by Monica Burns
“Ah yes, Oliver mentioned her in one of his letters.” Edward bowed over Constance’s hand. “If she’s as lovely as you, then my son will be a lucky man.”
The flattery brought a smile to her lips, and it irritated him. She’d never smiled at him like that. From across the room, his gaze met hers and her smile faltered. Blast, one would think him an ogre the way she was staring at him. Nodding a curt greeting in her direction, he moved forward to where the others stood.
“Good evening, Lady Westbury.”
“My lord,” she murmured with a brief nod.
There was a breathless quality to her voice that aroused savage urges in his body. Clenching his teeth at the way his body responded to her, he cleared his throat. “How is your work progressing?”
As he waited for her to respond, he watched the pulse throbbing on the side of her neck reflect the quickening of her heartbeat. The sight fascinated him, and he steeled himself not to reach out and run his fingers over her soft skin. He saw her swallow quickly, and a streak of satisfaction whipped through him. Despite her serene manner, she was far from calm in his presence.
“Yes, dear lady,” Edward said warmly. “How did you leave Lucien’s precious collection? I understand from him that you’re quite the authority.”
“I’m grateful his lordship finds my skills adequate enough to catalog his collection,” she said quietly as her gaze flickered toward him before focusing on the older gentleman. “Actually, I was able to accomplish a great deal today. I studied and cataloged fifteen more items in the collection.”
Astonished, Rawlings’s bushy white eyebrows went up in a skeptical arch. “That many in one day?”
“Several items were quite similar and required less study than most of the other pieces.”
“And did you find anything of particular interest?” Lucien clasped his hands behind his back as he sent her a steady look, well aware of what her answer to his question would be. Earlier in the day, he’d placed the statue of Isis in plain view for her to find. Now he was curious to know her reaction.
“You know I did, my lord.” Pique mixed with excitement as she scowled at him briefly. “It’s extraordinary.”
“Harrumph. So what is it that you’ve found, girl? A one-of-a-kind object or is it that ungodly statue of Isis?” The dowager countess’s voice was querulous as she interjected her questions into the conversation.
Surprised, Constance sent his grandmother a curious look. “You know about the statue, my lady?”
“Of course, I do,” she snorted with derision. “It’s been the obsession of every Blakemore for more than three generations.”
“Hardly an obsession, grandmother.” Lucien arched an eyebrow in irritation. “A keen interest, perhaps.”
“It’s an obsession. It has been since your great-grandfather supposedly gained possession of the first statue.” There was a bitter note of pain in the dowager’s voice as she glared at him.
“The first statue, my lady?” Constance sent his grandmother a puzzled look.
“A statue of Seth, the god of Chaos.” Disgust tipped the woman’s mouth downward. “Without it, the Isis figurine is simply another artifact.”
“I don’t understand.” Confusion marred Constance’s lovely face as she turned toward him.
His gaze locked with his grandmother’s as he shook his head in a gesture of annoyance. There had been too many times in the past when she’d expressed her disapproval of his searching for the statues. She blamed the death of his grandfather on the Seth statue.
Aurora had convinced herself his grandfather and great-grandfather had argued bitterly over the statue until the father had murdered the son. It might have been a plausible argument with the exception of one thing.
There was no Seth statue. At least not one anyone had ever found. His grandmother wanted to believe her father-in-law had accidentally killed her husband in a fit of anger before taking his own life out of grief. Getting her to believe the Blakemore curse had been the real cause of their deaths was an impossible task.
If there was one thing Aurora Blakemore was, it was stubborn. Once she made up her mind about something, there was nothing anyone could do to make her think differently, short of providing her irrefutable proof she was wrong. Still watching his grandmother, he offered Constance a brief explanation about the statue’s history.
“Family legend has it that my great-grandfather returned from Egypt with a statue of Seth that he received as a gift from the family he was staying with in Cairo. Supposedly, when the statue was interlocked with its mate, a statue of Isis, it unlocked a secret compartment that contains part of a map to the tomb of Sefu, high priest of Seth.”
“Bah!” The dowager countess cracked her cane on the floor, causing Constance and Edward to start with surprise. “The statue of Seth doesn’t exist any more than the labyrinth does.”
“And yet the markings on the Isis statue I found are identical to the ones described in the papyrus my great-grandfather brought home from his trip to Egypt. A rather odd coincidence, wouldn’t you say, my lady?” His gaze locked with hers until she looked away.
“At least Nigel had the good sense not to run off in search of a myth,” she snapped in a waspish tone.
The unexpected surge of rage whipping through him took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to respond to his grandmother’s words. She never missed an opportunity to bludgeon him with guilt for spending so much time away from Lyndham Keep. He understood why she did it. It was her way of reminding him how much she’d lost, and that she didn’t want to lose him as well. Normally her words didn’t elicit any emotion in him. But tonight, for some inexplicable reason, her comment infuriated him.
He enjoyed his expeditions. They were far more enlightening than any London social he’d ever attended. More importantly, he was tired of Nigel being held up to him like a martyr. Especially when his brother had taken leave of his senses the day he chose to murder Katherine and kill himself. The tension tightening every muscle in his body made him ache, and it was a great relief when Jacobs announced Duncan’s arrival. Turning sharply away from his grandmother, he watched his friend cross the room toward their small gathering.
