His Wicked Charm Page 23

“Constantine.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

  “You seem chipper this morning.”

  “Do I?” Lilah let her smile broaden.

  “Chipper!” Sir Jasper exclaimed. “I say, Moreland, have you no eyes? Delilah, you look worn through.”

  Con brows rose, but he made no comment.

  “Why, thank you, Sir Jasper. It’s nice to know I look haggard.”

  “I did not mean—of course you look lovely. You could appear nothing else. But it’s clear you have taxed yourself. I fear these late hours are too much for your constitution.”

  “My constitution is fine, Sir Jasper.”

  “Now, now,” he said in a jovial tone. “I can’t have you coming down ill now, can I?”

  Con cleared his throat and settled back to watch. Lilah fixed her coolest look on Sir Jasper. “You ‘can’t have’ it? I fail to see what business it is of yours.”

  Jasper blinked. “Well, um, that is...” He shot a resentful glance at Con, as if he had caused the problem.

  Lilah pushed her tea away. “Con, if you would excuse us, I believe Sir Jasper and I need to have a discussion.”

  Con looked from Lilah to Jasper and back. “But of course.” He rose to his feet, snagging a piece of bacon from his plate, and strolled from the room. “Ruggins, I believe we aren’t needed here.”

  The butler followed him, and Lilah closed the door. She turned back to Sir Jasper, who had risen to his feet.

  “Thank you, Lilah, for asking that chap to leave. It’s time to put a stop to his hanging about. The attentions of a duke’s son are doubtless flattering, but it will cause talk if he remains here. And your Aunt Vesta is, um, well, not someone whom I would consider an adequate chaperone.”

  “Thank you for your concern, but I assure you, it is unwarranted. And unwelcome.” Lilah felt her hand knotting into a fist by her side and unclenched it. “I don’t know what Aunt Helena told you that caused you to visit.”

  “Mrs. Summersley is naturally worried about you being here with a man of a certain reputation paying court to you and only Mrs. LeClaire to chaperone.”

  “Constantine Moreland is not ‘paying court’ to me. He is related by marriage to my dearest friend and is a friend to me, as well.” Lilah ignored his dismissive grunt. “Moreover, I have never heard of him putting a young lady’s good name in danger.”

  “He has no substance, no gravitas. His father may be a duke, but it’s well-known that his entire family is peculiar.”

  “I might remind you that the Holcutt family is not known for its normality.”

  “That is why it’s especially important that you and I are careful not to lend credence to the rumors.”

  “There is no ‘you and I,’” Lilah snapped, goaded.

  He smiled benignly. “I hope that condition will change.”

  “There is no reason to.”

  “Delilah, my dear, you are young. It’s entirely understandable that you enjoy the round of parties, the attention of many young gentlemen. But such things cannot go on forever. You will soon embark on your adult life. A woman on her own has no place in the world. She must have a husband to protect and take care of her, children to nurture, a home to call her own.”

  “I have a home to call my own. We’re standing in it. And I don’t need someone to protect or take care of me.”

  “My dear...” His smile, his tone, were so patient and condescending that it made Lilah clench her teeth.

  “Sir Jasper! If Aunt Helena gave you reason to hope your suit would be successful, I am truly sorry. She had no right to encourage you.”

  He looked taken aback. “But, Lilah...we make an excellent match. It will reunite our lands. I am devoted to you.”

  “I don’t love you, and I’m certain that you don’t love me either.”

  “I am most fond of you, my dear, and I’m sure in time you will come to feel the same.”

  “I doubt it, as I am growing less fond of you by the moment.” Lilah drew in a calming breath. “I’m sorry to be discourteous, but my subtler efforts haven’t been met with success. So I must tell you as directly as possible that I have no intention of marrying you. Now or ever.”

  He scowled. “If you are clinging to girlish dreams of a love match, you are most foolish. Love is much overrated.”

  “It probably is. Certainly, it is rare, and I have no expectation of such. But I must have something more than ‘a good match.’”

