“To deny this and pretend ignorance is missish. I will not do you the dishonor, and myself the disservice, of acting in such a way. Yes. I feel it. This force as you call it. It’s called reckless passion, my lord. My mother succumbed to it and it left her disgraced and ruined. Her recklessness ruined my life as well, and I will not have it.”
“How can you deny it?” The words were said in a deep, dark whisper that made her body heat. “Even now it is crackling between us. You don’t want Knighton. You want me.”
How she wanted him to kiss her. To draw her into his arms and hold her, taste her lips and touch her flesh as he had that night in his library. His hand left her cheek, and now his thumb was brushing against her mouth, rubbing her bottom lip, and she wanted to taste him. To touch her tongue to his skin and feel his flesh, taste the salt and maleness of him. But it would not stop there. She knew that.
She tried to think of her mother. The life of poverty and shame she had endured because of her mother’s wild behavior. She summoned up every painful childhood memory and forced them to the front so that she would not think of this—would not remember what it was like to be in his arms, his mouth hungrily moving over her neck and bosom.
“My God,” he rasped. “How can you deny it? I ache with it, Isabella. A week without you…the pain of it haunts me. You must know that.”
“As much as you know that I feel the same way, my lord.” The words were spilling out of her. She was baring her soul to him, but it was so easy to do. With hardly any effort he stripped her bare—emotionally she was exposed, when she sought never to tell him her true feelings.
“Then come to me,” he whispered. “End this suffering—for both our sakes.”
“I cannot. Feeling and acting upon such things are two very different things.”
“Forget Knighton, Bella. He’s not who you crave. Who you come alive for. You are so warm, so alive beneath my hands,” he murmured as he swept his finger along her lips. “I can feel the heat from you, your breath on my finger, yet you wish to kill these feelings. To cut me dead.”
“No.”
He moved so swiftly, Isabella didn’t see his intent until she was encased in his arms and pressed against the wall. The stone was cold against her back, and Black…oh, Black was hot against her breasts, and she was melting beneath those pale blue eyes that could see deep inside her.
“Seduction, yes,” he said as he reached for her hands and entwined his long fingers with hers. “The most intense and pleasurable kind. The kind that will make you weak and satiated, unable to run from me. But scandal? Never.”
“The sort of passion that has flared between us ends in one of two ways,” she said. “It dies out as swiftly as it flared, or it is put to death beneath disgrace. Either way, it ends. I would rather it stop now, before it truly starts. I don’t want any pain between us, Black. I…don’t want to hate you when the passion wanes, and we are left with nothing but regrets “
“You fear it, this current between us.”
“I fear the results,” she whispered. Her body was weakening, her resolve waning. Isabella did not know how much more of this she could take.
“You are no naive little girl, Isabella. You know what you want.”
She turned her face to look up at him, her mouth brushed his chin and she closed her eyes, absorbing the feel of his night beard abrading her lips. “There is passion between us, a desire that is strong, breathtaking in its intensity, yet it is all we have. There is nothing more than that. We don’t even truly know each other.”
He moved against her, brushed his long, hard body into her softness, and she bit her lip to keep from moaning. He was a master of seduction. He knew how to make her weak. She was a woman, and he used his body against hers—a perfect foil to make her give in to his masculine power.
Black dropped his head until she felt the brush of his lips against her ear. “There is a deep knowledge in intimacy, Isabella. Deeper, more profound than a hundred conversations. To be so deeply inside you, our bodies connected, to feel you pulse around me, is to discover you as no other ever could.”
The vivid images of him atop her, his muscles gleaming in the firelight, consumed her. He would be magnificent naked, his strong arms caging her as he made love to her. She could see it, and it made her weak—wet—made her curse the imagination she had been born with. It had once been her salvation, now it was her damnation, for all she could see was Black looming above her, while moving lazily inside her. He would be beautiful, his lovely eyes trained on her every movement, her every sigh. He would love her long, and slow, even if she wished for something else. He would do as he pleased, knowing it was what she truly needed. No man would ever know her like that. Would be able to read her secret desires like Black.
“A month with Wendell Knighton, and how well do you know him, Isabella? How well does he know you?”
She squirmed, the statement hitting too close to the truth. She needed to quit this conversation, to remove herself from this space where all she could feel and smell and touch was Black.
“Does he know you like to kiss? That you have a sensitive patch of skin behind your ear that when kissed, or touched with the tip of the tongue, makes your knees weak? Does he know the sound of your surrender, as your breath leaves your lips and you give yourself up to a kiss?”
“Jude, please,” she begged. “Don’t do this.”
“Have you told him you write? That you dream of being a published novelist? Have you shared a meal with him, and gazed at him across the table with desire in your eyes? Have you allowed him liberties in the library?” He moved forward, nuzzled her ear and let his voice drop into a devastating husky whisper. “Have you let him taste you, run his tongue along your folds and make you wet?”