Bowing over the hand of his hostess, Duncan smiled. “Lady Lyndham, thank you for tolerating my company this evening.”
“You’re a scoundrel, Major Fenwick, and you know it. What Lucien sees in you is beyond me, but at least you’re on time this evening.” Despite her crisp tone, there was a twinkle of amusement in Aurora’s blue eyes.
With a laugh, Duncan shook his head. “I doubt I’ll ever be late to one of your functions again, my lady.”
“I would expect no less.” Aurora gave him a sharp nod as Duncan turned away from her to accept Edward’s hearty handshake.
“Major Fenwick, a pleasure to see you again. I was delighted to hear that Lucien had invited you to supper this evening.”
“Always a pleasure, Mr. Rawlings. How is your son doing with his business investments in Cairo and Istanbul?”
“Quite well, I believe.” Edward frowned slightly. “He seldom visits me here in the country, so it’s difficult to know from one month to the next how he’s faring.”
With a nod of understanding, Duncan turned toward Constance, and the glint of appreciation in his friend’s eyes stirred a beast inside Lucien that he instinctively suppressed. Bowing, Duncan took Constance’s hand and kissed the tips of her fingers as Lucien introduced them.
“Lucien tells me your knowledge of ancient antiquities is exceptional, Lady Westbury. I’m interested to know if he’s actually managed to bring back anything of real value from his sojourn in the desert.”
The smile curving her mouth sent a charge of electric current through Lucien. Damn. That was twice tonight she’d exhibited the full radiance of her charms on a man other than him.
“I believe it’s
quite possible his lordship has indeed returned with at least one noteworthy treasure.” Soft and sultry, her voice made Duncan lean into her.
The primitive urge to put himself between the two of them was so strong, Lucien’s jaw cried out from the way he ground his teeth together. Damnation, he needed to control these irrational emotions. Given his family history, they would only lead him down the path to hell.
Even though the woman was an enchantress, he had no intention of giving way to anything but lust where she was concerned. But watching her smile at everyone except him darkened his mood. Why the devil did she avoid even looking at him? The note of surprise in Duncan’s voice intruded upon his thoughts.
“Rockwood. You’re Percy Rockwood’s sister?” A smile of delight accompanied the pleased astonishment in his friend’s voice. “Percy mentioned one of his sisters enjoyed studying antiquities, but he never mentioned how lovely you were.”
Laughing, Constance shook her head. “You’re too kind, Major Fenwick, but your gallantry is most appreciated.”
Blast Duncan to hell. The man had always been popular with the ladies, and now he had something in common with Constance. It was becoming decidedly unpleasant listening to the two of them converse as if they were old friends. The last thing he wanted was Duncan showing up on his doorstep every day with the eagerness of a besotted suitor. He grimaced at the thought as his friend turned toward him. Amusement curled Duncan’s lips upward as he arched an eyebrow at him.
“That’s a devilish scowl, Lucien.”
“I wasn’t aware I was scowling,” he said through clenched teeth. Duncan simply grinned as he shook his head. The smug expression of perception on the other man’s face intensified his fierce glare.
“So where is this artifact you wanted to show me?” Duncan asked. “Do we have time before our meal to view this ancient marvel?”
Eager for a distraction, he nodded sharply. “It’s in the library. I think you and Edward will find it most interesting. Grandmother, do you wish to come?”
“No,” she said with just a trace of her earlier irritation. “I prefer to stay here until Jacobs announces supper.”
“As you wish.” He bowed in sharp acknowledgment of her reply then led the way out of the salon and into the library where the statue stood on the long table with the other cataloged artifacts. After his morning ride, he’d visited the library. Constance had been absent, but he’d deliberately pulled the statue out and placed it in clear view for her to find. Now, as he entered the library, he saw she’d moved it to the center of the table.
The coolness of the gold beneath his hands had always surprised him when he held the heavy statue. It was exquisitely molded in the form of Isis, goddess of fire and love. The detailed etching on the face showed incredible workmanship. Even more interesting was the hieroglyphic inscription etched into the side and base of the statue. The translation depicted Isis waiting patiently to take the god Seth to her bosom to avenge the murder of her husband, Osirus.
Turning around, he handed the statue to Edward. The older man’s hands shook slightly as he accepted the beautiful artifact. “By God, boy. I think you’ve found it. This must be the one.”
“Do you see anything unusual on the side?” Lucien pointed to the small indentation on the side of the statue.
Constance stepped closer to peer at the statue the older man held, her body a hair’s breadth from Lucien. The sweetness of her scent floated beneath his nose, and he struggled not to lean forward and drink in a deep breath of her perfume.
“Good heavens,” she exclaimed. “I was so busy translating the inscriptions, I didn’t even see this. It looks like a hole for a pin to slide into. A locking mechanism of some sort.”
“Exactly!” Edward said with excitement as he looked up at Lucien. “It’s just like the papyrus describes, my boy! This is the one. Now if only we had the other statue. It must be here in the keep somewhere.”
