His Wicked Charm

by Candace Camp

“I decided not to. I walked around a bit and...and I thought.”

  Con tightened, marshaling his arguments against returning to London.

  “I hope that you will stay and continue to look for the key,” Lilah said, leaving him speechless. “I don’t want what happened today to put an end to our project.”

  “Neither do I.” She had obviously tried to do her hair up again without a mirror, and it looked endearingly messy. Alluring. Con thought it best not to mention that. “I assure you that I won’t repeat my behavior.”

  “Nor will I.” She tugged at the waist of her jacket. “We were...taken by surprise. In the future we’ll be more careful. We can agree that today was an unfortunate mistake, and there’s no need for blame or apology or protestations of feelings that don’t exist.” She looked at him uncertainly. “I don’t suppose one could call us friends exactly, but...I want things to be as they were between us.”

  “So do I.” He smiled. “And I think we qualify as friends...just friends who disagree a bit.”

  “Yes. Just so.” Lilah smiled, and Con realized that it was going to be damned difficult to stick to his promise.

  They rode home, at first silent and ill at ease. Lilah brought up the topic of their search, and as they talked, the awkwardness gradually faded. Neither of them had discovered anything useful, and they agreed that their search was proving to be a daunting task.

  “When you think about it,” Lilah said. “The thing could be almost anywhere. He didn’t even necessarily hide it in his house. It could be stuck under a rock somewhere.”

  “We should ask your aunt about it.”

  Lilah looked at him skeptically. “I doubt she would be of much help. She wasn’t even living here when Mr. Blair died.”

  “Still, she must have known those three men better than we do. They all grew up together after all.” He flashed a sideways grin at her. “And you no longer have to try to keep me from talking to her.”

  When they sat down to tea, Lilah brought up the subject. “Aunt Vesta, Con and I had a reason for coming here.”

  Vesta gave a tinkling little laugh. “I knew that. Come, Lilah, I’m not that foolish. I’ve been home over a year, and you’ve never felt the need to visit before. What I don’t understand is why the two of you are at Carmoor.”

  “We’re looking for a key,” Con said. “The Dearborns—”

  “Niles Dearborn? That dreadful little man. I never did like him. He looks like a weasel. Have you noticed?”

  “I share your opinion, ma’am. The thing is, the Dearborns are after a key. We think it’s something to do with the three men—your brother, Dearborn and Mr. Blair.”

  “But why would you look for it at Carmoor?” She looked at him blankly. “They always met here. Surely Virgil would have been the one to hold a key.”

  “You know about the key?” Lilah asked in surprise.

  “I don’t know about any key, but it would only make sense that your father would—”

  “Good God!” Realization rushed through Con. He jumped to his feet, sending his chair wobbling backward. “How could I have been so blind?”

  “What are you talking about?” Lilah asked, vaguely alarmed.

  “Lilah, those men weren’t trying to kidnap Sabrina. It’s obvious. They were after you!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  LILAH GAPED AT HIM.

  “Kidnap!” Aunt Vesta gasped and turned to her niece. “Someone kidnapped you?”

  “No. They got the wrong person, and it wasn’t me they wanted.” Lilah frowned at Con. “Sabrina’s parasol—”

  “The devil with Sabrina’s parasol. The important thing is your hair.”

  “My hair!”

  “Yes, what color is it? Do people ever call it red?”

  “Yes. Often,” Lilah responded with obvious annoyance. “But it’s not.”

  “Well, it does have reddish tones,” Aunt Vesta mused.

  Lilah frowned. “It’s strawber—”

  “Never mind that,” Con waved aside their disagreement. “The point I’m trying to make is that if someone was identifying a woman to, say, some dull-witted ruffians, he would describe the most obvious things about her. Hair color. Height. However distinctive that parasol is, it wouldn’t be more important than a physical description. And no one, not even an idiot, could think Kyria is black-haired and short like Sabrina. But if this fellow had said, take the tall redhead...”

  Lilah’s face paled. And suddenly, Con’s excitement was replaced by dread as the implications sank in on him. Lilah was in danger. “Oh, God. He’s still out there.”

