Her Dark Curiosity (The Madman’s Daughter #2)(42)
Author: Megan Shepherd

Three slash marks.

I glanced at Montgomery and saw my fears confirmed in his face—three slash marks meant the Beast.

Apparently we weren’t the only person who noticed that particular detail, because once Mrs. Radcliffe’s shock wore off, she started screaming, “The Wolf! It was the Wolf!”

“The Wolf is here!” a woman in the crowd yelled behind me. “Run!”

My imagination started churning. I pictured blood pouring out beneath torn flesh, pooling on the floor, staining everyone’s fine dancing shoes. The blood just kept coming until the dance floor was covered, choking the quartet’s instruments, spilling out in a waterfall over the balcony into the garden where Montgomery and I had stood.

Montgomery grabbed my arm, and the hallucination disappeared. I prayed a fit wasn’t coming on, here in public and at such a terrible time, and massaged the joints of my knuckles. Everyone was screaming, grabbing their belongings, hurrying for the front door. “He’s toying with us,” Montgomery said. “I’ve got to get you out of here.”

The room churned with panic. In the turmoil someone smashed into the enormous Christmas tree at my side. Strong hands pulled me out of the way a second before it crashed to the ground, glass ornaments shattering, igniting another round of screams.

I turned to thank the person who’d pulled me out of the way. A massive man, and young, judging by his dark hair, though a red mask hid his face from me—all except for his eyes. My lips parted as I saw their deep yellow glow.

The Beast.

I screamed for Montgomery, but my voice was lost in the chaos as everyone ran for the door. I looked around frantically and caught a glimpse of him thirty feet away, helping a woman who’d been trapped under the enormous Christmas tree. But he didn’t see me, and the Beast dug his knobby fingers into my arm and pulled me in the opposite direction everyone else was running.

I twisted my wrist, but I was powerless against him without a weapon. He pulled me into the doorway leading toward the rear halls and pushed my back against the hallway, in the shadows where we’d be overlooked.

“I’ll kill you for what you’ve done,” I seethed.

“I think that quite unlikely,” he said in that inhumanly deep voice. “You’ve had two chances to kill me and you haven’t.”

“Only because Edward inhabits this body too. Now let me go. If Montgomery sees you . . .”

A laugh came from deep in his throat, and I was glad for the mask that hid the face that was and wasn’t Edward at the same time.

“You mean Moreau’s hunting dog? He’s certainly nothing I fear, and from what I saw in the garden, it seems he means nothing to you, either.” He leaned in close enough that I could feel his unnatural heat, as though a powerful fever burned from within. “You spurned his advances, my love.”

I twisted to look back to the crowd, but it was still chaotic, still filled with screams, and Montgomery nowhere.

“You didn’t want his kisses, did you? You wanted mine,” growled the Beast, low and seductive.

He leaned forward as though to kiss me, and I shoved him hard, but he only laughed, a game between two lovers, and pinned me against the wall. The corset ribbing stabbed into me, and I pressed a hand to my stomach. The Beast felt the stiff corset too, and whispered, “You don’t belong like this, trussed up. Like me, you’re too wild to be caged. Why don’t you take it off?”

Hearing those same words Edward had once spoken, in his innocence, only made the pain sharper. I gritted my teeth. For the first time I noticed a small handful of mistletoe hung from a red ribbon over our heads.

“It’s my lips you want to feel, isn’t it?” he breathed.

I felt his breath closer, smelling of rum and meat, so unlike Edward.

“My love,” he said, drawing the word out as though he could taste it, as though he yearned to swallow it whole.

Now.

I dug my elbow into the place beneath his rib where I’d stabbed him the night before. He howled in pain as I pulled away, restricted in my stiff clothes, frantically stumbling back into the ballroom. The fallen Christmas tree spanned the entire room, cutting me off from the doorway.

“Juliet!”

Montgomery stood on the stairs, searching the crowd for me. I raced toward him as he rushed down the stairs and climbed over the fallen fir tree in a few graceful movements.

“The Beast found me,” I panted. “I wounded him, but it won’t slow him down for long.”

“Long enough, I hope.” He grabbed my hands and helped to pull me over the Christmas tree, which smelled of rich sap from broken branches that pulled at my silk dress. I tore the skirts away, freeing myself, and once my feet were on the polished floor again he pulled me toward the door. I caught a glimpse of Lucy’s green satin dress bent over her mother, with Inspector Newcastle standing close to protect her.

“I can’t leave Lucy here,” I breathed.

“She’ll be safe. He’s not after her.” Montgomery pulled me to my feet, ready to drag me out despite my protests. Lucy turned at the last moment and saw me. Her frightened lips parted, and I thought of how I wished more than anything that she wasn’t wrapped up in this.

But before I could call to her, Montgomery pulled me away toward the door. His blond hair had come loose and he looked half wild, a savage amidst royalty. “Juliet, we must go now!”

I had only a second to look at Lucy. “Stay close to John,” I yelled. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I’m sorry—”

She was swallowed by the crowd. Montgomery’s hand tightened over mine as he pushed through the partygoers toward the grand entrance.

“Did he hurt you?” Montgomery asked.

“He tried to kiss me.”

Montgomery threw me an alarmed look as we raced up the staircase among the masked people. We moved so fast I had to raise my skirts practically to my knees.

We reached the top of the stairs and hurried out with the rest of the finely dressed guests. The night was freezing. It was late enough that no carriages were out save the ones belonging to the attendees, too early for the bakers and early-morning vendors. Montgomery picked a direction and started down the street at a quick pace. I had to jog in my tight slippers to keep up with him.

As we were dashing away from Lucy’s house, my slippers soaked and torn, I realized I still had pollen from the little white flower under my fingernails.

I wiped the pollen off on my dress. I’d been a fool to keep the first flower. Now Lucy—and Elizabeth, and everyone at that party—was in danger. Would I find one of their names in the newspapers the next morning, listed among the Wolf of Whitechapel’s victims?