by Gaelen Foley
Back on English soil, they hired a post chaise and traveled southwest, passing through the refined streets of Cambridge, and swiftly on to Town. They reached London after nightfall and went immediately to Westminster Abbey, where Rohan called on the Dean.
He had explained that since Westminster Abbey was classified as a Royal Peculiar, the Dean answered directly to the sovereign—as did the Order.
The Dean was a very powerful man. After all, it was he who would assist as second only to the Archbishop of Canterbury when the time came for the coronation of the Prince Regent. A very learned and well-connected man, he was, Rohan had told her, one of the few in London who was aware of the Order and its purpose.
For that reason, the Dean promptly dispatched an unsmiling verger to take them at once into the darkened cathedral and let them into the mysterious Pyx Chamber.
“So why do you believe the Prometheans hid the scrolls in here?” Kate whispered as the verger led them into the huge, silent, candlelit Abbey.
“It’s one of the most secure buildings in England,” Rohan murmured, “especially the Undercroft.”
Hurrying past the numerous gilded side chapels, one more ornate than the next, Kate gawked at the magnificent stained-glass windows, only feebly lit by the winter moon.
Countless monuments loomed eerily in the shadows, honoring the thousands of dead buried within the Abbey.
“The Pyx Chamber has been used as a treasury for centuries by the Crown and the Exchequer,” he continued, holding her hand and hurrying her along. “You’ll see how thick the walls are. Double-reinforced doors. It’s been solid since the eleventh century. Down here, watch your step.”
Rohan went down the stone stairs ahead of her into the oldest part of the Abbey. The verger crossed to a massive Gothic door, which he began unlocking.
Hauling open the double-layered entrance, the Dean’s man let them into the Pyx Chamber, a low, vaulted room with an ancient tiled floor and wide rounded arches between the massive pillars holding up part of the weight of the great cathedral above.
By the light of the verger’s lantern, Kate saw rows and rows of wooden shelves lining the walls. They were filled with small wooden chests, each identical.
There were scores of them.
“Those are the pyxes,” Rohan told her. “They hold samples of all the coins ever minted in England. Each year they have an official trial to make sure the proper weight of gold and silver are being used to mint the coins—that there’s no cheating in the value of our currency.”
“ ‘The trial of the coin!’ ” she exclaimed, recalling the last line of the final couplet from The Alchemist’s Journal.
“Exactly. Those scrolls are somewhere in this room,” he said grimly, glancing around. “There are other priceless valuables stored in here, as well. Crowns. Deeds. Charters. Not everything’s kept in the palaces or the Tower of London.”
He pointed to another wall of shelves piled with assorted old chests, boxes, cases, and caskets of all sizes and descriptions. A mass of documents seemed to accompany every one.
“There are so many. How are we going to find it?
He shrugged. “We look for one of the right size. From there, it’s just a matter of whichever one the key fits into. We’d best get started.”
She nodded. For the next two hours, Rohan pulled down one aged box after another, while Kate tried Valerian’s key in each. The verger stayed on hand as a necessary witness to their presence in the high-security room, and finally lent a hand.
At last, Rohan slid a long, weathered case off the top shelf and brought it down to her. It looked about right—two feet long and about six inches deep.
They exchanged a determined glance, then Kate once more lifted the key that Rohan had taken from the Alchemist’s coffin. “Here goes nothing,” she murmured.
But then, she drew in her breath as it slid neatly into the keyhole. She turned it. “It works!”
“Let me lift the lid—just in case.”
“Careful,” she whispered, moving back. She turned her face away, ready to dive for cover in case of any nasty surprises like the many they had encountered in the Tomb.
Rohan stood back, poking the lid open.
Nothing happened.
No explosions, blades, or puffs of poison dust rose up to harm them, so he lifted the lid the rest of the way.
They both peered into the long wooden box.
It was filled with ancient parchment scrolls, each tied with a ribbon. They exchanged a victorious look.
