Page 49 of Salt Magic, Skin Magic
“My lady,” John said.
“Mr Blake. Good evening, Lord Thornby.”
Thornby bowed. “Ma’am. I was just leaving. I’ll wish you a good night.”
“You know, don’t you?” she said to him.
John went crimson. “My lady, I—I—”
“It’s not his fault. He wasn’t going to tell me. I wheedled it out of him,” Thornby said quickly.
“Actually, he persuaded me to go ahead with it,” John managed.
“Then I thank you, Lord Thornby. It’s all right, Mr Blake. I would rather you hadn’t mentioned it, but since you have—well. It doesn’t matter. In any case, I intend to knock on the door.”
“Oh, are you sure?” John said.
“I’m not waiting in my room another minute. You’ve done your part. Now I’m doing mine. It may not be ladylike, but I shall do it anyway.”
“Brava,” Thornby murmured.
Lady Dalton raised her chin a little higher. “You may both leave now.”
“My lady, I would rather stay,” John said.
“And I would rather you leave, Mr Blake.”
“Just in case something goes wrong.”
“It will not. I’m done being scared, Mr Blake. I’ve asked you to do this and I’m taking responsibility for it. And I would prefer—”
Lord Dalton’s door opened abruptly, startling them all. His lordship stood swaying in the doorway for a moment, backlit by the fire that was warming his room. Brandy fumes came off him and his clothes were dishevelled. Before anyone could speak he stepped forward and grabbed Thornby by the jaw.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Thornby tried to pull away. “Just saying good night, sir.”
“Damn my eyes, you look like her.”
Thornby stared at him in horror. His father turned his face slightly from one side to the other, examining him. Thornby tried to twist out of his grip, but Lord Dalton held tight.
Lady Dalton said loudly, “My lord!”
“Eh?” Dalton turned to her. He didn’t let Thornby go, but his grip loosened and Thornby managed to break free. He staggered a few steps backwards, away from his father.
“My lord,” Lady Dalton said again, a little quieter, but a challenge rang in her voice.
Lord Dalton made a harrumphing sound in his throat, but he was looking at her. Thornby realised John had taken his arm and was trying to make him retreat silently down the passage. They backed away until Lord Dalton’s door closed, with both lord and lady inside.
“Bloody hell. All right?” John said to him.
“Fine.” His jaw felt burned by Lord Dalton’s grip as if by some kind of acid that would not wash away. He shuddered. It was a filthy feeling, having his own father look at him as if he was a whore for the taking. He wrapped his arms around himself. “Will she be all right, do you think?”
“I hope so. He is her husband. She’s been with him before.”
“Had we better wait?”
“You should go. I’ll wait. There’s a spare room opposite. I’ll leave the door ajar. If she screams—”
