The wind was high, and he turned up the collar of his coat to ward off the chill. Rapping on the door he waited till the butler swung it wide. It seemed like an eternity before Jennings, the marquis’s haughty butler, opened the door.
“The Earl of Black to see Lady Lucy and Miss Fairmont.”
“I beg your pardon, milord, but the ladies are not receiving visitors this evening.”
Laughter resounded from the salon, and he heard Lucy’s husky voice cry out, “Oh, well done, Mr. Knighton. Tell us another story of your magnificent discoveries.”
Black’s thoughts turned murderous. Knighton was there? The bastard. “Announce me now,” he stormed, “or I shall announce myself.”
“My lord, Miss Fairmont expressly—” The butler swallowed hard and moved his neck from side to side, as if his necktie was choking him. “Miss Fairmont,” he uttered in superfluous superior tones, “has expressly requested that if you came to call this evening I was to decline you entrance. Good evening to you, milord.”
The door slammed shut in his face and Black stood there for long minutes mute, confused and also enraged. What the bloody hell was Wendell Knighton doing here? And why had Isabella purposely shut him out? Damn it, didn’t she realize that after that afternoon there was no going back?
He stood quietly shaking, contemplated kicking the door down, or smashing a window and letting himself inside that way. Both methods would not endear him to Isabella.
What was this game she was playing? he wondered. She had wanted him that afternoon. There had been no games between them then. Damn it, what had changed? Why did she fear him? Or was it the passion she feared? Whatever it was, it was preventing her from giving herself to him. But he would have her. He wanted her more than Knighton could ever dream of.
In a most unsavory thought, Black reluctantly admitted that Isabella had won this first round. But that was okay, because he would demand satisfaction for this. He would speak with her tomorrow, and he would deal with Knighton.
But three days later, Black was still wondering why he had suddenly and summarily been shut out of Isabella Fairmont’s life. She had cut him off, refusing to see him, avoiding him at balls and routs, and even the theater. He had seen her in the park, and she had promptly turned around and headed for the carriage that had conveyed her and Lucy and Elizabeth.
Three days of wondering, of seething. When next he saw her, he’d corner her, run her to ground and she would not escape him.
Whatever it took, Isabella would speak to him.
Staring at the book in his hand, he traced the golden lettering on the title Jane Eyre. Isabella had no idea how damn persistent he could be.
So far, he had acted the gentleman—as well as he could—but now he was no longer eager to play by the rules of society. Now he was playing by his rules. Isabella would soon see a new side him. A very dark and dangerous side.
Black did not give not give up on his desires. And Isabella was his one and only.
“HE’S COME.”
Orpheus smiled and drew back into the shadows, allowing the silk curtain to conceal him. Around him, the smell of sweating bodies, feminine perfume and the heady incense of opium clouded his senses.
“He has nerve,” his lover whispered to him. “Coming to your domain.”
“Let them come,” he said, patting her hand.
“How soon they have put the pieces together,” she purred as she kissed him. “They want the pendant. How did they know to come here looking for it?”
“Because I made my trap easy.”
He felt himself rise, felt her hand slide down his body. She purred once more in satisfaction. “I want him,” she murmured. “I want him to hurt, just as my sister did.”
“I know, darling,” Orpheus replied as he maneuvered her hand till her palm rested on his straining manhood. “He will. Black will be taken from his little paramour. And he will suffer,” he vowed.
“But what of the pendant? You should not have given it away.”
“Trust me to take care of my business,” he said, growing angry, “and I will leave you to yours.”
“You forget,” she whispered as her clever fingers worked on the fastening of his trousers. “that our business is one and the same.”
Yes, it was. The redhead. She was next on his list. His lover would take care of Black, but Orpheus wanted Sussex. Out of them all, he wanted that preening, righteous bastard the most.
“My lord,” his servant said. “Lord Black has arrived, and is wishing entrance into the club.”
Let them come… It had been his design after all. “Allow him in. And keep your eye on him. Does he bring the others?”
“He does, my lord.”
Orpheus smiled and reached for his lover. “Good. See, pet, soon you will have Black at your mercy. I shall be in my room,” he told his servant. “I trust you’ll know how to handle Black and the Guardians if they should come by asking questions.”
“Yes, my lord.”
And then Orpheus retreated into the darkness. Now was not the time to confront them. He was laying a trap, and they were walking headlong into it.
“DAMN IT, Black, you’re as staid as a nun.”
Walking through the Adelphi, Black bumped shoulders with the crowd as he and the others made their way to the back of the theater. This was the direction his informant had pointed him.
“Why don’t you just tell us what has you champing and stewing.”
Like hell he would. It was all he could do to think straight. The last thing he wanted was Alynwick needling him because he was acting like a lovesick fool over Isabella.
“Damn me, man, get yourself another woman if that is the cause of your behavior.”
He would if he could, but Isabella had ruined him for all other women. Bloody hell, he had sworn he wouldn’t think of her tonight. He couldn’t become distracted, not now. Not here.
As they brushed aside a crimson silk curtain, they stopped to take in the tableau before them.
