Foxglove (Belladonna, #2)(33)
I don’t yet know how to help you, Death continued, his words as lulling as the spring breeze, but I will speak to my brother. And in the meantime, I want you to stay away from him. Truly, this time. Can you promise me that?
It would be an impossible promise, given Fate’s intentions with her. But Signa didn’t think Death needed to know the full details of that. At least not until she deciphered her own feelings, first. I promise to do what I can, and that I will use discretion. It was the best she could offer, and though he sighed her name, Death seemed to know better than to protest.
Has anyone ever told you how immensely stubborn you are?
She was surprised by the grin that split her lips. Would you have me any other way?
His pause was enough of an answer. Keep it up, Little Bird, and we’ll see if you’re still as stubborn the next time I get my hands on you.
The mental image of that promise sent her into an imaginative spiral. She shifted, suddenly uncomfortably warm in what felt like the mountains of fabric she wore. And just what will you do? Describe it to me in detail.
Death’s voice was a low growl, yet Signa never managed to hear his reply. Instead, her body jolted to attention as a voice that was decidedly not Death’s asked, “What on earth has you grinning like that?”
Signa’s eyes flew open as Blythe took her by the shoulder, leaning forward to inspect her cousin. She pressed the back of her hand to Signa’s cheeks, her forehead wrinkling. “You’re flushed from the neck up! Do you think you’re coming down with something?”
Blythe’s hand was hot against her skin, though Signa had only a moment to notice it before she jerked back in surprise. “I’m perfectly well!”
She must have flushed even deeper, for Blythe narrowed her eyes for a long moment before her face lit with delight. “Oh my God, you were dreaming about a man, weren’t you? Who was it? You must tell me!”
Death’s low, rumbling laughter sounded in the back of Signa’s mind. Go on, he taunted, tell her.
“It was no one—”
“Don’t give me that.” Blythe scoffed. “Did you meet someone at the ball? Given that you did not so much as blink in his presence, it surely wasn’t the prince.”
As much as she would have loved to say she’d met someone, Signa was so flustered that it was a struggle to even recall her own name, let alone that of anyone else at the soiree. Knowing Blythe, handing over a name would be like granting her permission to stalk the poor man and figure out every last detail about him, his family, his deepest secrets, and his worthiness of Signa. And so, without giving it too much thought, she said the first name that came to her mind.
“It was of Everett Wakefield.”
Blythe’s mouth slammed shut. She folded her hands pleasantly in her lap, doing a poor job of appearing at ease. “Well he’s… I mean, I suppose he is eligible. But goodness, Signa, the timing. I wondered if you still might be interested in him after everything. It seemed your attention diverted from him over the past months, though I didn’t want to pry. God only knows he could use some company, with everything he’s going through—though have you seen the way Charlotte looks at him? I wonder what she might think if the two of you were to make a match.”
“I suppose I’ll have to ask.” As the towering spires and iron gates of Thorn Grove came into view, Signa breathed a sigh of relief so heavy it fogged the window. The sooner she could get out of the carriage, the better.
Death, after all, was waiting for her.
FOURTEEN
BLYTHE DIDN’T BOTHER TO KNOCK WHEN SHE ARRIVED AT SIGNA’S room early that next morning, flushed and breathless as her body bowed to the weight of the floral arrangement she carried. It was nearly half as large as she was, with wisteria that draped over beautiful greenery.
“Dare I ask what feminine wiles you worked to earn the prince’s affection so quickly?” Blythe set the arrangement on Signa’s tea table, trying not to trip over the flowers that skirted the floor.
It was barely sunrise, though Signa was already wide awake, seated at the desk in her sitting room and poring over the list of names of those who had received an invitation to Thorn Grove the night of Lord Wakefield’s murder. Several of them seemed to have been crossed out while she’d been sleeping, and it took her a solid ten minutes of staring at the parchment before she realized that this update could have been done only by Death. The realization had her scouring the table until she found a letter he’d left for her folded into the list of names. Wildflowers were pressed into the page, and Signa’s heart practically burst at the sight of it.
Fate may have been able to stop them from speaking, but he couldn’t stop this. She’d just unfolded the letter, which detailed all the things they’d do once this was over and all the places they’d see, when Blythe burst through the door, leaving Signa to shove the letter down her bodice as she pushed up from her chair. Crossing the room, she inspected the flowers with a frown.
“They’re beautiful,” Blythe said between stretches, trying to soothe her back from the weight of the arrangement. “Given the way you spoke to him and how you daydream of Lord Wakefield now, I had thought they were for me until I saw your name on the letter. I’ve no idea how you managed to tame such a beastly man, but I’m impressed.”