Page 55 of Freeing Hook

The couple leads us into the parlor, and after half an hour of chatting about things of no importance over tea, Astor begins tapping on the cedar armrest of the loveseat they insisted the newlyweds share. “As you well know, my wife and I are not here simply for a social call.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Astor might mock me for being an heiress, but at least I learned tact. “What my husband means is that we’ve spent our entire journey hoping, desperately really, that you might be able to help us. We’re quite in love, you see,” I say, taking Astor’s hand from where it’s resting on his knee next to me. I imagine it’s taking every morsel of self-control in him not to flinch underneath my touch, but slowly, he sinks into the role of adoring husband and begins stroking my fingers, as if lost in thought.

I ignore the way my skin heats under his touch, even with the satin of my gloves separating us.

“Yes,” says Lord Carlisle, crossing his foot over his knee as he leans backward in his chair. “We have to admit, we were a tad surprised to hear a couple so acclaimed for their ardent loveneeded our help. Usually, people come to us a few years into marriage.”

“You mean when the love dwindles and one spouse is looking to undo the other with a secret?” Astor asks, his fingers tensing in my hand.

Lady Carlisle purses her lips through her smile. “That is typically the case, but we expect it will not be for the two of you. Especially considering you’ve come here together.”

“I assure you I’m not the type of husband to betray my wife,” says Astor, and though I wait for him to feign adoration for me, he keeps his stare level with Lord Carlisle’s. I wonder how often Astor has to repeat those words to himself as he’s planning to rid himself of his Mating Mark, the last strand of magic that binds him to his dead wife.

I wonder how much unnecessary guilt plagues him.

“Our problem, you see,” I interject, pinching Astor lightly in an attempt to get him to behave, “is that my husband and I are both Mated.”

“So we can see,” says Lady Carlisle, her blue eyes dangling on my Mating Mark ravenously. “I must say, I’m a tad envious. Not only has the idea of a Mated Pair always stolen my heart, but those golden freckles of yours are quite fashionable. I imagine, now that you’ve gained a Lady’s status, girls from all over will be painting their faces to look like yours.”

I try not to wriggle uncomfortably. It’s easier than it should be.

“The problem is—”

“We’re not each other’s Mates,” the captain says, finishing my sentence hastily. Like he’s been waiting this entire visit to clear the air on this matter. I wonder how much it’s been killing him to masquerade as if his Mark belongs to me, not to the woman he so obviously adores, even in death.

Lord Carlisle glances between my freckles and Astor’s Mark. The captain has kept his sleeves covering his forearm, so the only part of the Mark visible is the portion that still glows gold. From here, his Mark appears as alive as ever.

“I had been wondering why they don’t match,” Lord Carlisle says. “Though now you’ve assuaged my curiosity.”

“We want them gone,” I say.

The lady quirks her head, but she purses her lips and says nothing. I try to avoid her assessing gaze.

“Yes, I see how those could complicate matters should you ever come across your true…” He stops, reconsidering his word choice. “Those with Mating Marks to match,” says Lord Carlisle, folding his hands together.

“So you’ll help us?” I say.

Lord Carlisle strokes the ebony vase resting on the side table next to his seat. “That depends. Exactly what is it that you want to know? The process to remove a Mating Mark?”

“That is unnecessary,” says Astor, freeing his hand of mine to prop his elbows on his knees in front of him. “We’re informed of the process. It’s someone to perform the ritual that we’ve yet to uncover.”

I quirk a brow at Astor. Already, he’s kept me in the dark. Other than the fact that a shadow soother is necessary to the process, I was under the impression he didn’t know how to remove the Mating Mark. Unfortunately, I don’t manage to school my expression before the lady of the house cocks her head at me. Her eyes shift greedily between me and Astor, digging for the reason behind why he’s kept back information from the object of his affection.

“You’re aware it’s an unpleasant ordeal, then,” says Lord Carlisle.

“Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Hm,” Carlisle says. “Well, I’m afraid I don’t possess the information you need. But my wife and I are hosting a dinner party tonight, and I have a feeling that one of our guests might be able to enlighten us on this subject.”

“Which guest?” I ask.

He flashes me a grin as practiced as mine. “If I told you, that would take the fun out of it, wouldn’t it?”

Astor stands to leave, shrugging at his coat. “We’re unable to stay. As it is, we’ve already lingered too long. If I’d known this was going to be a waste of time—”

The lord stands to meet him, a head shorter with his chin jutted upward to meet the captain’s gaze. “I assure you, Rivers. Stay the night with us, and we’ll have the information you need by the morning.”

I crane my head, feigning confusion. “I thought you said you could have the information by the end of the dinner party.”

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