Dancing With Danger (Goode Girls #3) - Kerrigan Byrne Page 0,62

an international incident, besides.” He gave the Duchesse a starched bow of deference.

“Merci,” she replied.

Morley turned to gaze down at Felicity, his expression troubled to find her in the arms of one of the largest, most brutal men in Christendom. “Fainted, did she?”

Mercy nodded. “I’m afraid so.” She brushed her hand over the little curls at her sister’s temple, wondering if hers felt so downy soft. “Marco Villenueve terrorized her. He...he struck her.”

“When we find him, I’ll fucking kill him,” Morley said darkly, surprising even her with his vehemence.

At that, Gabriel’s neck snapped up, revealing some of his ruined lip to the torchlight.

It was Raphael who spoke, however. “I assumed he was killed in the fall down the stairs. He was a crumpled heap of bones.”

Morley shook his head. “No one has been able to locate him, alas, he’s quite disappeared.”

A prickling at the back of Mercy’s neck told her that to stand near Gabriel was possibly the most dangerous place to be at the moment.

Fury rolled off his shoulders in palpable waves.

And yet, he unfurled to stand without even jostling his burden, limping slightly as he offered Felicity into Morley’s care. “It is your face she should see when she wakes,” he said.

Morley took Felicity, eliciting a groan from the woman. “There we are. You’re all right.”

“You’re bleeding.” Mercy pointed to a pool that’d gathered where Gabriel had sat against the wall, the liquid gleaming like spilled ink in the firelight.

Gabriel only rolled his shoulder in a rather Gallic shrug, until Raphael checked the pool for himself, and found drops of blood along the path his brother had tread.

“Where are you hurt?” he demanded, clutching at his brother’s coat.

“It’s nothing,” the man growled, reverting back to his native tongue.

“That amount of blood is not nothing, you fucking lunatic, now tell me. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“Stop fussing, little brother.” Gabriel shrugged him off. “The hospital is where I’m headed anyway...it’ll just be another scar.”

“We’ll accompany you,” Raphael offered, jerking back a little when his brother held up a hand against him.

“No,” he said fiercely. “I have my carriage. The plan hasn’t changed, Raphael, so you must go. And if you do something impetuous and get yourself killed, I’ll follow you into the afterlife and make your eternity a living hell.”

“Brothers.” The Duchesse made an amused sound that no one seemed to mark.

“I will meet you.” Gabriel thrust a finger at his brother. “London isn’t safe for you to show your face anymore.”

Raphael stormed forward in protest. “But how can I—”

“Ca suffit, Raphael!” he snarled, causing everyone to start. That’s enough. His enormous shoulders sagged, and he placed a hand against the wall as if he needed it to hold him up for a moment. “Just let this be easy for once. Let me not have to fight. I’m so fucking tired of fighting. Just...go. So I can follow. Vive la vie.”

Live life.

Mercy held her breath as she watched Raphael do the same, she watched the war wage within him. Love and worry for his brother, the need to survive...

Finally, he nodded. “Vive la vie.”

The leviathan paused for an imperceptible moment and Mercy thought his gaze might have shifted back to Felicity.

It was impossible not to have soft feelings for her sister, even for a man as hard as he.

Finally, he strode away so straight and tall, one might not even notice the drops of blood he left behind.

The shadows seemed to welcome him as one of their own, and Mercy stared into them long after his shape had disappeared.

Not because of the man who’d slid into their embrace, but because of the man behind her. The one whose embrace she craved the very most.

The one who was leaving.

Suddenly she wished the world would disappear, so she could give him a proper goodbye.

“Raphael.” It was the Duchesse who said his name. “Gabriel told me that you two have Mathilde’s ashes. That you have booked tickets to take her to places that were special. Places that we—she and I—were planning to visit together.”

Needing to see him, Mercy turned and found his eyes upon her even as he replied to the Duchesse. “That was...on our itinerary, yes.”

She stepped forward, a proud woman unused to asking for favors. “It seems providential, don’t you think, that she and I were planning on taking my ship around the world. That we were going to lose ourselves, or perhaps find ourselves in foreign ports. If you are in need of losing yourself as well...I think