by Amanda Quick
“What does that have to do with this situation?” Slater asked.
“Fulbrook has a reputation for being prone to outbursts of violence,” Lilly said. “If he blames his wife for the failure to produce an heir, she might fear for her life.”
“A woman in that situation would have a powerful motive for making herself indispensable, wouldn’t she?” Ursula suggested. “If Lady Fulbrook stumbled onto the properties of the ambrosia plant, she may have given her husband the notion of going into the drug trade. In the process she purchased some degree of safety for herself.”
“Because Fulbrook needs her to cultivate the plant,” Slater said. “Yes, I like the logic in that. But if our speculations are correct, Lady Fulbrook may feel she is living on borrowed time. If chemists like Rosemont can produce the drug in large quantities, sooner or later Fulbrook might decide to employ botanists and gardeners to cultivate the plant.”
“At which point,” Lilly said, “he will no longer need his wife. I suspect Lady Fulbrook has already reasoned that out for herself. She is quite probably a terrified woman.”
Brice looked at Slater. “If there was a plan to close down the British side of the ambrosia trade, as you believe, it has been badly disrupted tonight. Cobb’s assassin will even now be struggling to survive on London’s most inhospitable streets. There will be a great sensation in the press tomorrow because two well-known men were attacked by an American criminal outside an exclusive gentlemen’s club. Cobb may well conclude that the situation is on the brink of disaster. What do you think he will do next?”
“Logically, he should cut his losses,” Slater said. “If he is in town, as I believe, he should buy a ticket on the first ship bound for New York. But in my experience, people rarely behave rationally when there is a lot of money at stake.”
“What, exactly, do you want from me?” Brice asked.
“Anything and everything you might have heard about the Olympus Club and its members.”
“That does not amount to much,” Brice warned. “But now that I consider the matter there is something that may or may not have some significance.”
“What is that?” Slater said.
“In the past couple of months, two high-ranking men died. In Mayhew’s case the death was reputed to have been a hunting accident but no one believed that. Davies jumped off a bridge.”
“I remember the reports in the press,” Lilly said. “There were rumors of suicide in both cases.”
“For what it’s worth, I heard that both men were members of the Olympus Club,” Brice said.
—
A SHORT TIME LATER Slater escorted Brice outside to the waiting carriage. The rain had stopped but the fog was prowling back into the streets of London. Brice climbed into the cab and sat down. When he did not speak, Slater stepped back and started to close the door.
“Thank you,” he said.
Brice put out a hand to stop the door from swinging shut.
“Did you mean it earlier when you said that you do not blame me for what happened on Fever Island?” he asked.
“None of it was your fault,” Slater said.
“Some people believe I deliberately triggered that trap.”
“I never believed it,” Slater said. “Not for a moment.”
“About the Jeweled Bird,” Brice said.
Slater smiled. “I know it was not stolen. It no longer exists, does it? You took it apart, stone by stone, and sold the gems off very quietly.”
Brice’s expression hardened. “The family was bankrupt. I did the only thing I could think of to do in that situation.”
“You did what you had to do for the sake of the family. I understand.”
“Do you?”
“It is what I would have done in the same circumstances,” Slater said.
Brice was quiet for a time.
“I thought it possible that you might not hold me responsible for the disaster on the island,” he said at last. “But I was certain you would never forgive me for destroying what turned out to be the only surviving artifact of an unknown civilization.”
“My perspective on some things changed during that year on Fever Island.”
Brice looked at him. “If I hear anything else about the Olympus Club I will contact you.”
“I appreciate that. But be careful, Brice. This affair has become dangerous.”
“Yes, I saw that for myself tonight. What have you been doing all these years while you were away from London? It was common knowledge that your father cut you off in an attempt to bring you home. How did you make a living?”
“I did what you and I used to do together—I traced lost artifacts. But I did it for the money, not the thrill of discovery.”
“And is there a lot of money in that line?”
“Enough.”
Brice snorted softly. “No wonder you knew the Jeweled Bird no longer existed. You went looking for it and couldn’t find it.”
“It would have been hard for something like that to disappear altogether into the underground market.”
“And now you’re stuck here in London because your father saddled you with the responsibility for the family fortune. Hard to envision you settling down to city life. You were never interested in Society. Do you think you’ll become bored?”
“I worried about that for a time. But no longer. I have a hobby.”
“Hobby?”
“Haven’t you heard? I practice exotic sexual rites on unsuspecting ladies in my basement.”
Brice laughed.
Slater smiled and closed the door. He watched from the front step until the cab disappeared into the fog.
THIRTY-NINE
The dream of the City of Tombs pulled him out of a restless sleep. He opened his eyes, giving himself a moment to cross the murky boundary between sleep and wakefulness.
He threw aside the covers and sat up on the edge of the bed. Mrs. Wyatt’s journal of accounts was on the nightstand along with the page of notes he had made.
