“You’re insane. A duel with Larabie? You’ll get yourself shot—and most likely killed,” he snapped. “Especially since you cannot seem to pass away a night without getting roaring drunk.”
“I do not need a cataloguing of my sins, Sussex. Believe me, I’m well aware of them all. Trust me. I know what I’m doing, and this plan will work. Lady Larabie is entirely indiscreet. I’ll have her spilling what she knows about the club and about Orpheus himself within a week. There is nothing else to be done. Wendell Knighton did not act alone in his attempt to steal the artifacts—there was someone else pulling the strings, feeding him information. We cannot just let it rest now the relics are safe and Knighton is dead.”
“You’re right, of course. We need to follow the leads we have, and every single one of them return to this Orpheus fellow.”
“I trust neither one of you have a better plan to find him?”
“No,” Sussex grumbled.
Alynwick was many things, a dissolute roué, an amoral, unfeeling clod, but he was on their side, and he always, always kept his word. His oath to the Brethren Guardians would never be broken, Sussex knew that much. He also could not fathom a guess of what price this mad scheme was going to cost Alynwick.
“This is most dangerous,” Black murmured, “but the fact is, we really have no other recourse. Orpheus has withdrawn into the ethers of London since Knighton’s murder, and we can’t afford to have any more lost time. We need to find him. What really matters is, this Orpheus knows about us, and we can’t have that—we must ascertain how he discovered our existence, and those of the artifacts.”
True. Sussex hated to admit it, but at this moment Orpheus had the upper hand. There was no telling what he might do with the knowledge he had gained of their order, or when he might decide to strike again and attempt to steal the relics—or worse, expose them and what they hid to the world. Orpheus needed to be stopped, and they had no other way, or information.
“All right. It’s settled then. Tonight, you and Black will go to the Masonic meeting, I’ll get ripping drunk and meet you at Grantham Farm, where one of you will be my second. I’ll say that I ran into one of you, and that my usual set was too drunk to be of any assistance. It shouldn’t raise too many questions, especially with one of you doing the honors. Everyone knows you won’t gossip about it. Should be all right, I’d think.”
Black shook his head. “I don’t like this. Anything could happen, especially with Larabie. The man is a fool, and with a woman’s involvement, he’s likely to be even more foolhardy than usual.”
“We’re all fools in love, aren’t we?” Alynwick drawled, and Sussex glared at his friend as the marquis’s amused grin focused on him.
Yes, he was a fool in love. He’d already tried to wrangle his way out of it, but Lucy Ashton had an unholy grip on his heart. She would not let go, and he didn’t think he could let her, even knowing that she loved another. That was the damnable thing. If it were only lust he felt for her, this entire debacle would be behind him. But it wasn’t simply a case of desire, but love. Or at the very least the stirrings of a true and abiding love. How he wished he could get her alone and discover her, the true woman she was. Not the society miss she pretended to be, but the woman she hid from the world. But there was little chance for that now. She’d made it perfectly clear that she loathed the very sight of him.
“Well, then, I think I’ll be off. I need a new waistcoat. Something dashing and debonair, something befitting the field of honor.”
“Wait, I have news. We have a new ally.”
“Do we?” Alynwick drawled. “How did this come about?”
“Elizabeth.”
Alynwick frowned. “I don’t see how your sister can be of any use to us.”
“She is going to discover what Lucy knows about Orpheus and the club.”
“And how would Lady Lucy know anything about such matters?” Alynwick asked through narrowed eyes. “Damn it, Sussex, you’re a liability around that girl.”
“It’s a private matter, Alynwick. All you need know is that Lucy Ashton does indeed have some involvement that goes beyond her knowledge of the pendant. The particulars of which are of no concern to you.”
“Bah,” he grunted with a wave of his hand. “Elizabeth would never betray a friend. Whatever Lucy Ashton tells her will remain with Elizabeth until her dying day. I would not wait about with bated breath to discover what Elizabeth learns from Lucy.”
“Lizzy is concerned enough about Lucy to share what she discovers. Even now they are at Sussex House discussing matters. I have no doubt that Elizabeth will be able to discover what we need to know.”
“No doubt. Your sister has the unnatural ability to discover one’s most carefully hidden secret, doesn’t she? I wonder how she’ll accomplish it, making Lucy part with her secrets?”
“The way females always do,” he answered. “By telling her one of her own secrets.”
The loss of color in Alynwick’s face was comical, and puzzling. So was the way he jumped up from the chair and left as though the devil were on his heels.
“Secrets,” Black murmured as he reached for his hat. “Damnable things aren’t they?”
Black didn’t know the half of it, Sussex thought, or the secrets he harbored. God help him if the world was to learn his. It would ruin everything.
IN THE SHADOWS, Orpheus waited—and plotted his revenge—a retribution that would be beautiful and painful. Much like that of a spider’s web—an intricate, glittering thing of exquisite beauty, but treacherous, offering a slow, suffocating death to those caught in its silken tendrils.
His web was no less complex, or less beautiful, but it was infinitely more dangerous. And the Brethren Guardians … well, they were wrapping themselves into the delicate silken weaves, just as he had planned. Soon, they would be cocooned, and their little group and the ancient artifacts they hid from the world would be his.
There was no stopping him, not even death could, for he had seen death and had battled his way back from its grip. There was nothing left now but to succeed, to lure and entice and destroy the three men who had destroyed him and everything he might have been.
But a spider is a clever thing, and constructs his web in a most abstruse manner. And while he was busily lying in wait for his prey to draw to his web, he needed something else—a bait of sorts—to lay upon the silk to lure the Guardian he wanted most.
He watched this victim from the dark corners of his club—his house—the House of Orpheus. She was the adhesive his web needed to draw and hold his enemies. She was the one he could so easily entice into his silken world of mystery, beauty and forbidden passion. She was the next step in his plan.
He signaled his accomplice across the room, who moved through the crowd with predatory grace, compelled by the same soul-destroying need for vengeance that ruled him.
“It is time to be resurrected,” Orpheus murmured, and his minion’s breath stilled for a fraction of a second, then resumed with heat and excitement. Yes, this man had waited so long—so many months for this very moment. Now that it had arrived, Orpheus could sense the taut strength, the scent of bloodlust that suddenly rushed free from within the cold confines of his subordinate’s soul, which was consigned to hell—just as his was. “Do what you must, but bring her to me.”
“As you wish, Orpheus. It shall be done. But what of the pendant and the chalice?”