Now that it had begun to beat again, Iain finally accepted the fact that every beat was for Elizabeth.
“Watch him,” he ordered. “We’ll meet back at the house, and you can tell me every move the bastard makes.
I want to know who he leaves with, how long he stays there. If he carries anything out, or if he makes another stop. I want to know everything, Sutherland.”
“Aye, I know how all this works. Off you go, me laird, and wreak your hell upon him.”
Oh, yes, the Earl of Sheldon would know the meaning of hell and pain when Iain was done with him.
THROUGH SHIFTING SHADOWS and weak light, Orpheus studied his accomplice. He was perturbed. There was a flaw in his plan, one he had not anticipated, and one that could potentially cause him a great deal of trouble. This new-est development made him want to lash out and choke the life out of someone—anyone.
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would reinforce the weakness and continue weaving, preparing the silken threads to capture his enemies.
“Have Alynwick tracked,” he snarled as he lifted the flap of the blind just enough so he could see out the window, without being seen himself. “Find out what he knows. What connection he has put together. And what nuisance he’ll be with the girl.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
“And don’t pander to me in that snivelling way of yours,” he snarled, baring his teeth. “I’m in no mood for it. Keep him in your sights at all times, or you’ll pay dearly for failing me, do you understand?”
“Of course. Indeed, you make yourself very clear, as always.”
“Always was a slippery, conniving bastard,” he muttered. “Never trust a Scot, even if they give the appearance they’re nothing but lecherous drunkards. Always had it in him,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone. “I saw it that night, those dark eyes looking up, hatred and spite blazing in their depths. I knew then that he would not be complacent until the final blow killed him. And even then he’d spit in your face before tumbling to hell.”
“I know what will do the job,” his accomplice murmured. “I know the blow that will kill him, and keep him from destroying our plans.”
“Then by all means use it.”
“Of course.”
He was not relieved. Not one bit. There was still another factor he had not considered. One misstep and it would be ruined. Goddamn it, he had thought the man dead, never to haunt him again. But he’d been wrong, the man was alive.
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Either that, or he was staring into the face of a ghost.
One of many who no doubt would plague his existence until he left this plane for the next.
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CHAPTER EIGHT
IT WAS DARK IN THE STUDY, the curtains drawn, whether to keep out the drafts or to hide something, Iain didn’t know.
It had been remarkably easy to find his way into Sheldon’s town house, an ancient monstrosity in the heart of Cavendish Square. The windows had the original Georgian locks that were child’s play to pick. By the look of it, the previous earls of Sheldon hadn’t given a damn about thievery. By all accounts, neither did the current one, or he would have had every lock on every window replaced.
A growl outside the study door alerted Iain to the fact he was not exactly alone. He wondered what sort of beast was in the hall, snarling at the door. It wouldn’t do for the animal to alert a footman. But, then, the master was out, and when the master was out, the staff played games. Iain knew that from firsthand experience. He’d caught his maids with the footmen more times than he cared to remember.
The growl was followed by a whimper, and the rhythmic slapping of a tail hitting the floor. No guard dog that was, for certain. Still, the damn thing was going to attract unwanted attention, and Iain had no desire to be caught standing in the middle of Sheldon’s study by the butler.
On the desk, an oil lamp was burning low. He tsked…
neglectful servants. Probably meant to shut it off, but in their haste to partake of the time the master was out, were too hasty in their tasks, and only turned it down.
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Or perhaps the master himself had been in a hurry. Either way, it was fortuitous for Iain. No time wasted fumbling with matches.
Turning the lamp up just enough to chase away the shadows, he slowly looked around the study. It was inordinately neat and tidy, with nothing cluttering the surface of the desk. Leather-bound books filled the bookcases, while glistening dark walnut walls gave a nod to the ancient aristocrats who peered down soberly from their portraits. On the surface the room looked like many other male sanctuaries he had been in, but there was something here that bothered him. It was too damn neat. No man, gentleman or no, was this tidy.
Sheldon was hiding something. There could be no other conclusion. It was far easier to detect if something was askew or missing if everything was scrupulously kept, and the clutter normally acquired in a gentleman’s study was nonexistent.
It also made it much easier to search.
Deciding to make use of the small time he had, Iain began quietly opening the desk drawers. Nothing other than loose sheaves of paper, writing instruments, blotter and inkwell, sealing wax and a gold seal bearing the coat of arms of the earls of Sheldon were to be found. With a muttered oath, he turned to the bookcases, pulling out tomes and peering behind. Nothing.
It was apparent that everything in the room was from the previous earl. There was nothing intimate or personal belonging to Sheldon, giving away no clues, nor any impression of the man.
