The Demon's Daughter, page 23
They were still arguing over what to eat when they reached the open-air market. The neighboring shops were shuttered, but most of the stalls were set up. They skirted around dusty farm wagons unloading fresh vegetables, past basins of flopping fish, even a loom that had been set up beneath one of the striped awnings. Halfway through the central square, Roxie succumbed to a ruinously expensive bag of Medell cherries, which she would not let Adrian buy. The fruit was garnet-ripe. She made a game of feeding them to Adrian, giggling and whispering lurid promises each time his lips closed on her fingertips.
If she was going to be sex-mad, she’d make certain he was, too.
Adrian knew what she was doing and didn’t mind in the least. Every teasing gesture told him she was his. He was going to have her. Repeatedly. Strenuously. Endlessly. Until she lacked the strength to even dream of taking other men. Maybe he’d use his implants again. She’d seemed to like that the last time. Now that he no longer worked for Securité, he supposed the devices were his to do with as he pleased. At that moment, pleasing Roxie seemed the highest purpose he could conceive.
“You’re going to pay,” he whispered darkly. “I’m going to kiss you from head to toe and tup you until you scream.”
“Braggart,” she whispered back, her eyes twinkling merrily.
He couldn’t resist. Despite the presence of watchers, he hooked one arm behind her neck and kissed her, deeply, wetly, his tongue pushing strongly against hers. Roxie moaned and began to cling. He could feel her warmth through both their sets of clothes. Abruptly desperate to plunge inside her, he wondered if they might sneak beneath the tarp in someone’s wagonbed. Who cared about the risk? As far as he was concerned, the farmer could carry them back to Medell. Not that it would take that long the first time. From the feel of her squirms, minutes would be enough for them both. God, he needed to have her. His entire body pounded with lust.
Distantly, he was aware of someone calling his name. Since it wasn’t Roxie, he ignored the voice. It took her taking hold of his ears and tugging to make him stop.
“What?” he asked plaintively.
Roxie tipped her head meaningfully toward the right. When Adrian saw who stood there, he nearly choked.
“Hullo, son,” said his father, doffing his tweed cap and rubbing it confusedly along the part in his salt-and-pepper hair. True to form, his mother wasn’t half as diplomatic.
“Well.” Her hands bracketed the waist of her narrow skirt. “This must be the girl who’s making you lose sleep!”
Anger set a pulse ticking in his temple. Did his mother have to let everything that came into her head burst out her mouth? Then he felt Roxie’s nails digging into his coat sleeve. The evidence of her distress encouraged him to compose himself.
“Mother. Dad.” He transferred a cherry pit to his pocket. The paper bag that held the fruit crackled in Roxie’s hand. Poor thing. She could sing her heart out in front of a roomful of drunken sailors, but the thought of meeting one middle-aged couple gave her the shakes. He slung his arm around her. “This is my friend, Roxanne McAllister. Roxanne, meet my parents, Varya and Isaac Philips.”
“Nice to meet you,” said his father, staring pop-eyed at her ankle-baring trousers.
“Likewise,” said his mother, who grinned with a bit more relish than Adrian found comfortable.
Unable to guess what that grin really meant, Roxie’s tremors increased. Adrian could imagine what she was thinking. Never mind openmouthed kissing in a public place, being found in the company of a woman this early in the morning could only mean one thing—at least to people like his parents. That they were not ordinary parents went right over Roxie’s head.
“Don’t suppose you’d like to have breakfast with us,” ventured his father, squinting vaguely at the cloud-flecked sky.
“We ate,” said Roxie.
“We’d love to,” said Adrian.
“We’d love to,” he repeated, stroking her sleeve and ignoring her silent plea. Maybe the timing wasn’t perfect, but he wanted her to understand he was ready to face a horde of parents on her behalf. He would ask her to marry him at some point. And then, God and Roxie willing, Varya and Isaac would be her in-laws. Might as well get used to the horror now.
“Wonderful,” said his mother in an alarmingly pleasant tone. “I’m sure we have lots to talk about.”
