“Another thing that lines up with the Saint we know: You, Lord Maxwell, escort her to the Summer Ball.”
“You knew.” Maxwell shot to his feet, rage bubbling in his gut. “You knew all of this, and still you made it so?!”
“I’m sorry, Lord Maxwell. I truly am, but this isn’t the first time Luciana has met the conditions we thought exclusive to the Saint. She is, for all intents and purposes, a substitute for the person we’re missing, but she lacks the Saint’s power. She needs protection.”
He gritted his teeth. “And I am to protect her.”
“Exactly. The Dark One’s minions are invulnerable to everything save the Saint’s powers or weapons of silver. You’ll have to prepare appropriately.”
“You’ve made your point, but I’ve yet to receive a reply to my invitation.”
“You haven’t? Not a single letter?”
“No, though I believe she returns today. Perhaps tomorrow. In any case, there’s no need to fret just yet, but what if she declines?” Maxwell’s hard eyes softened with worry.
Anna-Marie smirked at him. “I think things will work out.”
“One can hope.”
After their long meeting, Maxwell took his carriage back to his estate. As the carriage pulled up to the manor, a familiar face caught his eye.
“Melody?”
She stood at the front gate looking lost, before finally speaking to the keeper standing guard there. “Excuse me, where might I deliver a letter?”
“Not here, I’m afraid,” the keeper said. “You’ll find a courier office at the rear gate. I do apologize for the inconvenience, madam.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll head that way.”
“Don’t trouble yourself,” Maxwell said.
Melody whipped around to find a carriage pulling up next to her. When it stopped, Maxwell did not wait for a footman, alighting of his own accord.
“It’s been some time,” he said.
“It has, Ma…Lord Reclentos.”
The gatekeeper stood at attention before his lord, the marquess’s son. Melody quickly corrected herself with a curtsy.
“That letter doesn’t happen to be for me, does it?” Maxwell asked.
“It does. Lady Luciana sends it with her warm regards, my lord.”
“Thank you, Melody. I gladly accept.” Maxwell held out his hand.
This confused the maid. “What of procedure?”
House Reclentos maintained a rigorous postal protocol. All deliveries had to go through their courier office, where a worker would meticulously record it, but if Melody handed the letter to Maxwell directly, they would skip that step entirely.
“I’m well enough acquainted with the sender to permit an abridgment of the process,” Maxwell said. “I’ll be sure to inform the proper people.”
“As you wish, my lord. Here you are.”
Maxwell accepted and held the envelope up to the sun. The ghost of the letter inside peered back at him, withholding its secrets. “I don’t suppose you could tell me what it says?”
“That wouldn’t be quite as fun as reading it for yourself,” Melody replied with a giggle. “I’ll tell you this, though. My lady wrote it with rosy cheeks, so I think its contents will please you.”
“Well.” Maxwell returned her smile with a warm one of his own. “That does excite me.”
“Rest assured, my lord, the feeling is mutual. If you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course. Thank you again.”
The maid and the nobleman parted ways. Returning to his chambers, Maxwell wasted no time reading the letter. He had a partner for the ball, a fact that lifted one weight from his shoulders.
But a new worry replaced it. He had a mission now, a lady to protect. Come hell or high water, he would see it through.
A line at the end of the letter made him raise an eyebrow, however. “‘I’d like to beg a favor’? ‘Another pair will join us, a Sir Lectias Froude and his partner…Lady Cecilia’?”
He remembered that name. It was the Angel of the Spring Ball—the girl Luciana had danced with.
“I suppose this merits reporting,” he mused, then chuckled. “You are nothing if not willful, my lady.”