Burning Lamp

by Amanda Quick

  “Which you attribute to the energy of the lamp.”

  “Not entirely.” She was starting to sound cross.

  “I realize that you had no intention of succumbing to passion when you worked the lamp for me. You were caught up in the energy that was sweeping through the room.”

  “Swept away by my bedazzled senses?” she asked in acid tones.

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “And what of yourself, sir? Were you also just a victim?”

  “Hell, no,” he muttered. “I knew exactly what I was doing.”

  “In other words, I’m the only weak- willed individual in this room? Is that what you are implying?”

  “I meant nothing of the kind.”

  “If neither of us were victims of the effects of the Burning Lamp, then what are we supposed to make of what occurred? Just one of those things?”

  He eyed her closely. “You’re getting angry.”

  “Very astute of you.” She gulped the last of her wine. “I am also trying to make it clear that I take full responsibility for my actions last night, just as you do. Nevertheless, I do agree that both of us were aroused in an unnatural manner.”

  “Unnatural,” he repeated neutrally. Now his temper was starting to fray.

  “What I’m trying to say is that I am well aware that it was not romantic love that brought us together.”

  “What was it, then?”

  “Passion, of course. But I do assure you that the desire was mutual. You did Not take advantage of me.”

  He let out his breath in a long, slow exhalation. “At least give me credit for trying to act the gentleman. It doesn’t come easily to a professional crime lord.”

  Her smile was very cryptic. “It does to you, Griffin. Whether you will admit it or not.”

  He scowled. “I control the Consortium. I can control my own lusts.”

  “I never doubted that for a moment.” Her voice softened. “I know that you would not dream of presuming on our relationship tonight.”

  He drank some more wine and tried again to quash the memories. “Wouldn’t think of it.”

  But he would damn sure dream of it.

  32

  SHE AWOKE TO A STORM OF ENERGY. THE FORCE OF THE CURRENTS jolted her from a dream. One moment she was holding the targets for Monty Moore and discovering that the man pointing the gun at her was not Monty but Mr. Smith. In the next instant she was sitting straight up on the cot, her hands knotted in the silk sheet.

  Heart pounding, she struggled to separate the remnants of her own dream energy from the gale that was howling soundlessly in the small space. Not her own currents, she realized. Griffin was in the grip of a savage nightmare. She would recognize his energy anywhere.

  It was not just the moonlight filtering through the window that illuminated the outer room. She could see and sense the eerie glow of hot dreamlight.

  She scrambled free of the sheet and rose from the narrow bed. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet. She went to the doorway and looked out into the small sitting room area, expecting to see Griffin asleep in his bedroll.

  But he was not asleep. Instead he sat cross-legged on the open bedroll. The Burning Lamp stood on the floor in front of him. He had one hand on the rim. The artifact was not yet fully transparent. The crystals were still dark. But energy stirred and flashed within the device, producing the ominous glow.

  Griffin’s eyes were open. They burned in the haunting glare of the artifact. He gave no indication that he saw her.

  “Griffin?” She kept her tone low, barely a whisper. Her intuition warned her that it would be dangerous to startle him out of the dream state, especially now that he had ignited the lamp’s power.

  She went forward cautiously and stopped just short of the bedroll.

  “Griffin,” she said again, louder this time. “Can you hear me?”

  He did not move but the violence of his dream energy altered slightly.

  The artifact flared dangerously higher. That was not a good sign, she thought. Perhaps it was responding to her presence.

  Unable to think of any other course of action, she crouched beside Griffin and very gingerly touched his arm.

  She thought she was braced for the direct contact but nothing could have prepared her for the hurricane of nightmare energy that tore across her senses. She could not actually see the scenes of Griffin’s hellish dream but the intuitive nature of her talent interpreted the energy in shatteringly clear images. Blood, a pale arm draped over the side of the bed, the ghostly reflection of his own image in the dressing table mirror and the knowledge that something horrible had been done. Above all was the soul-wrenching knowledge that he was too late to save his parents.

  The visual impressions did not surprise her, given what she knew of Griffin’s recurring nightmare. What stunned her was the realization that she was not sensing the usual seething chaos that was the signature of dream energy.

  Griffin was in control of the nightmare. He could end it at any time. But she did not like what was happening to the lamp. The metal was translucent now. Soon the crystals would flare.

  She took her fingers off his arm and reached toward the rim of the artifact.

  Griffin slammed instantly into full awareness. She could tell that his senses were still aroused, still flooding the atmosphere with power. But the hot currents of nightmare energy altered dramatically with his awakening.

  “Adelaide.” The harsh whisper sounded as though it came from the depths of a vast cavern.

  His hand locked around her wrist, chaining her.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, a little breathless because her own senses were soaring and whirling just as they had last night when he had taken her into his arms.

  “I promised you that I would not touch you tonight,” he said.

  At last she understood. A moment ago he had been controlling the dark chaos of nightmare energy. When she had shattered his trance, the violent currents of power that he had been wielding had not suddenly evaporated. They simply had been transformed into another kind of energy. But he was still in control, she realized. It was astonishing.