The tidiness, however, still struck home. It was almost as though Sheldon was an officer on campaign, with all his belongings tucked neatly away in a tent measuring no more than half the size of this room. Not even BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012
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a cuff link or the burnt end of a cheroot in an ashtray was present. Not even a decanter of Scotch or brandy, Iain thought mulishly. He could use a drink to settle the mounting frustrations he felt as his gaze roved over the walls and the hearth.
A silently ticking pendulum clock perched on the mantel was the only decoration in the room. It was an exqui-site piece, a campaign piece, Iain noted as he lifted it up and studied it. The kind of piece that was an heirloom, passed down from father to son.
Tipping it over, Iain studied the bottom, ran his finger over an uneven edge, and tripped a false panel, only to see a shadow inside.
The sound of the front door opening and slamming shut, along with the dog’s wild barking, informed him he had run out of time. Replacing the bottom, he set the clock back on the mantel, then extinguished the lamp.
Iain dashed to the window and quickly jumped out, shutting the pane mere seconds before the earl sauntered into the room. Peering back through the glass, he saw Sheldon stop in the middle of the study, frozen, then look carefully around the room and tilt his head as if sniffing the air.
The dog was running circles around him, jumping and barking, begging for attention. Sheldon reached out and scratched the animal behind the ears, his gaze landing directly on the clock, the gold pendulum swaying back and forth. The satchel he wore slung over his shoulder was slipped off and placed haphazardly atop the desk.
The canvas flap opened, allowing parchment
rolls to spill out of the bag.
Etchings… Iain squinted, trying to make out the draw-ings. Elevations of some sort, he thought, and his eyes widened as he saw the Templar cross in the corner of one, and beside it, the Cross Lorraine—a cross with an BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012
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extra vertical bar, which had always been a heraldic sign to mark the dukes of Lorraine. It was also used within Freemasonry to denote a member’s degrees.
Fascinating. Iain could not drag his gaze from the symbols that seemed to entwine with his and the other Brethrens’ past. This could be no coincidence.
Taking brisk steps, Sheldon crossed the room to the hearth, placed his hands on the clock and adjusted the angle of it, his brows furrowed. Perplexed, thinking…
Sheldon knew. It was as if Iain could hear him say Someone has been in this room….
The earl moved to the window, and Iain pressed back against the redbrick, blending into the night that surrounded him. He was in the garden, with little moonlight.
Sheldon would not be able to see him. But that didn’t stop the earl from standing at the window for an inordinately long time, gazing out into the vast darkness. Finally, he moved back, pulled the curtains closed. It was then that Iain walked down the street to the waiting hackney.
“Sussex House,” he demanded. He had a blazing desire to check on Elizabeth, and to fill Sussex and Black in on his discoveries.
ONE, TWO, THREE, one, two, three… Cautiously, Lizzy made her way about the salon in slow steps, her arms not outstretched, searching for danger, as they should be, but curved, as if preparing to go around someone’s shoulders. Not just someone’s, she thought while she moved, keeping time in her head, but Lord Sheldon’s.
It had been years—more than a decade, she reminded herself—since she’d waltzed. She hadn’t dared to attempt it. But something had propelled her to do so this evening.
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away from any objects that might impede this imaginary dance.
One, two, three… It was almost automatic now, and with the added protection of being in Sheldon’s arms, well, there was nothing stopping her from accepting his proposal to dance, if one should ever come. This proved it—she was capable of moving through the dark, able to be led, and to trust that the one leading her would not send her into danger.
Smiling, she picked up the pace, gliding as if she were clasped in a pair of strong arms, being whisked around a ballroom. She twirled, giving it a go, then sensed, too late, that she had misjudged her whereabouts in the room, and her proximity to the hearth.
The loud crash of the scuttle and poker smashing against the marble hearth reverberated around the room with such a clatter that she knew everyone in the house would hear it. Stopping, she tried to reach for the rest of the tumbling objects, but promptly tripped over the hem of her gown, sending herself careening forward into what she prayed was not the marble pillar of the hearth.
After landing with a thud, her hands skidded along the smooth floor, her body following, only to be stopped by the impact of her forehead against the immovable pillar.
If she could see, she knew her vision would be swimming. Stars would be bursting behind her eyes. They were there, she knew; she just couldn’t see them. But she could sense the immediate vertigo, the nausea rise up and the pain of her head—not to mention her damaged pride.
Stupid, stupid fool, she thought as tears stung her eyes.
What nonsense was she trying to prove—and to whom?
“Beth!”
