Closing his eyes, he said, “I won’t. Never.”
Nervously she glanced around the study. It was dawn—the sun just peeking around the clouds. The city was just stirring from its slumber, the night giving way to day. But it was still possible to see shadows, and Isabella could not help but look into every corner of Black’s library. There were no shadows. Death was not there.
“You’re lucky, my lord. Another inch or so and he could have got you in the neck.” Black gave his butler a chilling glare. “Prepare yourself, my lord. I’ve found the bullet and now I’m going to remove it.”
Jude looked up and stared into Isabella’s face. “I’m ready, Billings.”
Holding him, Isabella stroked his hair, pressed kisses against his brow. If Billings was amused by the two of them, he gave no indication, but instead focused on his work.
As Billings pulled the bullet out, cleansed the area with antiseptic, then began pulling the needle and thread through Jude’s torn flesh, Isabella realized there were a thousand words she wanted to say to him—all things she should have told him when they were lying safely in each other’s arms.
To think that she might not have had the chance to speak of her heart—after he had offered her his—made her tremble. So much wasted time. So much fear.
She would never be afraid again. Not of Black and not of her passionate nature. Her mother’s lot would not be her lot.
“My lady,” Billings said as he finished winding a white gauze sling around Black’s arm. “Shall I take a look?”
Quizzically, Isabella looked down, wondering if she was bleeding. There was some dried blood on her arm, but it was Jude’s. But then she saw that Billings was staring at her face, his expression a mixture of concern and anger.
“Yes, do, Billings,” Black answered. “The bastard, it should have been me who killed him for what he did to you,” he growled.
She had forgotten that Wendell had hit her—forgotten all about her eye stinging and pulsing with pain. After seeing Black fall to the ground, bleeding, she had forgotten everything but him—even the fact that Wendell lay dead on the steps of the Masonic Temple.
“You’ve been struck very hard,” Billings murmured as he wiped at her eye with a clean cloth. “Does your head pain you, do you feel ill—or faint?”
“No, Billings. I’m of hearty Yorkshire stock, it’ll take more than a cuff on the head to make me swoon.”
The butler smiled. “You’ll do well in this house, my lady.” He dipped his fingers into a jar of salve and wiped her bruised skin gently. “One needs the constitution of a Yorkshire lass to brave the world of the Earl of Black.”
“Nonsense. Ignore him, Isabella, he’s prattling on.”
Smiling, she watched Billings pack up his medical kit and rise to his feet. “I assume His Grace and Lord Alynwick shall arrive shortly. I will direct them, my lord. For now you must rest, and I shall return with a poultice for your eye.”
The door closed behind the butler, and Isabella stood, helped arrange Jude so that she could sit down with his head on her lap.
“What an invaluable butler you have,” she said thoughtfully.
“Mmm, yes, and he can be all yours if you consent to be my countess.”
“That’s not much of a proposal, is it?”
He turned to look up at her. “No, it’s not. But I’m not eloquent. I only know what I want, and that’s you in my life and my bed. It’s thousands of nights, and thousands of mornings with you. It’s children and grandchildren, and you reading to me—and me making love to you. It’s you and me and a future I want so badly I can taste it.”
“Now, that is the proposal of dreams, Jude,” she murmured. “Yes, I will be your wife.”
How she adored this man, how perfect he was in every way. He had risked his life to save her—he could have been lost to her—just like Lucy’s lover had been lost to her.
“Jude,” she began, stroking his cheek. “I could not bear it, to be parted from you. When I saw Wendell shoot you, the blood—” she shuddered “—my heart shattered.”
“He was aiming for you, and when I realized that, my heart stopped.”
Isabella opened her eyes and looked down upon him. “No one has ever loved me like you,” she whispered, awed.
“No one ever will. I won’t allow it.”
“I didn’t speak the words, Jude, but they were there all along. I love you. Oh, how I adore you. I have loved you since the moment you pulled me from the ocean and made me come back to life. The second I opened my eyes and saw you leaning over me, your hair dripping and your clothes sodden, and your lips, so warm and inviting, pressing against mine. It was you all along, my Lord Death. You were the hero of my story, because I loved you even then. I thought you Death—and my rescuer. But now I know that you’re my life, and my savior.”
“Isabella,” he whispered as he pulled her down to him for a kiss. “You undo me.”
He was weeping and she caressed his face, brushing away the tears from his cheeks. There was no more darkness in those beautiful tempest-tossed eyes, only tranquillity.
Smiling, she thought of her story, how Death had only wanted to feel, to know what it was to weep. It was a fitting end to his story, and a fitting end to theirs.
“I have something,” she said. The recollection of her story and of Death reminded her of the small package in her reticule. “I bought it a while ago, and have been keeping it hidden, afraid to give it to you.”
“My love,” he whispered. “There is no need to bring up the past.”
“You told me I could trust you. To believe in what we had, that it wasn’t just lust that flared between us. The words didn’t seem enough. You had given me so much, and I had given you nothing.”
“Not nothing,” he said. “I have been given the honor of being your first lover—and last,” he added in a deeply erotic tone.
