Wolfe held out his arm, locking his hand around Keir’s wrist. “Take care. I’ll see you in a few days, cockroach.”
At the door, Keir turned back. “Keep her safe.”
“Always.”
Keir left, shut the door between him and the people who had become his family over the last decade. He didn’t doubt Wolfe’s drive to keep the lady breathing. Hell, no one loved Arianne more than the captain, not even him. He’d just needed to hear the promise in Wolfe’s words, for the simple fact that he couldn’t shake the uneasiness growing in his stomach.
Standing frozen in the lady’s empty hallway, he scowled at the royal tapestry covering the far wall. He’d always hated that hideous image of twisting fat leaves and tiny birds, and hoped he would return to hate it again. Where demons walked, death followed. If those creatures ran loose in Paris or Balinese, he might not return whole, if at all. He needed to see someone before he left the city.
Sliding easily back into Spirit, he traveled the short distance to Sterling, a cluster of homes on the highest level of the city belonging to the wealthiest noblemen. Wide hallways, bright white and pristine, had a surprisingly cozy feeling due to the gold-trimmed arches spanning wall to wall every twenty feet.
He’d been here several times over the years, always in Spirit, his feet never touching the expensive carpet. The first time he’d ventured here, he’d followed an assassin into this rich community. The man had been a servant, trusted enough to live within the home of an aristocrat named Pax Legard. He’d watched Legard and others who lived in Sterling for years. All evidence suggested the assassin had struck completely of his own will, and as so many assassins had come and gone since then, he let his suspicions fall away from Legard and Sterling.
Morley had been Legard’s servant, and that led Keir back to Sterling. When and if he returned from Balinese, he’d watch Legard closely. That, of course, meant keeping an eye on the rest of them. It was practically tradition for those who lived in Sterling to keep amongst themselves. Even the children seemed more a passel of allies than actual friends.
The certainty of once again monitoring Sterling set him on edge, and not for the right reasons. He should be geared up to take head counts in the daytime, track individuals throughout the night, eavesdrop on conversations. Nope. He only wanted to see Cleo again, and that’s why he’d come here tonight.
Stopping outside Legard’s double doors, he could just make out the buzz of conversation. With little effort, he slipped through the wall. At least three of the four major families were here. The women sat near the fireplace sipping tea. The men he couldn’t see, but their rumbling laughter came from another room. Legard’s son was older and would be among them.
Keir stayed close to the door, that outer wall a necessity for a quick escape if needed. The spot gave him a perfect view of Cleo. She’d pinned her black hair up and away from her face, leaving long, sweeping curls to fall down her back and over her shoulders. Nose in her needlepoint, she feigned disinterest, easily fooling the other women, but he didn’t miss her uneasy glances over the embroidered cloth. Her wrist twisted gracefully as she pulled the thread through.
“Oh, enough already,” Cleo’s mother whispered, plunking a blue and white teacup on the table beside her hard enough that the contents sloshed over the side and onto the saucer. “We’re not here to further your craft.”
Paulette Skeffington joined in, never one to pass up the chance to ridicule another. Peering down her nose at Cleo, she lifted her aged brow. “She works on her sewing as if it would help her catch a husband.”
Setting her teacup down, Jillaine Legard opened her mouth to speak, then stopped and adjusted the teacup a quarter turn clockwise. Picking up the teacup again, she said, “There’s nothing wrong with perfecting a skill.”
Jillaine’s young daughter seemed oblivious to the negative undertones. Melisande sighed, the intent wistful, but the product over-dramatic. “Oh, Cleopatra. There are so many handsome gentlemen willing to spoil you. Why haven’t you picked one yet?”
“None have suited me,” Cleopatra said, her gentle voice barely carrying across the room.
“It’s a tiring excuse.” Her mother shook her head slowly, then, ignoring Cleo, spoke to the other women. “It angers her father and crushes my soul. I can’t have another child because of complications with her, you know. All I want is to hold my grandchildren, but she won’t oblige. I swear she’d die in the sun just to cheat me out of children twice.”
Cleopatra Bellamont stood, and Keir straightened at the same time. Cleo wasn’t an only child by choice. Damn. He hadn’t known.
She gripped her sewing project tight in her hand, the needle dangling at the end of the thread. Her beautiful eyes had come to life, hinting at the courage she hid from them. The three elder women waited expectantly, Jillaine on edge, the other two wearing snide smiles. Would she finally stand up for herself, demand the respect she was due, and put them in their place?
Cleopatra ducked her head and mumbled, “Excuse me.”
Edging around the table, she headed toward the door, toward him. Her head might have been held high, but her hand trembled as she reached for the doorknob. She was falling apart.
He followed her stiff and steady march down the carpeted corridor. He’d seen a similar reaction from her when her father had confined her to the upper levels years ago, and at his rash dismissal of her servants, and over the disappearance of her cousin. All one-time events back when he’d been monitoring Sterling. This was different. Her mother’s verbal digs had unraveled her.
She entered her home, quietly closing the door behind her. Keir slipped through the wall, not knowing what to do, but not willing to leave her alone in this state. She dropped her sewing on a long, decorative table without glancing back. The hoop teetered on the edge. Opposite the fireplace was a black baby grand piano, and she sat, neatly arranging her gown around the bench.
When angry, some women pointed fingers, others threw fits. Cleo gave her frustrations over to music, letting it all pour into a single song. Always the same song. He’d never known her to practice. She didn’t play for her parents, for parties, or even Lady Arianne. Her fingers only touched the keys when her raw emotions needed an outlet. This was her therapy.
“In the Hall of the Mountain King” started slow, the low notes bouncing around, putting into his head an image of someone sneaking around in the dark. Higher notes joined, adding a lighter, more playful layer. Soon her fingers flew over the keys, the increased tempo stealing every ounce of her focus. Beginning to end, she played the song over and over. She hit the keys hard as the song neared the end of its sixth round, rocking forward and throwing her weight into the jarring combination of harsh, angry notes.
When she finally stopped, Cleo sat in the silence, stared over the length of the piano until something inside her broke. Her hand flew to her mouth, too late to muffle the sob that escaped. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she gave up the fight. Crossing her arms over the piano, she buried her face into the crook of her elbow and cried, hard sobs jerking her shoulders.
In the past he’d watched her drop her problems at the piano, as if she’d brushed them all off her shoulders. This wrenching grief that followed was new, unsettling. Cleo was his light, the one thing that kept him believing that kindness and compassion existed. She gave him hope.
He could watch her for hours, and in fact had on several occasions. She liked to meet Arianne for breakfast, and Keir would have little choice but to listen to their conversations, her stories, and her laughter. Cleo’s smile chased away the death and deceit surrounding his soul, and he’d come to crave a daily dose, seeking her out on days she didn’t get a chance to connect with Arianne.
Keir knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t smile tonight, not with her heart so thoroughly trampled. Leaving her like this hurt, but nothing could be done. Cleo lived in a very different world. And Keir? Well, he didn’t really live at all. He existed to preserve the lady’s life. Nothing