John flushed for a moment as he diverted his glance, embarrassed to be caught assessing the goods of a woman he hadn’t even met yet. He cursed himself for staring at her like a young, drooling boy who had lost all sense of manners or dignity. He snapped his gaping mouth shut before he actually drooled. John continued to force his eyes away from this beauty, but he glimpsed her vibrant red hair out of the corner of his eye. Hard as he tried, he couldn’t help but to look back over to where she stood.
She brazenly stared at him, a half smirk cocked across her face and he reared back in shock. Damn it. Not only has she seen me staring, she’s mocking me. John struggled to regain some composure; he had to redeem himself. He maintained eye contact as he placed his left arm behind his back and bent down in a formal bow, his devilish smile now matching hers. As he stood up from his bow, his eyes darted back to her location only to find her missing.
He scanned the crowd again. He was tall enough to see over most of the men present, but there was no sign of the beautiful woman. His heart raced. Had he imagined her? John shook the thought from his head. No. He had not imagined her. She was real, and she was here somewhere; he had to find her.
John made his way through the crowd toward the pillar where he’d last locked eyes with the mesmerizing woman. Glancing around, he glimpsed red hair just a few pillars down the corridor. His eyes darted over to see her peering out from behind the pillar. She smiled at him before disappearing behind it once again, inviting him to play a mysterious game of cat and mouse.
His pulse raced with a level of intrigue he’d never felt before. Certainly never over a woman. He quickened his pace and peered around the pillar. Just like a lovely apparition, she’d disappeared into thin air. John spun around several times. Perhaps he was imagining things.
My God, how much champagne have I had? Just as he was about to declare himself crazy, he saw another flash of red down at the far end of the long corridor. He peered around the pillar to find her standing at the doorway, her hypnotic eyes beckoning him forward. How had she gotten over there so fast?
Watching as she disappeared into the doorway, he rushed after her, having to stop himself from running every few strides. When John reached the doorway, he peered inside to find no sign of the mysterious woman. He followed the twisty stairs up to the top, looking for any trace of her. Coming down the hallway, he noticed the second door on the right propped open. Either the maids had gotten lazy today, or he had cornered his fiery vixen.
Pushing the door all the way open, he stepped inside. There, standing out on the balcony in the full moonlight, was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. She stood, confidently staring back at him. The illumination from the full moon surrounded her in an ethereal glow, so she appeared lit from within.
He tried to form words, but his mouth had gone dry. While he never chased women to the extent his Uncle Thomas was rumored to have done in his youth, John was no stranger to seducing a beautiful woman. This one left him tongue-tied. He cursed his inability to speak as she smirked at him and turned around, leaning her elbows on the fine marble railing. The plunging back of her gown and her creamy white skin shining in the moonlight nearly took him down to his knees.
Get it together, John!
He swallowed hard and straightened his back into a rigid rod of determination. Lifting his chin, he marched with purpose out to the balcony, trying his best to remedy his obvious fumbling whenever he looked at her.
“It’s a beautiful night out, is it not?” He finally spoke but when the gravelly tone reached his ears, he barely recognized it as his own.
“It is,” she said, her voice cool and sexy, her eyes never leaving the sky to meet his.
He cleared his throat. “What brings you to the party tonight? I have never seen you before. I’d remember if I had.”
“You would, would you?”
John tried once again to pull it together. He stepped forward and took his place beside her, leaning forward on the railing as well. She turned to look at him. The radiance in her eyes nearly sent him hurtling three stories to the hard ground below.
“John Wesley Douglas.” She smiled at him as she said each of his names with a distinctive pause between them.
“Y-you know my name? H-how do you know my name?” he stuttered.
She looked him up and down as if she were contemplating purchasing a new horse. “I know a lot of things, John Wesley Douglas.” She twirled her hair around her finger. His body stirred just watching her and he shifted his weight to conceal it.
“What other things do you know?” He tried to play it as cool as his mystery beauty.
Tried and failed.
“I know this is not your bedroom, John Wesley Douglas.” She reached forward and pushed aside the piece of brown hair that had come undone from the short queue he had tied at the nape of his neck.
There it was again. She kept saying his full name, again and again. Do I know her? No. There’s no way I’ve seen this woman before and forgotten about her. This is the kind of woman that burns her image on a man’s heart. The kind of woman that will haunt you. Though it was strange the way she repeated it, even his name sounded sexy coming out of her pouty red lips.
“You are correct. This isn’t my room. How did you know?”
“I told you. I know a lot of things.” She cocked her devilish smile at him again, the sultriness of her voice ripping through his torso and settling in his groin.
“I can see that,” he said, smiling at her. “What I don’t know is your name. Who are you?”
“Perhaps I will tell you later. Perhaps not. For now, why don’t you show me where your bedroom is?”
