by Darcy Burke
Holding the stone in his left hand, he unfolded the cloth and pulled it away. As soon as the tourmaline fell upon his bare flesh, he felt a strange warmth that no one else had so far detected. Like the flaming sword, the Heart of Llanllwch seemed to respond to descendants of the knights.
The power of the heart was, of course, quite different from that of the sword. It wasn’t a weapon but an item to be used to gain the love of another. With it, Gideon could charm someone to fall in love with him.
Closing his fist around the stone, he stepped around the screen to face Foliot. Gideon lifted the heart and opened his hand to reveal the unassuming heart-shaped piece of tourmaline.
Foliot drew in a breath and edged closer. “It looks so…ordinary.”
“Compared to the fake one that once sat in the Ashmolean, yes.” Over fifty years ago, Amelia’s grandfather had found a fake Heart of Llanllwch and gifted it to the museum. The Order had painted it and affixed it with jewels so that it looked like a valuable treasure to prevent people from finding the real one. It had been an effective ploy since it had taken a half century for anyone to look for the real heart—and that had been Penn, a singular hunter of antiquities. “Have you any idea why the Order didn’t create imitations for the other twelve treasures?” Gideon mused aloud.
Foliot gave him a sly look. “How do you know they haven’t?”
Gideon should have expected a nonanswer. Foliot liked to keep his Order secrets close. It made Gideon wonder if he liked to demonstrate his perceived superiority or if it was possible he didn’t actually know a damned thing.
“Are you going to take this to the vault?” Gideon asked.
“You bring it.” He hadn’t wanted to touch the sword either, which at the time had seemed odd but now seemed rather curious. Gideon knew better than to ask another question Foliot wouldn’t answer, so he said nothing.
Gideon rewrapped the heart in the cloth, and they departed his room.
“I’m pleased you kept your word,” Foliot said, leading Gideon to another set of stairs that didn’t lead to the main hall.
“You doubted me?”
Foliot lifted a shoulder. “I doubt most people, I’m afraid.” Paranoia was perhaps a better description.
“Hopefully you see that you can trust me.”
Foliot paused and looked over his shoulder at Gideon. “You’re marrying my daughter, so I sure as hell better. Don’t disappoint me.” His eyes glittered for a moment before he turned and led him down the stairs.
They made their way to the vault, which was guarded as it had been last time. Gideon waited, the stone weighing his palm, while Foliot unlocked the door. Inside, Foliot strolled to the chest and unlocked it too.
Foliot looked at him with sudden interest, his brow creasing. “It occurs to me that the heart may be of use.”
Gideon gripped the stone before depositing it into the chest. “How?”
“With Daphne. You could use it to make her fall in love with you—just a little nudge, mind you. It’s likely she’ll develop a tendre for you on her own.”
A wave of disgust washed over Gideon, and he had to work to keep the revulsion from his expression and tone. “I’d prefer to let things progress naturally.” Or not. He actually preferred they not wed at all, and he was betting on her feeling the same—or at least hoping she might.
“You could, but the heart is meant for just this sort of endeavor.”
Gideon worked to maintain an even tone. “I don’t even know how it works.”
“I think you just hold it and wish for the person to love you. Give it a go.”
Gideon blinked at him. This was not a bloody trial run in a new phaeton. The refusal died on his tongue, however, at the dark expectation in Foliot’s gaze. He was not going to accept a refusal.
Perhaps it wouldn’t work. Wrapped in the cloth, the heart didn’t feel warm to him. Perhaps its magic was only effective if the stone was against his bare skin. He prayed that was true.
He held up the heart and said, “I wish for Daphne to love me.”
“I think you need to be more specific, lest all the Daphnes of the world begin trailing after you.” He chuckled, and Gideon didn’t think he could loathe the man any more than he did in that moment.
