“Yes. It contains the seeds from the apple that Eve took from the Tree of Knowledge. They’re cursed with the venom of the snake who tempted her.”
“Lucy?”
“Thank God I stopped her before she could take them all.”
“How did Wendell get it?”
He went rigid underneath her. “How did you know it was him?”
“That night he visited us, he was telling Lucy and I about the Templars, I don’t think he knew who they were. But he had the pendant.”
“Go on.”
“Lucy, well, she has been searching for a lover, and she believed the pendant had powers.” She paused, then glanced up at him. “Sussex and Alynwick, they’re the other two Templar descendants, aren’t they?”
“Yes.”
“And Elizabeth?”
“Merely Sussex’s sister. But she knows of the tales, and she aids us when we need it.”
“Jude, you must be careful.”
“I am, my love. But you must know that this isn’t over. The pendant while returned to me, is simply not enough. We need to find out who is behind this. The chalice that Sussex is in possession of is still missing.”
“Wendell never mentioned a chalice.”
“Then you won’t mention it to him,” he murmured as he kissed her neck. “Our secret.”
“There’s more you’re not telling me.”
“There is, but it’s grown late, Isabella, and you need to get back home, unless you’re so eager to bring that scandal you fear so much upon yourself.”
“You’re right.” She sighed as her fingers drew little circles on his chest. “But promise me you’ll tell me everything tonight.”
“I will. As long as you promise me that you’ll let Knighton know in no uncertain terms that his attentions are no longer welcome.”
“Jude, you’re jealous.”
“Insanely, and if the sun was not attempting to peek out over the horizon I would take you to bed again, just so you won’t forget me while you sleep.”
STANDING AT THE WINDOW, Black watched Isabella run across the street. It was still dark, although daylight was not far off. She was safe enough at this hour. Far safer than if she had been discovered with him beside her early in the morning.
Smiling to himself, he watched her run, remembering how she had felt all soft and womanly in his arms. He’d wanted her again. He feared he would want her every night for the rest of his life.
She disappeared around the house, and he waited for the lamp to be lit in her room. It was the agreed-upon signal that she had made it there safe and sound.
When several long minutes lapsed, Black’s body grew taut. When a carriage careened around the corner from Isabella’s house, fear assailed him.
“Billings!” he roared. “Send for Sussex, I’ll be on horse back.”
His butler, tired and disheveled, presented himself. “Where shall I direct His Grace, my lord?”
He had no notion. Only knew he had to hurry if he was to catch up to them. Whoever had taken Isabella would die this night.
“My lord?”
“The lodge,” he said, more out of instinct than any real thought.
Then he lunged out of the room and ran to the stables. Lamb was hard on his heels.
“Follow them,” he ordered the dog, and it was only minutes before Black had saddled his horse and was galloping after Lamb who had thankfully scented the carriage.
“AT LAST,” a voice rasped from behind her at the same time a gloved hand covered her mouth. “About time you pried yourself away from Lord Black.”
Isabella twisted violently, trying to see who the perpetrator was, but a steely arm reached out, slamming her hard against his chest. “Be still,” the voice hissed in her ear, “or I will bind you.” Isabella continued to squirm, her voice muffled by the stranger’s hand. “Now then,” the voice crooned. “You will come nicely and silently if you know what is good for you.”
The villain turned her around to face him, his familiar face shocked her into speechlessness.
“Come now, my dear, you didn’t think I’d let you get away that easy, did you?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Taking what belongs to me.”
“Wendell, you’re mad!”
“Furious,” he said as he pushed her along. “You’ve cost me, Isabella. Now, I want to know what you’ve done with it.”
“What the devil do you mean by abducting me from my home?” Isabella grunted inelegantly as she was pushed up into a carriage.
“Silence! I have had enough of your saucy mouth. If you cannot keep it shut, then I’ll do the job for you. The only words I want from your lips are the whereabouts of the pendant.”
She froze. Her first instinct was to protect Black—and the others.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Stupid bitch,” Wendell growled, “you know what pendant I’m talking about. The one your lover is to protect. He’s one of the Templars—it is the Sheldon family who has housed the pendant for half a millennium.”
Pushed into the carriage, Isabella settled against the squabs, straightened her skirts and glared at her kidnapper. “What do you think you’re doing? What the devil has gotten into you?”
He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “I told you, I’m taking what belongs to me. And you, Isabella, belong to me. So does that pendant. Now, be a good girl, like you were when I first met you, and tell me where the blazes that pendant is.”
“I don’t know.”
“The hell you don’t. Lucy, that bitch, got her hands on it first, when it should have been you. Then what?”
“I’ve no notion what you’re talking of.”
His hand struck her face and she cried out, holding her cheek. “The pendant I showed you, or were you daydreaming of Black when you should have been listening to me?”
Dear God, she had to protect Black. Had to.
Gripping her chin, he forced her to look at him. “I grow weary of this game, Isabella. Tell me where the pendant is.”
“I don’t know.”
“Does Lucy have it?”
“No.”
“Then who does?”
“I don’t know!”
