“OH, THAT WAS most enjoyable,” Lizzy said happily as Sussex escorted them over to the punch bowl. “Don’t you agree? Dubuque has such a way with interpretation.”

The duke’s response was little more than a grunt, leaving Lucy to pick up her end of the conversation. “Delightful! It has been a long time since I’ve enjoyed myself so much. And thankfully there was no screeching soprano to join him. The last musicale the Sumners hosted had a most dreadful singer.”

“Oh, yes. I remember a musical I attended at Lady Branwell’s years ago. Her daughter sounded quite like a cat being skinned, and the others who joined her were not much better!”

They laughed as the duke steered them in the direction of the refreshment table.

“You are unusually quiet, Sussex,” Lizzy announced.

“Merely taking it all in,” he muttered.

“No doubt he’s wishing he had abandoned his plans to escort us, and is now fondly thinking of his lodge meeting,” Lucy teased.

“No, thinking of other things, I’m afraid. And formulating a plan.” When he gave her a pointed look, Lucy darted her gaze away.

“Sounds diabolical,” Lizzy said dryly.

“Oh, it is.”

“What did you think of the music, brother?”

“Adequate.”

“What a scintillating conversationalist you are!”

Sussex frowned as Lucy and Lizzy both grinned.

“He’s scowling, isn’t he?” Lizzy asked. “I can almost see it, his glare boring into my person!”

“Indeed he is,” Lucy answered, “most fiercely.”

Which made Sussex’s scowl deepen. “I am not frowning or scowling—or anything of the kind. Perhaps you two—”

“Your grace, what a wonderful surprise to see you here, tonight.”

Half turning, Sussex stuck out his hand in greeting. “Ah, Lord Sheldon, how are you?”

“Very well, your grace. And you?”

“As well as can be expected after enduring forty-five minutes of Mozart.”

The newcomer laughed and rocked on his heels. “Decidedly so.”

“And here I thought I was the only one in the room bored to tears.”

“No, misery loves company, I’m afraid, but it is rather selfish of you to claim boredom when you have been seated between two of the loveliest women in the room.”

Lucy felt a gentle tug on her hand, pulling her back, away from the gentlemen. “Who is this?” Lizzy whispered discreetly. “He has a voice as thick and smooth as honey.”

“I have absolutely no idea. I’ve never met him before.”

Lord Sheldon and the duke continued to converse, oblivious to the fact Lucy and Lizzy had discreetly taken another few steps back and were now hurriedly whispering back and forth. “Lizzy, honey? Really!”

Lizzy gave up a beautiful smile. “Do describe him, Lucy.”

Lucy glanced at the man. “He is tall.”

“Yes?”

“And excellently dressed.”

“Yes?” Lizzy asked, sounding breathless.

“And he seems very polite, and amiable.”

“Oh, do get on with it, Lucy!”

“Get on with what, Lizzy?”

“Is he handsome or no!”

Lucy smiled, and reached for both Lizzy’s hands giving them a big squeeze. “Very. And he keeps stealing peeks at you while Sussex is droning on about something or other.”

“Oh dear, my brother droning on? He’ll have the poor man running away in horror.” Lizzy’s face suddenly lit up like the dawn. “Oh, how do I look?”

“Stunning and ethereal, as always.”

Lizzy pulled a face then seemed to recover. “What color is his hair?”

“Sandy-blond, with streaks of… Is that honey, I detect?”

Lizzy’s scowl was quite reminiscent of the one she had seen only moments ago on the duke’s face. “Make fun of me if you will, Lucy. I will bear it, if only you’ll go into greater detail. You’re capable of it, you know. Make me see him!”

Heart softening, she took a surreptitious glance at the man, and saw how his gaze lingered over Lizzy. “Tall, lithe, but not skinny—his shoulders are quite broad. He looks quite stunning in his dress clothes, very gentlemanly with a hint of wildness. He’s tanned, in fact.”

“Tanned?” Lizzy asked with a frown. “Is he English? No Englishman possesses a tan in the middle of November.”

Lucy let her gaze slip once more to the handsome gentleman. “Definitely tanned, Lizzy. His hair is, I think dark brown, but with honeylike streaks running through it—” she could not suppress the smile at her taunt “—which I’m certain are sun-streaked strands. His hair is given to wave, I think, but he’s brushed it back and tamed it for the night. His eyes…hmm, I cannot see them well, but I think them dark, and they are framed with a very lush amount of dark lashes. His lips…well, I think they must be perfect.”

A masculine cough interrupted her, and she looked up to see the duke arching his brow in annoyance. “Ladies, may I introduce the Earl of Sheldon? Sheldon, this is Lady Lucy, the Marquis of Stonebrook’s daughter.”

