Temptation & Twilight

by Charlotte Featherstone

  “Why would it matter about the diary?” Iain mumbled, lifting the corner of the shade to look outside. It was foggy, so much so that he was unable to see where they were, or which way they were travelling. He’d been in too much of a fog to ask Sheldon where they should start. And now he wondered if he was truly safe with the earl, if he had unwittingly fallen into Sheldon’s hands.

  “You did not conclude who the Veiled Lady was?” Sheldon asked with surprise.

  “Of course I did.”

  “You couldn’t have, else you would not have come to me tonight.”

  A horrible feeling of dread came over him, and every self-protective instinct he had reeled inside him. Even wounded and exhausted though he was, his reflexes served him well. He had the earl pinned back against the carriage squabs, the point of his elbow over the fragile cartilage of the man’s throat.

  “Damn you,” Sheldon gasped. “What the devil—”

  “Spill it all, my lord,” Iain growled. “No more cryptic messages from you. Tell me what you are, what purpose you have in infiltrating yourself into Elizabeth’s life.” He nodded, his face growing a dark red that Iain could clearly see even within the confines of the dimly lit car- riage. Releasing him, he allowed the earl to slump over and gasp as he smoothed a hand down his throat.

  “When this is all said and done, you bloody bastard, I’m going to demand you teach me that,” he rasped.

  “If I let you live.”

  Sheldon coughed, then began to speak. “The diary, the Veiled Lady…” He cleared his throat and loosened his neck tie. “The curse.”

  Iain pressed forward, made him look into his eyes, which he knew were burning bright with hellfire. “If you think I believe in that nonsense that no one of the House of York and House of Sinclair shall ever come together, you’re out of your mind. It’s medieval posturing, Sheldon, and it was my ancestor, seven hundred years ago, who spouted it. The Veiled Lady was my ever-so-great-grandmother, Lady Marguerite Sinclair, who fell in love with Sinjin York, Elizabeth’s ancestor.”

  “Someone wants you to believe in the curse. You said yourself before we left my house that the only thing that you or Elizabeth’s maid could detect was missing from her room was the diary. Why would Lasseter take the book when he took Elizabeth, if it wasn’t something he valued?”

  “He must know that I’m not a fool to believe in curses, nor Elizabeth. But…” Iain suddenly stopped and thought through a point he had not considered before. “It would be valuable to Lasseter if the diary contained information on any hidden relics or treasures. Or if he wanted others to believe there was some sort of curse between the two houses.”

  “Exactly.” Sheldon’s eyes lit with appreciation. “He’ll use it to frame his crime. To cobble up a story of forbidden romance and Templar curses, after he seeks what- ever it is that drives him. And for the life of me, I cannot figure out what it is he wants.”

  “How did you know of the curse?” Iain asked, his gaze narrowing when Sheldon smiled. “In fact, how the hell did you know that the diary belonged to Sinjin in the first place?”

  “Don’t you know?” Sheldon said, smiling slowly. “I am descended from the fourth Templar.”

  “How can that be?” Iain demanded. “The story is not even true!”

  “Yes, it is. The man who was supposedly betrayed and left for dead in the desert was my own ancestor, John Leuven, the Duke of Lorraine, and the Veiled Lady was his sister. That made her my aunt.” Iain could hardly believe what he was hearing. All along, Sheldon had been involved in the Brethren affairs. He’d known…. “We’re related?” Iain asked in horrified wonder.

  “One could say that, although the family line is rather diluted now. But, yes, in a way we are. Cousins, I should think.”

  “Was the duke a Brethren Guardian?”

  “No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t a Templar or even a knight, but he was there as part of King Philip’s entourage. He had brought Marguerite with him, on a pilgrimage. It’s where she met Sinjin—and your ancestor. The three Templars made friends with the duke, and when he learned that he was to round up the Templars for inquisition and execution by Philip, he alerted the Brethren, and offered to give them safe passage out of the Holy City, provided they would take Marguerite and unite her in marriage with Haelan St. Clair, as the king had desired. You see, by all accounts, the duke never knew of the affair going on between his sister and Sinjin York. Otherwise, I doubt he would have insisted on the marriage. Marguerite and Haelan were wed hours before they left Jerusalem.”

