Chapter 3
Evie lifted the delicate teacup, smiling inwardly as Megan’s mouth fell open, then she took a careful sip.
“You actually kissed him?” her friend asked.
“Yes.” Evie dusted a piece of lint off her new mauve day dress. She quite liked her new wardrobe and wondered why it took her so long to make the few changes to her life.
“Jeremy? Lord Fielding?”
“The same.”
Megan shook her head. “I need something stronger in my tea,” she mumbled. “Did he know who you were?”
“I’m sure he didn’t. He asked, but I wouldn’t tell him.” The memory of Lord Fielding’s lips on hers still caused butterflies to flutter about in her middle and brought on a strange warmth, too. She shifted on her seat, trying not to feel so pleased by the memory. It was pure coincidence that she happened on him as she did. Her plan had to been to ignore the man the whole evening and give her entire concentration on the mission. Not to give Jeremy a passing thought. That didn’t work out so well.
“He asked me who you were.”
The teacup paused midway to Evie’s lips. She lowered it back to the saucer where it rattled a bit too hard. “And? What did you tell him?”
Megan’s eyes danced with mischief. “I told him nothing, of course, but he was rather intrigued.”
Evie felt a sudden pressure behind her eyes, a wash of hot tears threatening. She blinked them back. How ironic Lord Fielding would show some interest in her now, after all these years, just as she had made up her mind to let him go forever.
Every ounce of hurt, every moment of grief she spent agonizing over the unrequited love threatened to rush past the iron shield she’d spent the last four months erecting. From the moment Jeremy broke their betrothal, day by day, hour by hour, the pain remained. It never let up, it never got any better. And then Aunt Belle came to visit and a new path suddenly opened. For once, Evie could see a glimmer of…not happiness, just contentment. Of course, she grabbed on to the opportunity with both hands. Anything at all to keep from suffering as she had for all those years.
Evie’s first instinct was to ask Megan every detail of Lord Fielding’s inquiry. She wanted to know how he asked, what his voice sounded like, what words he used. Everything. She bit her tongue and lifted the teacup instead, trying to stop it from quivering in her hand.
“Well?” Megan asked.
“Well, what?”
Megan pulled a face. “Aren’t you even a little curious to know why Jeremy would be asking about you?”
Evie set her teacup aside. “I have let him go, Megan, just as he wished I would. There will be no more thinking of Lord Fielding. No more hoping he would come to his senses and change his mind. I refuse to spend one more minute dreaming about how things could be, if only…” She paused to shake her head and swallow back the mutinous little feeling of regret trying to worm its way back into her heart. “And that’s that.”
Her friend’s dark brows sprang up. “You mean the reason you’ve worked so hard these past months to become incredibly glamorous has nothing to do with trying to gain his attention?”
With the reminder of her recent visit to France, which now gave her life new meaning, Evie lifted her chin. “None in the least. I have given up on Lord Fielding and desire nothing above wanting to live my life without giving him so much as a passing thought.”
“So, if he shows any interest now…?”
Leveling Megan what she hoped a serious look, Evie answered the question as earnestly as she knew how. “It’s too late.”
A slight tap at the door broke the sudden silence. Megan turned her head, her amethyst and pearl earrings catching the light from the window. “Enter.”
Carson opened the door and bowed. “Pardon, Your Grace. Lord Fielding is here to seek an audience. Are you receiving?”
Evie’s pulse leaped, she just couldn’t help it, and cut her eyes to Megan. “Oh, you had better not—”
“Send him in, Carson.”
“Very good, Your Grace,” the butler said, bowing out of the room.
Evie sprang up from the sofa. “I cannot believe you did that,” she hissed, rounding a red marble-topped table. “You are supposed to be my friend.” What was she to do? She didn’t want to face him. Not here. Not now. Hearing footsteps outside the door, she dashed out of Megan’s private drawing room and into the formal drawing room. As the door opened and Carson began the announcement, she held her finger to her lips, praying her so-called friend would listen, and closed the door softly.
She started to take a step toward the door at the far end of the room, the door that would lead to the hall so she could sneak out, but something stayed her feet. It was as though her shoes were nailed to the polished parquet floor. Megan said something, then she heard his voice.