“Delighted, Lady Lucy.”

“And this…” Sussex delicately took Lizzy’s hand in his and brought her carefully forward. “This is my sister, Lady Elizabeth.”

Lucy watched the way the duke elegantly placed Lizzy’s hand in Sheldon’s gloved one. She also noted the way the earl’s gaze roved over Lizzy as she dropped into a perfect curtsey. Smitten. That was exactly what the earl was.

“Lady Elizabeth, an honor.”

“Why thank you, Lord Sheldon.”

“Your brother has spoken very highly of you, and none of it has been exaggerated, I assure you.”

Lizzy’s smile was one of beauty, and Lucy had to hold back the impulse to clap her hands together with glee.

“Would it be permissible, your grace, if I escorted Lady Elizabeth around the room?”

“Not at all, as long as my sister has no objections?”

“None at all.”

Sheldon placed Lizzy’s fingertips on his arm, and carefully led her away from the refreshment table. Sussex watched them like a hawk circling a mouse for a very long time before he spoke. “What do you think of him?”

Lucy was startled by the question. “I beg your pardon, your grace?”

“Sheldon. What is your opinion of him? He is new to his title, spent the majority of his life abroad in the Middle East, but he’s been back now for months. He’s been hinting for almost that long about desiring an introduction to my sister.”

Lucy watched the pair as they strolled the perimeter of the room. They stopped before a painting, and it was clear that the earl was taking his time to describe it to Lizzy. And by the expression on her friend’s face, she was in raptures over the earl and their conversation.

“He seems very caring, and not at all surprised at her infirmity.”

“I made it clear,” Sussex said before taking a sip of his champagne. “He’s known all along. And still he has made his wishes known. He’s rich—I checked. No bad habits, or any sordid secrets—I checked that, as well. There was a hint of trouble, though, back in the East that I haven’t been able to ferret out yet. But there is a story there, somewhere, and most likely a scandal. I can sense it. No one in our world is clean and free of secrets.”

The duke’s gaze darkened at the last, that Lucy could not help but goad him. “Gossip, your grace? How unlike you to indulge in the pastime.”

He grunted, but his cool gaze stayed focused on the pair. “Where there is smoke, there is fire. Something happened and has been swiftly, and quite safely, brushed beneath the carpet. I intend to discover what it was.”

Lucy couldn’t help but look at him. He wasn’t paying her any mind; his full attention was focused on Lizzy. There was a very great love there, she thought wistfully, wondering what it might be like to have a sibling care for her. It was very apparent in the way Sussex watched Lizzy, protecting her from anything or anyone who might wish to harm her. No man, Lucy realized, would be free of Sussex if he wished to court Elizabeth. In fact, Lucy was beginning to fear that no man was good enough.

“You cannot keep her tucked in the house all the time, your grace.”

He glanced down then swiftly found Lizzy. Once more, there were ghosts in his eyes when he spoke. “You don’t know what it was like growing up as we did. She had no one—I had no one. We are all the other has, and I would do anything to see her safe and happy. My father…” He swallowed. “He had no use for anything he perceived as weak and ineffective. He all but abandoned her when she began to lose her sight. I won’t do the same.” His vow warmed her despite the fact she was trying to stay cool and indifferent. How could she? “I think, your grace, that you have done everything in your power to ascertain that Elizabeth will be quite safe with this man. Now it is up to fate.”

“Fate?” He looked down, studied her face. “I never leave anything to chance, Lucy. You should know that.”

“And why do I need to know such a thing?”

“For the future. I won’t leave my future, or yours, up to some whimsical fit of fate, or chance, or any other esoteric nonsense.”

The way he looked at her gave her pause, made her study him, before she shook her head. There was something there, when he looked at her just so…but she could not place it. She tried to pull away, but he reached for her, held her by the wrist. When she looked up, the strange familiarity was gone, replaced by eyes that were warm, heated with the effects of the champagne, and perhaps something else? Passion? No, his grace did not succumb to such things. Passion was a foreign word to him—a forbidden concept.

“Your grace,” she whispered, her voice chastising. “It is not done to touch me so forwardly. You’ll cause a stir.”

“Did you think our conversation from before finished?”

“Emphatically.”

“Well, it is not. Quite the contrary. I have had forty-five minutes to think of the things I want to say to you.”

