Avery, the gluttonous bastard, shared Kian’s view. “Aye, curved and full, as is my preference. I could show her a thing or two that Lust couldn’t. For starters, never to settle for one dish when there is an entire buffet waiting to be sampled.”
Thane’s sword was out of his scabbard and the glistening tip pointing to Avery’s Adam’s apple before Thane could reason out his actions. The faery metal sang as it swooped through the air and glimmered as the steel pricked fey flesh. “If you so much as look at her, I will skewer you.”
Another sword tip landed atop Thane’s, which forced his hand lower and away from Avery’s throat. “There is no need to kill one another,” Niall muttered. “There is a woman for each of us.”
“But one is not enough,” Avery replied. The leer that was so often present in his gaze was gone, replaced by fear. Not alarm elicited from Thane’s sword, but another fear. The type that was soul-deep and haunting.
“Perhaps we may find our sins vanquished once we have the virtues,” Niall suggested. “Mayhap what torments us now no longer will. Maybe all of us will be free.”
Avery closed his eyes as he rested his head against the tree trunk. “I cannot even imagine it, what it will be like. I have never dared to dream of it.”
“Neither have I,” Kian murmured.
“None of us have, but the future is in sight,” Niall reminded them. “We have found four of our virtues. Now we must find a way to possess them. And without the use of faery magic, that means we must work together, opposing sins and all.”
Nodding, Avery and Kian agreed. Thane noticed his sword was pointed at the level of Avery’s heart. Inside, jealousy and an impassioned desire to protect Chastity still ate at him, but he nodded, allowing the sword to fall away.
“Two nights from now, at the Nymph and the Satyr,” Niall reminded them.
“My informant tells me that Lennox never avails himself of the wares,” Avery replied. “His business dealings with the house are through his solicitor and man of affairs.”
“I will bring him,” Niall assured. “Just make certain the three of you are there. And where is Rinion?” Niall demanded.
“Probably lost in the reflection of a looking glass, marveling at his own beauty.”
Niall grinned at Kian’s obvious envy of Rinion’s legendary beauty. “Vanity does enjoy looking at himself. But find him.”
“I believe that Vanity has already found his virtue. He made it very clear that he intended to wed and bed her on the Eve of Beltane.”
Niall frowned. “He was not at court when I left this morning.”
“Have you seen his virtue, Your Highness?” Avery asked. “I think you haven’t, for if you had you would realize that Rinion most likely has her locked away in his room. She’s quite a beauty, and Rinion was like a stallion on the scent of a mare.”
Laughing, Niall sheathed his sword. “Then we are fortunate. Rinion has secured us our first virtue.”
Kian’s eyes flashed with resentment. “I’ll be next.”
No, Thane thought. I will. Chastity was nearly in his grasp. He could feel it.
“I cannot linger,” Niall announced. “I’m going north, where I’ve heard some reports of women who may be the last of the seven we are searching for. Do as you must, but remember not to enchant them or force them.”
Thane watched as Avery, Kian and Niall left the woods. Climbing atop his horse, Thane nudged his mount forward, then began to canter through the paths of Hyde Park while Bel loped beside him. After a few short minutes, he found himself across the road from Chastity Lennox’s town house.
There he would wait. If he could not go to her, he would have to find a way for her to come to him.
It was a fine evening for a stroll in the gardens. The air was fresh and the sun was setting in a most marvelous display of fuchsia and orange. Picking a handful of lily of the valley, Chastity inhaled the heady scent. She had always enjoyed the smell of flowers and grass. Her family liked to tease her about her sensitive nose, claiming she was like a bloodhound. She supposed there was some truth in that. Her olfactory sense was rather heightened and developed, so sensitive that she could detect the subtle differences between base, middle and top notes in a perfume or a decadent dish laced with herbs and cream. Even now, she could decipher the difference between the sweet perfume of the lily she held in her hand and the delicately soft essence of the lilacs that were in bloom at the back of the garden.