“Words come easy for me, Jude. I can write them, I can search my soul and let them pour out. But I feared you’d think them too easy. You see, I wanted you to trust me, too. To know that I wasn’t merely besotted with my first taste of pleasure.”
“I did worry over that. The first pleasure can be intoxicating, and I feared that perhaps you were enamored of what I could give you physically.”
“So it was right for me to do this.” Pulling the black velvet box from her reticule, she handed it to him. He was forced to let her help him, as his left arm was bandaged and utterly useless to him for now.
The crimson satin lining gleamed in the firelight, and so, too, did his eyes. When he looked up at her, there was a mist to them once again.
“Little magpie,” he whispered as he looked at the black onyx ring. “You gave up everything for this, didn’t you?”
She nodded. “That is how much I trust you. Everything I had hidden away in that biscuit jar went to this. All my worldly goods are in that ring, Jude.”
“Then I will take it and hold it close, and never give you cause for regret.” He put the ring on his index finger, and Isabella grinned. How perfect it looked—how utterly sensual. She wanted that ringed hand on her body, comforting her. Loving her.
Raking her hands through his hair, she bent to kiss his forehead and commanded him to rest. Just when he was going to argue, the study door opened and Sussex strode in, followed closely by Alynwick. “Knighton’s dead.”
The statement hung heavy in the air, and all eyes were upon her, gauging her reaction. She would not have had him die. Wendell had been kind—until he had let his greed and lust for power poison everything he was. She felt only deep sadness, and perhaps pity for the man he had once been. The Wendell of almost two months ago, not the monster who had abducted her that night.
“The body?” Black asked.
“We thought it best to leave him there. The authorities will make what they will of his death, but there is nothing to implicate us. It’s better this way.”
“How the hell was Knighton involved in this?” he asked, his voice sou
nding exhausted.
“I think we can only assume the culprit is someone from within the lodge. It has to be.” Alynwick answered.
“Our rogue Mason?”
“Indeed.”
“What did you discover about the shooter?” Jude asked as he struggled to sit upright.
“Once I spotted him on the rooftop, I ran up the back stairs to follow him. He was long gone, but he left something behind,” Sussex said.
“Oh?”
“Yes, I’ll take it upon myself to investigate it.”
Jude opened his eyes, his stare focused on the duke. “Do you need my help?”
Alynwick snorted. “A soiled dove with a broken wing,” he drawled. “What use would you be?”
Jude grumbled, “I’ll be fine by the morning.”
“You most certainly will not,” Isabella gasped. “Now, Jude—”
Her reprimand was interrupted by a commotion in the hall, and the sound of Jude’s deep voice. “Who the hell could that be?”
The library door swung open to reveal her uncle.
“Isabella!” Stonebrook’s white muttonchops twitched as his eyes grew round with shock—then anger.
“Stonebrook,” Jude said, holding out a hand. “I can ex plain.”
“You’ll explain over a set of pistols,” her uncle thundered as he charged into the room, but Sussex reached for him, and held him steady.
“By God, you’re covered in blood and my niece has been injured! Isabella, have you lost your mind?”
They tried to answer, but Stonebrook kept blustering, interrupting them before they could talk. “I come here to inform you, Black, that someone has broken into the temple, and that Wendell Knighton is lying dead on the temple steps—terribly sorry, my dear,” he said to Isabella. “And here I am confronted by your betrayal and the evidence that you have abused my beloved niece.”
“Knighton is responsible for that. I’m only responsible for seducing her, and causing this scandal.”
Isabella groaned. Black was making a hash of this.
“Damn you, sir, get up from that unseemly position!”
“I would,” Black said, and Isabella saw his lips quirk upward, “but it seems I am a soiled dove with a broken wing.” Jude held up his arm, where shadows of red were beginning to seep through.
“Compliments of Wendell Knighton, and before you can accuse me of murder, no, I did not kill the bastard, but I wish I did after I saw Isabella’s face.”
Her uncle looked between the three men, unable to make sense of the tableau before him. “You have precisely two minutes to make your case, sir.”
“I am in love with your niece, my lord. Very much in love, in fact. I have offered marriage, and Isabella has accepted. Unfortunately, Knighton had other plans, and seemed hell-bent on having her. He abducted her tonight and I followed, and ended up taking the bullet meant for her.”
“And Knighton? Who put the bullet in his chest?”
“A mysterious third person,” Jude murmured. “From what you have just said about the temple being broken into, I can only assume it was his accomplice.”
“Mmm,” Stonebrook mumbled, then looked to her. “Is this true, Isabella?”
She could feel the weight of the stares from Sussex and Alynwick, but Jude’s hand only tightened in hers. “It is, Uncle.”
Nodding, he straightened his jacket and waistcoat. “Very well. Black, you’ll see to the special license, and Isabella, you will find your way back home immediately. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly, Uncle.”
“And there are to be no more shenanigans like this until you are well and truly married. Do you comprehend me?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Good. Sussex, Alynwick, I trust you can keep this to yourselves?”
“Naturally.”
Stonebrook went to leave, but Alynwick stopped him with a question. “What were you doing at the lodge in the middle of the night, Stonebrook?”