  “Who?”

  “The other kidnapper—the one my sisters said escaped through the window.” He cursed under his breath. “I should have gone after him.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Lilah said. “You couldn’t have found him. It was night, and he probably went into those woods behind the house. Besides, the important thing was to get your mother and sisters home.”

  “Yes, but he’s free. He could come after you again.”

  “What man? Someone wants to hurt Lilah?” Vesta’s voice rose in alarm. “What is this all about? I don’t understand.”

  Con pushed down his anxiety. He was frightening Lilah’s aunt, and if he kept on, he was going to scare Lilah, too. Let her remain unworried. He would make damn sure nothing happened to her. Forcing a soothing note into his voice, he said, “I’m sorry, Mrs. LeClaire. You mustn’t fret. Lilah is perfectly safe here. Let me explain.”

  He recounted their chase to Lilah’s aunt, making it sound far more amusing than it had been, ending with their decision to find the key. Aunt Vesta listened with wide eyes, and when he finished, she clasped her hand to her chest, saying, “Oh, my, a treasure hunt. How exciting!”

  “Con, this doesn’t make sense,” Lilah said. “Why would they think I was with your mother and sisters?”

  “You’ve spent a good deal of time with them recently,” he pointed out. “They might have assumed you would be with them, and that would be a good way to obscure the fact that it was you they wanted.”

  “Before this, you were sure it was Sabrina.”

  “I jumped to a conclusion—you know, that quality you say is my besetting sin.” He gave her a wry smile. “I let myself be distracted by that blasted parasol.”

  “But what does Niles have to do with it?” Aunt Vesta asked. “Why does he want this key?”

  “We assume there must be some money involved. Mr. Dearborn’s in financial difficulty,” Lilah told her.

  “He was always one for gambling and, well, other sorts of things I cannot speak of in front of you, dear. I warned Alma not to marry him. Kalhoul told me what—”

  “Who?” Con blurted.

  “Kalhoul—he is my contact on the Other Side. My mentor and adviser.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  “But of course Alma paid no attention to me. They never do, you know. It’s the curse of Cassandra.” She shook her head.

  Con pulled the conversation back on course. “Mrs. LeClaire, why did you say it made sense that the key would belong to Lilah’s father? What does it open?”

  “I don’t know.” Vesta shrugged. “I just assumed...because Barrow House was where the Brotherhood always met.”

  “The Brotherhood?” Con straightened.

  “Yes. Niles, Virgil and Hamilton. They called themselves some silly name. The Brothers of the Blessed. The Blessed Brotherhood. Something like that.”

  “What was this brotherhood? What did they do?” Con asked, the familiar excitement of having found a trail rising in him.

  “I’ve no idea.” Vesta spread her hands out, palms up.

  “It sounds like something religious,” Lilah offered. “The Blessed.”

  “Niles?” Aunt Vesta chuckled. “I wouldn’t think so. No, I think it was jus
t some foolishness that started with our fathers.”

  “So their fathers started the Brotherhood?” Con asked.

  “I think so, and the boys continued it. Family tradition...that sort of thing. Papa was great chums with their fathers. I’m sure they wanted their sons to continue. And, of course, men do love their little clubs and rituals, don’t they? I’m sure you understand, dear boy.” She smiled archly at Con. “It wasn’t as if the club was a great chore. They simply met on the old festivals every year.”

  “The old festivals?” Con asked.

  “Yes, you know. All Hallows’ Eve, Midsummer’s Eve, winter solstice, spring equinox.”

  Con’s jaw dropped. “They were, um...”

  “Witches?” Vesta laughed. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t think so. But Papa had a great respect for the old ways, the ancient religions. I imagine he thought it appropriate to gather then. Of course, it’s true that one feels the Source’s power more at those times.”

  “You said they had rituals,” Con put in before Vesta could launch into a discourse about mystical forces. “What sort of rituals?”

