She slid it out of the scabbard with little effort. With Jacqueline’s strength, it was as light as a tennis racket in her hand. She flexed her fingers around the jeweled handle and strode out of the corner to the center of the room, where she was visible.
The intruder straightened. He wore a security guard’s uniform. She could not see the features hidden by the black ski mask, but she already knew who walked over to her with shoulders set in cold fury and a gun pointed at her chest.
She knew what Jacqueline knew.
* * * *
The sun was burning a hole through Roman’s head.
He squeezed his eyes shut, which made his head throb even more. Something was nibbling at his fingers.
Khan. The Great Dane was whining beside him.
He sat up and Khan let go of his fingers to bite down on his sleeve. The dog was trying to pull him up.
He got to his knees and nearly blacked out. He put a hand to his head to stop the world from spinning. His face was slick…with blood. Blood ran down his wrist and under his sleeve. He remembered now.
He had been shot. The bullet must have grazed him; otherwise, he would not be standing.
Amelie.
The ground shook and he swayed on his feet. Titan was beside him prancing in agitation.
“Whoa, boy.” He mounted Titan in slow motion. Anything faster would put him out again. He had lain in the forest long enough. He had to get back to the manor.
Amelie.
Titan needed no encouragement, but spurred himself into a jarring motion that almost knocked Roman out again. He wrapped the stallion’s reins around his arm just in case and bent low to lean against the horse as it flew. Khan galloped alongside them.
Once they crossed the cobblestone bridge, Khan loped straight toward the manor.
Roman steered Titan to the front gates and slowed. The security checkpoint was deserted.
He turned around, giving Titan full rein through forest cover. He crossed the green and St. Clair Manor loomed ahead. The place was deathly still.
He followed Khan’s barking around the courtyard to the side of the manor. When he dismounted from Titan’s back, he made his way through the shrubbery and saw the gaping hole in the bay window. The dog jumped, clearing the window and the jagged shards of glass around it. His barking faded away into the manor.
No alarm sounded. That meant the system had not automatically dialed the county’s emergency numbers. The intruder was somewhere in the manor, with Amelie.
Where the hell were Chief Bryant’s men?
He followed Khan through the broken window into Haddon Hall. Fishing his cell phone out of his pocket, he walked through the debris on the floor of Haddon Hall,
God knows when the police would get out here, but he would make the call. Striding through the foyer and dialing numbers, he slipped on a slick spot on the flagstones. He bent down and rubbed at the blood smudged on the stone.
“Amelie!”
His cell phone rang. “Where is she?” Roman shouted into the cell.
“Roman? It’s Harold. I’m sorry to bother the newlyweds…”
“Harold, I can’t talk right now. Amelie…” He found another drop of blood several feet in front of him.
“Oh, you have already heard, then.” Harold’s tone was regretful. “I wasn’t sure when you were arriving for The Renaissance Collection gala and wanted to call before the police got to her.”
“Talk sense, man!” None of the lights were working in the manor, but he had daylight on his side. There was another crimson smear in the kitchen.
“Amelie’s co-worker has been murdered.”
Roman stopped. “What did you say?”
“Dora Conover, a designer at Penrods. She was strangled to death in her bed, some type of bondage play. The police are looking for her boyfriend. They want to talk with Amelie when she comes to town this week.”
“They think Amelie knows where the boyfriend is? She’s been out of the country with me.” He stalked into the dark poolroom. After scanning the still waters, he turned back to the kitchen. Khan was nowhere to be found.
“He is not exactly her boyfriend. They thought no one knew, and I always thought he would end up with Amelie. He had quite a soft spot for her. The man complained when I took her off a project they were working on together so she could work with you,” Harold said.
“Who is the bastard?” He ground out, glaring at the message written in red on Cook’s calendar.
“Nigel Graham, the head of marketing. He has not been in the office for a few days now, ever since Dora was murdered.”
“I’ll kill him.”
There was a loud crash in the upper regions of the south wing.