He got to his feet and picked up the notes. It was a list of payments from clients who were identified only by their initials in the journal. There was something about the figures that did not look right.
He needed to think. He needed to walk the labyrinth. Tossing aside the notes, he pulled on his trousers and took the black silk dressing gown off the hook.
He opened the door and went out into the hall. The lamps were turned down low for the night but there was enough light to illuminate the corridor and the stairs. The Websters knew that one of their priorities was to make certain that the house was never enveloped in complete darkness. He had survived the experience of the Fever Island labyrinth but that did not mean that it had not left him with a few eccentricities.
He was quite capable of making his way silently down the hall. He knew every board that squeaked or groaned. He could avoid all of them. That was exactly what he intended to do until he found himself a step away from the door of Ursula’s bedroom.
He paused, examining his motives and desires. And then, very deliberately, he put a little weight on the spot in front of her door that he knew would betray his presence—assuming she was awake.
He did not stop again. He moved on toward the staircase, wondering if Ursula had heard the faint groan of the floorboard. If she had, would she bother to open the door to see who was up and around at that hour? Would she care? And even if she did go so far as to peek out into the hall, what would she do if she saw him on the stairs? She might simply close the door and go back to bed.
He was on the third step when he heard her door open. A thrill of anticipation excited his senses. He stopped and turned to look back along the hallway.
Ursula emerged from the room, one hand tight on the lapels of the chintz wrapper. Her hair was loose around her shoulders. Her eyes were dark with mystery and anxiety.
&n
bsp; “Is something wrong?” she whispered.
“No,” he said. “I’m not in a mood to sleep so I decided to take a walk.”
“Outside?” Her eyes widened. “In the garden? At this hour?”
“No, downstairs in my basement—where I conduct those exotic rituals on assorted unsuspecting females.”
She relaxed, smiling a little. “Now you are teasing me.” She started to edge back into the bedroom. “I understand that you wish to be alone.”
“No,” he said. He held out his hand the way he had once reached for the climbing rope that brought him up out of the temple caves. “Come with me.”
She hesitated. “This is something two people can do together?”
“We will no doubt arrive at different truths but there is no reason that we can’t make the journey in harmony.”
She walked toward him, smiling. “Did you talk in such a philosophical fashion before you went to Fever Island?”
“I’ve been told that I have always been difficult to understand. The experience on Fever Island probably did not improve my conversational talents.”
She came down the stairs.
“As it happens, I have had some experience transcribing and interpreting coded language,” she said.
His spirits lightened as if by magic. He gripped her hand very tightly.
At the bottom of the stairs they turned and went along the corridor to the basement door. He inserted the key into the lock and opened the door to his private realm. At the top of the stone steps he paused to light the lantern. Without a word he gave it to her. She held it aloft.
He started down the steps, drawing her with him.
“I would be very grateful if you would refrain from making any remarks about Hades leading Persephone into the darkness,” he said.
“Never crossed my mind,” she assured him.
“It certainly crossed mine.”
“There are times, sir, when I suspect that you take satisfaction in your reputation for eccentricity. I expect you get your melodramatic tendencies from your mother.”
He smiled. “Now there’s an unnerving thought.”
He stopped in front of the door of the labyrinth chamber and selected the key on the iron ring. When he got the door open, he stood back to allow her to enter the room.
She walked a few steps into the chamber and set the lantern on the small table. He watched her study the intricate pattern of blue tiles on the floor.
“It’s an elaborate labyrinth,” she said after a moment. “Not a maze.”
“Walking the path helps me clarify my thoughts. I find that if I begin with a question, the answer is sometimes waiting at the end.”
“This is what you learned on Fever Island?” she asked.
“An aspect of what I learned, yes.”
“How do you perform this walking meditation?”
“There’s no trick to it,” he said. “You compose a question and then you just start walking. Concentrate on each step. Don’t think too far ahead and don’t think about where you have been. But consider closely how one step leads to another. Contemplate connections and links. Immerse yourself in the pattern.”
She took a tentative step forward and stopped on the first blue tile. “You said something about starting with a question.”
“Do you have one?”
She thought about that, a faint, secretive smile edging her lips. “Yes, I do have a question.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
She glanced at him, tilted her head slightly as though contemplating her answer. “No,” she said finally. “I don’t think so. Not yet.”
“Will you tell me if you find the answer at the other end of the path?”
“Perhaps.” She started walking the labyrinth, concentrating intently. “One step at a time, correct?”
“Yes.”
He was so fascinated by her aura of seriousness that it was a moment or two before he realized that he was still standing at the entrance—just standing there, watching her. He could watch her all night. Forever, if necessary.
A question whispered through his mind.
He followed Ursula into the labyrinth.