“Looks like nothing more than an orgy!” Alynwick ex claimed.
“Good God, what is that stench?” Sussex said between coughs. “My head, I feel odd.”
“Opium,” Black stated. “Try not to take deep breaths.”
As they walked through the clouded room, amongst the naked bodies and the sounds of pleasure, Black felt his face turn up with disgust.
“We won’t learn anything here.”
“Have faith,” Alynwick demanded. It was then that Black noticed the hungry look in a blonde woman’s eyes. She stood in the corner, her identity shielded with a mask. She was dressed provocatively, her shoulders bare, and the crest of her breast visible. “I think I’ll see what I can do with her,” Alynwick murmured.
Black snorted. “Trust Sinclair to make this more about pleasure than duty.”
Sussex rolled his eyes. “He has a point. Maybe we should split up and see what we can discover.”
Black hated the thought of spending hours in this place. His head was throbbing with the effects of opium, and the heat in the room was stifling. Tugging on his cravat, he loosened it, only to feel a set of arms snake around him, taking the task over for him.
“Let me do that,” a feminine voice whispered in his ear. “You’re new.”
“Yes.” He closed his eyes, tried to think about his duty to the Brethren Guardians. Tried not to think about how much his body ached from unspent desire. Tried to think of anything else but Isabella.
“Very nice,” she murmured appreciatively as her hand slid down his back. “Have you come for sport?”
“Perhaps.”
She laughed, one filled with feminine desire. “Mysterious. I like that. Why don’t we move to the corner, it’s more private.”
The woman tugged him along, and brought him to a darkened corner. She was tall and willowy, her hair a dark brown, her eyes feline behind the opening of her mask. She perused him as if he were a prized stallion, and erotic intent flashed in her eyes.
“It’s always strange when it’s your first time,” she said. “But it only gets easier.”
“Does it?”
“Mmm,” she murmured. “Have you been shown around?”
“No, as a matter of fact, I haven’t.”
“Then you should let me.”
“I have some questions.”
She slid up to him, wrapped a thin arm around his neck and let her fingers tangle in the ends of his hair. “Perhaps I could answer them?”
Black had never been good at games like this. He was much too intense for subterfuge. This was Alynwick’s domain, and suddenly he wished the marquis were here to rid him of this woman, and this insipid game.
“Ask your questions,” she whispered, and he felt her press her body into his. She was too thin for his tastes. Immediately he had flashbacks of Isabella, and how she had felt in his arms. Soft and warm. Something to sink himself into. This woman was all bones and hard angles. There was nothing soft about her.
“This Orpheus, have you seen him?”
“Of course.”
“Is he here tonight?” he asked, trying to act nonchalant as the woman ran her finger down the front of his shirt.
“Oh, he’s not here tonight. Only comes on Wednesdays, when the initiations take place and the members’ dues are collected.”
“Oh.” Black swallowed hard and looked around. “My friends and I thought we might come for a lark,” he began. “We really don’t know anything about the club, other than some mates of ours said it was good fun.”
“Excellent fun,” she whispered. “And completely anonymous.”
“I’ve heard,” he said, hoping he was doing the right thing, “that Orpheus has a pendant, something very special.”
“Oh, yes. The Templar pendant. He proclaims its magical powers will gives us the greatest of pleasure. He also claims it is the source of his bewitching powers.”
“Have you seen it?”
She frowned, leaned forward and brushed her lips against his chin. “Not for about a week. Come,” she whispered as she pulled him closer. “Let us not talk.”
“I’m afraid I’m married.”
“I am, too. My husband is in the grotto with a girl half his age.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but my affections are engaged else where.”
“I’m not offering affection, darling, only pleasure.”
“I’m not accepting, I’m afraid.”
She huffed, then slinked off, searching for more willing prey.
Sussex found him through the opium smoke, and Black signaled Alynwick to leave.
“What did you discover?” Black asked Sussex.
“Not a damn thing. Everyone is too drunk, or too…occupied for conversation.”
“This is it, the place we’ve been looking for,” Black announced. “Orpheus only arrives on Wednesdays for initiations, and he has the pendant.”
Alynwick looked shocked. “How did you discover that? And in less then ten minutes?”
“I have my ways.”
The woman caught his eye, blew him a kiss before they disappeared in the smoke.
“Damn me, Black, you’re a legend,” Alynwick teased.
“Bloody hell, Alynwick, I’m not following in your footsteps.”
“Pity. We could have some fun together, out prowling the streets.”
Black gave him a perturbed glare. “The woman claims to have seen the pendant, but not for about week.”
“Let’s get out of here. I feel as though I’m going to pass out. I can’t think with this smoke in the air.”
Outside, all three took gasping breaths of air. When their heads were clear, they looked at each other. They were only slightly better off than when they arrived. What they needed was to discover who this Orpheus fellow was, what his connection to the Freemasons was and where he’d hidden the pendant.
“What now?” Black asked as he looked up to see the night sky lit over the city.
“We stay here until the theater shuts down, and then we break in and search the club. “Agreed.”