  “I would think carefully if I were you,” Jasper said tightly. “Given the situation in which you are living here, your reputation could be very much at stake. I am willing to put your actions down to naïveté and girlish silliness, but not everyone will be as generous.”

  Fury shot through Lilah. “Are you threatening me?”

  “It’s no threat. I’m simply stating the realities you should be aware of. You won’t get an offer from that duke’s son, if that is what you’re holding out for. It’s clear the fellow is merely trifling with you.”

  For an instant Lilah wished Con had shown her how to throw a proper punch. But she held on to her control and said only, “I think it’s time you left this house, Sir Jasper.”

  Jasper blinked at her bluntness. “I see. Well, then, I will take my leave of you. Pray give my regards to your aunt.” He started toward the door, then swung back. “I feel it is my duty to speak to Mrs. Summersley about the situation here. I fear she will be severely disappointed.”

  Lilah’s stomach knotted at his words. He was right, and she could not help but feel guilty. She had strayed far from her aunt’s precepts. Worse, she had enjoyed it deeply. “Aunt Helena’s primary concern is my happiness.”

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t any longer sure that she believed her words.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CON REFRAINED FROM lurking about in the hall, much as he wanted to hear what Lilah said to Sir Jasper. From the expression on her face, he had the strong suspicion it wouldn’t end well for Sir Jasper. It was probably petty of him to find satisfaction in that outcome, but he did.

  Retreating to the library, he spent his time idly pulling on books to see if they triggered the opening of a secret door. A few minutes later, when he heard the rush of heavy footsteps down the hall, he returned to the dining room.

  Lilah was standing at the windows, and the sun lit her hair in a flame of red and gold. She was ramrod straight, and her face was stony, but it was such a pleasure to look at her long slim body and bright hair that Con just leaned against the door frame for a moment, enjoying the view.

  Lilah turned. “Oh. I didn’t realize you were there.”

  “I take it your swain was not best pleased by your conversation.”

  “No.” Lilah sighed and sat down, picking at the toast on the plate before her. “Why is it so hard to know what’s right?”

  “I never thought I’d hear you admit you didn’t know the right thing to do.” Con sat down beside her.

  “I used to.” Lilah rested her chin on her hand.

  “You can blame it on me. I’m a bad influence.”

  Lilah gave him a glimmer of a smile. “You are.”

  “Dare I hope Sir Jasper is leaving us?”

  “As soon as he can, I imagine.” Her look hardened. “He’ll run straight back to Aunt Helena. I hope she doesn’t decide she needs to come down here herself to straighten things out.”

  “What is so tangled that it needs straightening?”

  She gave a half shrug. “Me, I suppose.”

  “You don’t need straightening.” Con thought how she had changed recently, her beauty blossoming with each smile, each laugh, each wayward thought. He suspected she wouldn’t want to hear it. “Why don’t you tell me what you were itching to say when you walked in this morning?”

  “How do you know I wanted to say anything?” She smile
d teasingly, and the now-familiar warmth stole through him.

  Con had a strong urge to lean over and kiss her, but he said only, “Because I’m not as blind as Sir Jasper. Did you find something in that book?”

  “I did. The last page had another Latin phrase printed on it. ‘Fortis quam germanitas nullum est vinculum.’”

  “‘No bond is greater than that of brotherhood.’ They certainly are fascinated by that idea, aren’t they?”

  “But that is not the main thing. This was folded and stuck between the last few pages.” She pulled a sheet of paper from her pocket and spread it out on the table.

  Excitement flared in him. “The designs for the keys!”

  “Look at the different heads on the keys. One has the spoked wheel one often finds on the artifacts around here. I think that’s a symbol for the sun. And above it a yellow citrine.”

  “So it stands for the sky? Intellect? Blair’s key. The three parallel undulating lines...” Con pointed to another of the drawings. “The sea?”

  Lilah nodded. “A sapphire for it. My grandfather’s.”

