Temptation & Twilight (16 page)

He thought of Sheldon, who was far too interested in Elizabeth for his peace of mind. Now that his suspicions were aroused, Iain knew he couldn’t afford to let the man out of his sight.

“Well, my lord,” Sutherland asked again, while cupping his hands together and blowing his hot breath into them. “What will it be? Want me on my way before the gent leaves the museum, and I’ll report back to you?”

“No,” Iain murmured, still watching the facade of the museum, and the flickering light in the window. “I’ll search his house.”

“I don’t mind. I’ve a knack for it.”

“No, my friend. I’ll do it. It’s…personal.” Sutherland’s eyes suddenly lit with understanding.

“So I was right. This has nothing to do with that hussy yer bedding.”

“How do you know?” And he wasn’t bedding the hussy—not anymore. Not after last night, and the cold, sick feeling he’d had upon seeing Georgiana. He had finally allowed himself to admit the truth—that he loved Elizabeth and wanted her back. It was the only thing he seemed able to focus on at the moment.

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“Because you would no’ stick your neck out for the likes of her, or others of her kind. You wouldn’t say it’s personal. What you have with her is the coldest, most impersonal thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You talk too much, Sutherland.”

“You only say that when I’ve pricked a nerve. It’s that lovely of yours, isn’t it? Somehow she’s involved.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t, eh? Well, I know what I see, and it’s that protective gleam in your coldhearted gaze. I saw it only the once, the night I came across you and the enchanting Elizabeth York going at it like animals. You jumped up, covered her with yer plaid, and when you turned back to me, you had the very same look in your eyes as you do now.”

Iain turned to his valet. “Oh? And what look would that be?”

“The one that says ‘I’ll rip yer bollocks from ye and stuff ’em down yer throat if ye even look at her, or think ta touch her.’”

Closing his eyes, Iain slowly turned his attention back to the museum. Sutherland was not done talking, however.

“He wants her, does he?” his servant asked. “Does the gent know he is about to be torn to pieces by the mad marquis for daring to take something that belongs to him?”

“I only want to learn his secrets.” Sutherland snorted. “You want to tear him limb from limb, then show up at the lovely’s house and display for her what you’ve done. After which you’ll carry her off to her bedchamber like some feral animal marking a mate.” The valet smiled. “Like any Highlander worth his mettle BOUND GALLEY EDITION March 23, 2012

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would do. Stake your claim on the lass, then, my lord.

You’re well overdue.”

“Is there anything I can’t hide from you, Sutherland?” He sighed in irritation.

“Aye, you can. Up until now, you hid your heart. I’ve been wondering all these years if you even had one. Now, I see it’s lain fallow in your chest, and has just begun to beat again.”

Indeed, it had. He had never wanted to risk it, not after what he had done to Elizabeth all those years ago. He hadn’t wanted to pull the damn organ from the depths he had buried it, lest it hurt like it had when he had turned his back on the only woman he’d loved. The only woman he would ever love.

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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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.

One, two, three, one, two, three…
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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.