  “They were ambushed?” Iain asked. “Who knew of their plans?”

  “Philip’s men suspected Lorraine of having dealings with the three, and thought he might try to warn them.

  They attacked in the dark, and Lorraine put up a fight.

  Fabled, in my family, that it was him, and his bravery that allowed the three to flee while Lorraine held off his enemies. As a result of his treachery, Philip dissolved the duke’s family line, took their wealth and cast them out of the country. They emigrated to England, where they heard the story of three mysterious Templars up in the north, and in Scotland. Ever since, the descendants of Lorraine have taken an oath to protect the identities of the Brethren, and the secrets they carried with them out of the Holy Land.”

  “When Nigel Lasseter discovered the fact, you came to England, not because you were a detective, but because you were the fourth—one of us.”

  “Yes. You see, my uncle never believed in such stories, and refused to give them any credit. The clock you saw on my mantel was made in the memory of the duke.

  It’s been handed down through the male line, and in its bottom is a family tree, naming each descendant of Lorraine who becomes the fourth Templar. Along with those names are the names of the current Brethren Guardians.

  My uncle by all accounts had never even opened the clock to peer inside. He was a man who indulged in vice, not pertinent family facts. So my father took up the banner and became the fourth. But he was transferred to the East by Scotland Yard, and we were forced to go abroad. He encouraged his colleagues to keep him abreast of any developments, or activities of the Marquis of Alynwick, however. He fabricated a story about the marquis, and the Yard bought it. They sent monthly reports to my father. It was his way of keeping tabs on at least one of the Brethren. To request reports on all three, he knew, would be too suspicious, so he chose your father, for reasons that his line connected with ours. When I was old enough, he told me of my family’s lineage and duty.”

  “Bloody hell, all this time! My God, you’re one of us.”

  “In a way.”

  “And Elizabeth—you wanted to protect her?”

  “Of course, but I would be a liar and a fraud if I said I didn’t desire the duty greatly. I wanted her before I even knew who she was. I was following Sussex the day I saw her with him.”

  “And now?” Iain found the courage to ask.

  “I still want her, but she is yours, I think. The other half of you. I am content, Alynwick, to play the part my long-departed grandfather did, and guide you from danger.”

  “I misjudged you. My apologies, Sheldon.”

  “Just as the Brethren Guardians take their own personal vows, so, too, do the descendants of the dukes of Lorraine. We have vowed to come to the aid of a Guardian whenever needed, without thought to our own safety.

  We are the silent watchers and protectors of the Brethren.

  The story of the fourth Templar has been long buried in mystery, lost to the sands of time. Forgotten by the world.

  In a way, the exclusion of our assistance in the flight of the original Templars has aided our cause.”

  “And Elizabeth? You know how to find her? Because I am loath to confess that I am at a loss. I have no idea where in the metropolis Nigel Lasseter might have hidden her.”

  “I have a thought. It is only a hunch, mind, but it might explain what I discovered the morning I toured the crypts with Elizabeth.”

  “Te
mple Church?”

  “Would seem a fitting place to culminate his plan.”

  “Why?” Iain demanded.

  Sheldon glanced at him, a sly smile curving his lips.

  “A little thing called sacred geometry.”

  “GENTLEMEN, over here, if you please.” Jack, Sheldon’s dog, was running about in circles, sniffing the crypts of the knights that lined the floor of the church. In the lantern light, Iain could see the dog’s tongue lolling, spittle flinging in every direction. Warily, Black and Sussex came forward as Sheldon unrolled a map of the city. On it the shape of a compass was drawn in ink. “This is your house, Sussex.” Sheldon pointed to Mayfair and Grosvenor Square on the map, then slid his finger to the left. “Temple Church, where we are now.” Jack whimpered, his nose never leaving the floor as he ran about, sniffing. Sheldon glanced back over his shoulder at the dog, then returned to the map.