Oh, boy, thought Adrian. Here we go.
Roxie didn’t want to think what she looked like after a night of drinking and falling out of cars. She’d never been this aware of her difference from normal folk, which Adrian’s parents quite obviously were. Adrian’s mother made her feel like a giantess—and a demon giantess, at that. Varya’s hands were dolllike, her waist as trim as a twelve-year-old’s. And could she talk! Roxie had never heard anyone talk as much as Adrian’s mother. The woman hardly paused for breath. Her own mother, La Belle Yvonne, would have given much to perfect that trick.
Adrian’s father, Isaac, appeared used to his wife’s conversational habits. He gazed distractedly around the small awning-covered eatery, smoothed his napkin, poked the coals in the nearest brazier. Though he smiled at the rest of the table occasionally, for the most part, he looked as though he weren’t all there. Despite this, she couldn’t help noticing how handsome he was. If this was an indication of how Adrian would age, he’d be stirring her blood for years to come.
Assuming he stuck around.
Needing reassurance, she slipped her hand under the checkered oilcloth and laid it on his thigh. He squeezed her wrist, perhaps to soothe her nerves but maybe in warning. The latter possibility put a devil into her mind. How dare he worry that she’d embarrass him? He could do that all by himself. In fact, he had done it. If it weren’t for his insistence on accepting his father’s invitation—probably because he was too embarrassed to refuse—they’d be home now in her bed. Keeping her eyes on his chattering mother, she slid her little finger into the crease between his leg and torso, then dragged her nail over the swell of his testicle.
His groin warmed flatteringly at her touch. Curious as to whether his self-proclaimed cockstand had survived his parents’ appearance, she hooked her pinky to the left. My, yes, he was definitely sporting a ridge, a ridge that was growing bigger by the second. The fine wool that contained him tautened until there wasn’t one fold left. Feeling rather taut herself, she added more fingers and squeezed. To her immense gratification, he proved superior to the pressure. His length was such that her hand couldn’t cover the entire span. She consoled herself by enclosing the arch in a snug half-fist.
“Down,” he hissed through his teeth, his tone a trifle too close to the way one would scold a dog.
“As you wish,” she agreed and dragged her fist to his crown.
Pushed well past his limit, he coughed repressively and tried to elbow her arm away.
“Are you ill, Adrian?” asked his mother, rerouting her prattle without the least sign of strain. “I always say you don’t take proper care of yourself. A winter cold is a terrible thing.”
She turned to Roxie and smiled confidingly, woman to woman. “He works too hard, you know. That supervisor of his can’t do without him. But I say, if he wears Adrian out, then where will he be?”
Roxie shot a look at Adrian. Did he want to break the news about getting fired? Not now, he mouthed, his face tightening. Roxie wasn’t surprised. Could anything be harder than kicking himself off his parents’ pedestal? Anxious to soothe, or at least distract him, she slipped one finger between his trouser buttons. Perspiration, nervous and otherwise, had plastered down his linens, but with a little maneuvering she managed to reach bare skin.
“Lunatic,” he whispered, an inch from her ear. Roxie didn’t think he meant it. In contradiction to his words, his hand now covered hers. He was, truth be told, squeezing her closer. Their eyes locked, both hot, both glittering. Adrian might not realize it, but he was daring her to go on.
“Don’t,” he ordered through gritted teeth, but he still wasn’t pulling her off.
“Very well,” she said, because even she had limits. She did, however, leave her hand where it was.
Oblivious to her son’s dilemma, Varya babbled on about his lack of concern for his own well-being.
“Now, you, Roxie,” she said, “you look sturdy enough to keep him in line. Not like that first wife of his, that Christine. What a pale little flower she was! You’d have thought the first breeze would blow her away.”
Varya’s voice faded beneath the sudden ringing in Roxie’s ears. That first wife of his, that Christine? Dimly, she heard Adrian choke back a protest as she clamped onto a sensitive portion of his anatomy. She barely felt him prying her fingers loose. Her attention was completely caught by her own horror.
