Arcane Entanglement (The Mage and His Brute #1)

Chapter 51

The letter arrived on a dismal morning, inside a cream envelope that gave no indication as to its unsettling content. Penned in red ink, the polished cursive script was as elegant as it was cold.

“My dear Duke Ravenwood,

I must commend you on your impressive defeat of Caine Renwick. He was a talented pawn, but a pawn nonetheless. You and your Brute have piqued my interest. Rest assured, our paths will cross again. This game is far from over.

Until then, my worthy adversary.

I.”

The thick, cream paper crumpled at the edges as Evander’s grip tightened on it.

It had been a week since he’d received the chilling missive. The forensic mages at the AFD were still no closer to figuring out its origin or the identity of the man who’d written it. There were no magical traces on the letter, nothing to indicate its source or even a single clue as to where the paper and ink had come from.

Rufus and Shaw had wondered briefly if it was a bluff.

Evander had pointed out that Renwick’s identity as the criminal responsible for the incident at Charing Cross had still not been made public. Whoever ‘ I ’ was, he was real.

A sigh distracted him.

“That’s the third time you’ve read that letter in the past fifteen minutes,” Viggo muttered, his large frame filling the plush seat beside Evander.

Their carriage rattled over cobblestones on the way to Belgravia, the enchanted interior dampening the jostling they would have otherwise experienced.

“Forgive me,” Evander murmured apologetically.

He put the correspondence back in its envelope and tucked it inside his coat. They were on their way for afternoon tea with Ginny, following an enigmatic summons that had come the week before.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Viggo clasped his fist where he’d rested it on his knee. “I share your frustration.” His voice hardened. “We’ll find him, don’t worry.” He uncurled Evander’s hand and slipped his fingers through his.

Evander slowly relaxed, the Brute’s warmth seeping into him. He leaned against his lover.

“Have I told you lately how much I like you?”

Viggo grinned. “You screamed it pretty loudly last night.”

It was Evander’s turn to let out a sigh. “Is your mind perpetually in the gutter?”

“When it comes to you, yes,” Viggo said bluntly.

Evander pursed his lips, not sure whether to be annoyed or pleased. There was no denying that they were perfectly matched in the bedroom.

“I still can’t believe you convinced William Millbrook to join the Charm Weavers Guild,” Viggo said thoughtfully.

“It wasn’t that difficult.” Evander glanced outside the window. “He has his father’s talent and passion for the craft. He just needed a gentle push in the right direction.”

It had taken him a few days to convince Martha Millbrook and her son to return to London. With William now officially a guild member, their future in the capital was assured. Still, there was a risk their presence in the city would endanger them once more. Both Nightshade and the Met had assigned men to guard them for the time being.

Evander frowned.

Whoever I is, no one in this city will be safe until we get to the bottom of what he’s after.

Viggo’s troubled voice pulled Evander from his dark thoughts.

“Do you think he can do it? Complete his father’s work and make the countermeasure to the Blood Siphon ?”

The box they had uncovered in the woods outside Harpenden had miraculously survived the train explosion in Charing Cross, thanks in no small part to the protective charms Alastair Millbrook had built into it.

Evander hesitated. “All we can do is trust in him. I know the head of the Charm Weavers Guild. He’ll keep an eye on William and offer him his support.”

Viggo met his gaze steadily. “You believe we’ll need it, don’t you?”

Evander’s jaw tightened. “I hope not. But after everything we’ve seen, everything we’ve learned—we need to be prepared for the worst.”

The carriage turned onto Eaton Square and soon delivered them to Ginny’s townhouse. Viggo eyed the white stucco residence warily as they climbed the steps to the front doors. Though the Brute had gotten used to spending his nights in Evander’s home, the mage could tell he was still uncomfortable when it came to visiting other nobles’ houses.

Viggo tugged his cravat uncomfortably.

“How can you wear this day in, day out?” he grumbled. “I feel like I’m being perpetually throttled.”

Evander perused the Brute critically from his head to his toes, taking in his crisp shirt, royal blue waistcoat, the elegant, brown double-breasted frock coat highlighting his powerful frame, and his polished dress shoes.

He’d taken Viggo to his tailor in Savile Row a few days ago. Viggo had insisted on paying for the outfits Evander had ordered for him, this despite the mage’s protests that he wanted to gift them to the Brute. Evander had surrendered in the end.

Viggo was a proud man after all and Nightshade didn’t exactly lack the funds.

I definitely should avoid taking him to balls. All the ladies will swoon the minute he walks through the doors.

He wrinkled his nose at the thought of the men who might also entertain the idea of taking the Brute for an intimate ride.