  Her own senses exalted in the dizzying excitement.

  “I release you from your promise,” she whispered.

  “Are you sure you want to do that?”

  “Yes. Oh, yes.”

  She drew the fingertips of her free hand along the edge of his rigid jaw. His skin was feverish. So were his eyes. She felt the shudder that went through him. Instinctively she started to lean closer.

  The lamp immediately brightened. She sensed that the forces unfurling inside the artifact would soon be beyond anyone’s control.

  She clamped her fingers around the rim. The shock that crackled through her made her grit her teeth. She knew that Griffin felt it too because his hand tightened convulsively around her wrist. But a heartbeat later she found the pattern of the wildly resonating currents. She wove her own energy into it, aware that she could not possibly assume control. The lamp was Griffin’s to command. But if she worked subtly and carefully, she could hold the center of power for him.

  Griffin looked at the lamp, the alchemist in him very close to the surface.

  “I do believe we are playing with fire,” he whispered.

  She caught his chin with her free hand. “Griffin, listen to me. You must shut it down.”

  His smile was soul-shatteringly sensual. He used the grip on her wrist to draw her to him.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m in control.”

  A little flicker of panic seared off some of the heavy heat of passion.

  “There is no knowing what the lamp might do in this state,” she said. “It is extremely dangerous. You must shut it down.”

  “I want to know what lies at the heart of the storm. I need to understand.”

  “Please,” she said. “Turn off the lamp. For my sake.”

  He smiled again and brushed his mouth across hers.

  “Fo
r you, Adelaide, anything,” he said.

  The lamp winked out with startling suddenness, plunging the room back into moonlit darkness. The ominous energy that had been swirling in the atmosphere dropped back to what Adelaide knew to be a normal level in the proximity of the artifact.

  There was a thud and a heavy clatter of metal on wood. Adelaide barely had time to register the fact that Griffin had swept the relic aside before she found herself flat on her back on the bedroll.

  He came down on top of her, his body heavy and tight and hard against her own. His mouth closed over hers.

  Energy flared again in the shadows but this time she recognized it and gloried in it. These were the exciting, unique currents that always shimmered in the atmosphere between them.

  He opened his trousers and went to work unfastening her nightgown. She gripped his uninjured shoulder, digging her fingers into the sleek muscle there. His shirt was unbuttoned. She stroked her palm down his bare chest and then reached lower. She found the taut, full length of him and squeezed gently.

  “Talk about playing with fire,” he said.

  He worked his way to her throat and then to her breasts, following the retreating tide of silk. Her nipples were so sensitive she cried out softly when she felt his tongue on them. Everything inside her clenched. She was damp and aching for him.

  Griffin’s hand flattened on her belly, warm and strong. She gasped when she felt his teeth sink very gently into the tender skin of the inside of her thigh. And then he was kissing her in the most shockingly intimate manner possible. She was a woman of the world, she reminded herself. Nevertheless, she had never allowed any of her small number of lovers such an intimate caress.

  “GriffiN.”

  “Anything for you, Adelaide,” he said again, his voice as hard and tight as his body.

  The climax spilled through her. She was still flying on the dazzling energy when Griffin entered her, thrusting deep and hard. Her body, already exquisitely tuned to the breaking point, responded to the impossibly full, impossibly tight sensation with another burst of stunning aftershocks.

  Griffin braced himself above her and began to move slowly, heavily, deliberately. Every motion was an act of supreme control.

  She wrapped herself around him. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

  “Maybe this is for me,” he said. His voice was hoarse and raw with the force of the effort he was exerting.

  “No,” she whispered.

  She struggled a little, pushing at him until he obligingly rolled onto his back. She came down on top of him, fitting herself to him with great care.

  “This is for you,” she said.

  For a moment she thought he would not be able to relinquish control to her. But with a groan he set himself free from his self- imposed restraints. She sensed that it was an act of trust. Thrilled, she took command of the passionate energy that flashed between them.

  Griffin surrendered to his climax with an exultant shout. He surged into her for a timeless moment, his entire body wracked with the shudders of a raging release.

  It seemed to Adelaide that the room had suddenly filled with a luminous mist. For a few timeless seconds she was acutely aware of the feeling that her aura was somehow fusing, however fleetingly, with Griffin’s. It was as if they were touching each other’s souls.

  In the next breath it was over.

  She felt Griffin sink slowly back into himself. She waited until he lay, damp and still, utterly relaxed, beneath her. Then, very gently, she eased herself away from him. She, too, was slick with perspiration and other fluids. Her inner thighs trembled a little, every muscle exhausted.

  On the verge of sleep, Griffin encircled her with his arm and pulled her down beside him. She snuggled close. She would wait until he was fully asleep, she thought. Then she would retreat to her small cot and silk sheets in the other room.

  Between one breath and the next she fell asleep.