John could barely breathe. Was this happening? Was it possible this beautiful creature was offering him her body on a silver platter? He wasted no time trying to decipher her true meaning. He didn’t want to risk giving her a moment to change her mind. All he could think about was what she looked like underneath that dress. With a smile, he placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her down the hallway to his bedroom. He whisked her inside and watched as she walked to the bar in his room and poured two glasses of wine. She slinked across the room, her every curve moving effortlessly as she approached him. She held out the wine glass for him while taking a tantalizing sip of hers, her tongue licking a misplaced drop from the rim of her glass. He felt his stomach tighten in anticipation as he took the glass from her and took a long swig of the sweet red wine.
CHAPTER TWO
JOHN TRIED TO OPEN his eyes, but the bright sun pouring into his bedroom forced them shut again with a groan. He clenched his eyes as the pounding in his head took on a rhythmic beat, not unlike the music that had been playing while the partygoers likely danced into the early morning hours. He peeled his eyes open one at a time, squinting across the room.
“Christ Almighty,” he groaned, as he regained his senses. “How much did I drink last night? The last thing I remember...”
He sat up with a shot. The woman. Where was she? His eyes searched the room and he rolled over to see he’d slept upon a still-made bed. He rubbed his eyes again as the memories of her flooded back in... yet there was no trace of her. No remnants of a wild night of passionate lovemaking shown in disheveled sheets. John questioned his sanity again. Perhaps he really had imagined her.
John looked around the room once more, wondering if he should tell his father he may, in fact, be suffering from hallucinations. His father had always been a wise and understanding man and perhaps he would see that John got the help he needed. Just as he pictured himself locked away in the tower, mumbling insanities about a beautiful woman, he saw the sparkle of not one, but two wine glasses sitting on the small table centered in his bedchamber.
“Two glasses!” he shouted, as he jumped out of bed. His knees wobbled under his own weight and almost buckled after the first few steps. It was as if his legs were constructed of the thick stew he had dined on the night before. “What the hell?” he muttered as he grasped
his nightstand and waited for his legs to respond.
He stumbled across his bedchamber and leaned down on the table for balance while he investigated the wine glasses. A perfect red lipstick mark was pressed into the glass... a sure testament he had not in fact lost his senses and the red-haired woman had been here with him last night. John looked around once more but saw no other traces of her and no traces of the torrid lovemaking her enticing gaze had promised him. What the hell was going on?
Rubbing his throbbing head, he paused to listen to the sounds that echoed down the hall and into his room. Is that wailing? A woman’s frantic cries?
He stood and peaked, listening until he heard it again. Sprinting to the door, his legs finally remembered their resolve as he whipped the door open and sprinted out into the hall. He saw servants hurrying along the long red corridor. Several mewled as they held each other in a tight embrace.
“What is going on?” he demanded of the young maid who peered up at him with tear-stained eyes. She shook her head and pointed toward the east wing of the house. He pushed the pounding in his head aside and bolted down the hall, trying to force the thoughts of what he may find out of his mind. He rounded the turn to the east wing and saw a crowd of servants and his father’s friends gathered around the door to his father’s office.
“What has happened?” John said, as he pushed through the people. He found his father inside, kneeling beside a body that lay crumpled on the floor. Its face was turned away from him so he couldn’t identify the victim, but he recognized the familiar cloak wrapped around the deceased man’s neck.
John’s breath caught in his throat. “Father, what happened?”
“It’s Henry Smith,” Robert said. “We found him here. It seems his throat was slit in the night or the early hours of morning.”
John’s chest tightened and he struggled to draw his next breath. Henry Smith had been like an uncle to him since his youth, his father’s closest friend and his second in command in the Order of Lions. He couldn’t believe it. No. Not Henry. This had to be some kind of a bad joke. Henry Smith was not dead.
“Who has done this?” John demanded, his grief mingling with rage over the loss of such a great man.
“Leave us!” Robert shouted to the servants gawking in the hallway. The servants moved off, leaving only John, his father, his uncle Thomas and several other members of the Order standing over the cold body of their fallen brother. “You, as well, Albert.”
John watched while Albert, who had been promoted to butler since John had reached adulthood, bowed and left the room. He was one of the few people who knew of the Order but wasn’t a member.
“Close the door, John,” Robert demanded.
He closed the door and turned back around to the saddened faces of the men still staring in disbelief.
“Who could have done this?” Uncle Thomas roared, scouring the faces of the men. “I want answers!”
“We will sort this out, Thomas,” Robert said coolly, looking around at the faces of the men he had called brother since being sworn into the Order on his eighteenth birthday, just as he had done with his son. “Someone gained entry to my office last night. We all know only myself, Thomas and John had keys. I see no signs of forced entry or that the lock has been tampered with, or picked. Thomas, do you have your key?”
Thomas reached into his pocket and pulled out a small key chain, the gold lion key dangling from the polished metal.
“John. Do you have your key?”
John patted his pocket where he always kept his key, finding only emptiness where he normally felt a slight bulge. He patted himself up and down as panic started to wash over him. His key was nowhere to be found. His gaze moved up to meet his father’s.
“John. Where is your key?” His father’s voice lowered an octave.
“I... I don’t know, Father. It was right here when I left the party. I don’t know...” John froze. It had been in his pocket when he had taken the red-haired woman to his room last night. He swallowed hard as he imagined his own lifeless carcass lying right beside Henry’s. His father was going to kill him.