  “I don’t know, really. I just meant in general secret societies have handshakes, passwords, rings, that sort of thing, don’t they? But I’ve no idea what Virgil and his friends did. I was a great deal younger than they of course.” She gave a dimpling smile to Con, but it was bitterness that tinged her tone as she went on, “And they would never include a mere female into their little circle.”

  “My father never told you anything about it?” Lilah asked. “Never gave a hint?”

  Vesta tilted her head to the side, thinking. “No, dear. I’m sorry, but Virgil rarely said anything about the visits except that sometimes he complained because it interfered with his plans. I assumed they just drank themselves silly.”

  “A key would be the sort of thing a group like this would have,” Con mused. “To the entrance to a ceremonial room, perhaps.”

  “A secret room?” Vesta glowed. “How exciting.”

  “I should have realized. When I first saw this house, I thought it would be the perfect place to hide something. Forget Carmoor.” Con grinned at Lilah. “Tomorrow we’re going to explore Barrow House.”

  * * *

  LILAH AND CON began their search the next day in the newest wing of the house, going into every room, examining mantels and knocking on walls. By the end of the afternoon, even Con was tiring of the task.

  “It would take us years to find anything in here,” Lilah said, sinking down onto one of the chairs. “We haven’t even finished this wing.”

  “The house does have a great many nooks and crannies,” Con agreed. “And your family had an inordinate fondness for stairs. Perhaps we should narrow our focus tomorrow.” He reached out his hand to her. “But come. I’m sure your aunt is waiting for us.”

  As Con had predicted, Aunt Vesta was sitting by the tea cart, ready to pepper them with questions about their search.

  “I’m afraid it won’t be fast or easy,” Con told her after he’d described their search. “What’s the likeliest room for your brother to hide something?”

  “His bedroom?” Vesta shrugged. “He kept things in that box on top of his dresser. And of course there was the little chest of your mother’s things. Virgil was always a secretive boy. I remember he used to hide a cache of sweets behind books in the library. He thought I didn’t know it.” She grinned mischievously. “But of course I did. I just didn’t filch enough that he would notice.”

  “No hidden staircases?” Con asked. “Secret rooms? Priest holes?”

  “Wouldn’t that be marvelous?” Vesta said wistfully. “If there are, I’ve never found them.”

  They were just finishing their tea when there was a cannonade of pounding on the front door. The three of them looked at each other in mystification. A moment later, Ruggins let out an exclamation, followed by a crash, and heavy footsteps thundered down the hall.

  “Sir! No! Please allow me to announce you” came the butler’s voice. “Sir, please... You cannot simply barge in.”

  “The hell I can’t!”

  “But, sir—it’s the middle of tea!”

  “Moreland! Damn you, where are you?”

  “Isn’t that—” Vesta began, turning toward the others.

  “Niles Dearborn,” Con finished grimly, shoving back his chair and standing up.

  As Con came around the table, Lilah stood up, as well. “Con...”

  “I shan’t break any of your furniture,” Con told her.

  “Ha! There you are!” Dearborn charged into the room. “How dare you break in? How dare you steal my key? Give it back at once!”

  “Your key!” Con gazed at him in astonishment. Had the man run mad?

  “Yes, my key!” The blank looks on everyone’s faces seemed to enrage him further. He shook his fist, his face turning red. “Did you think I wouldn’t know you took it?”

  “Mr. Dearborn,” Lilah said pacifically, stepping forward to take his arm. “Come. Sit down and calm yourself.”

  “I don’t want to sit down!” Niles jerked his arm from Lilah’s grasp and turned his wrath on her. “Do you have it? Is that it? Did you think to have it all for yourself?”

  Con quickly stepped between Lilah and the older man. His eyes bored into Niles as he said in a deadly level tone, “You will not speak that way to Miss Holcutt.”

  Niles let out a snort of disgust but moved back. “You’re nothing but a ruffian, no matter how high your father’s title is.” He straightened his waistcoat, making a visible effort to subdue his temper. “I want my key back. You had no right to take it.”

  “I didn’t take it.” Con folded his arms. “Are you saying someone stole your key?”

  “Of course that’s what I’m saying. Are you daft?”