“I wish for Daphne Foliot to love me.” While he said the words, he thought the opposite, I wish for Daphne Foliot not to love me, in the hope that such a sentiment would counteract the magic. If the magic was, in fact, working. Hell, what if he went to the banquet, and she swooned all over him?
Foliot’s lips split into a wide grin, revealing a substantial gap between his two front teeth. “Well done. Into the chest it goes, then.” He nodded toward the heart.
Gideon set it inside, his gaze lingering on the sword, which pulsed with energy as his hand brushed the cross guard. He straightened. Soon he would get them back, and he would hide them with the other eleven treasures. The question was where.
“We must hurry to the banquet now,” Foliot said. “I don’t wish to keep my guests waiting.”
They left the vault and made their way to the great hall, where two long banqueting tables were set up to one side. The other was open, presumably for dancing since there were musical instruments in the corner.
The hall was full of people milling about. The butler garnered everyone’s attention and announced Foliot’s arrival.
Gideon picked Miss Foliot out immediately in her green dress. Her dark hair was covered with a medieval headdress and veil that trailed to midway down her back. An emerald pendant gleamed against the cream of her flesh above her fitted bodice. Like the emerald, she was a beautiful jewel.
She was also Foliot’s daughter, he reminded himself, and potentially as devious and manipulative as he was. She’d already demonstrated her easy ability to lie—Mrs. Guilford indeed. And yet, he could understand the need for such a fabrication to protect herself. If, in fact, that was all it had been.
Regardless, she’d lied, and if she lied about that, what else was she capable of? He had only a few days to find out.
She greeted him with a broad, stunning smile that startled him with its intensity. “Lord Stratton, you’re seated next to me of course.”
Of course.
She tucked her arm through his and guided him to the table where her father would be sitting. Naturally, their seats were next to his—Miss Foliot to his immediate right and Gideon beside her.
“We can go ahead and sit,” she said. “My father will take a few minutes to greet some specific guests, and he won’t want us to wait for him.”
Gideon held her chair as she sat, then took his own.
She surprised him again by touching his arm. “So my father provided your costume? It’s tailored remarkably well. He must have had your measurements.”
“He did not, actually.”
She tipped her head to the side. Her hand was still on his arm, and he could feel her heat through the linen sleeve of his tunic. “Oh. Well, his tailor is exceptional. Did he provide an entire wardrobe for the festival?”
“He did.” But Gideon hadn’t yet decided if he would wear it all. He didn’t particularly want to stay. He wanted to go find the treasures, starting with ingratiating himself with his mother’s paramour and, now that Gideon’s father was dead, soon-to-be husband.
Lord Septon was one of England’s leading antiquaries and a seemingly high-ranking member of the Order of the Round Table. His position was remarkable because he wasn’t a descendant, but someone the Order had invited to join because of his knowledge and passion for Arthurian legend and antiquities. Septon would guard what he knew very closely, but Gideon planned to use his relationship with his mother as leverage. He’d stolen her away from Gideon over twenty years ago, leaving him to be raised by his dissolute father. Gideon hadn’t forgiven Septon and never would. He would, however, pretend to in order to get what he needed.
Miss Foliot curled her fingers around Gideon’s forearm, drawing his attention. “You look like you�
��re far away. In your mind, that is.”
“Just contemplating the festival.” He summoned a smile as he wondered at her behavior. She was rather…focused on him.
“You’ve been to the festival in the past, haven’t you? I wonder if we haven’t met before. Not formally, of course. But perhaps we passed in a corridor or sat near each other at a banquet.”
That was possible, he supposed, but he hadn’t attended since before he’d married Rose, and back then, he’d kept to the rowdier contingent at the festival. He glanced toward the other table, where such a group sat at one end—they were young, already well into their cups, and would end the evening in a private salon upstairs with gaming and women. “We may have,” Gideon said, addressing her musings. “But I daresay it’s unlikely.”