“I hate to disappoint you, your grace, but I am not in the frame of mind to indulge any priggish sermons you have mentally dictated. I have had my fill of sermons and lectures to last me a lifetime and into the next. My father, you see, is quite fond of them, my mother was as well. I don’t need you,” she spat, “plaguing me with them, either. Let us be enemies, as we had mutually agreed upon a fortnight ago. This, whatever this is—” she waved her free hand between them, indicating the way he was holding her wrist, and how close they stood together “—is far too complicated. Being enemies is much easier, and simpler.”

“For you, perhaps. For me? It’s utter agony.”

He held her tighter, leaned closer, and she could smell that woman’s perfume on his clothes, and it sent her emotions scattering like the petals of a rose in a gale. Surely she could control these frightening emotions that seemed to flare so violently inside her whenever she recalled the duke with that woman.

“You would make a spectacle of us, sir, please, release my hand and step away.”

“Now who is the prig, concerned only with rules and etiquette?”

The glare she shot him could not be misunderstood. She wanted to do serious damage to his grace.

“You should never underestimate me, Lucy—especially when I want something.”

“One would hate to deny a duke anything, it would be social suicide. But I don’t care.”

He smiled, showing his teeth, and his eyes crinkled at the corners as if he were enjoying himself immensely. “I will have you, Lucy. Make no mistake about it, and it won’t be by clandestine fate, or chance. I assure you.”

As they stood toe to toe, the duke’s fingers wrapped around her wrists, their gazes locked, the Sumners’ majordomo announced in a ringing voice, “The Marquis of Alynwick, and Laird of the Clan Sinclair.”

Appearing in all his Highland regalia, complete with kilt and sword, Lucy watched the marquis stroll into the room. His gaze roved over the guests, jumping from person to person, searching for someone.

With a groan, Sussex reluctantly released her hand.

“What is it?” she asked, stepping on the tips of her slippers, in an attempt to see over Sussex’s shoulder.

“An inconvenience we don’t need.”

“Who doesn’t need?” she asked.

“The Brethren Guardians,” he growled as he glanced at her. “Damn it,” he muttered, swinging his gaze back to the marquis, “there is going to be more than one duel tonight. I’m going to blow his head off for this stunt.”

“I beg your pardon? A duel? Your grace—” She could hardly breathe, her corset squeezing her lungs so tight she felt light-headed. Thomas? Was the duke going to drag him to some lonely, fog-shrouded field and murder him in cold blood?

Sussex glanced at her, looked deeply into her eyes for the briefest of seconds and discerned her worries. “Not him. Not tonight.”

Her relief was audible, and it sent a muscle in his jaw clenching.

“Truce, Lucy, for the next few minutes?”

It was against her better judgment to grant such a thing, but she found herself nodding despite herself. “Very well.”

Holding out his arm, he offered it to her. “Stroll with me.”

She did, and allowed Sussex to maneuver her effortlessly through the throng of guests who were busily chatting away, and watching the marquis with marked interest.

As they promenaded closer to where the marquis stood surveying the gathered crowd, Lucy was aware the instant Alynwick sighted what he was looking for. When the marquis’s gaze fell to Sheldon, who was holding on to Elizabeth’s hand, Alynwick’s expression turned violent.

“Sussex,” Lucy hissed, “look.”

But it was too late. In one swift move the marquis had parted the couple and had the earl pressed against the wall, his arm lodged against Sheldon’s throat. With a thrust, he slammed the earl back hard. Words were shared, and Lucy feared for her as Alynwick reached for Lizzy’s hand and proceeded to all but drag her out of the room. The crowd went silent; nothing could be heard except the fall of shocked, slackened jaws.

“There is keeping our presence a secret,” Sussex growled. “Goddamned, hotheaded Highland brute!”

“What now?” she asked, fearing for Lizzy. What would that beast Alynwick do to her?

“Damage control, I’m afraid. Get Lizzy for me, and I will take care of Alynwick. Then be ready to depart immediately.”

“Of course.” She was already moving when the duke reached for her hand.

“Lucy?” Sussex paused for a beat then took a step closer. Lowering his head, he whispered to her, “This isn’t over. I always get what I want. And by God—” he paused, brushed his mouth against the loose curls she had left dangling down her temple “—how I want you.”

As the duke pulled away, Lucy was left with an odd warmth flowing through her veins. Immobile, she watched Sussex weave through the guests, his tall form easily seen between the swelling crowd that was eager for a glimpse of the spectacle Alynwick was creating.

Poor Lizzy, she would be devastated by such a scene—and Alynwick’s callousness.

Stepping back, Lucy inched back toward the periphery of the room. Everyone was too busy looking to the opposite side; no one would notice her as she carefully and unobtrusively made her way to the exit, where Sussex was calmly separating his sister from the marquis.