  “So this last one with the obsidian decoration and, fittingly, twisting snakes would have been Dearborn’s.” Con drummed his fingers absently on the table. “You’d think he would have written more about what he believed.”

  “Perhaps he did. We didn’t finish searching the Clock Room last night. There may be more in those cabinets.”

  “Then let’s go back.”

  They spent the rest of the morning rummaging through the things in her grandfather’s desk and cabinets. Late in the morning, Con, to his great delight, found a carved spiral embellishment on one of the drawers that he was able to push to the side. Beneath it lay a smaller strip of wood. When he turned it, there was an audible click.

  “I knew it! A secret drawer.” He felt beneath desk and found a shallow drawer that slid out. He pulled it out and set it down on the desk. “Lilah, come look. I’ve found something.”

  Together they bent their heads over the piece of paper lying inside. Lilah had come to recognize her grandfather’s spidery handwriting by now. She read out loud.

  “All that we have, we owe to you. All that we are, we offer to you. Out of fear and darkness, you revealed your glorious being and entrusted to us the knowledge of the Otherworld. In humility and joy, we give you this, our sacred vow:

  “We pledge to you our lives and our devotion. We honor the old ways. We revere the ancient gods. We believe in a life renewing. We are forever the holders of the Gateway, the guardians of the Path. We stand constant in our faith, knowing that for eternity we shall be blessed to reside in peace with you.”

  “Their creed. Fascinating.” Con reached down to pick up the paper. “Look. There’s another page.”

  “It’s their order of worship.”

  We march in solemn procession.

  Unlocking of the door in unison.

  Assemble at the altar.

  Presentation of sacrifice.

  Offer of blood.

  We lay hands upon the altar and recite the creed.

  Receiving of gifts.

  Final prayer.

  Recessional.

  “Sacrifice. That’s a bit frightening.” Lilah turned to Con. “You don’t think they were...sacrificing animals there, do you?” Her stomach began to churn.

  “I doubt it. Sacrifices could be anything—gifts of fruit, for all we know. Or even giving up certain things, as with Lent. ‘I swear to forgo cigars the next three months.’”

  “But what about this ‘offer of blood’?” Lilah pointed out.

  “Sounds like it was in addition to the sacrifice. My guess is they made a small cut on their wrists or hands, say, and all three of them dripped a bit of blood onto the altar. Blood oaths, that sort of thing.”

  “Then they put their hands on the altar and said their creed. And look...” Lilah pointed at the bottom of the page. “Here’s a drawing.” She frowned over the rectangle with three circles grouped around it.

  “The way they stood at the altar,” Con said. “And this is no doubt the final prayer. ‘O Gracious Mother, we thank thee for these, thy gifts. Renewed, we go forth, confident in thy bounty and in the fullness of thy love.’ Amazing how a ritual makes one go back to thee and thy, isn’t it?” Con mused.

  “I like the way he underlined solemn procession.”

  “Pointed at Dearborn, you think?” Con grinned. “Sir Ambrose was certainly a dictatorial sort.”

  “Don’t you dare say it runs in the family.” Lilah gave him a stern frown.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” With a wink, he turned back to his search.

  The rest of the day proved fruitless, though they kept at it doggedly, breaking only for tea. Finally, Con sat down with a sigh and leaned back against the cabinet. “I think we have covered—or uncovered—every square inch of this room.”

  “I think it’s safe to say there’s nothing else to be gleaned here.” Lilah sat down beside him.

  “Where shall we look next?” Con asked. “We can’t afford to waste too much time.”

  “Con, really, if you start talking about Mr. Dearborn’s calamity on Midsummer Day...”

  “But doesn’t that seem more likely—less absurd, at least—now that we’ve found all this?” He waved his hand vaguely around the office. “Doesn’t it sound like what these fellows would have dreamed up—‘we meet and renew every three years or else the gods will curse us.’ Only with more thees and thou shalts.”

  “Yes, it sounds precisely like them. And the important part of your sentence is dreamed up. They concocted this religion purely out of their imagination. It doesn’t make it real.” Lilah wasn’t about to admit that despite her words, she felt a strange tug of urgency deep inside her.