Chapter 19
St. Clair Manor, North Yorkshire, England – August 15, 1988
The madman slowed to within feet of her, and then stopped. His chest rose and fell in a rasping mix of anger and exhilaration.
“You have led me on a merry chase,” the masked man said. “An exciting ride, indeed. This is the real you, Amelie, this passion in your eyes.”
She did not expect the admiring smile Nigel Graham gave her when he took off his ski mask. A large, blood ruby gleamed on his finger as he pointed the gun at her chest. He ignored the sword she brandished though it reached across the entire space between them.
“Too bad it is not for me.” His switch to sorrow was even more unsettling. “You disappoint me, Amelie. I thought you might have come to your senses by now. When you returned to New York, I thought you knew then that he was not the man for you. Well, he’s dead now. Blew his brains out.”
“No-o-o!” She staggered back and almost dropped the sword. She had been telling herself that Roman would be all right if she could just get help. But she had wasted time hiding from Nigel. Now it was too late for Roman.
Nigel waved his hand in irritation. “This would not have been necessary if that damned chauffeur had not gotten in the way. Roman Cardiff would be gone and you would have come to me willingly for comfort.”
“Terrence?”
Not only was his confession daunting, but in a rush, Jacqueline supplied her with impressions of the madman’s murderous journey…
Nigel double-dealing for Bijou, stealing her designs in collusion with Emil Garamonde to take a chunk of Cardiff Jewels’ market. But they did not know, she did not know, that her designs mirrored the Cardiff campaign set to debut at the same time, and the ploy backfired on the faltering Bijou, then Nigel at Penrods where he was closer to her. He had always wanted her, always, and Nigel blackmailing Emil, dear God, Emil ravaged by a dagger arching down over and over again. Just when she thought Jacqueline’s terrible history lesson was over, she saw Constance Billows’ form, a cold lifeless doll, caught in the reeds below the cobblestone bridge, another murder intended to condemn the heir of Cardiff Jewels, but also to prevent the continuation of his line, and Dora, who had been caught up in Nigel’s web of deceit, used and silenced forever for her ambition to harm the one he desired, the one il Dragone needed. And now, visions of a more distant past, of Emil and Nigel in hooded brown robes standing in front of a fiery pit in some medieval horror chamber, other brown-robed men and women gyrating in ecstasy while the cries of tortured souls filled the chamber as they were thrown into the fiery pit…blood rubies glowing, winking on ankles, earlobes and fingers in the most intricate design…
“Murderer!” She staggered back, dizzy with the revelations. It was the reassuring strength of the mademoiselle that kept her from fleeing the room in the face of such evil.
Bijou left the design specifications in her hands with no interference. Specifications that were…exact, to say the least. She’d just known what they should be. They had been a team, and then something must have gone wrong between Emil and Nigel.
Nigel slid a step closer. “Not even that society bitch could cut Cardiff down in France. I give her one simple task, and it’s the death of her.” Nigel shook his head in regret.
“Coty Aumoine?�
� She struggled to hold on to his words as the images bombarded her.
“But you, Amelie, have dealt me the worst blow. You are the High Priestess Isolde, born to greatness, but you have shunned us. In doing so, you severed the line your ancestors have commanded for more centuries than your mortal mind will ever remember. There have been no others born with your powers since you denied your true self.”
She felt Jacqueline’s pleasure in a warm rush at his words and gained confidence, knowing that whatever evil their Master had wrought in the world, Jacqueline’s denial of it and subsequent death prevented it from coming into power again.
“I was the first, you will continue to fight them,” Jacqueline said in her head.
She nodded. She would not succumb and let Isolde take over her soul again. She would continue what Jacqueline had started—a new branch of the High Priestess’s line, unblemished by evil.
“We cannot let you continue this rebellion.” Nigel bumped his chest against the tip of the sword. “Embrace your birthright as an Artisan and the Master will rise again.”
“Never.”