“I may have made a grave error in judgment, Father.” His husky voice cracked in unbridled fear, like he was a small boy about to be scolded for breaking one of his mother’s fine china plates. “There was a woman last night. A red-haired woman who lured me to my room. I awoke with no memories, a throbbing headache and no sign of her.”
“You imbecile.” Uncle Thomas’ voice ripped through the room and landed in a heap of anger at John’s feet. “Your stupidity cost Henry his life. How could you be so stupid as to let your guard down, just to get your sugar stick wet with some cherry bitch? Bloody hell, John!”
He couldn’t even look up as he hung his head in guilt and shame. Thomas was right. He was an idiot for not thinking things through. Of course, she’d lured him to his room, used him, and then tossed him aside like he’d meant nothing. As handsome as most women found him, what were the chances a veritable stranger would throw herself at him without so much as a conversation?
“I’m sorry. I made a mistake. I—”
“Tell us about this woman, John,” his father said, cutting him off.
“She was a beautiful redhead I met at the party. She lured me to my room with a promise of...” He looked up and nodded. “She poured me a glass of wine and the next thing I knew, it was morning and I heard commotion. Now I am here.”
“Drugs. How could you be so stupid, John? We trained you in the art of drug detection. Did you forget everything we’ve taught you last night? Your young and foolish desires cost you not only your good senses, but now Henry’s life,” his uncle growled.
“Enough, Thomas,” Robert piped in, defending his son. “What happened to John was unfortunate and a mistake I am sure he will not succumb to again.” His father’s accusatory eyes stared right through him. “But it does not change the fact we are standing over the body of my oldest friend and his assassin is at large. We must find this woman John speaks of, since it’s obvious, she’s the culprit. She stole John’s key and let herself into my office, killing Henry and escaping out that open window.” Robert gestured to the third-story window that John had not even noticed was wide open.
“Tell us more about her, John. What was her name? Where did she say she was from?” his father questioned him.
“She didn’t, Father. She didn’t even tell me her name.” John could hear the groans of the men from the Order in a symphony of censure and pain. “Oh, come on. If she was an assassin, it’s not like she would have given me her real name anyway,” he said, finally defending himself.
“She must be a Liberta,” his uncle said. “There is no other explanation. Who else but a filthy Liberta would wish Henry dead? The vixen must have infiltrated the party, seduced John, stolen his key, and broken into the office to lie in wait for Robert. Perhaps Henry stumbled onto the open door and lost his life in the process. It’s the only thing that makes sense. If it is war they want with the Order of Lions, it is war they shall have!” Thomas roared as the other brothers cheered with him.
“Now, now, Thomas.” Robert’s calm and rational voice stopped the cheers. “I am the Grand Master of the Order of Lions. I’ll decide when and if we go to war, and what missions we support.” His stern look silenced his younger brother. “The Order of Lions and the Liberta have been at odds with one another for over five hundred years, since our orders came into existence. The Liberta has not made an assassination attempt on us in over two hundred years. Why now? Why would they risk open war? To what ends would my or Henry’s death accomplish anything?”
The men grumbled amongst themselves as they stewed over Robert’s words.
“Without your knowledge, I was in truce talks with the Liberta almost twenty years ago and I have been working to reestablish them over the past several months.” The gasps of the men turned into low mutterings when the words of their Grand Master sunk in. “Now brothers, hear me out. It is no secret that our current
King George has no right to sit on the throne, even though we helped him get there. Our Order has helped secure and keep the throne for the royal family for seven generations and we have done our duty well. We have quietly removed all threats to our crown with, and without, their knowledge and our actions have set a course for the royal family I can now say I do not wholeheartedly agree with.”
“That is blasphemy, Robert!” Thomas shouted over the mumblings of the shocked men. “To speak ill of our king is blasphemy and I will not stand by and listen! King George is the rightful heir to the throne. We threatened and killed our way to ensure the wishes of our queen to place him there were followed. How dare you insult the integrity of our organization and question the king’s legitimacy?”
“Now, now, Thomas. Just hear me out. You are correct. For over five hundred years, the Order of Lions has removed any obstacles our royal family has encountered, ensuring their hands stay free of blood and they remain beyond reproach. But Thomas, I love our crown and country and, while I followed my orders to ensure King George took the throne, I cannot continue to fight the reasoning that questions his authenticity as the rightful heir. Over fifty people had a more legitimate claim to that throne, but Queen Anne’s insistence that the throne only go to a Protestant and not a Catholic ensured that none of those heirs could claim it. Between that and the threats we made to the other potential heirs, it was all but ensured King George would reign. And now what? What has our meddling accomplished? The German king sits on his German throne and he has but even visited England only once! Don’t you think we English deserve an English king back on the throne? A king who cares for his people?”
“By God, Robert, you sound like the damn Liberta and their fool ideas that the people of England should have a say in running their country! It is a monarchy. God appoints a king and through that king’s command, we live! Any man who speaks otherwise is a blasphemer!”
In The Assassin's Arms (Daggers 0f Desire Book 1) Page 2