Strolling through the herbal garden that had been allowed to grow out of control, Chastity mentally made a list of things that needed to be done. The trees and plants seemed to be in decent health, but the herbs had grown woody and coarse, requiring a heavy hand with the pruning. She had been a small child the last time she was in London, and in this garden. While her sisters had preferred the formal ornamental gardens at the side of the yard, Chastity had always preferred the kitchen garden. She used to come out with Cook and the housekeeper, Mrs. Badderly, and help them cut herbs and flowers. The garden had always held a mystical charm that Chastity found intriguing. There was no formality here, no rules. The flowers and herbs grew alongside each other, their borders not defined into perfect manicured squares like those of the ornamental garden. She had spent many an afternoon here, chasing butterflies and frolicking with Cook’s assistant.
But then she and her sisters had gone away. She had often thought about this little copse at the back of the house, and the hours she had spent running free. It was such a shame that her favorite spot had been neglected, allowed to whither into wildness.
If they were going to be spending any time in London, Chastity would need to see to this garden. Not only because herbs and flowers interested her, but because she needed something to take her mind off last night in the maze and the dark-haired stranger. He hadn’t said his name. She knew only that he was a prince, and that he had spoken to her most scandalously, and she had allowed it. Truth be told, she had reveled in his words, in the way his breath was hot against her throat and his hard body pressed into her soft one.
After coming in from the maze, she had been disoriented, her head heavy and foggy with the lingering effects of his seduction and the heady scent that had preceded his arrival. Thank heavens Mercy had found her and pulled her into an empty salon where she had immediately set Chastity’s hair and gown to rights. Mercy, in her kindness, had not questioned Chastity’s crumpled state, but her worried expression had told Chastity how dreadful she really looked.
She complained of a headache and a desire to leave the ball, so her father had promptly loaded her and her sisters into the carriage and taken them home. Mary had been livid, of course, but Prue and Mercy had seemed to understand. Once home, Chastity had fallen onto her bed and slept as though she had been drugged. Her sleep had not been peaceful, but clouded with visions and dreams of a masked stranger with blue eyes and black hair. A stranger whose voice seemed to constantly whisper to her…. Let me in….
Even now she heard it, murmuring to her from across the stone fence at the back of the garden. She didn’t know how to resist it, only knew that she must. It was a trial, she realized. A test of her strength, her virtue. And sometimes, especially in the dark while she was alone in her bed at night, she feared that she would fail it. Her virtue, she knew, was slowly being stripped from her, and she was helpless to impede it.
Stopping to inspect a row of peonies and their swelling buds, Chastity noticed a footprint in the dirt. It was large, pointed at the toes. The imprint, she was certain, was that of a boot, a pair of Hessians.
It was a strange place for a footprint to be. Perhaps if her father had been a big man, or if they had a gardener, she would have thought nothing of it, but her father wasn’t tall enough to have a foot of this size, and with their arrival in London only a few days ago, a gardener had not yet been installed. It could not belong to her brother, Robert, either. For Robert had not come to call on them.
Intrigued, Chastity followed the footprints, noticing how they se
emed to lead away from the garden and the house. Which was even more bizarre because there was nothing back there but the stone fence that enclosed the garden. Beyond their yard was a small thick brush that was slated to be razed to make way for another square of fashionable town houses.
Where did the footsteps lead? she wondered, clutching the posy tightly in her hand. The trail abruptly stopped at a wall covered in ivy at the back of the garden. By now, the sun was slipping quickly beneath the horizon, making way for the moon to creep up into the evening sky. It was rather dark back in the corner, what with the ivy and the shadow of the house and the tops of the trees that loomed over the garden wall. She really should return to the house, but she ignored the self-protective instinct.
Dropping to her knees, Chastity saw that the ground was disturbed, as if something had been slid against it. But what? There wasn’t a gate in the garden, not that she could recall anyway. But there was a footprint there…
Perhaps the man had scaled the garden wall and dropped to the other side? But what would someone be doing in their yard? A footpad? A housebreaker? Fear skittered through her, making her thoughts race. But then the breeze blew, taking the long, loose tendrils of ivy, scraping them against the stone, revealing a fleeting glance of a rusted piece of metal. A latch? A gate?