  “No. But I’m inclined to think you are. Why would I take your key?”

  “Do you think I’m stupid? First you come around, blustering about kidnapping and Sabrina’s key. Then suddenly you’re here at Barrow House, and the keys are gone. It’s obvious you took them,” Dearborn said scornfully.

  “Keys, you said.” Con seized on his word. “There are three keys, aren’t there? And you naturally stole Sabrina’s, so you had two of them.”

  “I didn’t steal it. She couldn’t use it.” Dearborn narrowed his eyes. “That’s it, isn’t it? You and your brother want to use the girls’ keys yourselves.”

  “Mr. Dearborn.” Lilah stepped up beside Con. “If we wanted to use the keys, we girls would do it ourselves. But we do not have your key.” She spoke the last few words with slow, heavy emphasis.

  “Why should I believe you?” Dearborn shot back. “You’re clearly under his spell.” He jerked a thumb at Con. His gaze swung toward Aunt Vesta, who sat watching them raptly. “You!” he sneered. “No doubt you’re the one who told them about it. They wouldn’t have known otherwise.”

  “Told them about what?” Vesta pushed up out of her seat. Jaw set, she looked a more imposing figure than usual.

  “The Brotherhood! The keys to the Sanctuary!”

  “How could I possibly tell them about that?” Vesta shot back bitterly. “I know nothing about it. None of you would let me join you. You wouldn’t tell me anything. I was just a girl after all.”

  “You couldn’t be in it. You were a fool to think you could. It was a Brotherhood. Only sons can join it.”

  “Why?” Con asked. “What were the rules? What did the Brotherhood do?”

  Dearborn started to speak, then stopped and looked from one to the other, his eyes shrewd. “You don’t know anything about it, do you? You haven’t the least idea what you’re dealing with.”

  “Why don’t you tell us?”

  Dearborn let out a short sharp laugh. “Don’t think you can weasel information out of me so you can use the keys. But I’ll tell you
this—I’m the only one here who can handle what’s going to happen in two weeks.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Oh, no.” Dearborn wagged his finger. “You bring me those keys—all three of them, and I’ll stop it. Otherwise...Midsummer Day, the Sanctuary will unleash holy hell on the world.” With that pronouncement, he turned and walked out of the room.

  Con let out a curse and ran after him, reaching out to pull Dearborn to a halt. “Tell us what the devil you’re talking about.”

  “Or what?” Dearborn taunted. “You’ll kill me? You’d never get the answer then, would you? Or maybe you’ll turn me over to the constable. I can imagine how well the law would respond to your tale of magical keys and hidden rooms.”

  “I don’t need the law to help me.”

  “You plan to thrash it out of me? Torture me into telling you? You don’t have the stomach, boy.” His gaze flickered toward Lilah, who had followed them into the hallway. “And how do you think the proper Lilah Holcutt would like that? I’ll tell you this, as a gift—every three years on Midsummer Day, you have to renew the bond or else it will be freed. And it’s been three years now since we did so.” He pulled away. “You give me back the keys, and I’ll stop it.”

  “What will be freed?” Con ground out.

  “Destruction. More power than you’ve ever dreamed of.” Dearborn grinned and nodded toward Lilah. “Your lot called it the goddess. I’d say it was the devil himself.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  DEARBORN STORMED OUT the door, and Lilah turned to Con, then Vesta. Both wore the same stunned expression that Lilah was sure was on her own face.

  “I never liked Niles,” Vesta said prosaically.

  The very ordinariness of her words after the scene that had just taken place made Lilah laugh. Hearing the hysterical note in the sound, she reined it in. “What in the world was Mr. Dearborn talking about? Aunt Vesta, do you have any idea? He spoke of a sanctuary—do you know where that was?”

  Her aunt shook her head somewhat doubtfully. “I—no, Papa never said anything about a sanctuary. He used to talk about a great force beneath the earth. I remember once he told Virgil to be cautious—or was it wise? Anyway, he saw that I was there and stopped talking.” Her mouth fell into a pout.