Immortal Trust

by Claire Ashgrove

  Color flooded into her cheeks. Her eyes flashed like brittle pieces of glass. She jerked on her elbow, but Lucan held fast, denying her escape. She would confess to her own actions. He refused to become her scapegoat, to bear the burden of her choices and allow her to brand him as anything less than honorable. He gave her arm a jerk. “Do you think ’twas easy to say no? If I were so selfish in my pursuits, do you believe you would have slept the night through? That I would not have satisfied my hunger for you at your first offering?”

  The crimson in her face intensified, and she averted her gaze. He tightened his grip on her arm, forcing her to look him in the eyes when she proclaimed his words lies. But to his surprise, when she reluctantly met his infuriated scowl, her expression softened with a touch of shame. Through her lowered lashes showed the faintest glimmer of desire. Passion she could not control, but did not want him to witness.

  Understanding crashed down upon his shoulders like falling boulders. She did not mean her accusations. ’Twas all an attempt to cover her embarrassment. Embarrassment he had brought her by denying her the joining of their bodies.

  He held her gaze, trapped by the sudden awareness of this unique glimpse of femininity. This vulnerability he had never imagined she could be capable of. And down deep inside, something wound into a fierce knot. Her quiet requests the previous night were not simple requests for escape as he had believed. She genuinely shared the same fierce yearning he did. He, however, had misconstrued the words she chose to admit acceptance of what flowed between them.

  His retreating anger fed the warmth in his blood, and Lucan’s gaze riveted on her soft mouth. “Tell me again, I sought my own pleasure, Chloe. That I gave you no consideration.”

  Drawn by a power greater than himself, he moved into the small space separating them. Her lips parted to answer. His body tensed with the fierce need to feel those silken lips move beneath his.

  Julian shoved him aside before he could yield to the urge. “Take your hands off my sister. She asked you to leave.”

  Lucan breathed through flared nostrils, his jaw clenched so tightly he feared it might crack. Their scowls warred more ferociously than any clash of swords—a brother’s protectiveness combating the fierceness of a preordained destiny. Once, Lucan would have cut a man in half for such a trespass on his person. For inserting himself in a situation that did not involve him. Although Chloe was his sister, Julian did not possess the right to interfere. Most especially with physical might.

  Lucan took in the shorter-statured man. One hard blow to his jaw would drop him to the floor. ’Twould not take many more to render him unconscious. He could tear Julian to pieces with little effort.

  And yet he could not bring himself to issue the first fist with Chloe standing at Julian’s side. He clenched his hand so tight it cramped, and he turned away with a muffled oath. Three swift strides brought him to the door, which he jerked open, then stalked outside. Behind him, the door clanged on its hinges.

  Caradoc leaned against the SUV, surveying the excavation from afar. He straightened as Lucan approached.

  “I am leaving,” Lucan gritted out. “At Chloe’s request. See her safely returned to the château.”

  He did not wait for Caradoc to reply. Sliding behind the wheel, he turned the key, then backed onto the road. The drive passed in a blur of frustration and anger, darkening his mood to black as he reached Monthairons’ vast manicured gardens. He stomped through the door and made for his room. Inside, he threw himself on the couch and slammed a fist into the plush arm. “Damnation!”

  He could not fight both brother and sister, and as long as Julian possessed Chloe’s ear, naught Lucan could say would make a difference. He must find a way of separating the both of them. Of allowing Caradoc and Gareth to observe Julian whilst he spent time alone with Chloe. But his endeavors of doing so amounted to wordplay. Each time he believed they had crossed some of the distance between them, and he could move on to further discover the truth behind her circumstances, he lost ground. Between the demons, her brother, and her own fears, Chloe kept him at an intolerable distance.

  He was no closer to understanding the dark presence that followed on her heels than he had been the day they arrived.

  Now he must deal with Julian’s insertion into their affairs. Whatever conversation they had shared pushed Chloe further away. If Lucan were to ever accomplish the bond of seraphs, he must separate them from the relic. It divided them more surely than Azazel.