She followed his gaze, then tightened her hold on him and fluttered her eyelashes. “This festival will be different. We’ll dance and attend the jousting tournament and take a ride over the estate.”
Foliot arrived and looked at them approvingly before taking his seat. A footman immediately poured his wine, which he picked up and held toward Gideon and his daughter. “I knew this union was meant to be.” He looked inordinately pleased with himself.
Gideon turned to look at Miss Foliot, who still clutched his arm, her eyes glazed with delight, and realized a horrifying truth: the Heart of Llanllwch had worked. She seemed to have fallen in love with him.
Chapter 5
It was hours before the banquet drew to a close and the dancing began. Daphne danced first with her father to open things, and then she approached Stratton because he’d already said he would dance with her.
He cut a fine figure in his ebony doublet, the belt slung around his hips accentuating his trim but athletic build. Other women looked at him in open admiration, and Daphne felt a stab of jealousy.
Which was ridiculous because the only woman he’d looked at all evening was her.
Leaving the dance floor, Daphne’s father led them to Stratton. “Your turn,” Father said with a smile, transferring her hand to Stratton’s.
He offered his arm and led her back to the dance floor. Rather stiffly.
“Do you dance?” she asked.
“Yes, but not typically this kind.” He grimaced as three other couples joined them to form a circle. “I barely know what to do.”
“Just watch me. I’ll keep you from making a fool of yourself.” She winked at him and flashed a smile, and he tried to mask a slight wince, but she caught it.
He’d been doing that all through dinner as if he were uncomfortable. Or annoyed. Or both.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked softly so the other dancers couldn’t hear.
“No. Unless you count the dancing I don’t know how to do.”
This made her giggle. She lifted her hand to her mouth and apologized. “I don’t mean to laugh at you. I just… Well, I suppose between the wine at dinner and having a reprieve from my father’s eagerness regarding our courtship, I let my guard down.” She exhaled and straightened her shoulders. “I’m afraid I’ve never been particularly adept at the duties required of a lady.”
“And what are those?” he asked with genuine interest.
“Being charming. Smiling gaily. Demonstrating the right amount of wit—not too much—and engagement—more than enough.”
He blinked at her. “Were you trying to do those things at dinner?”
“Yes.” She frowned. “You said trying. Did I fail?”
He stared at her a moment as the music started. “No. On the contrary, you were most convincing.”
This made her inordinately pleased. “Thank you. Now, do pay attention.” She took his hand and led him in the dance, moving to the center of the circle and meeting the other dancers, then retreating. Then bowing and moving around each other and repeating everything in a pattern.
Stratton managed the steps well for the most part. He only ran into another dancer twice and stepped on Daphne’s toe just once.
When at last the music drew to a close, she had to stifle another laugh at the look of sheer relief that flashed in his eyes. They bowed and curtsied to the other dancers, and he offered his arm, then guided her from the dance floor.
“I’m a bit overheated,” she said. “Would you mind escorting me to the terrace?”
“Not at all.” He skirted the dance floor and guided her through the open doors that led to the terrace, which overlooked the dark lawn. The night air was cool, and when a breeze danced across her neck, she sighed as it soothed her heated flesh.
She took her hand from his arm and walked away to the edge of the terrace. He came up beside her, pivoting to face her. “Just to confirm the matter—your behavior at dinner was an act?”
“Not an act,” she said, turning toward him. “An…effort.”
“So you have not… You do not…” He exhaled sharply and turned toward the lawn. “Never mind.”
“Whatever you meant to say, you seem relieved.” She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to discern what was going on behind the dark gray of his eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I’m not sure it’s worth repeating.”
“If we’re to see if we suit, we must be honest.”
He sent her a quick look that made her think he was questioning whether she would be honest, but perhaps she was reading far too much into a simple glance. Regardless of what she said, honesty was not a luxury she could always afford. It was difficult to be truthful when you were a lady forbidden from doing things such as join private men-only organizations. She’d had to develop a talent for secrecy and subterfuge.