Cruelly, his hand gripped her hair. Sweet heaven, he was hurting her! Never had Knighton treated her so roughly, or spoken so disrespectfully to her. This wasn’t the Knighton she had met, this man was far from the rational male she’d once known.
“Tell me now,” he enunciated, tugging once more on her hair.
“Get your hands off me,” she yelled, letting her anger get the better of her, despite the fact her instincts told her it would only infuriate him further.
“You little bitch,” he seethed, jerking her face up to greet his. “You have the nerve to talk to me in such a way, after you’ve let him treat you like a common whore.”
“Wendell…” She reached for his hand in her hair. “Stop, you’re hurting me.”
His hazel eyes darkened with anger. “Jesus,” he swore, his eyes raking boldly over her. “There’s probably not a place left on you that isn’t tainted by his touch. I’m right, aren’t I? He hasn’t left one inch of you unmarked.”
“Knighton, you’re out of your mind.”
“Yes.” He smiled coldly. “I’m afraid I am. You were so close to being mine, you see. But you threw it all away to play the whore for him.”
“It isn’t like that.”
“I saw you,” he roared, his hand once again fisting in her hair. “The both of you, rutting like animals.” His mouth twisted into an evil grin. “To think I thought you innocent. But you’re not. I’ll spill all your blood now,” he said, his lips curling. “You’re of no use to me. Used, soiled goods,” he spat.
“No!” She tried to twist out of his grasp.
He slapped her again, his face filled with rage. “You’ve cost me and I’ll make you pay. You’ll talk,” he said. “I’ll make you tell me where the penda
nt is.”
His voice had gone dark, disturbing, as if someone else—something demonic had invaded his soul.
“I want that pendant, and your blood filling the chalice. That’s the only way to get what I need.”
Brushing her hair from her face, she winced at the throbbing pain in her cheek. If the swelling was any indication, her eye would soon be swollen shut. Gingerly, she probed the side of her face. The puffiness was firm and, she suspected, grotesquely bruised.
What had provoked Knighton to such violence? He’d never once raised his voice to her let alone his hand.
She stole a look at her captor from beneath the veil of her hair. He looked pale and nervous. His hands were clenched in his lap and his eyes fixed firmly out the window. He looked so different now, haunted, brooding—utterly dangerous as he rubbed his temples.
“Christ, look at your face.”
She lowered her head, shielding her bruises with her hair, hating how the anger in his voice made her shake. Never had she felt submissive before a man.
“Why did you make me hit you? Look at me,” he commanded, tilting her chin up with his finger.
She whimpered when her eyes met his in the waning light. She was terrified of him, frightened to death to be alone with him—to be so far away from Jude.
“If only you would have listened to me and just told me where to search for the pendant, I would not have had to do this.” His finger traced her lips, which were puffy from the blow.
“Wendell, you’re frightening me.”
“Good. I’ll stop when you tell me where the pendant is.”
“It has an unholy call upon you, doesn’t it?”
“Shut up,” he snarled, but Isabella saw the fear in his eyes.
“You can’t stop it, can you? Don’t you see how evil it is? It’s making you mad.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It’ll make me famous. Rich. The most powerful archaeologist in the world.”
“You’ll bring nothing but evil upon the earth.”
His gaze widened, and he gripped her chin once again. “You know much, Isabella, for someone who claimed she had no idea of what I was speaking.”
“You’re ill, Wendell,” she pleaded as she held on to his wrists. “Please, let me go. I’ll help you to get better.”
He was mad. Utterly deranged. Had he always been like this? Why had she never seen this side of him before?
He was dangerously demented, and she had to think of a way to escape him. She shuddered to think of what he would do to her once he had her locked away, solely to himself. She had to think of a plan, she couldn’t afford to waste precious time until Jude could find her. Perhaps he hadn’t yet even realized she was gone.
Would Jude come for her? Bile rose in her throat as she thought of losing him, and she gagged on the acidic taste.
She had to think—had to be logical about this, she couldn’t let her paralyzing fear prevent her from planning her escape.
“I will tie you up and beat the information out of you,” he growled as the carriage slowed and finally came to a stop. The door opened and Wendell shoved her out, but kept a cruel hold on her arm. Something hard pressed into her side as he pushed for forward.
“Scream and I’ll put a bullet into you, do you understand?”
Nodding, she allowed Knighton to lead her up the stone steps. He was taking her to the Masonic lodge and no doubt to her doom.
What sort of torture awaited her inside?
On the steps, she faltered, her hem catching on her boot. “Damn you,” Knighton hissed as he fell down to his knees.
“My hem,” she pleaded. “You haven’t allowed me to hold it up.”
But she saw an opportunity and took it. While he was on his knees, she kicked him and he fell to the side, the gun spinning and falling down two steps, which made Knighton lunge. Isabella took that opportunity to run.
Raising her skirts, she ran up the steps and around the side of the building where she was grabbed by a steely arm.
“Lady Isabella.” His shocked tone told her how awful her wounds must look.
Sussex.
“Good God, what are you doing here?”
“I was just leaving after searching the lodge. What is Knighton doing here?”
“He attacked me. He’s gone mad looking for the pendant.”
“So Black has told you everything?”
“As much as I need to know. Knighton wants the pendant and he’s going to do whatever he has to do to get it.”