Her uncle could not disguise his discomfort at the question, nor could he hide how he tried to conceive of a reason for his appearance at the lodge. “Paperwork and a matter of Masonic business,” he muttered in supercilious tones. “And I don’t need to answer to you, Alynwick. Insolent pup,” he muttered as he left, slamming the door behind him.
“An interesting development,” Alynwick said thoughtfully.
“He suffers from insomnia.” Isabella felt compelled to explain. “He frequently goes to the lodge at night. I doubt there is anything more behind it.”
With a shrug, the marquis glanced away.
“Alynwick and I have made plans,” Sussex announced. “I will continue to research this Orpheus business, and Alynwick will continue his probe into the Masons. Hopefully we’ll find the chalice—and discover who is behind all this. When you’re healed, Black, you will join us.”
Isabella stiffened, but Jude put a calming hand on her own. “Of course.”
It was then that she realized that Black had to do this. Had to save others from the horrible fate Wendell had suffered. There was evil in that pendant, and however this Orpheus person they spoke of was, he was evil incarnate, too.
With Jude’s hand on hers, Isabella could feel his warmth, his strength, his inner convictions flowing into her body. She had let fear rule her life for so many years, she knew she could no longer give her fears so much power. She would be concerned for Black, would pray for his safety, but she would not allow her worries to change what he was.
He was a Brethren Guardian—and would always be.
“Where will you start?” Black asked.
“The shooter,” Sussex declared. “The man on the rooftop. Orpheus himself.”
THE SALON DOOR OPENED, then clicked softly closed behind him. Seated on the window bench sat Lucy, dressed in an unadorned white day gown. Her hair was loose, pulled back with a pink ribbon. She looked young—and sad. How his heart bled to see her like this.
Clearing his throat, Sussex sought to capture her attention, but she kept her gaze trained on the window. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, and the early-morning sunshine made her look pale and frail.
“Your father said I would find you here.”
She would not look at him. Would not turn her green eyes upon him. He was not who she wanted to see. “I suppose you have come to ask me something?”
Yes. No. Christ, he wanted to ask her to be his wife. Ask her to love him as he loved her. Wanted to see some flicker of excitement, or at the very least, of welcome. But there was nothing like that in her eyes, or in the tone of her voice.
“I came to give you this.”
Two steps forward, he was beside her, the delicate white lace was in his hand and he pushed it at her, making her grasp it. Her gasp of shock and alarm seared his breast. Confirmation. A sword to his heart.
“You gave this to him.”
Slowly she looked up. Her eyes were glistening, with tears—with hope. That tiny flare of hope in her eyes killed whatever hope remained inside him.
“You don’t have to answer. I see the truth in your eyes.”
“He’s…still alive?”
“I don’t know. I assume by now your father has told you what has occurred at the lodge. Knighton’s dead, and he knows of the break-in.”
Her eyes went wide and he had to steel himself from taking her in his arms. She did not want him.
“Don’t worry. He believes it was Knighton who broke in, and I will not disabuse him of that notion.”
“Thank you.”
“I found this on the rooftop of the lodge. The man who shot Knighton was there. I went to chase him but he was gone. The only evidence of his presence was that.”
Biting her lip, she looked at the lace that she held in her palm.
“Why did you bring this to me?”
Why? He’d asked himself that a dozen times as he left Black’s house and crossed the street to Stonebrook. Why give this to her? She believed her lover dead. He was the only one who knew abo
ut that scrap of lace she held. But he had enough secrets, and didn’t want this one. Besides, he wanted her to come to him without coercion, or subterfuge. Sussex wanted her to choose him, even knowing the bastard might very well be alive.
Pathetic as it was, he wanted her all to himself—without having another man there—always between them.
“You’re playing some game,” she accused, and he could not refute it. This was no game. This was real and dangerous, and the bastard he hunted was a murderer, and a hundred other things he didn’t want to think of.
“Admit it,” she demanded.
“You should know,” he said, not relishing what he had to say, “that if you pursue him, if indeed the man you long for is the man I hunt—the man who killed Knighton—”
“Then I will be your enemy,” she finished for him.
He nodded. Thankful that she at least had the strength to admit what he couldn’t. He didn’t want to think of Lucy enmeshed with this business. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he had taken a vow, and his word was all he had—all he’d ever had. He was a Brethren Guardian, and it was all he would ever truly be.
“So cold-blooded,” she murmured as she looked up.
Oh, how little she knew of him. He was burning with heat and longing, and the urge to pull her up from the window seat and crush his mouth atop hers. Inside him was a need so scorching he was nearly shaking from it. But she would never allow herself to see that. Or to let him show her.
“If he has returned, I will protect him at all costs,” Lucy murmured. “If we are to be enemies, then so be it. Even if I must be the one to stand between you. I will not let you take him from me.”
With a bleeding heart, he bowed before her. “Good day, Lucy.”
Lucy watched as Sussex stepped up into his waiting carriage. The lace he had returned to her still felt warm from his body where he had carried it in his waistcoat pocket. The scent of his cologne, earthy and masculine, infused the air around her.
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