  ’Twas time to move forward. He needed to push Azazel’s minions into revealing themselves, either as Chloe’s ally or as her enemy.

  But how?

  Trust.

  She drifted closer to him when he gave her what he himself desired. When he disclosed the truths he should not even consider sharing until he knew which side she fought for. Yet he knew that if he continued on this course, weeks could pass before Chloe took him into her confidence. All the while, his darkness would grow. If he should happen to face one of Azazel’s minions, he could lose what remained of his soul. He would become the very thing he sought to protect her from, and if he stood at her side when that occurred, he would become an even greater threat to her safety.

  He had no choice but to risk more of the sacred purpose the Templar upheld. He must give her reason to believe him. In so doing, he would gain the trust she withheld.

  Picardie held the answer. ’Twas close enough they could journey in a day and return to the château without rousing her suspicions that he sought baser physical gratification. There he would explain more of the past. Show her things that reinforced his claims about the Veronica.

  In the meantime, he must repair this divide that lay between them now. To accomplish that, he would have to open himself and reveal the same vulnerabilities Chloe battled.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught the wadded-up satin of her nightgown atop his bed. She would want her belongings. When she arrived to claim them, he would begin there.

  With a deep, fortifying breath, he turned from the window and picked up the phone.

  CHAPTER 21

  As dark settled around the château, Chloe followed her brother inside the main hall. Getting rid of Lucan hadn’t been as satisfying as she’d hoped. She’d spent all day distracted by his absence and worried about the ever-increasing tension between him and Julian. All told, she’d managed to correctly document five of Andy’s photos, catalogue half a dozen small relics, and spend the majority of the afternoon staring out the window when Julian wasn’t hawking over her and praising her for not cowing to Lucan’s anger.

  If she’d known she wouldn’t have accomplished anything noteworthy, she’d have never let Lucan storm out the door. While his nearness disconcerted her, she might have at least benefited from his help and produced something of substance.

  Now she had a day of nothing behind her and faced a never-ending night in her disrupted room.

  She let out a sigh as they neared the staircase. “Hold on a minute, Julian, I need to see if the front desk can switch my room. I can’t sleep in there with it all chaotic and knowing someone has a key.”

  He cocked his head as if she’d just spoken in French. “Do what?”

  “Change my room.”

  “Don’t be silly. You can stay with me a night or two. I’ll even take the couch.”

  Chloe glanced up the stairs, debating. A night with Julian meant listening to more of his insistence that Lucan intended to discredit her. She’d heard enough of his ramblings to last the rest of their stay in France. The thought of going back to her room, however, made Julian’s suggestion sound like heaven. She’d listen to endless hours of his rambling to escape the possibility of confronting the demons once again.

  “Okay,” she agreed with a sharp nod. “I need to get my things, and then I’ll be down. Want to eat in? I bet they have your favorite, escargot.”

  “No, I’m not really hungry.”

  She did a double take and blinked. Julian not hungry? The man could ea
t an army out of camp if given an opportunity. And turning down escargot came dangerously close to the idea of his turning down a busty blonde who plopped her bare bottom in his lap.

  Come to think of it, the fact he’d offered his room for more than one night bordered on unbelievable. He’d have to give up his privacy. Something he never did without protest. Endless protest at that.

  Furrowing her brows, she set her hand on his arm. “Are you coming down with something?”

  He chuckled. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Because you haven’t been yourself lately. It’s like you’ve finally realized we’re here to work, not play. I don’t think I’ve seen you with a girl in a couple of weeks.”

  His boyish grin and conspiratorial wink accompanied another low chuckle. “Oh, I’ve sampled the local fare. Just maybe not in the way you’d expect.”

  No way, nohow did she intend to ask for an explanation. What Julian did with the women she absolutely didn’t want to know. His devil-may-care attitude about sex and dating made her glad he was her brother, so she couldn’t possibly be on the receiving end of his escapades. If she had to put up with his ever-rotating schedule of partners, she’d likely strangle him to death. Why the ladies didn’t seem to mind, she couldn’t understand.