“You know I haven’t,” she gasped. He knew it never would be so. No other man would even do such a thing as Black had done to her, most especially Wendell, and after Black, she was utterly ruined, for she would never experience that earth-shattering experience with another—didn’t want to, in fact. Instead, she would lie awake and relive those times when Black had awakened her to her true self. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him—it would forever only be him, and this fierce pull that was unrelenting in its grip.
“A month of conversation and you are no closer to knowing Knighton than you were before the introduction. But one glance at me, and you knew, knew there was something between us. Five minutes in my arms, and you knew what you desired.”
She was weakening, her traitorous body brushing against his in an attempt for more. Not only could he seduce her with his touch, he seduced her with words.
“You know me, Isabella, the way I kiss, touch. The sounds I make when you arouse me. I know your sounds, the press of your breast, the silken flesh of your thighs against my face.”
She moaned, pressed, brushed, felt hot and aroused, needing more. She could no longer think, just act, and damn her soul, she wanted this—what he was offering. She felt warm and alive, and different from any other time in her life.
“I still taste you,” he whispered darkly. She moaned again, then purred as he brushed his nails over her bodice. “Your nipples are hard, perfect little points for my tongue—”
“Stop it,” she cried, her voice just a sob of pain and aborted pleasure. “Please, just stop! My God, I hate what you are making of me.”
He stilled, pressed his forehead against her cheek and kissed her closed eyelid. “What if I can’t? What if I’ve tried and have not been able to keep myself from you? You’re in my blood, Isabella, and that’s a bond that can’t be severed.”
“Lust always weakens. Soon the bond will become dilute and you will no longer even recognize it.”
“You fear the basis of this attraction is only lust, that it could never develop into anything more, but you’re wrong, Isabella. So wrong. Desire doesn’t have to die, nor does it end in shame.”
“You would make a wanton of me. A slave to my own desires. You’re a
man of the world, you’ve tasted your fill of such pleasures, but I have been starved for them. The taste is new and exciting, and I hunger for more—and you know that. You understand how intoxicating your touch is, how enthralling your whispered words. You know how to play this game of seduction. But what will happen when you have your fill? When the dish no longer tempts the palate? What then, when I am still left with a ravening hunger?”
“Then I will feed you.”
“Jude…” His name was a pleading whisper that passed through her lips.
“I could never have my fill of you, Isabella.”
“That is what my father told my mother. What the sailors who rolled into Whitby told her. It is the same line that men have used for hundreds of years to make a woman succumb. But I cannot.”
“Come to me and I’ll prove you wrong. I will tell you anything you wish to know about me. You already know my deepest secrets. No other woman has known what I told you in that carriage.”
Cupping his cheek, Isabella smiled sadly. She would do anything to be with him. But it would be a short-term solution. No man with this amount of passion inside him could be content for long—and with someone as inexperienced and sexually gauche as she.
“I know the look in your eye, Isabella. Don’t do it.”
Raising herself on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek, allowing herself the temptation of brushing her cheek to his. “Goodbye, Jude.”
He reached for her, shackled her wrist and swooped down to capture her mouth, but he stopped as soon as she said, “Please. Don’t.”
He released her, but Isabella knew it was not for long. This was not their goodbye. She could sense that much. As she walked away, she could feel his eyes watching her. It took everything she had not to run back to him and fling her arms around his neck and beg him to take her away.
When she entered the gallery, Wendell was there, waiting for her. His eyes were dark, his expression grim.
“I trust you severed all ties with him?”
It did not surprise her that Wendell had discovered she’d met with Black in the hall. Despite his aura of indifference, nothing seemed to get past him.
“Is it over?” he demanded as he shackled his hand around her wrist. “Damn you, tell me,” he snarled.
When she glanced up at him, she was taken aback by the barely tethered anger she saw in his eyes. He was hurting her, and for the first time, she was truly frightened of him.
“Yes, yes,” she whimpered as she tried to tug free of his hold. “It’s over.”
“Good. See that it stays that way.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“DO YOU RECALL the night we dined at Black’s?” Wendell Knighton droned on. With a yawn, Lucy pretended interest in her embroidery hoop.
“Of course,” Isabella replied.
Lucy had no clue how her cousin tolerated Mr. Knighton’s uninspiring company. His conversation always threatened to put Lucy to sleep.
“We spoke of the Templars and the mystery surrounding them.”
“I remember,” Isabella murmured as she poured Knighton another cup of tea.
Glancing at the clock, Lucy saw it was nearly ten and wondered when Knighton would take his leave. She was tired tonight and wished for a warm bath and her bed, but that would hardly do, for she was chaperoning her cousin’s visit with her suitor.
“Well, I’ve come across something rather interesting. The Brethren Guardians.”
Lucy took a sip of her tea and glanced at Knighton. He was itching to tell them something. She could tell. He always preened, and got this queer glittering look in his eye. If he began talking once again about his expedition to Jerusalem, Lucy did not know what she’d do. She wanted to pull out her hair, she’d heard the stories so many times. She could just imagine how Isabella felt. Poor dear, she mused as she took in Isabella’s polite but distant expression.