“It’s damn cold out here,” Alynwick grumbled. Black reached into his coat and passed him a flask.
“This will keep you warm.”
“And what will you use to keep your thoughts away from your lovely lady in red?” Alynwick teased.
“Sod off, Alynwick,” Black snapped, and the marquis’s laughter filled the dank alley behind the Adelphi.
“God help me if love ever finds me. The look of the two of you…you’re both so long in the face, it’s comical.”
Black turned his back and closed his eyes, thinking of how he was going to break into the theater. But the image of Isabella crept in and he groaned, then snatched the flask back from Alynwick’s hand.
With a deep drink, he tried to push her out of his thoughts. But it wasn’t working. Nothing worked.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ISABELLA HAD VOWED to steer clear of Black and his temptations, and thus far she had been successful. The memory of what had happened in the carriage was still fresh, and never far from her thoughts, but she refused to dwell on it. She had taken the coward’s way and out and cut him dead, without any reason for her horrid behavior. The truth was, she just couldn’t trust herself around him. She had to give him up because he wasn’t what she needed. What she desired was right here. Mr. Knighton was back at her side, which is what she wanted—a proper courtship with a proper gentleman.
Wendell was as he always had been, perhaps even a bit more distracted than before by his work at the museum, but she accepted the fact that as a scholar he had many things on his mind—not just her. Truth be told, she was not one of those females who must be constantly entertained. She was quite content with her own company, and that of her imagination, but there were times, she admitted, when she felt as though something was missing. There were unexplained moments of utter despair that would grip her, and she couldn’t understand from where it sprang, she just knew that it had arisen from a place deep inside her—a place she refused to look at.
She had Wendell now, she reminded herself. Here he was, at her side. Tonight it had been she whom he had asked to attend the unveiling of his artifacts at the museum. She was honored that he’d singled her out. This was a proud moment for him, and he had asked her to be a part of it. There was now no doubt to her, and to society, that Wendell Knighton was officially courting her.
She should be congratulating herself on her victory, but it felt hollow. Not a victory at all, but rather a defeat. Strangely, she felt the loss of Black so keenly. She had not expected that. Had no idea how hard it would be on her to forget him—or how often her thoughts would stray to him, or her gaze would look longingly out the window to where his gloomy town house stood tall and proud, and dark. It was during those moments of reflection that the melancholy was strongest. The despair she had felt ate at her, until she had been forced to find something else to do—anything that would take her thoughts away from Black, and the inexplicable link she felt to him.
How had he impacted her so much, and in so short a time? Put in perspective, she had spent but two full days with him—but in those days and nights she had experienced more than she ever had in her twenty-three years of life. In the private moments they had shared, she could not help but think that she had shared them with a kindred spirit. There was something about Black that mirrored her soul. Occasionally that happened in life, two souls would find each other and connect on a higher plane. There was no doubt that Black had been that person for her. But that didn’t mean he had been the right fit for what she wanted in life. Sometimes love and passion were just not enough. It hadn’t been for her mother. Her mother’s love for Isabella’s father had been a curse. A yoke she was forced to bear all the days of her life.
Isabella did not care to bear the weight of such a burden. No, it was far better that she continue, with her dream of a proper marriage—even a passionless one. Her deepest desires she would save for her novel. Wendell
need never know of it. It would be her secret, and it would be enough. It would have to be.
“Here we are!” Wendell said excitedly as the carriage slowed before the imposing facade of the British Museum.
“Oh, look at the people,” she whispered, and both Wendell and Lucy pressed closer to glance out the window.
“What a crush!” Lucy exclaimed. “Why, Mr. Knighton, you’ll be famous throughout England before the night is over.”
His smile was slow, and Isabella stared at him, startled by the transformation in his face. He looked different somehow—there was something about that smile. It was knowing, superior and it gave her a start. There was ambition in his hazel eyes, something that had never been there before. Certainly he had wanted to succeed, but what she saw now seemed beyond success.
“Mr. Knighton?” she asked. “Wendell,” she said when he didn’t answer her or look her way.
“One day, people will look at me and know that I am responsible for unearthing the most sought-after relics in the world,” he said.
His voice was distant, hollow—eerie. Chills chased down her spine, and she watched as Wendell rubbed his temples. He murmured something, but Isabella could not make it out. Was he…talking to himself? she wondered. She’d noticed this behavior the past few days. He was always mumbling to himself, and rubbing his temples.
Perhaps the strain of this unveiling was having unhealthy effects upon him. He was not a robust man, but quite lean. He’d lost weight, too, she noticed.
“Wendell?” she asked, concerned. “Are you well?”
The carriage stopped and Wendell did not wait for the footman to open the door, but thrust it open and kicked out the metal carriage steps. He did not turn to assist them out, but walked up the lit pathway to the stairs, shaking hands and basking in the adulation of the crowd that gathered around him.
“Well,” Lucy muttered as the footman reached into the carriage and offered his hand, “Mr. Knighton has a rather high opinion of his dusty old relics, doesn’t he? Really, Issy, he’s become rather pompous.”
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