Duke of Desire (Maiden Lane #12)(58)

Raphael inclined his head.

The other man looked nervous. “And where is he now?”

“Hell,” Raphael replied succinctly.

“Damn me,” Andrew muttered, the blood draining from his face. “He must’ve been acting on the Dionysus’s orders.”

“Obviously.”

“We did try to warn you.”

Raphael shrugged and took a sip of wine.

Andrew watched him, his eyes wide. “Good Lord, man, aren’t you frightened? He can have half a dozen men sent to kill you without lifting a finger.”

“The Dionysus is a man like any other,” Raphael said. “Which means he has to communicate with his assassins in some way. Could either your brother or Leland have sent a message to the Dionysus after you saw me?”

“I … I don’t see how …” Andrew frowned as his voice trailed away. “Of course we did stop for meals and for the night at various inns. It wasn’t as if I kept a constant eye on them. We didn’t even share a room.” He swallowed, staring down at his half-eaten beefsteak. “I’ve never liked staying in the same room with Gerald. Not since we were boys.” He glanced up, his eyes not quite meeting Raphael’s gaze. “Well, you know why.”

Raphael felt his chest contract as if a hand were squeezing his lungs.

Carefully, slowly he lifted his wineglass again to his lips.

He couldn’t taste the wine.

“Perhaps you don’t remember,” Andrew was saying now, his voice soft, almost a whisper. “You left when you were only a boy. Right after the initiation. But I had to stay with them, my father and brother and the Lords. For years. Until … until I grew too old, I suppose.” He grabbed for his wineglass and gulped the contents before refilling the glass and shooting a shaky smile at Raphael. “But that’s all in the past, isn’t it?”

Raphael stared at Andrew, wondering if he looked as broken as that.

He set his glass down. “So either Gerald or Leland could’ve sent a message to the Dionysus.”

“Yes … possibly.” Andrew had his brows drawn together, thinking. “It doesn’t make sense, though, does it? The Dionysus would then have to contact Dockery and send him after you. It seems terribly unlikely. Even if he traveled by horse, it would’ve taken him days to catch up, surely.” He looked up. “What night were you attacked?”

Raphael frowned. “The second.”

Andrew waved a hand. “There, you see? I can’t comprehend how it could have been done.”

Raphael narrowed his eyes. “Unless one of you is the Dionysus.”

The other man’s mouth curved in a wobbling smile. “You jest. Gerald isn’t the Dionysus and Leland is a follower, not a leader. As for me …” Andrew’s face gave an odd twist. “Well, it’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Raphael watched him closely. “Why? The Dionysus must be someone who longs for power. Someone who behind the mask is powerless. You fit that notion rather nicely.”

Andrew blinked rapidly. “You’re joking.”

“Have you ever seen beneath the Dionysus’s mask?”

“No, of course not,” Andrew answered automatically. “No one has.”

Raphael nodded. “And are you with your brother at the revels? Or with Leland? Are you ever separated?”

Andrew looked away, nervously fiddling with his wineglass. “I don’t attend with Gerald. Ever. But yes, I often see Leland. He wears the mole mask. Gerald is the Stag … though I didn’t see him at the last revelry …” The other man’s brows were drawn together as if he was considering for the first time if his elder brother could really be the Dionysus.

It would take a man with steady nerves, a man cunning and sly, to deceive his own brother.

But then Raphael knew that the Dionysus, whoever he was, was a particularly clever and evil man.

“And you?” Raphael asked.

“What?”

“Your mask. What do you wear?”

“The rat.” Andrew glanced down, a corner of his mouth quirking up. “Our father gave Gerald and me our masks, and they reflected his differing opinions of us.” He looked up, and his entire face seemed to fall for a moment. “Father never thought I would amount to much, and Gerald has the same opinion.”

Raphael felt his jaw tighten as he looked at the other man’s broken eyes. The scent of cedarwood seemed to drift in the air, and he was moving before he gave it conscious thought.

His chair screeched against the hardwood floor.

Andrew jerked his head up.

Raphael nodded. “It seems I need to talk to your brother.”

“Wait—” Andrew called behind him.

But Raphael was already striding out.

He could no longer stay in that room, hemmed in by the memories of a broken boy.





Chapter Twelve




Seven days and seven nights Ann stayed at the tower. She found within it a pot that always bubbled, full of stew, and a jar that always stayed full of sweet, cool water. In the morning she would walk around the tower, searching the horizon to the north, and finally on the eighth day she saw the Rock King returning.…

—From The Rock King