by LENOX, KIM
“Not if you are with me.”
That was all it took—a crooked, clearly forced grin on his part and Elena’s resolve shattered. She had not thought it possible, but he was handsomer with his shorter hair, with nothing to distract from his stark male features.
She took his offered arm, and they left the crowded entrance hall and passed into what, according to her guide map was the Room of Inscriptions. There on display were several busts, and an impressive pilaster of the Temple of Athene. Against the opposite wall were a number of narrow columnar stone tablets bearing Greek and Roman inscriptions.
“This way.” Archer rested his hand against the small of her back as he led her toward a pair of large glass doors. A dour-faced young man wearing a tunic and the badge of a library employee stood beside them.
“Sir, do you have a ticket?” he inquired wearily, as if he had been standing in the same spot, asking the same question for days on end.
Lord Black discreetly identified himself.
The young man’s expression transformed into one Elena could only interpret as awe. The youth practically tripped over his feet in an attempt to hold the door for them. Archer escorted her through, into a narrow corridor, at the end of which, Elena gasped in surprise and admiration.
Towering rectangular cases circled the expansive room, each filled to the top with texts. Above those was a row of soaring arched windows—but it was the ivory and gilt dome, spread above them at a height of at least a hundred feet, that stole her breath. At its center gleamed a spectacular medallion of faceted glass.
“It’s more beautiful than I imagined,” she marveled, slowly turning in a complete circle to admire everything.
“Lord Black,” a man’s voice called from the direction of the research tables. Archer took hold of Elena’s elbow and came to stand very close beside her, almost as if he thought he must protect her. A well-dressed gentleman with a mustache rushed toward them, spectacles perched high on his forehead.
“Your lordship, what a delight to see you here. Do you remember me? It’s been some time, but we met two years ago on the train in—”
“Belgium, yes.” Archer nodded, a bit rigidly, as if the man were some sort of intruder. How odd that such a physically beautiful man would be so cool to the concepts of sociability. Certainly, he had his reasons. “Miss Whitney, I would like to introduce you to Mr. Stoker. Sir, are you still the manager at the—ah—”
“The Lyceum,” Stoker supplied, nodding. “Yes, indeed. Miss Whitney, it is a pleasure.”
Elena tilted her head graciously. “Thank you, sir. The Lyceum, you say? My companion and I attended a performance of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in August. Mr. Irving was absolutely maniacal in his portrayal of the character. We enjoyed the evening very much.”
Elena could not help but notice the way Mr. Stoker stared at Archer, as if her guardian were something to be marveled at.
Archer asked stiffly, as if the merest bit of polite talk required his every concentrated effort, “What brings you to the library today, Mr. Stoker?”
The gentleman waved a self-deprecating hand. “I dabble at writing stories. Would love if I could make a living at it one day. Today I am researching the particulars of Wallachian folklore.”
Archer scowled. “Vampires, Mr. Stoker?”
“Actually, yes.” The gentleman’s smile broadened beneath his mustache.
“Vile creatures.”
“Which suits my purposes perfectly.” Mr. Stoker chuckled. “Who knows if my idea will ever come to fruition? Miss Whitney, I told my wife, after meeting his lordship, that I should one day like to write a character based upon him.”
“Really?” she smiled at Archer, whose scowl only deepened.
Mr. Stoker carried on. “Not a vampire, of course, but someone dashing and heroic. Ah, I see we are receiving looks of chastisement from the main desk. But please, your lordship, I insist. You and Miss Whitney must come to the Lyceum one evening as my guests.”
They thanked him and with a final glance over his shoulder, Mr. Stoker returned to his volume-strewn desk.
Archer appeared relieved they had been left alone again. “I’m sure one of the librarians would be pleased to assist us in locating a section on whatever you might be interested in. Perhaps medical history?”
Elena glanced at her little map. “Actually, I think I’d like to see a few of the antiquities collections. Perhaps the Egyptian, or the Graeco-Roman, if you don’t mind.”
Moments later, they stood in one of the museum’s myriad exhibit rooms, the Elgin Room.
“The Parthenon,” Elena breathed, awestruck. “Dating to 454 B.C. It defies all rationale that something so ancient could be here, in modern-day London, for us to admire.” Elena tilted her head, analyzing the huge frieze. “What do you suppose that is?”
Archer barely glanced at the display. “It’s a depiction of the birth of Pallas Athene from the head of Zeus.”
She peered up at him. “I remember something of mythology, but am largely unfamiliar with these characters. Who is that on the chariot, rising up out of the ocean?”
He moved closer, to stand just beside her, so close she felt his heat along her back. She closed her eyes against temptation, aching to lean against him. What would he do if she did?
“That is Helios, the Sun, in his chariot. Do you see? The frieze follows the progression of day to night, ending over there, with Selene, the Moon, racing beneath the horizon in her chariot.”
“Selene.” She repeated the name and forced herself to move a few steps away. She gripped her guidebook with both hands. “Are you and she lovers?”
Archer coughed, appearing mildly alarmed.
“Pardon me?” He glowered, appearing to grow in height.
