at all match up with what Signa had found in the letter at Grey’s. There was a piece to the puzzle that she was missing. She wanted to pry, but Blythe’s chest was rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The girl had dozed off, and Signa had no choice but to hold her questions. She adjusted the blankets around Blythe, protecting her cousin from the cold that bit the air and sank into her bones. A cold, she realized too late, that was entirely unnatural.
Signa spun around to see that Death was behind her, his shadows stretching to cover her mouth before she could make a noise. The touch stole her breath and stilled her heart, putting her into that strange zone between the land of the living and the dead. It lasted mere seconds before he pulled away, and her body ached as her heart started up once more.
Shhhh… he whispered inside her mind. You’ll wake her.
Signa wished to bite, to sink her fangs into Death and let the poison spread. But for the sake of letting Blythe rest, she jerked her hand toward Blythe’s sitting room and motioned for him to follow. Her footsteps were slow, careful to avoid any creaking planks. “Leave now,” she said the moment they were past the threshold. “God help you, I will not let you have her.”
Relax, Little Bird, Death said smoothly. I’m not here for her. Though I fear it won’t be long until I do come to claim that poor girl’s soul. I came to warn you. Should that girl not rid the poison from her body, I’ll be back for her before the week’s end. And her death won’t be a kind one.
Signa had half a mind to slam her fists into his chest and demand that Death leave Blythe alone forever. But Death didn’t lord over her or threaten her with the chill of his shadows. The air didn’t pull from her lungs with his nearness. It almost seemed like… like Death was trying to help her.