She groaned when the door was flung open against BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012
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the wall, making her already pounding head throb more painfully.
“Good Christ,” said a voice she did not want to hear.
“What the devil happened?”
“Go away,” she moaned as she brushed her hand across her skull and immediately felt a sticky warmth on her fingers. “Just leave me be.”
“Like hell,” Alynwick grunted, and she felt him lean over her, the scent of his body burning her nose, the heat from his chest comforting. Immediately she struggled against it as she felt her skirts being brushed aside.
“Christ,” he whispered, his voice unsteady, “your gown was only inches from the fire.” He shuddered. “You could have gone up in flames.”
She pictured it, her prone body igniting, the satin of her evening gown lighting up as fire snaked along her body. And all because she’d wanted to see if she could waltz. Vain, silly creature. So very greatly in need of his protection. Even though she would not thank him for it.
“Hold still,” he snapped, and she heard him reach into his jacket pocket for a handkerchief, then delicately brush loose strands of hair away from her brow. “You’re bleeding,” he murmured. “Let me have a look.”
“Get. Out!” she enunciated in a clipped tone.
“Are you dizzy?” he demanded. “Can you sit up?”
“I can manage myself, thank you,” she muttered as she struggled to sit upright. Moving her shoulders caused her to wince and hiss in discomfort. His hand, so warm and large, landed between her shoulder blades, supporting her.
“Let me look,” he repeated.
“Can’t you understand you are not wanted here?”
“Settle your feathers,” he whispered against her ear.
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“I’m mortified! Can you not allow me to wallow in my own stupidity in peace?” she said, her bravado deflated.
“I’ll not leave you alone.”
“Wonderful. So I am to endure further mortification in your presence, is that it? You are a devil, Alynwick,” she snapped.
Her head hurt and her body ached. Her pride, well, it was damn near decimated. Bad enough she had fallen, but to be rescued by Iain, to know he saw her in such an unglamorous position, sprawled out on the floor, was more than degrading. It was appalling, not to mention utterly unacceptable.
“What the devil were you doing, and so close to the hearth?”
“Just help me up.”
He did as she commanded, but he did not release her.
Instead he held her, steadied her, not by the arms, but by wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her close.
“Lady Elizabeth?”
She groaned again. Maggie. And she would discover her wrapped in Alynwick’s lascivious arms.
“Your mistress has fallen. Summon the doctor.”
“Right away, my lord.”
Elizabeth could envision Maggie bobbing a curtsey and rushing to do his bidding. “No!” she cried, trying to shake off his hold. “I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding, miss,” Maggie said worriedly.
“It’s only superficial. I just need a wet cloth.” Silence. She could imagine that there were shared looks between her companion and Alynwick, and she hated that she couldn’t see them, could not tell what transpired.
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Maggie, as to get me some supplies, I shall tend to the lady in lieu of the physician.” Elizabeth gasped in outrage at his suggestion, but found
herself moved effortlessly to a settee, and lowered gently onto its cushions.
“I shall accept the doctor.” She sniffed, trying to find her shield and pride so she could brandish both before him. But it was a useless endeavour, for they were both still lying on the marble floor where she had fallen.
“Too late,” he said as he took the cushion beside her.
She was sitting upright, and felt a little bilious. She’d give anything to lie down, but would not give the maddening Iain a chance to be smug—and correct. “Your companion has already left the room, and now there is no one else here but me. Lucifer.”
She almost smiled at that quip. Almost.
“Why are you here at this time of night? Shouldn’t you be out doing something wanton and depraved?”
“How do you know that I haven’t come here for that express purpose?” he teased.
Sucking in her breath, Elizabeth tried to ignore him.
“Sussex is not in.”
“You don’t think I’ve come here tonight to be wanton and depraved with Sussex, do you? My, how much of a degenerate you think me.”
He was teasing. She heard the laughter in his words, in the silky voice that seemed to slide along her flesh.
“I think you a proliferate degenerate.”
“Yes. I know.” There was no further teasing in his voice. The light banter had been replaced with something that sounded rather akin to pain. But for one to feel pain, one must have a heart, a conscience, and Iain possessed neither.
“I can’t tell you where my brother has gone. You sug-BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012
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gested that I be kept out of Brethren affairs, and Sussex has lost his mind, believing you correct. But I was told that he made a hasty escape after learning that Lucy had not been home since this morning. I do hope nothing has happened to her, especially after the events of today.”
“I am sure she is well. Sussex will find her.”
“He’s been gone for hours. Took Black and Isabella with him. I suspect he’s gone to the House of Orpheus, but again, he would not tell me. He only said he would return soon.”
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