“It’s all right. We are both adults.” She glanced about the room. “And there’s no one to overhear. Selene, the Countess Pavlenco. Are you and she lovers?”
“No.” His silver eyes darkened to pewter.
“But were you, at one time?”
He hesitated a long, quiet moment. Finally, he answered, “A very long time ago.”
She felt a sudden rush of impatience. Why did he speak in such elusive terms? “Both of you are still young. How long ago can long ago be?”
He smiled tightly. “It seems like a thousand years.”
Just then, several visitors entered the room.
Elena lowered her voice. “You’re aware of the snakes, then.”
He blinked. Hard. Twice. Lord Black looked as if he wanted to strangle her. In many ways, she wished to strangle him too. She couldn’t even put a finger on half the reasons why—she only knew part of her hated him for bringing her so close to some mysterious paradise that night in his room, only to slam the door in her face.
He gritted, “Yes, I am aware of them.”
“Then how did the two of you manage to—”
“Miss Whitney.”
Elena closed her lips. Somehow it gratified her to make him squirm. She proceeded on her own, into the next room, deciding he could follow if he wished. When he found her again, she peered at a black-handled vase or krater displayed upon a narrow pedestal.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” she marveled, acting as if nothing had happened moments before.
“I suppose.”
She bent, scrutinizing the scene painted on its side.
“It’s the abduction of Persephone. I’ve always loved that story.” She pointed with a gloved finger. “There she is, reaching for her mother to save her from Hades. I never understood why she had to stay with that cretin, if even only for a third of the year.”
She straightened and saw that his face had gone hard as granite. “Lord Black, aren’t you interested in history?”
“Of course I am,” he muttered darkly.
“Then why won’t you so much as look at the vase?”
“Because what you’re looking at is a myth. A story Not history.”
“But isn’t it interesting to wonder whether th
e myths had their origins in reality?”
“A reality so convoluted by time, no ounce of truth remains? Really, what is the point?”
He brushed past her, as if to move to the next exhibit.
Heat burned Elena’s cheeks. “If you’re not enjoying yourself, you can go on without me and do whatever it was you had originally intended.”
She knew she sounded like a petulant child, but somehow Lord Black had a way of jabbing at her emotions and making her behave in ways she’d never act otherwise.
Suddenly he pulled her against him, so fiercely that her breasts crushed into his chest.
“I don’t want to go on without you.”
Her heartbeat raced. Everything she’d been feeling—the irritation and impatience—went into a complete reversal at his touch. He gazed down at her with sensual, almost intimidating intensity. She still heard the voices of the museum visitors in the next room.
Lord Black kept his voice low and discreet. “I want to kiss you. To drag you off like the cretin you just vilified and ravish you behind that partition.”
There was an earnest, raw, tone to his voice that thrilled her to the core. Gone was his emotionless façade. Her guidebook fell to the floor, forgotten, as she grasped his forearms and instinctively leaned into him, boldly matching her hips against his. The stiffening length of his arousal seared through the multiple layers of her undergarments and clothing. She required no explanation to realize this as proof of his desire for her.
She gasped as he seized her by the waist, his thumbs curling possessively against her stomach.
He murmured, “Do you see why I have stayed away?”
“So, you were avoiding me,” she accused softly.
“What is the alternative?”
She peered up from beneath the curve of her bonnet. “Kissing me again.”
“I can’t stop at kisses.”
Approaching footsteps sounded against the carpet. He firmly set her from him and bent to retrieve her guidebook.
A male voice effused, “Lord Black. What a pleasure. What a pleasure indeed.”
A man in a neat, dark suit hurried toward them. “As you can see, word travels fast within the museum, especially when our greatest benefactor chooses to visit.”
Elena, still heavily affected by the intense moment that had just passed, barely registered the man’s greeting. Greatest benefactor? What was this?
“Please allow me to introduce myself.” He bowed sharply. “I am Edward Matthews, an assistant director here at the museum. Mr. Bond, our principal librarian, would certainly have welcomed you personally if he were not at this moment in Cyprus doing what paleographers do best.”
With a heated glance into her eyes, Archer introduced Elena as his ward. Elena almost laughed.
Mr. Matthews clasped his hands behind his back, beaming at her. “Any guest of his lordship’s is a welcome guest of the museum. Being that we have never before met, Lord Black, may I personally recognize that your contributions to the museum, both in artifacts and benevolent funds, have been profoundly significant, as were your father’s, and your grandfather’s before you.”
So Lord Black was, indeed, an antiquary. How thrilling! This was also the first she’d heard mention of Archer’s family. This pleased her, for Elena had started to wonder if he were not human, like the mythical Athene, who had sprouted from Zeus’s head.
“I’d be more than pleased to offer my personal services as guide to the both of you today. Miss Whitney, has Lord Black shown you the Nereids?”
Archer said, “Actually, I would very much appreciate your escorting Miss Whitney through the remainder of the exhibits. I had come today to view one of the texts held in the museum’s private archive.”
Elena stared at Archer, altogether displeased at being foisted off on a member of the staff, especially after the moment they had just shared.