  “Okay. I’ll see you there then.”

  He rendered her speechless as he leaned over to plant a chaste kiss on her cheek. Someone had swapped brothers with her when she wasn’t looking. Good grief, Julian hadn’t kissed her since they were grade-school kids.

  She watched him disappear up the winding stair before looking down the hall and offering up a silent prayer Lucan wouldn’t make retrieving her things unbearable. At his door, Chloe lifted her hand to knock, then quickly dropped it before her knuckles could make contact. She didn’t want to get into another argument, and she didn’t really need her things.

  No.

  She wouldn’t run from confrontation. Demons hadn’t turned her into a total coward, and she wasn’t about to let a simple man and his temper get under her skin. She raised her hand and rapped with purpose.

  The door opened to a backdrop of low lights and soft music. Lucan stood before her, looking so magnificent that for a moment she forgot why she’d come. Long hair loose and free, it tumbled over his wide shoulders and contrasted against the white linen of his shirt. For the first time since she’d met him, he wore casual slacks, not jeans. And as she took him in, from the open buttons at his collar all the way down to the loafers on his feet, her heart tripped behind her ribs.

  Good grief, why did he have to be her colleague? Why couldn’t he be some stranger she’d met at the bar? A businessman working overseas, a tourist—anything but the man who shared equal interest in a piece of cloth from the first century.

  “Good eve.” He stepped aside, swinging the door open.

  Chloe kept her gaze fastened on his face, determined not to investigate the cause of the dim lighting and soft music. If he had plans, she didn’t want to know. Especially since he hadn’t mentioned anything about her joining him. “I came to get my things.”

  “Come in. I expected you might. They are on the dresser.”

  Groaning inwardly, Chloe stepped inside the room. He’d gathered her meager belongings, a clear sign that the rich aroma of food and the bottle of chilled wine beside the table weren’t meant for her. She hurried past the candlelit place settings for two and scooped her belongings into her arms.

  When she turned around, she ran smack into Lucan’s chest. Startled, she stumbled backward.

  Lucan caught her by the elbows, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. He held her steady until she regained her footing. Then, with a disturbingly warm smile, he gently plucked her things out of her grasp and set them behind him on the desk. “I also expected you should like to eat.”

  Glancing at the table once more, Chloe gulped. Seconds ago, the prospect he might have plans with someone else had stirred jealousy. Now, as the candles flickered in the shadowy light, and the quiet jazz filled her ears, apprehension bubbled in her veins. Wine, music, an intimate setting for two—this was by no means a casual affair. What if they ended up where they had last night? “I-I don’t know, Lucan.”

  His broad smile scolded. “’Tis dinner, Chloe. No more, no less. Sit down and enjoy yourself.” He slid his fingers beneath the shoulders of her open coat, removing her ability to protest as he pulled it off her arms. With a casual toss, it landed on the couch.

  A couch that sat too close to a table set for two and a full bottle of Viognier. He took her by the elbow and guided her into a chair. Leaning close to her ear as he filled her wine glass, he murmured, “Profitez de votre diner.”

  Enjoy your dinner. A chill drifted down Chloe’s spine, leaving goose bumps in its wake. And dear Lord, the man spoke French like a primary language.

  Lucan eased into the seat across from her and gestured at the silver dome covering her plate. “I ordered the sole meunière. I hope ’tis to your liking.”

  With an unsteady hand, Chloe lifted the lid on battered sole sprinkled with parsley atop a bed of wild rice, and a side of braised green beans. Her mouth watered as a hint of lemon wafted to her nose. Presented with one of the finest meals the château had to offer, her apprehensions yielded to the anxious twist of her belly. She set the cover aside and picked up her fork.

  One bite of the butter-fried fish, and Chloe knew she’d discovered another side of heaven.