She thrust aside the ivy, revealing a long-neglected garden gate in the faint glow of dusk. She had never known of a gate, but as she reached for the rusted latch a deep-rooted memory sprung forth.
“Oh, don’t be going through that gate, miss,” Cook’s assistant had said in her thick Yorkshire accent. “The faeries will take ye and carry ye off and we’ll never see ’ide nor ’air of ye again.”
A little tremor fluttered in her stomach as she recalled that day, saw her own chubby little fist grasping the latch. She had been six and adventuresome—full of harmless mischief, her father had always said. The assistant, whose name Chastity could not quite recall, had been a superstitious young lady. But then, the country folk from the north typically were. Alas, however, those from Glastonbury could hardly be called any different—for she believed in the fey, too.
“Do you believe in faeries?” she remembered asking the young woman as she pulled Chastity away from the gate.
“Aye, I do. And you should, too.”
“Are faeries good?”
“No, miss. Not all. Some faeries… Well, some faeries are full of mischief and darkness.”
“Darkness?” Chastity had asked, perplexed. The young woman had flushed then, and checked over her shoulder to locate the cook, who was busily snipping away at a sprig of rosemary.
“Aye, darkness. But the kind of dark that ye dunna need to know about yet. But rest assured, the Dark Faeries, they will corrupt you they will, by tempting you with all sorts of wicked delights.”
Chastity in her innocence hadn’t known what the servant meant by that, but now she did. She believed in faeries, and knew that there were beautiful, sensual fey out there that could tempt even a nun to commit any kind of sin.
And tonight, in the darkening of the twilight sky, she was no longer six. And there was no one to warn her away from the gate and remind her that not all faeries were good and benevolent. Whatever lay beyond this garden gate was far more powerful than a memory from her childhood, for it pulled her forth, making her forget that it was growing dark and she should be inside.
Dropping the bouquet of lilies, Chastity used both hands to tug at the latch, which seemed to be rusted shut. But that was impossible! The footprints had led her there. In fact, they seemed to disappear beneath the gate. Someone had been in the garden, and that someone had opened this very gate and stepped through.
Chastity tugged one last time. With a groan the ancient hinges gave way, allowing her to open the gate far enough to slide through sideways. As she was squeezing through the opening, her gown caught on a rusty nail, which snagged the hem and tore through her stocking, also tearing at the skin of her ankle.
But Chastity barely felt any pain. She could only look around in awe at the magical land before her. A forest. An enchanted forest, it seemed, for everything was beyond beautiful—and glistening. She had never seen anything so lovely. And the scents… She inhaled deeply, discerning a mixture of florals and heavy spice. The perfumed air was a dichotomy of light fragrance and heavy, drugging aromas.
Standing by a copse of ancient oaks and rowan trees was a dark-haired man atop a black horse. Beside him, a large white hound with black eyes stared back at her, as if he and his master had been awaiting her arrival.
A gust of wind came up, making her skirts billow around her feet. The wind carried the scent of blood that she felt seeping into her shoe over to the beast and the man. The animal whimpered and lowered to his haunches, as if frenzied by the metallic tang of blood. The man’s blue eyes suddenly darkened with a hunger that frightened her.
She turned to run, every instinct warned her to, but the gate suddenly slammed closed, pushing her all the way through and into the forest that now surrounded her. The dog whimpered again, and slowly Chastity turned, her back pressed against the gate as she watched the animal’s ears fall flat against its large head. Mentally she prepared herself for the attack, for the dog was now whimpering a series of low howls, its black eyes fixed on the small maroon puddle at her foot.
The man nudged his mount forward, coming into view beneath the moonlight. The same man from the path in Glastonbury. The mysterious and seductive stranger who had been the focus of her nightly dreams. The very one who made her think illicit thoughts, made her want, deep in the night, when she was alone and her body was aching.