A wife. Adrian had a wife? Was he still married? No, his mother had said his first wife. So that meant widowhood or divorce. Unless he was married again? With a bone-deep shudder, she shook off that alternative. Varya wouldn’t have been this friendly if Adrian had another wife. More to the point, she didn’t think Adrian capable of that much duplicity.
Only of failing to mention a little thing like a marriage.
But why should he mention it to her? Who was she? Someone he slept with on occasion, someone without even as formal an arrangement as most mistresses had. What if he did want to live with her? She had no right to expect him to share his past. She set the rules for their relationship the minute she let him into her bed.
Pleasure was all she’d asked for, and pleasure was what she got. In strict point of fact, she’d gotten more.
I deserve more, she protested to herself. No matter what I said out loud. No matter if I did chase him.
“You’ll be there, won’t you?” his mother was saying, snapping Roxanne’s face back into focus.
Roxie stared at her slack-jawed.
“There, there, dear.” Varya reached across the table to pat her hand. “There’s no need to look so surprised by the invitation. I know matters are…somewhat irregular between you and my son, but we are on the cusp of a new century. As long as you and Adrian intend to treat each other with respect, I don’t see why his father and I can’t attempt to be modern. After all, there’s no telling whether you’ll want to do it up proper someday. Don’t you agree, dear?”
On being addressed directly, Adrian’s father turned his weather-worn blue gaze toward Roxie, his smile both undemanding and kind. Under other circumstances, it would have warmed her. This morning, she was so distressed she could scarcely comprehend what his wife had said.
“That’s enough, Mother.” Adrian’s voice was soft but firm. He laid his hand on Roxie’s neck beneath her braid and squeezed the knotted tendons there. He might have been strangling her for all the good it did.
“Did I say something wrong?” Varya’s eyes were glinting with sudden tears.
“I think Roxie is a bit overwhelmed.”
“Yes,” she agreed faintly because she knew she couldn’t sit there like a stone, even if her tongue did feel as thick and slow as when she’d been drugged. “Just a bit.”
“But you’ll bring her to the baby’s welcoming, won’t you?” Varya’s mouth quivered as Adrian tugged Roxie from her seat. She looked genuinely stricken. Roxie was confused by a sudden urge to comfort the woman. “You know everyone would love to see you. I’m sure they’d do everything possible to make Miss McAllister feel at home.”
“We’ll see,” Adrian said, hugging Roxanne protectively to his side.
But it wasn’t his mother she needed protection from. She felt numb as he led her back to the market square. She’d thought she was coming to mean more to him. He’d as much as said he didn’t want her seeing other men. He’d lost his job over her, over Charles and Max. Sadly, his feelings appeared to run just so deep and no deeper. He didn’t want her in his parents’ house. He didn’t want her meeting his siblings.
Frowning, she let him steer her to the stone jetty behind the spice carts. He urged her to sit. The crowds were beginning to thicken with wives and servants. Here, behind the business side of things, no one would pay them any mind. Heaven forbid they should make a scene.
Clearly, Adrian had had enough of doing that.
He stood before her, stroking her cheek with his knuckles. “I’m sorry, Roxie. My mother rarely thinks before she speaks. I hope she didn’t embarrass you too badly.”
Roxie looked at her hands. That other woman wore his ring, she thought. She was Mrs. Philips.
“I’m afraid she is usually like that,” Adrian said, “but you’ll get used to it eventually.”
“Will I?” she asked, surprised by how calm she sounded. “And will I get used to the fact that you were married, too?”
“Roxanne.” He sat beside her on the wall and wrapped her hand between his own. “Let me explain.”
“No.” She pulled her hand away. “I don’t want to hear. It’s perfectly obvious I’m not important enough to be entrusted with the most basic facts of your personal history.”
“That’s not true!” He circled her with both arms. “You’re very important. You’re everything to me.” His voice sank, roughened by emotion. “I love you.”
She wanted to believe him, but who knew what he meant by those words? As far as she could tell, the only thing he stood to lose was an interesting bed partner.
Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because his mouth tightened with anger. “It isn’t fair of you to doubt me,” he said. “I might not have told you all the gory details of my past, but I never gave you reason to question my word.”
“Haven’t you?”
“No, I haven’t. Everything I’ve ever promised I’ve done. My failure to be completely forthright might prove I’m cowardly, but not that I’m dishonest. For God’s sake, I wanted you to meet my parents. Would I have done that if I weren’t serious?”
“You wanted me to meet them? I thought you were just too dutiful to refuse.”
“Hardly,” he said with a muffled snort, “as you’ll discover once you get to know me a bit better.”
“But—”
“You’re arguing,” he said, the corners of his mouth beginning to turn up. “You shouldn’t do that with a man in love.”
She pressed her steepled hands to her lips, feeling dangerously close to tears. Before she could collect the power to speak, Adrian stiffened.
“Hell,” he said, his gaze narrowing at something on the lower end of the street. “Our little demon friends are back.”
Chapter 23
The finest victories are won without ever drawing one’s sword.
—The Collected Sayings of the Emperor
When Roxanne would have turned, Adrian caught her arm.
“Don’t look,” he cautioned, low and steady. “I don’t want them knowing they’ve been seen.”
Not turning seemed the hardest thing she’d ever done, but she forced herself to hold Adrian’s warm gray gaze. “How many are there?”
“Four.” As if nothing were wrong, he stood and smiled down at her. “Unfortunately, I can’t guarantee the other two aren’t around somewhere. I’m going to help you up now. It’s broad daylight, and there are plenty of witnesses. You and I are going to stroll calmly to the next watch post, where we’ll enlist the aid of the sergeant on duty.”
“What if no one’s there?” Roxie asked as he tucked her arm through his and began to walk.
Adrian’s smile twisted grimly. “If no one’s there, we’ll throw caution to the winds and run.”
Roxie didn’t want to remind him only one of them could outrace a demon, not when he was working so hard to calm her. But perhaps he planned to throw her over his shoulder and carry her to safety like the fire brigade. The thought tweaked her humor, though she was too uneasy to laugh. Her neck felt stiff, her hands icy.
They turned up a narrow street, one that led away from the river. The pavement was worn but swept, kept clean by the local shopkeepers. Every window they passed tempted her to check for their followers’ reflections. As they passed one filled with sausages, Adrian hugged her arm.
“They’re still behind us,” he murmured, though she couldn’t tell how he’d seen. “They’re holding back. They must not know we’ve spotted them.”
A dog barked territorially from an alley, not a stray but a good-sized pet, straining to the end of the rope that held it bound. Its teeth looked sharp. Roxie wondered which species the canine would prefer to bite. Whichever was closer, most likely.
“Just a bit farther,” Adrian said. “Then we’re home free.”
His claim had no chance to be tested. As they approached the next cross street, an electric automobile rolled slowly into the intersection, its engine eerily silent. Once there, it stopped. Long as a hearse and just as black, the car’s soundless appearance filled Roxie with foreboding. The car did not look like a vehicle human hands had made. It was too shiny and perfect, too regular and smooth. In place of windows, its sides had small round mirrors. Whoever sat inside could not be seen.
Adrian stopped and rubbed his chin, obviously stymied by this behemoth blocking their way.
“This isn’t good,” Roxie said.
“Don’t panic,” Adrian said. “We’ll try going around.”
He was beginning to peer down the cross street when a hollow sound brought both their attention back. A door had opened in the black car’s previously seamless side. Her father’s leonine head leaned out, his hair blazing incongruously in the sun. His face was blank but oddly urgent, or perhaps Roxanne imagined the urgency. No doubt she felt enough of it for them both.
“Hurry,” Herrington said, gesturing. “Get in before they catch up.”
Roxie retreated instead, looking back the way they’d come. To her dismay, the other daimyo were at the bottom of the street, still wearing their navy and gray rohn robes. They had stopped in their tracks, not speaking, not reacting. Perhaps they couldn’t decide what to do any more than she.