He certainly was no Lord Black. Somehow, Lucy knew that her cousin missed the company of that particular gentleman. They had seen little of Black, but Sussex had been a frequent visitor to their home, along with his sister, Elizabeth. She had seen Issy’s eyes light up with each visit, only to see the glimmer of hope die away when Black was not part of the party.
Lucy had no idea what had happened between the two. She only knew that her cousin was utterly miserable. She pretended happiness, but in her unguarded moments, Isabella would glance wistfully across the street at Black’s town house.
She wanted to tell her to go to him, but she promised herself that she would no longer intrude in Isabella’s life. After their argument, Lucy had bit her tongue, allowing her cousin to do what she thought was right. But thinking of her marrying the staid and somewhat pompous Mr. Knighton was not in Isabella’s best interests, Lucy was sorely tempted to tell Issy that, and damn the consequences.
Setting the needlepoint aside, Lucy sighed and watched her cousin with Knighton. There was little passion on either side, and in truth, Issy’s once good opinion of Knighton had faded, turning into something that could only be called polite disinterest. Lucy wondered if Knighton felt it, the slow withdrawal of Isabella’s interest and affection.
Knighton droned on about the Templars, and Lucy glanced once at the clock. She wondered how to extricate herself for only a few moments, when something Knighton said caught her attention.
“You will recall the pendant I mentioned?”
Lucy’s ears perked up.
“I do, yes,” Isabella answered.
“It holds magical properties.”
“What sort of magical properties?” Isabella asked with what Lucy was certain was feigned interest.
Knighton smiled knowingly. “The seeds from the apple Eve took from the Tree of Knowledge. The seeds, they say, when ingested, bring the person their greatest wish, and universal knowledge.”
Suddenly, everything stopped, and Lucy found herself transfixed by Knighton’s story. “Their greatest wish?” she asked, knowing what her wish would be—to be reunited with her dead lover.
“Indeed,” Knighton replied as he reached into his pocket. “But there is a scroll to go with it. It tells how the seeds work, and what must be done to gain their power.”
Lucy knew where the scroll was. Knew exactly where it was.
Her heart started to race as she recalled that afternoon at Sussex House, when she and Isabella had visited Elizabeth. She’d just returned from refreshing herself, when she walked past Sussex’s study. Inside, the duke, Black and Alynwick had been talking. She stopped to listen, hoping to hear something from Black about Isabella—for she had been determined to see her cousin with the earl. But she had heard something else. Strange talk of pendants and scrolls, and then the marquis stated he’d taken the scroll to the library at the Masonic lodge.
She hadn’t given it more than a fleeting thought at the time, but now her thoughts were churning, trying to recall every snippet of their conversation.
“Oh, Wendell,” Isabella gasped. “It’s extraordinary.”
Lucy saw the glittering egg-shaped pendant shining in the firelight. It was made of onyx and embossed with gold symbols. It hung from a long gold chain, and it seemed to beckon, to beg to be touched.
“Yes,” Knighton whispered as he lost himself in the beauty of the swaying pendant. “Simply extraordinary. And it’s my find. Mine…”
“This will be such a coup for your career,” Isabella said, but Knighton’s eyes narrowed and he hurriedly stuffed it into his pocket. But he missed, and the pendant spilled out and thudded softly to the carpet.
All Lucy could think about was how she wanted it. Would it work? Could it be possible that the pendant did have powers? Would it bring back her lover?
“I’m not ready yet to share the find with the world,” Knighton mumbled. “Naturally you won’t say anything to anyone, will you?”
“Of course not, Wendell.”
“Lady Lucy?”
“No,” she murmured, unable to take her gaze off the onyx stone and the gold chain that
was curled up like a snake on the carpet beneath Knighton’s chair.
“Well, it’s late, and I have more studying to do. My second degree,” Knighton preened. “Good night, my dear.”
Knighton bowed before Isabella, and Lucy heard her cousin say that she would show Knighton the door.
When they left the study, Lucy quickly moved out of her chair and fell to her knees as she reached for the locket. Once it was in her hand, she was surprised by the warmth of the stone as it rested in her palm. She could almost feel its power oozing into her skin.
This pendant was the only means of finding him again. Séances had proved futile and she had long given up on praying. No, this was the only way. And she knew the location of the vital piece needed to fully understand the power of the pendant.
God help her, but she was going to take it and use it, and find love once more. Where was the harm in it?
THE REALIZATION that they were no closer to finding the chalice or the pendant made Black’s mood more foul. Orpheus had eluded them, as if he had somehow known they were coming. The club’s owner had literally vanished into the smoke, despite the fact one of the Brethren Guardians had gone nearly every night to the club. That vexed him.
After scouring every inch of the Adelphi, they had found nothing, and the fact that they had uncovered nothing more of any value only further frustrated what little sanity Black had left.
The longer the chalice and pendant were missing, the greater the chance someone might discover their true purpose. And that he couldn’t accept. It was his duty, his sworn oath, to protect, and he’d failed.
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