Rohan picked up the top scroll, but did not need to unfurl it to note the strange occult symbols, runes, and other Promethean markings. “This is it, all right.”
“Unbelievable.” Kate shook her head in amazed resentment that the Prometheans had had the audacity to put the dark, occult scribblings of a medieval sorcerer in this holy place.
Rohan closed the box again and locked it. “This is what we came for,” he informed the verger.
The man nodded. Rohan headed for the door. Kate was right behind him. Once more, they were hurrying through the giant Abbey and out to the street.
Carrying the box in one hand, he hailed a hackney with the other, got the door for Kate, and ordered the driver to take them straight to Dante House.
They were silent, both well aware that something of a confrontation awaited them at the headquarters of the so-called Inferno Club. Kate was a bit nervous, knowing she was going to be questioned, but with Rohan by her side, she was ready. She had nothing to hide.
Before long, the hackney came to a creaky halt. Rohan told the driver to wait a moment for the butler to come out and pay him, while Kate handed Rohan the case filled with Valerian’s scrolls.
She glanced up at the darkly eccentric Dante House, but after the Alchemist’s Tomb, the spooky strangeness of the place hardly made her lift an eyebrow.
Rohan led her through the spiky black gate and down the crooked front path, but the instant the front door opened, a raucous clamor of big dogs barking instantly filled her ears. Kate jumped back in terror when she saw the giant guard dogs leaping on Rohan just ahead of her.
But at his curt command, they dropped obediently to their haunches and went quiet. Only one regarded her with a low, uncertain growl.
“It’s all right,” he told her as she inched in. “Gray, would you go and pay the driver? Sorry about that, I’ll owe you.”
“But of course, Your Grace. Does, ah, Master Virgil know you were to bring a guest?”
“She’s not a guest, Gray.” Rohan reached for her hand. “This lady is my wife.”
Astonishment froze the butler’s heretofore-expressionless face for a second, but then he masked his shock, offering Kate a low bow. “Your Grace.”
“Oh—that isn’t necessary,” she mumbled, blushing.
“You’d best get used to it,” her husband murmured. “Are they here?”
“In the parlor, sir.” Gray sketched a bow, then stepped out to pay the hackney driver.
Rohan turned to her. “Ready?”
She took a deep breath, nodded, and prepared to meet his fellow agents. Her heart beat faster as she followed him into the mysterious club, down an extraordinarily gaudy red corridor.
“Warrington! There you are.” The two good-looking men who had come to his house on the night they had left London were already in the room when they walked in, along with a brawny, older Scotsman.
“Where the hell have you been?” his black-haired friend, Max, asked.
The sandy-haired Jordan stepped toward them. “Are you married or not?”
“Who. Is. This?” their handler demanded, staring at Kate. Earlier, Rohan had told her that the blustery Scot’s name was Virgil.
He reminded her of that blacksmith up at Orkney.
“This, sir,” Rohan answered, laying his hand protectively on the small of her back, “is my duchess.”
“Hullo—I’m Kate,” she said with a nervous little wave to them all, though she felt as small as a
shrub in a forest of trees standing among all these towering warrior males.
“So, the rumor was true!” Max exclaimed.
“You look a little different than the last time we saw you,” Jordan remarked with a smile.
“Your wife?” Virgil echoed incredulously at last. “And you thought it wise to bring her here?”
Kate winced, but Rohan met his stare evenly. “She is as much a part of this as we are, Virgil. You see, Kate is the Count DuMarin’s granddaughter.”
Thus it began.
They sat down, except for the Highlander, who leaned by the window with a stunned expression. They spent the next two hours answering a barrage of questions. Rohan told them the whole story, from the reason Kate had been kidnapped, all the way through to their successful mission to the Tomb and their subsequent visit to the Pyx Chamber.
“It’s because of Kate that we were able to get to the Alchemist’s scrolls and keep them out of the hands of the Prometheans.” He took out the key from Valerian’s tomb and opened the case.
At once, Jordan was on his feet, crossing to the trove of scrolls, crouching down to view them in fascination.
