“Then why are you here? I thought we settled our business upon leaving Yorkshire.”
“They’re gone.”
Twirling the stem of the rose between his fingers, he inhaled the delicate scent as it whirled around him. “What is gone?”
“The chalice and pendant.”
Black’s gaze narrowed, even as the hairs on his neck rose in alarm. “When we took them from Yorkshire, we hid them away where they could never be found—only the three of us know of the catacombs beneath the lodge. How can they be gone?”
“How the hell should I know?” Sussex snapped. “When I learned that Wendell Knighton had unearthed some artifacts from Solomon’s Temple when he was in Jerusalem, I feared he might have come across some information of the existence of the artifacts. Naturally, I went to ensure the chalice and pendant were still hidden beneath the Templar church. They were not there.”
“And what am I to do about it?” Black grumbled. He had never wanted anything to do with protecting the whereabouts of the legendary chalice and pendant. But both Sussex and himself had been charged with their protection, a behest from both their fathers. Sussex’s father had hidden the chalice, and Black’s had kept the pendant. Both artifacts had brought nothing but death and grief to both families since the time their Templar ancestors had returned from the Holy Land, carrying them—charged with the task of keeping them hidden from the world.
Never tell what you know. Never say what you are. Never lose faith in your purpose, for the kingdom to come will have need of you and your sons.
It had been the mantra—and curse of his family, and that of Sussex’s. Those words had literally been written on his flesh, branded into his soul. He could never forget, because it was who he was. Who he would always be. What his sons would one day become.
“You forget, we vowed allegiance to hide them from the world. And if someone has found them—if they know of what their true purpose is—”
“I’m fully aware of what could happen, Sussex. I just don’t happen to believe it.” His faith had died years ago—along with any desire to carry on the family legacy.
“Your beliefs are irrelevant. We must find them and make sure that no one discovers their powers. I’ve already summoned Alynwick. He’s coming with the scroll.”
“I know, I saw the marquis at Stonebrook’s soirée tonight. He’s a Highland brute and people were staring. He’ll cause a bloody scene and people will begin to talk. If it’s known he’s associated with either one of us, there could be speculation—especially if Knighton uncovered anything about our forebears in Jerusalem.”
Sussex shrugged. “He is part of this, isn’t he? It’s his knowledge of the old order that we need. He has a right to be here, to help us find the chalice and pendant.”
Indeed he was. Alynwick and his forebears had been in charge of keeping the ancient religious text safe, and well away from the chalice and the pendant. The text, which was in the form of an ancient scroll, was the third artifact that had been carried out of Solomon’s Temple by their Templar ancestors. The scroll was said to have the power of prophecy and alchemy, and contained the secrets of how to bring the powers of the chalice, pendant and scroll together. It was said that to possess all three, and their knowledge and power, was to rule supreme. Black had never believed, but there was that time, once, when he had held the black onyx pendant with its strange symbols marked in gold in his hand, and began to wonder if what his ancestors had passed down from generation to generation, son to son, was not true. He had felt something … heard something … a voice calling, whispering to him, tempting him with all he might have.
He’d been grieving at the time, Death had surrounded him, come in threes to take those closest to him. He’d assumed what he’d heard had been nothing but grief and despair. But now, ten years later, he began to wonder whether the pendant really had magical properties.
“Those are Templar treasures coming,” Sussex reminded him, “and we need Alynwick’s help if we are going to be able to keep London safe in the event that whoever has stolen the chalice and pendant discovers their powers.”
“Safe,” he murmured, gazing at the sky, thinking of Isabella. “Death follows me like a cloud, Sussex. No one is safe from my family’s curse.”
“We’re all cursed,” Sussex grumbled. “But that hardly matters now, does it?”
“No, I suppose not.”
Sussex raked an unsteady hand through his dark hair. “Tomorrow the ship from Jerusalem arrives. Be there to find out what Knighton has unearthed. Report back as soon as you discover anything. We must be very careful, Black.”
“Aren’t I always cautious?”
“Tonight you weren’t.”
He glared at Sussex. “Some could accuse you of the same.”
“Just keeping tabs on what could be a very inconvenient discovery of our involvement.”
Black laughed, a deep sound of jaded weariness. “Is that what you’re calling Lucy Ashton, an inconvenience?”
Resentment flashed in Sussex’s eyes. “You needn’t concern yourself with her, I’ll manage her,” he snapped, and Black felt the duke’s possession in every word.
“You’ve fallen for Lucy.”
“Of course I haven’t.”
“Your tone says otherwise.”
“My tone is exasperation, Black. The young lady is far too intelligent and nosy for her own good,” he grumbled. “I can’t allow her to discover anything about the artifacts—or me.”
“What makes you think she knows anything about the artifacts?”
“She’s been plaguing me with questions about the Brotherhood and the Grand Lodge. She’s enamored of its secrets and I’m afraid she might just uncover that our family has been using Freemasonry as a way to keep the secrets they found in Solomon’s Temple buried. Miss Ashton has a hunger for knowledge, and it scares the devil out of me. She’s started attending séances and spirit meetings, for God’s sake. There’s no telling what lengths that single-minded miss will go to in order to indulge her quest for answers.”
“I’m sure you have charmed her out of seeking any further answers.”
“She doesn’t care for me.”
Sussex sounded hurt—and defeated. Oddly, Black found he relished the knowledge. Misery did love company, for his desire for Isabella was just as hopeless as Sussex’s for Lucy.
“She is only playing at the supernatural, Sussex. It’s in vogue, after all, and Lucy Ashton is a forerunner in society. It is innocent curiosity and a cure for interminable boredom. Trust me, the girl hasn’t stumbled upon anything.”
“Oh?” Sussex reached into his jacket pocket, then tossed something into the air, which Black caught. Uncurling his fingers, he studied the gold coin that sat in the palm of his hand.
Facing up was the image of laurel leaves and a lyre. On the other side was a six-pointed star with the words The House of Orpheus imprinted around the coin. Frowning, he stared at the image, wondering where he had seen it before. There was something very familiar about it.
“Still think we have nothing to worry about?” Sussex snapped. “I told you back in Yorkshire that someone was after the chalice and pendant. I could feel it.”
Black looked up sharply. “What is this?”
“I found it in Lucy Ashton’s reticule. So, you tell me, is it nothing to be concerned about?”
Black had no desire to question why the blazes Sussex was snooping in Lucy’s purse, but he was