  “What significance does this place have?” Sussex asked. Iain could tell that the duke was deciding whether or not to trust Sheldon. Upon their arrival, Sheldon and Iain had explained everything. To see the shock in their eyes when they learned of Sheldon’s family history as the fourth Templar was rather gratifying. Iain had felt like a prize idiot when he’d learned the truth. To see that Sheldon had fooled Sussex and Black as well made it a measure better.

  “It’s not the church itself that is of significance, it’s what lies beneath it. Here.” He drew another line with his fingertip from Sussex House to the right. “This is the Adelphi in the Strand. And when you connect the Adel- phi to Temple Church, you have a line. You also have a medieval passageway of underground crypts built by the Templars to escape detection.”

  “My God, that’s bloody brilliant,” Black muttered.

  “No, it’s sacred geometry. Lizzy mentioned it during one of our walks, and I was intrigued. It also helped that on the morning we toured the crypts, I discovered some digging was already occurring. I knew someone else had already discovered what I’d just figured out, that the tunnel leads directly to the Adelphi. This is, I think, where Nigel Lasseter is hiding Elizabeth.”

  “What is your dog doing?” Iain muttered as he watched the retriever jump and paw at the door. He was mewling and crying, scratching with his front paws.

  “He’s high-strung.”

  “No,” Sussex murmured. “He senses something. Do you have a key to open the door?”

  “I do, but we need a plan.”

  “I do believe that Jack has one already figured out for us.”

  HER KNEES WERE THROBBING, her fingers bleeding from the stones and dirt. Oh, God, please, Elizabeth prayed.

  Let me live.

  “Look at you, crawling on your knees like a beggar woman.”

  Frozen, Elizabeth stopped her slow progress.

  “If he could only see you now, filthy and pathetic, blindly searching for a way out.”

  “Lady Larabie,” she snarled.

  “How did you know?”

  “I can smell you, the stench of your perfume.” Georgiana reached down and dragged Lizzy up by a handful of her hair. Pressing her eyes shut, Elizabeth bit her lip, refusing to give the woman any satisfaction for the pain she was inflicting.

  “I’m going to cut you,” Georgiana murmured. “I’m going to mark that face of yours and show him what I’m capable of.”

  “He’d still love me,” Elizabeth whispered. “It’s a concept you could never understand, Georgiana.” The woman cried out at the insult and tossed Elizabeth to the ground. “He won’t have you!” And then she was on top of her. Lizzy felt the knife in her hand, heard her rasp of excitement as she brought the blade down in a wide arc. Elizabeth did the only thing she could—put her hand on the blade to pull it away from her, cutting herself in the process.

  Caught off balance, her assailant fell to the side, and Lizzy jumped on top of her, legs straddling her back.

  Gripping the knife by the handle, she felt the warmth of her blood spilling down her hand.

  “Now get up,” Lizzy ordered, “and deliver me out of this hellhole.”

  Georgiana spat, lashed out and tried to take the knife.

  A low growl made them both freeze. The growl was deeper this time, menacing, a truly frightening sound.

  A paw touched Lizzy’s arm, followed by a whimper, then the sting of a rather large wet tongue.

  “Ah, Jack,” Elizabeth whispered. “Good boy. Show me where they are.”

  Georgiana struggled beneath her, but stilled the moment Jack began to growl again.

  “I would mind him, Georgiana. He’s a trained killer, you know. Now, get up and lead us to the church.”

  “You won’t get away with this,” the woman hissed.

  “Perhaps not, but I won’t lie down here awaiting my death at the hands of my brother. If I’m going to die, I’ll die as a Brethren Guardian, protecting those I love most.

  Now, if you please.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  JACK DISAPPEARED into the crypts the moment the door was opened.

  “Should we follow?” Sussex asked.

  “Yes, you should. You’ll find Elizabeth there, dead.” They whirled around to see Nigel Lasseter standing behind them, along with half a dozen men holding pistols pointed at them.