She had almost made it, when a voice came from behind her. Her wrist was snatched up and she was whirled around. She froze when she saw a footman with her gloved hand in his.

“My master bids me to give you this. He awaits you. Tonight.”

Lucy followed the footman as he swiftly melted out of sight and disappeared amongst the crowd. She glanced down at her palm, and immediately closed her fingers around the gold circle. Her gaze found Sussex, who was still heading toward the door of the music room with Alynwick alongside him. He was not paying her mind. He had not seen.

Carefully she uncurled her fingers and stared down at the coin, with its lyre and laurel leaves.

The House of Orpheus…Thomas.

Excitement mixed with dread. She did not want to discover any connection between Thomas and Orpheus. She wanted there to be no question of his innocence in Sussex’s mind, or in hers.

There was only one way to know the truth. She must go to him, and Sussex must never discover that fact.

 

ALL THE WAY HOME, as the carriage rocked and swayed through the dimly lit streets of Mayfair, Lucy wondered—and worried—what the remainder of the night would bring, considering the duke’s strange mood. The coin was pressed against her palm, inside the glove, and she felt it, a reminder of what the night would bring.

She worried that perhaps Sussex would discover her plan, but he was preoccupied—with thoughts of the marquis, no doubt.

Stealing a glance at her friend, Lucy could well believe that it was not only the duke who was brooding about the marquis, but it was evident that Elizabeth was, too.

Lucy had found them in a darkened hall, Alynwick looming over Lizzy like a menacing shadow. Reluctantly he had pulled away, but not before he’d leaned down and whispered something that had caused Elizabeth’s delicate pink flush to drain from her face. Something had passed between them—Elizabeth firmly denied it, but Lucy had seen the lie in her friend’s eyes. Something had transpired to make Lizzy quiet—too quiet—and worried, too. Her friend was still biting her lower lip and clutching her reticule tightly in her hands. Lucy had tried numerous times to draw Lizzy from her thoughts with talk, but her friend seemed oblivious to her attempts. The only thing left to do was to reach out and grasp Elizabeth’s hand, holding it tight in her small gloved one. With a gentle squeeze, Lizzy recognized the small comfort, but still did not speak.

What had that brute Alynwick done or said to her? Any number of vile things, she supposed. The marquis was known for such things, and he had hurt her friend before… Well, she would not stand for it this time. Brethren or no, Alynwick would not be allowed to further hurt Elizabeth.

Before she knew it, the magnificent ducal coach pulled up before her house. Sussex, without any sort of pretext, handed her down from the carriage, and escorted her up the tall steps of her home. When Jennings opened the doors, the duke bowed and bid her good night, then turned and disappeared into the fog-shrouded night.

“Good evening, miss, I trust your evening has been an enjoyable one?”

Jennings took her cloak, and waited for her gloves, which Lucy had no intention of giving up. “Very enjoyable, Jennings. And my father?”

“Not at home, miss. Lodge meeting tonight.”

That’s right. She had forgotten.

“Well, then, Jennings, I think I shall retire. I am tired tonight.”

With a bow, the butler withdrew. “Very good, miss.”

Lucy forced herself to climb the curved staircase with dignity and decorum. She could feel the austere stare of the butler following her progress. When she was out of sight, she lifted the hem of her dress, running down the long corridor, the silk of her gown making a rustling, sifting noise as her heeled slippers, muffled by the thick carpet, tapped against the floor.

At last she was there, slightly winded as she threw open the door then slammed it behind her. Tossing her reticule and gloves onto her dressing table Lucy rushed to her window, pulling aside the heavy brocade curtains, she saw that the Sussex coach was already rolling down the street.

She tried to think of the coin pressed to her flesh, the excitement that was to come. But she caught a glimpse of the ducal crest emblazoned on the carriage door and it made her think back on the events of that evening.

By God, how I want you…

Dratted man.

It had been uttered in the deepest, darkest, most velvety voice she had ever heard, and it had made her whole body shiver. It was most definitely perfect, and full of passion, and quite the most arousing thing ever said to her—and it would have to be the duke who said it.

“Well, to hear this door slam, it can’t be good news.”

Lucy turned to see her maid, Sybilla, enter the chamber. Every time she saw her, the effect was the same. Sybilla was breathtaking, with dark, thick hair, and exotic almond-shaped eyes. Her skin was the color of amber honey, and her faint accent most alluring. She had come from France with her last employer, who had died not long after arriving in London—succumbing, no doubt, to the damp weather. Lucy had immediately snatched her up—not because Sybilla was beautiful, or gifted with needle and thread, or heavens above, pins and brushes, but because she shared a very unique interest with her.