Mr. Matthews nodded agreeably. “I would be pleased to take Miss Whitney about. You’re in possession of the necessary keys, of course?”
“I am.”
Archer handed Elena her guidebook. “I’ll rejoin you shortly.”
Elena didn’t answer him. No, she wasn’t happy about his leaving her, but she yearned to learn more about Lord Black . . . and Mr. Matthews did seem very forthcoming.
Archer strode through the Elgin Room, unnerved by how easily his hard-fought reserve crumbled after a mere hour in Elena’s company. Fortunate for both of them Mr. Matthews had arrived. Elena’s obvious willingness to enter into an illicit liaison did nothing to settle his passions. He could not help but imagine what it would be like to be naked and thrusting, fully ensheathed inside the beautiful young woman who was his ward.
He might be immortal, but he was still, above all, a man.
By necessity he forced his overly aroused mind to the matter of the Ripper, and his original purpose for coming to the museum.
Just beyond the Elgin Room lay a smaller chamber containing the colossal Lion of Knidus, crouching ten feet in length and six feet high, carved entirely of Pentelic marble. Long ago, and from the vantage point of a Greek sailing vessel, he had seen the lion high upon a cliff looking out over the sea. Then, its eyes had glittered green with emeralds. He could not help but feel regret the majestic creature no longer held vigil there.
He entered its shadow, going to a nondescript door cut into the wall just behind. He fished a pair of brass keys from his coat pocket.
Once inside, he descended a long, dark staircase, toward a faint light visible at the bottom. There he entered a large but narrow room. Two copyists looked up, their faces illuminated by the lamps on their desks. So intent were they upon their work they only briefly greeted him as he passed through.
The walls were fully lined with sturdy wooden shelves, and upon them, hundreds of ancient clay sleeves. Each, if opened, would contain a scroll, perhaps two. All had been spared from the destruction of the Royal Library of Alexandria, thousands of years before.
He knew because he had spared them. Over the centuries, he had moved the collection from one location to the next. Transferring them to the Inner Realm had never been an option, as the clay and papyrus would never survive the fiery crossing. Eventually he had no other choice but to deposit them with the museum for preservation. Many had already fallen to pieces, ravaged by time and climate. Over the past hundred years, museum assistants had worked to piece together the fragmented remains, and copyists recorded their priceless contents. However, the rarer text he sought would be found behind yet another portal.
At the far end of the chamber, Archer came to that door and used the second key to gain entrance. He carefully secured the lock behind him. The room was much smaller than the first, but also lined with scrolls, each detailing a history long ago mythologized by mortals—that of the Amaranthine race.
A large wooden structure traversed the center of the room and would contain the text he sought. Archer dropped the keys into his pocket. He carefully lifted the lid from the first boxed section. Inside were rows and rows of tablets, the oldest items in the collection. They were of different sizes and hues, but most were formed of reddish-colored clay. A thin catalogue lay on top, written in his own hand, providing a precise listing of each.
He found the numerical identifier for the tablet he sought and searched the clay edges for a match.
“You say Lord Black won’t allow his name to be listed amongst the other benefactors of the museum. Why, if his contributions have been so great?”
Elena walked alongside her attentive guide, Mr. Matthews, bending from time to time to read the small metal-rimmed placards explaining the significance of the artifacts they passed. As she had hoped, he had been very gracious about answering all her questions, and not just those about the exhibits.
“Believe me, if he would, his name would be emblazoned on one of the collections, likely even a wing of the museum,” Mr. Matthews gushed. “I am told it was the same with his father, and his grandfather before him. They rejected any
accolades or public recognition for their contributions.”
“How uncommon.”
Mr. Matthews glowed with obvious admiration for the subjects of their conversation. “I cannot even express to you, Miss Whitney, how our collections have benefited because of his generosity, and the generosity of his forebears over the past century. How fortunate you are to be associated with such a gentleman.”
Yes, how fortunate. Remembering the intensity of his gaze just before Mr. Matthews interrupted them, Elena could not help but glow as well.
Upon hearing the knock, Archer crossed the narrow room and opened the door.
One of the copyists stood there, wearing a curious expression. “You’ve visitors, your lordship. They say you are expecting them.”
The Countess Pavlenco and Lord Alexander stood just behind him.
“Yes, thank you.”
The copyist backed way, granting the other two access to the narrow portal. Once they were inside, Archer again locked the door.
“You’ve cut your hair.” Selene stared at Archer, her expression stricken.
“Please, sit down. Here at the table.”
Mark refused the invitation. Instead he stood rigid and guarded, in the shadowed corner of the room. Archer moved closer and stared into the younger Guard’s eyes.
“You were correct in your assessment of this soul, Mark. The Ripper had Transcended.”
Relief transformed Mark’s features. He thrust his fingers through his golden hair. “God, you believe me. I thought no one would. It all happened so fast. Too fast, Archer. I don’t understand Jack’s rapid Transcension.”
“I believe I do. The answer is here, in this vault.”
Chapter Twelve
Selene lowered herself onto a stool. “Go on.”