  * * *

  Over the rim of his wineglass, Lucan watched Chloe lift the last bite of her meal to her mouth. Despite the smudge of dirt on her cheek and the loose tendrils of hair that tumbled around her face, he found her more adorable than ever. One glass of wine, which she finished before she had eaten even half her meal, served to relax her. And in the following hour he had come to glimpse a different side of the stubborn archaeologist.

  With a wistful sigh, she set her fork on her plate and leaned back in her chair. “Oh, Lucan, that was wonderful. Thank you.”

  Her smile pleased him more than it should. He found he could not deny she possessed a unique beauty. A classic elegance he had seldom witnessed in the modern women he had occasion to encounter. Looking at her now, as the warm light of candles glowed upon her skin, something down deep in his soul slowly turned in on itself. His blood warmed beneath the glimmer of her eyes. His chest felt tight, as if a large boulder rested squarely atop his sternum. And against his thigh, his cock stirred with awareness of the woman who sat across from him.

  “Aye,” he agreed quietly. “Shall we order dessert?”

  “Oh, heavens no. I can’t stuff another bite in—I’m too full.” She lifted her glass and took a long drink.

  What did he do now? Too many years had passed since he had cause to entertain a woman, and the lessons learned long ago were naught but a distant, vague memory. Yet with their meal completed, he risked the possibility she would take her leave.

  He sifted through the occasions his father had entertained and those where he had conquered enemy holdings. Large banquets where men and women feasted until they could not lift themselves from the table and drank from tankards that never ran dry. What came after was debauchery Chloe would certainly not appreciate.

  Distantly another memory rose. A time when their beloved king had paid visit to his father. With him came musicians. And the king’s daughter demanded they dance. Lucan had not bothered to learn the steps, but the women fair squealed with joy at the opportunity to move their feet. What he recalled did not seem so very difficult.

  He inclined his head toward the television where the music played. “Would you care to dance, Chloe?”

  Her gaze held his, laughter brimming in her eyes. “I can’t dance. I’m as bad as a mule trying to do ballet.”

  Lucan could not help himself—he laughed. Sitting forward, he set his wineglass on the table, rose to his feet, and extended his hand. “Mayhap then, we shall endeavor to learn together.”

  She hesitated for the briefest
of heartbeats. But then her smile brightened, and she set her glass aside. Sliding her hand into his, she stood. “Don’t be angry if I step on your toes.”

  “Nay,” he answered as he drew her into his arms.

  Standing in the small space between the portable dining table and the bed, they swayed together in time to the slow rhythmic melody of a saxophone. He turned her in a circle, his steps mere shuffles to prevent maligning her toes.

  Silence settled between them, a comfortable lack of words that conveyed far more than any conversation. Her body melded closer, each slight lift of her foot bringing her deeper into the circle of his arms, until at last she sated the erratic beat of his heart by laying her cheek against his chest. More profoundly content than he could ever remember being, Lucan tucked the top of her head beneath his chin and stroked the length of her back. She fit so perfectly against his body. Each gentle curve a matching counterpart to his harsher build. This moment he would carry with him a lifetime.

  “You are more beautiful than any woman I have ever known,” he whispered into her hair.

  Her hand came up to settle over his heart. A light laugh accompanied the press of her fingers. “Careful or you’ll have me believing that.”

  Lucan slid his hand into her auburn hair. It tumbled around his fingers like spun silk. “I want you to believe it.” He curled his fingers against her scalp and massaged the nape of her neck. “I have never uttered anything more true.” With a gentle pull, he tipped her head back to meet his gaze, hoping beyond all measure she would read the sincerity in his meaningful stare.

  Her eyes searched his. Rich and bright, subtle chips of gold drew him into their questioning depths. The air that flowed between them warmed to uncomfortable limits, and Lucan ran his hands down her back to her bottom, where he gathered her flesh into his hands, seeking to fulfill the sudden need to be somehow closer. To feel her silken skin against his palms.