  33

  GRIFFIN CAME OUT OF THE OTHER ROOM, FASTENING HIS shirt, just as she set the plate of leftover bread and cheese and two apples on the table. She studied him covertly, trying to determine what it was about him that seemed different this morning. Using water she had heated on the hearth, he had washed and shaved, but that was not it, she thought. He looked not only refreshed but also invigorated. All the hardness was still there but he seemed somehow younger, more carefree, as if he had discovered that life still had something to offer that was good.

  Or maybe it was her own mood that rendered the atmosphere so buoyant and cheerful this morning. She still could not get over the fact that she had slept with Griffin, and peacefully at that. She had not opened her eyes until the morning sun had streamed through the window. It was the first time in her life that she had been able to spend an entire night with a lover.

  Griffin inhaled with obvious pleasure. “The coffee smells good.”

  “Like the bottle of wine last night, it transforms everything,” she said. She poured two cups and sat down across from him. “A fine example of genuine alchemy.”

  He laughed and sat down at the table.

  She was intensely aware of the intimacy of the moment. The experience was such a delicious novelty that she could almost forget they were in hiding. She wanted to stay here with Griffin forever and forget that the real world even existed.

  Good lord, she thought, maybe this is what Mrs. Trevelyan meant yesterday when she told me to enjoy myself.

  Griffin’s strong white teeth flashed briefly when he took a healthy bite out of an apple. He chewed, swallowed and smiled. Pure, unadulterated masculine satisfaction heated the atmosphere around him.

  “You slept with me last night,” he said.

  She felt herself turn pink. “For pity’s sake, Griffin, that is hardly fit conversation for the breakfast table.”

  “No, I meant you slept with me. You closed your eyes, went to sleep and probably even dreamed, didn’t you?”

  She cleared her throat. “Yes. I did sleep with you.”

  He waited a beat, radiating cool expectancy.

  “What does that mean?” he said when she failed to carry on the conversation.

  “I suspect it has something to do with the lamp,” she said smoothly.

  “Both of us are, I think, tuned to its currents. Perhaps when it is in the same room with us it mutes other dreamlight wavelengths.”

  “In other words, you have no idea why you could sleep with me last night.”

  “None,” she agreed. “Not a clue. Speaking of dreamlight, what in the world were you doing last night?”

  “I’m not sure.” He looked across the room to where the artifact stood on a small table. “All I can tell you is that there is something about that lamp that I need to discover. I feel as if I’m just on the brink of comprehension. I thought that if I pulsed a little energy into the damn thing I might be able to figure out what it is that is eluding me.”

  “Promise me that you won’t ever again try to activate it without me.”

  “You have my word. I learned my lesson. That part of the legend is definitely true.”

  “The part that says that the lamp must be worked with a dreamlight reader?”

  “Right.” He took another bite of the apple. “I wonder what would have happened if you had not interrupted the process.”

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Why? What do you suppose might have occurred?”

  She glanced at the lamp. “I am convinced,” she said very deliberately, “that if the energy in that lamp had gotten out of control, it might have fried all your senses and very possibly mine as well.”

  He looked interested rather than appalled. “Even if you were in the other room?”

  She nodded somberly. “Even so. It might have killed both of us, Griffin. Or worse.”

  “Driven us mad?”

  “Yes.”

  “Huh. All right. No more experiments.” He finished the apple and drank some coffee. “I did some thinking
while I was shaving.”

  “And?”

  “It occurred to me that one of the many missing pieces in this puzzle is the mystery of the sleeping vapor that was in those canisters.”

  “There is also the mystery of the red crystals,” she reminded him.

  “Yes, but I have no notion of how to start looking for the person who forged those crystals. I do have an idea of how to go about finding the chemist who prepared the sleeping gas, however. There cannot be a large number of scientists around who would know how to concoct such an exotic gas. Whoever he is, I think there is an excellent possibility that he also created the crystals.”

  “But how do we go about finding one particular chemist in a city this size?”

  “I hate to say it, but I’m afraid we need the advice of a certain lady known to possess a talent for poison.”

  “Good heavens. You want me to contact Lucinda Jones again?”

  “I don’t think you need to go so far as to offer tea this time.”

  34

  “LOOK AT THEM,” LUCINDA JONES SAID. “THEY MIGHT AS WELL be two gentlemen meeting at dawn to settle a point of honor with pistols.”

  Adelaide watched Griffin and Caleb Jones through the carriage window. A thick fog blanketed the park. The two men were no more than dark shadows in the heavy mist. They stood some distance apart, facing each other in a stance that would not have looked out of place at a traditional dawn appointment.

  “You’re right,” she said. “They could well be a pair of duelists.”

  “Thank heavens gentlemen no longer conduct duels in this modern age,” Lucinda said. “It is difficult to believe that such events were once commonplace. I wonder what made men give them up?”

  “I suspect it was the improvement in the accuracy and reliability of the pistols,” Adelaide said. “In the old days there was a very good chance that the guns would not fire at all or that the bullets would miss their targets. Either way, honor was satisfied.”