Free A Breath of Frost by Alyxandra Harvey Page A

the flare of light, as bright as the Pickfords’ curtains when they caught fire.
    Something was very wrong with her.
    “What’s that, eh?” Someone slurred at the top of the stairs, blinking owlishly. “Bloody girl’s on fire.”
    Emma gasped and leaped into the potted ferns and ficus trees grouped together on the landing. It occurred to her that she was spending a lot of time hiding in shrubbery lately.
    “You’re foxed,” one of his friends laughed, slapping him so hard on the shoulder they both nearly fell headfirst down the stairs. The mad flailing to regain their balance distracted them from Emma. She stayed huddled behind the leaves, trying not to hyperventilate.
    Her left palm was
glowing
.
    She rubbed it hard on her dress and the glow dimmed but didn’t fade away completely. Her hands, all evidence to thecontrary, felt perfectly normal. If her eyes had been closed, she’d never have guessed anything out of the ordinary was happening.
    The glow weakened, the light like molten iron boiling in a blacksmith’s shop. It poured and ran into new lines, like the blade of a newly forged sword under a hammer. The pattern was simple, curving into a four-leaf clover minus the stem.
    Floorboards creaked as the party made its way into one of the rooms. A voice carried up the stairs from the back of the house. She couldn’t stay here. She curled her fingers into a fist, trying to hide the strange glow. It made her feel vaguely sweaty to look at it, as if she’d climbed too high up a tall tree and couldn’t find her way back down.
    She forced herself up to the first floor, which was sectioned off into bedrooms with small attached private parlors. She knew Godric had a room overlooking the street, as he’d told them stories of hiding under the bed when he saw his parents’ carriage pull up to the curb.
    However she had no idea which room belonged to Cormac.
    This seemed so much easier in novels. And the
Times
made it sound as if housebreaking were as easy as buying muffins from a cart.
    She forced herself to stop sneaking glances at her palm and concentrate. The door at the end must be Godric’s since it faced the street. The voices of the group she’d followed inside were a dull roar at the other end on the right. She moved slowly to the room beside her, listening at the door for a moment. When she reached for the doorknob, it turned easily. She craned her head inside.
    And promptly slapped her hand over her own eyes, nearly blinding herself.
    Subterfuge was a dangerous business.
    And she could have lived a full, happy life without ever seeing William Purejoy’s backside.
    She pulled the door shut hastily with a smothered apology. Well, it was meant to be an apology. She couldn’t help the laugh that choked out of her. Something thumped against the door and she leaped back. It sounded like a shoe. Or a chair. If he was that peevish about his privacy, he really ought to use the bedroom and not the parlor rug.
    By process of elimination, Cormac had to be behind one of the other two doors, assuming he was at home. And unoccupied.
    If he was with a girl, she really would have to stab him.
    She pushed the next door open an inch, half-afraid of what she might see. She released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding when she saw nothing more exciting than embers in the fireplace grate and the outline of a chess set on one of several tables. The faint glow from the mark on her palm gave off just enough light that she could move about without running into the furniture. There were books, a tea tray, and a crystal on the windowsill. But no convenient letter addressed to him, or portrait of a family member on the desk.
    As it turned out, subtle hints weren’t necessary.
    She was pushed against the door, secured by a steady iron grip.
    “Well, now, what have we here?”

Chapter 10

    The Chadwick town house
was rather grand from the outside, boasting to Mayfair that a duke’s granddaughter was in residence. The