“Roman is dead, Amelie. And you will not fall in with the other hunters. We will kill them all before you can find them.” Nigel slowly shook his head. “All the time you and I spent working together at Penrods and our special assignment at Bijou, I thought you were beginning to recognize your feelings for me, your Damek. Well, things won’t be as clean this way, but we will manage.”
“Nigel, stay where you are,” she warned, but her voice wavered. The sword slid down Nigel’s chest. She did not know if she had it in her to kill another human being.
Jacqueline had no such qualms and was forcing her hand up, intent. Her timidity drew the mademoiselle’s reproach. The Marquess of Alsborough has an unhealthy fixation on you. There was a vision of the Marquess, as if she needed reminding. Nigel was a lighter version of the eighteenth century murderer.
She stared into the abyss of his soulless eyes. What was once black hair was now golden blonde. There was the same aristocratic nose and medium build, such an arrogant stance.
“Whatever is the matter, Amelie? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” His eyes taunted her with a jealous gleam.
It had been two centuries since he and his scorned lover, Lady Rebecca Forsythe, had conspired against Jacqueline and the captain, bringing death upon them all.
Her rage returned with an image of the captain, who was left to lead a half-life, without the only love he had ever known.
Nigel took another step closer. “You do know of our past, don’t you? Yes, I can see that you do.”
“You devil!” The rage warmed her blood. Jacqueline was patient in silence as Amelie gained courage for the deed that must be done.
Khan was barking outside the door and knocked against it repeatedly with his body.
“Nigel Graham,” Roman shouted from the doorway. One side of his face was covered in blood.
“Roman!”
Her soul cried out to him, but she could only watch him through the confines of Jacqueline’s cocoon. The lady had been gracious in allowing her to handle this, but now took control.
Nigel swung around to face Roman, cursing. “You won’t die, damn you!”
“Let her go. It’s me you want.” Roman approached slowly.
Khan would not come into the hall, but stood at the doorway barking. When she saw the Great Dane pushing against thin air she realized Jacqueline was holding him back and her heart nearly stopped. Roman would get no help from the dog. The door slammed shut.
In Jacqueline’s mind, this quarrel was between Lord Alsborough and Captain Cardiff. She wanted them to fight it out.
Nigel brought the gun up. “Not another step, Cardiff.”
Roman kept coming. He spread his arms wide. “I have no weapon. Let us leave here together and sort this out.”
He did not have a force field of protection. She could not watch him die like this. The mademoiselle knew her intention.
You will remain here.
“But he is evil!” She wanted to scream, kick and bite her way out of the hold Jacqueline had on her.
Nigel met Roman halfway. “Brother in arms.” He jerked the barrel of the gun to the center of Roman’s forehead and said through clenched teeth, “She has always been mine.”
Roman gave Nigel’s wrist a swift chop.
Nigel cursed as the gun discharged, shattering a crystal lamp against the opposite wall before it went flying. The gun skidded across the floor under the rubble of a broken statue.
Nigel growled, barreling into Roman. They collided against the wall into a marble bust, which went crashing to the floor. He held Roman around the waist, trying to drag him down to the floor, but Roman was broader of frame and stood his ground.
He grabbed Nigel around the neck and threw him against the wall. Nigel landed on top of the broken marble bust, the breath knocked out of him with a groan of pain.
As he moved toward Nigel, Roman stumbled, leaning against the wall. Nigel’s eyes bore into his, and a battle loomed before him.
“Pretorius, lift the sword higher or you will lose your head!” Their father circled them in the pit, watching every move. His father Giles was much younger in this vision, robust and alive. Romanus lunged and his younger brother Pretorius feinted just in time. “Excellent!” he patted Pretorius on the back…
Ancient Rome. They were training in hand-to-hand combat for the coming battle with the evil ones…
Roman shook the vision out of his head, and swayed with the pain. “We are no longer brothers. He was your father too, once, and you let them murder him!”