  “Well, Dearborn and Sir Jasper are quite real—and one or the other, or both, is after the key. We must find it.”

  “We’ve already searched my father’s room. There’s my grandfather’s office. I don’t know, Con. A key is such a small thing. It could be hidden anywhere.”

  “We must also find the Sanctuary,” Con pointed out. “If we could see the door, we’d have a better idea what we’re looking for.”

  “Yes, but we know even less about its location.”

  “Let’s think about it.” Con leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “These men get together and prime the pump with a few glasses of port or brandy. Then they tromp off to this room, open it with their three keys and have a ceremony. Or perhaps they do the drinking there as part of the ceremony.”

  “Perhaps we should look for their ‘silly hats.’”

  “Oh, I think these were hooded robes kind of chaps.” Con opened his eyes. “How did they stumble upon this ‘Gateway’? It can’t be readily apparent or others would have found it. We have three young blades, stuck in the country, miles from entertainment. Even given your grandfather’s ill health and Blair’s preference for intellectual pursuits, they must have been inclined to have some fun, go adventuring.”

  “Probably. You think that’s what they were doing when they found their sanctuary?”

  “Yes. Where would they go around here for an adventure? A cave, perhaps?”

  “There aren’t any nearby.”

  “Some old ruins?”

  “The barrow is miles away, and the Holy Well even farther.”

  Con’s eyes lit up. “Ah, but there are some ruins right here, aren’t there?” He pointed downward. “Didn’t you say this part of the house was built on the ruins of an old castle?”

  “The cellars!” Lilah brightened. “You’re right. That sounds exactly the thing to intrigue a group of young men.”

  “Exactly. Dank, dark cells. Skeletons in chains. We should go down to the dungeons.”

  “They aren’t dungeons. They’re just cellars...but I understa
nd they are very extensive.”

  “The cellars it is, then.” He stood up and offered her his hand.

  “It’s too late to start now. That’s an all-day task.”

  “You’re right. Much as it grieves me to be prudent, we’ll start tomorrow.”

  * * *

  CON TOOK UP his post by his door again that night. Lilah had not asked him to keep watch, and hopefully her remedy of locking her door would keep her from wandering, but he couldn’t just go to bed, knowing that she might put herself in danger.

  He had done it last night as well, after they’d returned to their rooms, not going to bed until the servants were up. His lack of sleep was telling on him. Now, as he sat there, he kept slipping into a doze, then awakening with a start.

  It began to rain and the sound soothed him, lulling him to sleep. He woke up with a start at a clap of thunder. Groggily, he peered down the hall at Lilah’s closed door, then got up and went to the window. The rain had turned into a storm, clouds covering the moon, turning the night pitch-black until lightning flashed, illuminating the garden.

  He glanced at the time. It was almost three. He wondered if it was safe to give up his watch now; the other times Lilah had gone out had been before this. Going to the door, he took another look down the hall. He stiffened. There was, he saw now, a thin line of black separating her door from its frame.

  Heart hammering, he crossed the corridor. The door stood a trifle ajar. He pushed it open cautiously—the last thing he wanted was Lilah waking up and screaming at the presence of a man in her bedchamber.

  But there was no possibility of that. Her bedcovers were turned back, her bed empty. The door key lay on the floor at his feet. Con turned and ran down the stairs. He told himself there was no reason to worry. She had done this several times now without coming to any harm. Her senses and instincts seemed to work even though her mind was unknowing. But Con could not subdue this feeling of urgency.

  He cursed himself for falling asleep. Had her door been ajar when he woke up and he hadn’t noticed it in his stupor? Or had it been closed and she had left just a moment ago, while he was staring out the window?

  He intended to go to the tower, but he pulled up short when he crossed the hall leading to the back door. Logic told him Lilah would have headed for the tower, as she had last night. But something else tugged at him, and he turned toward the back door. The loosening in his chest told him he was right.