They walked the path in silence. He was careful to keep a few paces behind. If he got any closer he would be able to touch her and that would shatter the meditative trance. If he touched her again he would kiss her and if he kissed her he would want to sweep her out of the pattern and take her upstairs to bed.
Usually he never noticed the time once he started the journey. The ritual was so familiar and his mind was so in tune with the technique required to navigate the path that he was able to forget the factor of time. But tonight, walking behind Ursula, the dragon claws of impatience tore ragged holes in his control. Indeed, he wondered if he might go a little mad before they arrived at the center of the labyrinth.
With one last step, she entered the circle of knowing. She closed her eyes and went very still. He waited, centering himself as he did before starting the martial arts exercises that were the physical extension of the mental exercises.
She opened her eyes. He could not abide the suspense.
“Will you tell me your question now?” he asked.
She glanced briefly back at the entrance to the labyrinth and then she fixed her attention on him once more.
“I’m afraid my question was not particularly philosophical or intellectual in nature,” she said. “It was, in fact, a rather simple, mundane question.”
“Did you find the answer?”
The secretive smile danced in her eyes. “As to that, I’m still waiting.”
He moved into the circle and caught her chin on the edge of his hand. “Is this your way of informing me that I can answer your question?”
“How very perceptive of you, sir. At the start of the journey—which, for me, began upstairs when I heard you pass my bedroom door, not here in this chamber—my question was, will you kiss me tonight?”
The smoldering fires of sexual anticipation that had been burning deep inside him exploded in a conflagration that incinerated his plans to carry her upstairs to bed. He could see the sultry heat in her eyes. The knowledge that she wanted him was all it took to erase most of what was left of his self-control.
“Before I answer your question, you must answer mine,” he said. “Do you want me to kiss you tonight?”
She put her hands on his shoulders and tightened her fingers. “Yes, Slater. I want you to kiss me. I want that very, very much.”
With a husky groan, he pulled her hard against him and covered her mouth with his own. When he felt her arms go around his waist his blood roared in his veins. This was what he needed. Now. Tonight.
He could feel the shivery excitement coursing through her sweetly rounded frame. Her mouth softened under his in both surrender and seduction and he was lost.
He lowered his hands to her waist, found the sash of the wrapper and fumbled with the knot. By the time he got it undone, he was desperate and feverish.
He pulled the garment off her shoulders, freeing her arms. The wrapper slipped to the floor at her feet, leaving her clad in a prim cotton nightgown. For a few heartbeats the exquisite intimacy of the experience dazzled him. And then he realized that she was loosening the sash of his dressing gown with trembling fingers.
He took a step back, stripped off the garment and unfurled it across the floor like a battle flag. The heavy black silk covered the heart of the labyrinth where all the answers waited.
When he turned back to Ursula he saw that she was watching him with a strangely intent expression. He was suddenly very conscious of his erection beneath the fabric of his trousers. A new and different kind of heat scalded him. He was rushing her, just as he had the first time. He had promised himself that if he got another chance he would show her that he could be a thought
ful, considerate lover—the kind who could take his time.
He willed himself to woo and seduce. Wrapping one hand around the back of her neck, he drew her gently to him. He brushed his mouth lightly across hers and then he kissed the curve of her neck. Her scent clouded his mind and tightened every fiber of his being. It was a wonder he did not shatter, he thought.
“I will do whatever it takes to make you remember this night,” he vowed. “To remember me.”
She trailed her fingertips across his bare shoulder. “As if I could ever forget you, Slater.”
When he stripped off his trousers he heard her sharp, indrawn breath. He saw that she was gazing at his erection, transfixed. “I promise you that I will not do anything you don’t want me to do,” he said. He threaded his fingers through her flowing hair. “I would never hurt you, Ursula. Please believe me.”
She raised her eyes to meet his. “I know that. I trust you. It is why I am here with you tonight.” Her mouth curved in a quick, mischievous smile. She braced her hands on his shoulders. “Well, that and the fact that I find you very attractive, sir.”
Waves of excitement swept through him. He drew her down onto the makeshift blanket and leaned over her, bracing his hands on the black silk beneath her.
Deliberately he began to kiss her, working his way down her body. When the nightgown got in his way, he opened the garment, unwrapping her as he would a precious gift.
She drew a sharp breath when he took her breast into his mouth. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders.
He moved lower, glorying in the sweet, hot intimacy of the moment. The scent of her arousal stormed his senses.
He found the hot, damp place between her thighs. She froze when she belatedly realized his intention. Her fingers locked in his hair.
“Slater.”
He gripped her thighs and anchored her.
“What are you—?” She broke off, torn between shock and desire. The combination effectively immobilized her.
He kissed her deeply, drinking of her essence. She was wet and she tasted of tropical seas and sunshine and moonlight. No drug could ever come close to intoxicating him the way Ursula did. He would never be able to get enough of her.