“You’ll have your work cut out for you now,” Max remarked to him.
“They’re all in code,” Kate spoke up, “but I-I made some progress on that from my mother’s book. Maybe I could help.”
They all looked at her. Virgil eyed her as if she were some manner of rat that had crawled up from the river.
Kate finally took umbrage at his hostility, knitting her eyebrows together. “I know I have Promethean bloodlines, sir, but I-I am a good person!” she asserted firmly, her heart pounding. “I love Rohan, and I will do whatever I can to help your cause, just like my grandfather did. My own mother was a victim of Promethean evil, too, you know. I understand your skepticism, but I hope you will at least give me a chance!”
Max stared at her, a faint twinkle of approval in his eyes at her refusal to be intimidated. “Well, well,” he murmured. “She certainly sounds like a Warrington.”
Rohan smiled ruefully.
“Come, gentlemen,” Max said. “We’ve been rude to the lady for long enough, surely. Congratulations are in order.” With a fond smile, he rose and crossed to where Rohan and Kate sat together.
First he bent and gave Kate a respectful kiss on the cheek. “Brave lady, I wish you happy. Well done, my friend.” Then he clapped Rohan on the shoulder. “You must allow Daphne and me to give a ball in honor of your marriage.”
“A ball?” Kate breathed. “Well, you are very kind, I’m sure, but—”
“But, what, Kate” Rohan asked, smiling.
She glanced swiftly at her husband. “I’ve never been to a ball.”
They all began laughing, though not unkindly.
“Well, you’ve got a lot of catching up to do, then!”
“Thanks, Max.” Rohan shook his hand.
“Accept my congratulations, too.” Jordan bowed to her, pressing a gallant kiss to her knuckles. “Though, sadly, I must point out, you two have left me the last bachelor of the lot.”
“I believe there will be several ladies in Society who may need comforting on that point, my lord,” Kate reminded him.
They laughed, but Jordan glanced at Rohan. “You didn’t stand a chance with this one, did you?”
“Not at all,” he agreed with a smile, but their brooding chief had not yet given a response.
Kate eyed him anxiously. Virgil’s arms were folded across his chest. “So, you say Drake was with Falkirk aboard the ship her father sank?”
“Yes, sir,” Rohan answered in a more serious tone.
“Do you think Drake’s dead?” Virgil asked bluntly.
“I asked Captain Fox to rescue him, and he said he’d do his best. But I don’t think the crew had much time to look for him in the water. The Coast Guard was on its way, and Fox had to set sail. They wouldn’t have had much time to look for him.” Rohan shook his head grimly. “The temperatures were freezing, not to mention we spotted a lot of big sharks in those waters. Still, if any man could survive that sort of situation, one of ours could. But, Virgil, surely you noted what I said? I had a clear shot at Falkirk, and Drake protected him. I think we have to face the real possibility that Drake is no longer one of us. That they’ve turned him.”
Virgil drew a deep breath, then exhaled it, shaking his head. “I refuse to believe that.”
“As do I,” Max murmured.
Jordan and Rohan exchanged a skeptical glance. Neither of them knew Drake as well as Max did, but Rohan knew what he had seen Drake do, and he could not think how else to explain it.
He shrugged. “Captain Fox will be in contact with me. I will certainly pass along any news he has to report as soon as I get it. If he did manage to pull Drake out of the water, he’ll let me know. Then we can go and collect him.”
When he glanced at Kate, he found her covering a yawn. He furrowed his brow and glanced at the mantel clock. “Midnight. Come on, you. Time to take you home. We’ve been on the road all day,” he explained to the others.
He stood, captured her hand, and tugged her to her feet. Max and Jordan exchanged a glance, as though they could not believe their eyes at the Beast doting on her.
“I’m coming,” Kate said with another yawn. “Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure. And thank you—for what you all do here, for England.”
His friends looked startled by her words as they stood and bid her a gallant good night. Finally, Virgil added his gruff congratulations.