He realigned himself back toward her. “Very well. I was fairly certain you’d fallen in love with me.”
She couldn’t keep from laughing again, but this time was pleased to see him smile in return. He had a stunning smile. It made her pulse speed up and her belly flutter.
When she caught her breath, she asked, “Why would you think that? We just met.”
He shrugged. “Some people fall in love the moment they meet.”
She narrowed her eyes at him once more. “And?”
“And before dinner, I gave your father the Heart of Lllanllwch.”
She sucked in a breath. “It’s here?”
He blinked at her in surprise. “You didn’t know?”
“My father doesn’t tell me anything like that.” She tried to keep the irritation from her voice, but was fairly certain she had failed. “Where is it?”
He scrutinized her. “Am I allowed to tell you?”
Now she snorted softly. “If we wed, I’ll demand it. So you’d better start practicing now.”
He barked a laugh, then grinned at her. “I think I like you.”
“Oh good.” She didn’t bother hiding her sarcasm. “Now tell me why you thought I loved you.”
“Because of the heart. I trust you know what it does?”
She did, but she’d forgotten… Then she suddenly remembered. Her eyes flew wide open, and she gaped at him. “You used it to make me fall in love with you?”
“At your father’s insistence. But it looks as though it didn’t work.” Once again, he seemed relieved.
“Then you aren’t really a descendant.” She frowned. “Father will be crushed.”
“I am a descendant. The sword flames for me.”
Her eyes widened once more, even larger than the first time, if that was possible. “The treasures are real? Rather, they’re magical?”
He pressed his lips together and stared at her. “You didn’t think they were? How is that possible for Foliot’s daughter to possess such an opinion?”
“I’ve found no proof. I like evidence. Without it, there is only myth and legend and conjecture. A theory, not a fact.”
“You’ve the mind of a scientist, not a romantic. Your father is the latter.”
“Yes, he is. The sword actually flames for you?”
He nodded. “And I’m not certain the heart doesn’t work for
me. While I verbally wished for you to love me—again, at your father’s insistence—I thought the opposite. I wished for you not to love me.”
“You think that prevented it from working?”
“That or the fact that I held it in a cloth instead of against my bare flesh. Perhaps the object needs to touch me to work.”
She thought for a moment, looking out across the lawn before returning her gaze to his. “Fascinating. Can we conduct some experiments with the sword and heart to see which it is?”
“That would require your father to let me have access to them, and I’m not certain he will.”
She nodded, agreeing that might be difficult given how important the treasures were to her father. That he had two of the thirteen was astonishing. But not nearly as extraordinary as the fact that they were truly supernatural.
“I do appreciate you counteracting the heart—however it happened,” she said. Anger at her father crowded her fascination in the treasures, pushing them away momentarily. “He really demanded you use the heart to force my affections.” It wasn’t a question because she believed it.
“I’m afraid so.”
She exhaled, letting a bit of her anger go. “My father is single-minded in wanting me to wed a descendant. Lest you think he’s selfish, he’s just as insistent that I am happy.” She met his gaze. “He’d want me to marry for love.”
“Even if it wasn’t real?” His voice had dropped a bit, both in volume and tone.
Though she hadn’t moved, she suddenly felt as if they were closer. “Why wouldn’t it be real? If I felt the emotion, I would believe it.”
“But it wouldn’t come from you, from us.” He gestured from her to him, touching his chest before dropping his hand to his side.
She edged toward him, wanting to actually be closer. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t.”
“Do you want me to try again without the cloth and without trying to counteract the charm?”
Whatever spell had woven between them for the last few moments split asunder. She blinked and took a step back. “No. Thank you.”
She took a deep breath and pivoted toward the lawn again. “I do appreciate you not using the heart to…force things. I suppose I should pretend that it worked so as not to arouse my father’s suspicions. He won’t like that you didn’t actually use it.”