Nigel rose to his feet, using the wall for support. “You followed Father into the Light. I chose a different path. We needed Cardiff Jewels to complete our work and your father would not cooperate. Michel Garamonde understood his destiny and did what was required. His son denied his birthright.” Nigel glanced at Amelie. “And needed to be taught a lesson.”
“You killed Emil thinking I’d be blamed for it.” Roman cursed, wiping the blood out of his eyes. “This ends here. Now.” He went after Nigel.
“He is hurt.” She pushed against Jacqueline’s barrier. “This fight cannot go on. It will take away whatever strength he has left. I must go!” she screamed. But she wasn’t going anywhere.
Her vision tunneled to the fatal tableau across the salon. The only sounds were Roman’s murderous rumblings. He was the avenging archangel Michael with a thick forelock dancing over one eye as he clamped a hand around Nigel’s neck and squeezed.
With his other hand, he pulled the ruby ring off Nigel’s finger and threw it across the room before lifting Nigel by the neck further up the wall.
Dangling in the air and limp as a rag doll, Nigel turned his face toward her and rasped, “I am still in love with you, Jacqueline. Come with me, and live for all eternity.” His hand moved to his pants pocket.
“No!” Her warning went unheeded by Roman.
Half-blinded by blood, he did not see Nigel pull out the switchblade.
“You…are…insane!” Blinding anger emanated from Jacqueline at Nigel’s declaration, and Amelie became nauseous with the power of it.
They were moving above the ground. In seconds, she was close enough to see rivulets of sweat running down Nigel’s face. His eyes widened in shock. The blade clattered to the floor.
Roman turned and looked at her warily. He released Nigel, who slumped against the wall and inched away.
Weakened by Jacqueline’s rage, Amelie was watching from somewhere within.
She felt the mademoiselle’s satisfaction that Nigel was within reach.
She did not know what Nigel saw before him, but she was riveted to the horror in his eyes. She heard his alarmed bellow through a crimson haze as the sword jerked up in her hands.
One foot was braced firmly in front of her as a knight in battle, propelling her forward. Just an arm’s length away from Roman’s mid-section, she skewered Nigel on the sword to
the jeweled hilt.
“Go…to…Hell!” Jacqueline’s command shook her with its bloodlust as she lifted the sword high.
Nigel dangled from the sword, two feet off the ground, twisting in agony until his legs went limp, and screaming until his wretched life was over.
The sword came down and Roman came forward, his face glowing as he entered the white aura.
Looking into her eyes, he took the sword from her hands, bloodying his own. He braced a foot on the body to pull out the steel.
“It is over, mon cher.” Jacqueline’s French was a gentle caress as she pushed the forelock off his forehead and touched his cheek.
He dropped the sword and it clanged to the floor. “Merci…” His eyes moved from the transparent satin slippers peaking from beneath the gown to the ghostly Cardiff jewels adorning the mademoiselle’s neck.
An eerie wail surrounded them. It was coming from Nigel, who lay dead on the floor. A black fog emanated from Nigel’s chest and swirled in the air. It hovered above the body before vanishing into thin air.
She felt tinkling amusement well up in Jacqueline. When the laughter came, it was filled with promise.
The mademoiselle said no more, but stepped out of Amelie’s confined existence.
Drained by Jacqueline’s possession, she swayed on her feet.
Roman scooped her up in his arms so tight her bones ached and the arm and leg wounds burned. Even as relief flooded in that she could feel her body now, she was bereft of the mademoiselle’s comfort.
With some effort, she lifted a hand to his bloody face. He turned into it and kissed her palm.
Jacqueline nodded in approval. With one hand holding long, glittering skirts high, she moved on invisible steps above the floor. When she reached the portrait, she turned once more to look at them before stepping through the gold frame.
Chapter 20
St. Clair Manor, North Yorkshire, England – August 15, 1988
“Take him outside,” Chief Bryant said in the hallway.
Amelie sat back in the leather wing chair. Even though she was sitting in Roman’s study, she looked away as men carried Nigel’s body on a gurney through the hallway outside Haddon Hall. The coroner walked out behind them.
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