The occult.

Lucy’s interest had only been budding when Sybilla came into her life. Now, and with Sybilla’s uncanny ability to discover the most diverting occult gatherings, and séances, Lucy could definitely say that her interest was far more than merely fleeting.

Sybilla knew most of the details of Lucy’s affair, and it had been her maid who had suggested they use the occult as a way of communing with her dead lover.

With a sigh, Lucy let the drapes fall back into place. “Elizabeth had a wonderful time. And that is the most important thing.”

“And you did not?” Sybilla asked as she picked the discarded gloves up from the table and smoothed them out. Lucy still held the coin in her tightly curled fist.

Sinking to the chair that sat before the dressing table, Lucy sighed once more and gazed into the mirror. “I don’t know if I did or didn’t. Does that sound strange?”

Sybilla smiled, and started pulling pins from Lucy’s hair. “It sounds like a man was involved for you to give such an answer.”

“Mmm,” she mumbled as she picked up a pearl hair clip and started twirling it mindlessly. “Have you had a chance to get those books at the library I requested?”

“Oui, I put them on your nightstand. They were very heavy, and dusty, I might add.”

“I don’t doubt they are all dusty old tomes. I highly doubt there are many readers in the city eager to read up on the crusades.”

“Then why are you?”

Their gazes met in the mirror, over a mound of Lucy’s red hair that looked wild and untamed as it was released from the pins. “Something compels me,” she replied. “Something I feel I must know.”

“About what?”

Lucy didn’t dare breathe a word about such things to her maid. Not that she didn’t fully trust her, but because she had given her word to Black, and by extension to Sussex. She had sworn not to speak of the Brethren Guardians, or their Templar lineage. She had promised not to reveal that the three of them—Sussex, Black and Alynwick—were linked by something beyond anyone’s imagination. And for that reason alone she kept her council, stating only, “I had heard that they dabbled in the occult, and I wanted to do research on the matter, that is all.”

Sybilla nodded briskly, telling Lucy she accepted the answer, but the maid’s dark eyes said something completely different.

Despite this, Lucy knew what must be done. She must learn more of the Guardians, and she must tell Thomas about them—tonight.

“You are in blue spirits, I think,” Sybilla muttered.

“Nonsense,” Lucy replied. She was just… She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She had had a very steady, very sure course set for herself, until tonight. Until the duke had given her a surprising—and shocking—glimpse of another side of him. And it was far from polite—or dead boring—and she couldn’t stop thinking of it, despite the fact the coin she held was warm in her hand. Thomas…think of him. Eight months of being parted was about to end….

“Mrs. Fraser sent her card around,” Sybilla announced as she pulled the remainder of Lucy’s pins from her hair. “I did not send a reply, as I was uncertain of your thoughts.”

She had thought never to call upon the Scottish Witch ever again, but that had been weeks ago, before Sussex had returned the handkerchief, before everything had seemed to blur and change.

“I think I’ll leave it for now,” she murmured, unsure of what to do. Ever since that night she had visited the mystic, she had been possessed by dreams of her vision, and those gray eyes, and the portent it might mean. She had thought of her childhood friend more than she had in years, and she didn’t like how it stirred up the old feelings that she had tried to suppress.

“I think I have something that will make you happy.”

Lucy looked up into the mirror, and saw that her hair was not hanging free of the pins, but rather had been redressed. Curiously her gaze found Sybilla who was once more reentering the room, carrying a missive.

Passing it to her, she smiled secretively. “This will bring a smile, non?”

Tearing open the wax seal, Lucy breathlessly read the words she had prayed for and longed to hear these last long months. The coin fell from her hand, and Sybilla picked it up, holding it for her until she had read the missive.

“It is from him! I told you, Sybilla, that I had seen him, that he hadn’t died at all!”

“You must go to him, but when?”

“Tonight! Now!” Lucy cried, jumping up from the chair. “I’ll need a heavy cloak, a bonnet—with a thick veil.” She paused, met Sybilla’s gaze. “My father—”

“I will tell him you are indisposed.”

“That will arouse his suspicions, and he’ll come to check on me when he gets home.”

A glint reflected in the maid’s dark eyes. “Not if I tell him it is female in nature.”

“Oh, how clever, he’d never dare enter after learning that.”

“Most men won’t.”

“You are brilliant, Sybilla.”

Lucy ran from the room after her cloak and bonnet had been carefully secured. The gold coin was safely in her palm, back beneath her glove. “My lady, you will have a care, won’t you?”

“Of course. There is nothing to fear. I will be back by morning, safely in bed, with none the wiser.”