  “At last. The time has come. You gave me a few restless nights, Sheldon. You were a complication I had not foreseen. But then I observed you and Alynwick fighting like two bulls over my lovely sister.”

  “Sister?” both Iain and Black demanded.

  “Indeed. When I saw how you were with each other, the blatant hostility you displayed, I knew what use you would be to me. You see, it’s the ancient adage, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. And you, Sheldon, have proved your worth, bringing my fellow Brethren into my web.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Black demanded.

  “I see His Grace has been remiss in telling you the entire story. He isn’t Sussex, I’m afraid. I am.” And then the man known as Nigel Lasseter tore open his shirt and revealed the brand of the Brethren Guardians. “This impostor, Gabriel he was called, was my father’s by-blow. He’s no more a duke or a Brethren Guardian than the butcher who raised him.” Iain looked to the man he had known forever as Sussex. The truth was on his face. When he glanced back, then at Black, Iain saw the pain in his grey eyes.

  “He speaks the truth. I am the bastard son of the duke.

  This man is his wastrel heir. He got himself severely injured one night in a public house across from the butcher’s where I lived and worked, and was left for dead. I recognized him as my father’s heir, and delivered him home, though our parent wanted nothing to do with him.

  He wouldn’t even send for a doctor. He was more interested in the fact that I had remained alive for the sum of my years on nothing but grit and determination. It was then that he decided to allow his son to die, and to take me, his bastard, to mould into a guardian. From that moment on, I became Sussex.” He turned to Lasseter.

  “You killed Anastasia because she discovered your true identity.”

  “I did indeed. I took great delight in killing my father’s whore. He was allowed proclivities, but mine… Well, I wasn’t allowed anything. He saw me as weak, knew my sight was failing and wanted nothing to do with me. I vowed when I escaped death that I would show him. I would ruin his precious Brethrens, and would take back what belonged to me.”

  “What is your plan?” Iain demanded. “Kill us all?”

  “Very clever, Alynwick. You always were. I was always amused by your secret lust for my sister. You thought yourself too clever to be caught staring at her, but I saw you. I have known for a very long time what your weakness is. Now, all that is left to be done is the final act. I’ll bury you in the crypts, where no one will find you, and take your place, brother. I do hope your new wife is feisty in bed.”

  Sussex, or the man who called himself such, lunged forward. But he was stopped by the sound of a voice.

  “No, Adrian. Not like this!”<
br />
  “Lizzy!”

  Iain couldn’t believe his eyes. Beth, haggard and filthy, her face streaked with dirt, was walking behind Georgiana, her arm flung around the woman’s neck and a vicious -looking blade pointed at her throat. Jack lunged into the fray, snarling, knocking Lasseter to the side. A gun went off, and Iain turned in time to see smoke rise from behind the altar. Lasseter’s men were standing with their hands in the air. And Nigel Lasseter was facedown, a crimson pool of blood growing beneath him.

  “Did I not tell you, Alynwick,” Sheldon muttered as he took Georgiana from Elizabeth, “that Toth is not my butler, but a detective? It seems he had the cavalry arrive just in time.”

  Iain wasn’t listening, however, was barely able to hear above the wild beating of his heart.

  “Beth?” Iain murmured, blinking as if she were some kind of ghost. She was in Sussex’s arms, crying. “Beth?”

  “Go to him. I’ll explain everything later,” Sussex murmured to her.

  “There’s no need, Adrian. I already know,” she told him. “And all there is left for you to know is that you’ve always been my brother. He never was, but you… You’re all a sister could ever want. And your secret is safe with us. With all of us.”

  “Lizzy, I love you, my dearest sister.”

  “Beth!” Iain cried, running to her, knocking Sussex out of the way so he could hold her and check her wounds.

  He could hardly see for the tears clouding his eyes.

  She clung to him, sobbing in his arms. “I was so frightened,” she whispered. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

  “It’s over now,” he murmured as he pulled his coat from his shoulders and wrapped it around her. “You saved yourself, Beth.”

  “No, Jack saved me. And someone had better reward him for the effort.”