“What’s wrong?” Viggo said anxiously. He stared down at himself. “Do I look that bad?”

Evander kicked himself and brushed his hand against the Brute’s knuckles. “Not at all,” he soothed. “I’m just thinking I might have a pest problem if I take you out like this all the time.”

Viggo stared, nonplussed. “What?”

Ginny’s butler answered the door before Evander could elaborate. Viggo tensed.

“Don’t worry,” Evander murmured as they entered the townhouse. “Ginny doesn’t bite.”

“I’ve heard evidence to the contrary,” Viggo grunted. “I’m pretty certain there’s a gentleman in the city missing a chunk of his left ear because of Lady Hartley.”

The butler didn’t bat an eyelid as he ushered them across a grand foyer.

Evander knew the man had seen far worse. Some of Ginny’s visitors struggled to maintain decorum in the face of her charms.

They were escorted into a sumptuous drawing room overlooking a garden.

Sunlight streamed through the large windows, the golden rays highlighting plush, velvet-upholstered furniture in various jewel tones and glinting off the silk threads in the rich, forest green, damask wallpaper.

Ginny rose from the sofa, her eyes sparkling above her cream-coloured day dress.

Ophelia Miller shot to her feet beside her, her expression stilted. The brunette was impeccably dressed, her outfit and accessories matching her blue eyes and highlighting her fair skin.

Ginny touched her hand reassuringly before crossing the room to greet Evander and Viggo.

“Evander.” She smiled and kissed Evander’s cheek warmly before bobbing her head at Viggo with a guarded stare. “Mr. Stonewall, it’s a pleasure to have you in my home.”

“The pleasure is mine,” the Brute said. “And please, call me Viggo.”

Ginny watched him for a beat. Her face relaxed. She grinned and looped one arm through a surprised Viggo’s elbow and the other through a resigned Evander’s.

“I can tell we shall all be great friends,” she said confidently as she guided them to the other side of the room.

“Miss Miller,” Evander greeted with a dip of his chin.

Ophelia bobbed stiffly. “Your Grace.”

“Have you met Miss Miller?” Ginny asked Viggo.

Viggo met Ophelia’s curious stare steadily.

“I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.”

Ophelia’s eyes rounded when Ginny made the introductions.

“You’re the Ironfist Brute?!” she squealed, instantly casting aside her perfect image of a demure, well-bred young lady.

Viggo blinked, startled. “I am.”

To everyone’s shock, Ophelia grabbed her reticule from the sofa and reached frantically inside. She turned and waved a piece of paper and a magic quill under Viggo’s nose.

“I would like your autograph, please.”

Viggo opened and closed his mouth soundlessly.

“What?” the Brute finally mumbled in a dazed voice.

Ginny turned slightly, shoulders quaking on unlady-like snorts. Evander smiled.

Viggo cut his eyes to him beseechingly.

The mage made little effort to mask his delight and amusement.

Ophelia’s jaw set in a determined line as she glanced between them.

“I know full well that you gave Duke Ravenwood’s footman your autograph, Mr. Stonewall,” she said doggedly. “It won’t hurt to give me one too.” She paused and blushed a little. “I am an ardent fan of yours, after all.”

Viggo squinted owlishly. “You are?”

Ophelia ignored his incredulous tone and nodded vigorously.

“I am. It is my long-held wish to visit Nightshade one day and immerse myself in the atmosphere of your guild.”

Viggo’s eyes glazed over a little. Evander exchanged a startled glance with Ginny.

The effect Ophelia would have if she ever stepped foot inside Nightshade made all three of them shudder.

“Let’s revisit that idea another day, shall we?” Ginny said brightly. “How about you give the lady what she wants, Viggo?” She dug an elbow in his ribs.

The Brute hesitated before gingerly signing the note.

Ophelia stared at it like it was treasure before carefully tucking it inside her reticule.

A knock sounded at the door. The butler announced Rufus.

The inspector entered the room. He wore a smart double-breasted frock coat and was fussing with the cufflinks of his dress shirt as he walked in.

“I swear, these things are the devil’s work,” he muttered under his breath. He looked up and arched an irritated eyebrow at Ginny. “So, what’s the momentous occasion that made you invite me here for afternoon—?” He trailed off as his gaze landed on Ophelia.

Rufus froze, his eyes rounding.

Ophelia stared unblinkingly back at the inspector, a delicate blush creeping into her cheeks.

A hush descended on the room as the pair gazed breathlessly at one another.

“Should we leave the two of them alone?” Viggo hissed, sotto voce.

Evander and Ginny surreptitiously stepped on his feet.

The Brute didn’t even wince.