“No,” she whispered, her eyes widening in alarm. He smiled, even as she reached behind her back, her fingers trembling as she attempted to find the latch. Frantically she endeavored to open the gate, but to no avail.
“Chastity Lennox,” he drawled in that hypnotic, seductive voice. “I have been waiting for you.”
SIX
THE SCENT OF BLOOD—CHASTITY’S BLOOD—slammed into Thane, sending Lust to the deepest part of his soul. Strange, when Lust was hungry, needing to be satiated, almost nothing had the power to make him retreat. But the smell and sight of her bleeding sent Thane’s cardinal sin running, freeing him to slide from his horse and go to her. Bel immediately loped beside him, just as eager to reach Chastity.
With her back firmly pressed against the garden gate, Chastity seemed to pale even more as she watched their approach. Thane suspected her pallor was not from blood loss, but trepidation of both Bel and himself.
Recalling her fear of animals, Thane sternly ordered Bel to heel where he was. The insolent pup made a snarl of complaint, but with a well-placed glare, Bel wisely chose to listen to his master.
“Come, sit down.” Reaching for her hand, Thane gently guided her to a stone bench beneath a weeping willow. Trembling beside him, Chastity, wide-eyed, followed him, her gaze never leaving Bel. “He won’t eat you, if that is what you fear.”
She did not smile at his jest, indeed she trembled even more as he assisted her to the bench. When she sat down, he saw her wince, and he bent to his knees, carefully slipping the shoe from her right foot.
“Don’t,” she squeaked. He tried again, but she moved her foot before putting space between them. “It’s naught but a scratch and it isn’t proper for you to see my…limb.”
He’d be seeing a damn bit more than her foot, he thought—and soon. But he needed to remember that she was a lady, and ladies didn’t allow gentlemen, known or unknown, to touch them. Anywhere. Not even some thing as innocuous as a foot. And this particular lady, he reminded himself, was more than just a highborn lady of the ton. She was a paragon of virtue.
“You’re hurt and bleeding,” he replied softly. “Allow me to help you.”
Her gaze caught his, and he saw how wary she was. “I will just go back through the gate and to the house. My maid will have a look at it.”
“Why? When I am right here and ready to assi
st you?”
Her chin lifted, sending him an impertinent glare. “Because you are not known to me, sir, and you make too many presumptions with my person.”
“We were introduced the other day. Have you forgotten?”
The way his voice dropped reminded her of the sensual stranger in the maze. She knew then they were one and the same. Heat came to her cheeks as she recalled the scene in the maze, his face against her breasts, his tongue curling around her nipple. Oh, how she wanted that again. But even more, she wanted to stay and enjoy his company. To discover who he was. What he wanted with her. Perhaps, even to be courted by him. In the middle of the night she had allowed herself that fanciful turn of mind, but that was in the night, this was another matter. She absolutely could not allow herself to stay here.
“My name is Thane,” he reminded her, drawing her out of her thoughts. “You were with your sisters.”
“That was not an introduction, sir. We are still not known to one another, and therefore, this—” she glanced around at the garden that surrounded them “—this secluded spot we now find ourselves in is most dangerous. Now, then, excuse me.”
As she slipped her foot from his palm, Thane watched her attempt to stand. Her balance was off because of the pain in her ankle—the pain that was very much evident on her face. But like a proud, determined little solider, she took one step, and then another, hobbling her way back to the gate to the place where he could not follow.
He knew he wasn’t supposed to do this, but he had no choice. Standing up, Thane caught her, turning her so that he could place his hands on either side of her face, forcing her to look at him. Then, slowly, he lowered his mouth to her ear, brushing his lips along her hair. Gods, she smelled so good. So right. Never had a woman’s scent—fey or mortal—aroused such a deep-seated hunger inside him. He wanted her. With a blinding intensity that he could not resist. Even now he pulled her closer, trying to rub up against her, to weaken her defenses.
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