The sound of pounding hooves echoed off the buildings. Black and his huge ebony stallion, and Isabella tried to scream out a warning, but Sussex clamped a hand over her mouth.
“No noise. Black can handle himself.”
A pistol fired, the horse reared and Isabella pushed forward, but Sussex held her still. She watched as Jude’s large body fell from the horse.
“I’ve got you now,” Knighton taunted. “You’re as much as dead, Black, and when I am done killing you, I’ll turn to Isabella. I’ll drain her blood, spill it all and I’ll keep the pendant.”
Rolling beneath the carriage, Black reached into his greatcoat, just as Wendell came running down the steep steps, pistol in hand.
Isabella could only hope that Knighton wasn’t a crack shot, because Jude was vulnerable. He was too big a target, and beneath the carriage, he was essentially trapped.
Panicked, she felt Sussex’s arms clamp tightly around her as he tried to remove her, but she refused, kicked out, connecting with his shins.
She managed to free herself, when Wendell turned and aimed his pistol at her.
“No!” Jude roared as he jumped up and ran around the carriage with his open pistol raised. Torn between which one to shoot, Wendell aimed high, and shot at Jude. Jude fired back, but it was too late, Jude was falling to the ground, blood like a crimson stream flowing from beneath him.
Crying out, heedless of her own safety, Isabella ran to him, praying she would get to him before it was too late.
When the next bullet sounded, she froze. She heard Sussex’s roar, the pounding of her own blood in her ears as she waited to feel the bullet tear through her flesh.
Her gaze met Black’s. Saw his lips move, his gaze raise up to where Sussex was standing, and then higher.
As she waited, the pain never came, and the body before her, Wendell’s body, crumpled to the steps, a red stain saturating his shirt.
“Sussex, the roof!”
Her hearing returned just in time to hear Jude call out the warning. She whirled around, saw someone in a black-hooded robe run from the rooftop. Sussex chased him and Isabella ran down the steps to Jude, pulling him into her arms.
“You little fool,” he murmured as he kissed her. “You could have been killed! My God, I will never forget the sight of Knighton pulling that pistol on you.”
“Never mind that,” she cried. “We need to get you home. You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine.”
“Jude, don’t argue with me. You’re ashen, you’ve lost too much blood.”
“Isabella, I’m fine.”
With her help he stood, wobbled a bit and then pitched forward. The hackney that Wendell had brought her in was still there, the coachman taking in the scene with astonishment.
“You there,” she called. “Give me a hand.”
The coachman actually began to shake his head.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” she grunted beneath Black’s weight.
“’Ow much?”
“Get us home quickly and I’ll give you twenty pounds.
Tell no one what you witnessed and I’ll give you fifty.”
The coachman was down from his perch and running to her in no time.
“My lips are sealed,” the man said. “And you had better have that fifty quid at the ready when we arrive.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ISABELLA STRUGGLED beneath Black’s weight. The metallic tang of blood reached her nostrils as the sam
e moment she felt Black’s warm blood seep through her cloak.
“Billings,” Black ordered as he struggled out of the carriage. “Get me to him.”
“I promised the driver I’d pay him immediately,” she whispered. “And I don’t want you home alone. Come to my uncle’s. We’ll send a footman for his physician—”
“Billings,” he insisted. “He’ll arrange payment. No doctor,” he hissed as he stumbled and banged his shoulder up against the carriage. “Damn,” he gasped, and Isabella saw how pale he was.
“Our butler shall be out momentarily,” she called to the driver, and she heard Black chuckle, then grunt in pain. “Our butler? You’ve decided to make an honest man of me, then?”
“How can you jest at a time like this?”
“I’m not jesting, little love. I only want to know that you’ll be my wife.”
Just then he faltered again, and she thought she’d never get the black iron gates opened. A dog barked, and suddenly Billings and a footman were there to catch him.
“My lord!” the servant exclaimed in alarm.
“Shot. I need patching—and the damn driver needs paying.”
“You there,” Billings shouted to the hackney driver. “Wait a moment and you’ll have your payment.”
The footman and Billings took Black’s arms and legs and carried him up the drive, while Isabella lifted the hem of her gown and ran behind them.
What seemed like only seconds later, Black was lying on the settee in his library and Isabella was on her knees, tearing his shirt from his chest, and viewing his wound for the first time.
“Jude,” she whimpered as she saw the flow of blood that pulsated from his shoulder. “Oh, my God!” Her voice was rising, and panic and fear set in.
Warm fingers grazed her chin, and she looked up into his pale face. “There is nothing to fear, Isabella. It’s not deep.”
“But there’s so much blood…”
“Miss Fairmont,” Billings said as he pulled a table closer. “Might I request that you stand at the foot of the settee while I work.”
She didn’t want to move, but Black nodded. “I think it’s best. Billings is a master of sutures, my love. There is nothing to worry about.”
Mutely she obeyed, but she did not move away from him. She couldn’t. Instead, she moved to the arm of the settee where his head lay. She knelt down, placed her cheek to his temple and raked her fingers through his hair. “Don’t leave me,” she whispered. “Please.”
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