Rohan shook his hand. “Thank you, sir.”
“But don’t bring her here again,” the Highlander warned him in a low tone, though Kate suspected she was meant to hear it, too. “It is too dangerous.” Then Virgil sent round for his coach to drive them home.
Kate breathed a sigh of relief a while later when Virgil’s coachman finally dropped them off under the lighted portico at Rohan’s grand town house in Mayfair.
“Am I ever glad that’s over,” she mumbled.
Before they even reached the door, however, Eldred threw it open in surprise. “Your Grace! You’re back! Miss Madsen.”
“Hullo, Eldred!” Kate said with sleepy cheer.
“Eldred, old boy,” Rohan greeted him, as he closed the door behind him. “She’s not Miss Madsen anymore, nor Miss Fox. Allow me to present to you—the Duchess of Warrington.”
Kate raised her hand, giggling. “Me.”
Eldred gasped, his eyes widened. “Oh, Your Grace—Your Graces! What happy, happy news!” The butler quickly recovered his deadpan demeanor and cleared his throat. “I am overjoyed,” he said gravely.
“As are we! But there is much work to be done,” Rohan said heartily as he swept Kate off her feet.
She let out a small shriek of delight, throwing her arms around his neck. He had missed carrying her over the threshold, but he now traipsed up the staircase with her in his arms.
“Work, sir?” Eldred asked.
“The modiste, my good man! We must have the finest mantua-makers from Bond Street here tomorrow. Loads of ’em. And what else? Some fashionable shoemakers, perhaps, and er, millinery, whatnot, and—well, what other dashed things do you females require?”
“The hair dresser, sir?” Eldred suggested.
“Right-o. Hair dresser, too.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?” Kate protested in feigned indignation.
“And the jeweler!” her husband added pointedly, casting her a smile. “No duchess of mine shall have a blacksmith’s nail for a ring.”
“I love my ring,” she said softly, guarding it with her other hand.
“We can do better,” he whispered with a wink. “I told you I was going to spoil you, didn’t I?”
“Well . . .” Her smile widened.
“Tomorrow the project begins! We’ll make my wild Dartmoor girl into a duchess. No, don’t argue. You can’t go around dressed like a footman all your life, Kate. It won’t do. We must get her something suitable to
wear, a new wardrobe for her new life. You will arrange it, Eldred, will you not? Her Grace and I have got other business to attend to.”
The butler smiled knowingly as Rohan carried her up the sweeping staircase. “Gladly, sir. Good night, Your Graces.”
“As for you, my lady . . .”
“Hmm?” Kate murmured, a flirtatious twinkle in her eyes.
“You’re not that tired, are you?” he whispered.
“Never,” she breathed.
He let out a hungry growl of laughter, kissed her soundly, and carried her into what would henceforth be their shared bedchamber—then he kicked the door shut behind him.
Epilogue
A few weeks later
“Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Warrington!” the butler announced from his post beside the entrance to the ballroom, and at once, the whole glittering crowd paused and eagerly turned to look.
Kate still was not used to all the attention, but she was told from those in the know, that from the first whispered rumors of their secret marriage, she had charmed the ton.
The Society pages praised the excellent taste of her enormous wardrobe; the hostesses of the aristocracy were pleased with her French noble blood; and at the ball the Rotherstones had given in her and Rohan’s honor a few weeks ago, the ton’s haughtiest dandies, the cruelest arbiters of taste, had pronounced her the rarest of finds: a great beauty with a sharp mind, a spirited wit, and a bold sense of style.
In short, she had been proclaimed “all the kick.”
Kate found her sudden celebrity slightly disconcerting, but she wasn’t about to let it go to her head. While she liked to believe there might be a grain of truth to some of their praise, she knew full well her overprotective husband would have torn the dandies’ heads off if they had said otherwise.
Apart from that, she was enjoying herself immensely in her new life. She was no longer alone. She had friends now, a place to belong. And most of all, she had Rohan. They fell deeper in love with each day that passed.