Rawlings handed the statue to Duncan, and Lucien shook his head at the older man’s enthusiastic statement.
“Unfortunately, I’m going to have to concur with Grandmother. I don’t think the labyrinth exists, and if the Seth statue were in the keep, someone would have discovered it by now. You know full well we’ve searched every nook and cranny in this godforsaken place.”
Edward shook his head fiercely. “No. I can’t believe that. It’s here, Lucien, I know it.”
“What is this labyrinth you’re talking about?” Constance looked at Lucien directly, her lovely hazel eyes filled with curiosity.
Steeling himself not to be swayed by her charms, he cleared his throat. “It’s said the builders of the keep included an elaborate set of passageways behind the walls. More than a dozen entrances were said to have been skillfully hidden throughout the fortress, allowing the first Blakemores to come and go undetected by enemies storming the castle. But any knowledge of the hidden entrances was lost long ago, if they ever even existed. As I just told Edward, I’m inclined to agree with my grandmother that the labyrinth is simply a family myth and nothing more.”
Duncan nodded as he handed the statue back to Edward, who resumed his study of the object with an almost obsessive look in his eyes.
“I’m going to agree with Lucien on this, Rawlings,” Duncan said firmly. “We’ve all hunted for an entrance into the labyrinth, but no one’s ever found one. In all the years Nigel and Oliver played here as children, and all the time Lucien and I did the same, none of us found any evidence of a labyrinth.”
“Nigel?” Constance’s quiet query made him stiffen slightly.
“My brother. He died several years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured as she averted her gaze. “That must have been a difficult time for you.”
Not about to delve into the pain-ridden past, he shook his head. “Sympathy is unnecessary.”
“I say,” Edward exclaimed as he peered intently at the bottom of the statue. “Look at this! Is this another pin hole, Lady Westbury?”
Constance immediately turned toward Rawlings and stretched out her hands to take the statue the older man was offering to her. She smiled at him as her hands wrapped around the gold artifact, which was now warm from being handled so much. An instant later, the statue grew ice cold in her palms. She tried to let go, but her fingers remained wrapped around the statue, frozen in place.
The familiar sensations of her surreal gift abruptly flooded her senses. As the room spun around her with increasing speed, her stomach lurched unpleasantly. This time she was simply an observer. It was impossible to tell where she was. In the darkness, there was no sense of time or place.
Suddenly, a light flickered in the black night. She was in a room made of nothing but stone. Devoid of decoration, the room was lit only by a single branch of candles. Shadows loomed large against the wall as two men argued. The silence was almost deafening as she tried to hear what they were saying, but there was no sound at all. The darkness obscured even their faces, and she could only see their shadows painted on the stone behind them as the light illuminated and reflected their bodies onto the wall.
Anger contorted their figures as they shouted at each other. One was taller and portly. He gave her the impression he was the oldest. It was reflected in the way he argued. There was a stately, restrained demeanor to his movements. He displayed his fury with slower, more sharply defined gestures than the other man.
The younger of the two was far more flamboyant in his gestures. His was the posturing of a man in his prime. He would turn and walk away from the taller man in obvious frustration, before he turned around to argue another point.
She was so focused on the two men that she didn’t see anything else at first. She heard it. It was a soft sound, but it was the only noise to break the silence. Fingernails scraping across a mahogany table could not have been any louder. Then she saw it. A third shadow on the wall.
It was small and moved swiftly toward the younger man. There was no warning, only the sudden shock of one man frozen in mid-sentence, his arms outstretched almost as if in surrender. The shadow behind him was merely a shape with only an Egyptian blade glinting in the candlelight as it plunged into the man’s back.
Horror filled the man’s silent death scream, and she nearly sobbed with the desire to hear it piercing her ears. But it didn’t. The only noise breaking the silence was the terrible hiss of the blade slashing into the man over and over again.
As the dying man slid toward the floor, the candlelight sketched out his features with startling clarity. It was enough time for her to recognize the dying man, and she cried out in surprise. The man crumpled to his death, leaving two shadows illuminated on the wall. The older man shouted his fury and leaped forward. But with a single strike, the smaller shadow slit the older man’s throat in one swift stroke.
His movements quick and efficient, the murderer calmly rolled his last victim over onto his back. From a pocket in his coat, the shadow retrieved a second Egyptian dagger and casually dipped the blade in the dead man’s blood. Revolted by the murderer’s utter disregard for his victim, she shuddered and prayed for the vision to end. Seconds later, the newly bloodied blade was tucked into the hand of the old man. It was impossible to see the shadow’s face, but she could feel his satisfaction. He was pleased with his handiwork, and it sickened her. With one last look around him, the shadow doused the candles with a single breath.
The darkness swallowed her whole again and she struggled not to feel any fear. Trembling, she fought down the panic threatening to overwhelm her. It was a vision, nothing more. There was nothing to be afraid of. Slowly, the darkness ebbed away and her body grew warm as a strong hand gripped her waist and held her close to a hard chest. Lucien. Even with her eyes closed she recognized his scent, his sinewy muscles. There was a sudden chorus of concerned male voices as the silence evaporated into a loud cacophony of noise.