Evie closed her eyes, the sound pouring over her. He had the most beautiful mid-range tone, warm and intimate. She could listen to him for hours without growing weary of the sound.
What was she doing? Evie popped her eyes open and shook her head. This was utterly ridiculous. But still, her defiant feet refused to move away. With a sigh, she turned back to the door, leaned down, and glanced in through the keyhole.
Unfortunately, she had the most perfect view of that rogue, Lord Fielding. Megan motioned with her hand and he took the very spot on the sofa Evie just vacated. She chewed her lip as she drank in every detail of his profile. His neatly trimmed golden hair fell just past his collar. He wore a deep green velvet coat and a tan waistcoat with brass buttons, heavily embroidered in various plant leaves. A perfectly tied cream colored neck cloth rippled under his chin with a grape-sized emerald fastened in the very center. His pants matched his coat exactly. She knew his eyes would look more green than gold in the outfit. What a shame she couldn’t see them.
She pressed her forehead against the door’s cool wood, praying for the strength to simply turn and walk out of the mansion. Truly, she couldn’t wait to begin her missions. Then she’d be so busy, she’d stop thinking of Lord Fielding, could stop killing herself with imagining a life with him in it, could stop feeling the anguish of his rejection every moment of every day.
Evie heard his voice again, nearly able to make out his question to Megan, and glanced again through the keyhole.
“I am certain you know who she is, pet. Will you tell me?”
Megan raised her teacup to her lips. “I do not know who you mean, Jeremy.” She took a sip, pulled a face, and put the cup down.
Lord Fielding sighed and leaned forward, clasping his hands through his knees. “The lady dressed as Helen of Troy last evening at the masquerade. I asked you about her. You got angry. Do you not remember?”
Evie held her breath, wondering how her friend would answer.
Megan drew her brows and pursed her lips, as if pondering the question. Then her expression cleared. “Oh, yes, now I recall. I thought she was someone else. Turns out I was mistaken.”
He moved his head slightly to one side and studied Megan for several seconds. “That is not the case, my sweet little pet,” he stated in a low, silky voice. Evie had to strain to catch every word. “And I would very much like to know the truth.”
Megan crossed her arms, her brows pulling together slowly. Even through the keyhole, Evie could see the anger building on her friend’s face. “I know you and my husband are great friends, Lord Fielding, but even he wouldn’t like you calling his wife a liar.”
Jeremy was about to say something when the door came open. As if on que, Megan’s husband, the Duke of Claremont, came into the room and pulled up short when he saw Lord Fielding. “Jeremy, I had no idea you were here.” He helped Megan from the sofa and kissed her cheek, then glanced around. “Where is—?”
“Jeremy was just leaving,” Megan interrupted.
Glancing down at the two teacups, then back to Megan, Jeremy slowly rose to his feet. He gave Megan a cool glance and turned to the duke. “I was here asking your lovely wife about a young lady at the masque last night. She was dressed as Helen of Troy. You recall her, Nick?”
“Oh, you mean E—”
Megan’s foot came down hard on her husband’s before he could finish. “So sorry, darling.” She turned to Lord Fielding. “Please excuse us, Jeremy, I have something important to discuss with Nicholas, and it cannot wait.”
Jeremy inclined his head stiffly. “Of course, Your Grace. I shall take up no more of your time.” He nodded to his friend. “We’ll talk later, Nick. You coming to White’s this afternoon?”
“Ye—er—not sure,” the duke revised when Megan jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.
After sweeping the room with a single glance, Jeremy left, closing the door with a soft click.
Evie released the breath she had been holding for some time, straightened her spine, then tiptoed to the front windows. Parting the curtains, she watched Lord Fielding march stiffly to his horse, leap up into the saddle, then dash off down the street. He hadn’t looked a bit pleased.
Evie grinned as she arranged the heavy gold brocade curtain back into place.
Jeremy had spent the entire day looking for Helen of Troy. Did she really exist, or was she just someone his imagine had conjured up? No one but Megan seemed to know who she was. And why did the lovely duchess not want to tell him?
He narrowed his eyes, truly giving the idea some thought. Helen had seemed familiar to him in some way, so why was he having trouble identifying her? Could he not recall every beautiful young woman he had ever met? Surely, he could. He shook his head and tapped on the iron door with the tip of his cane, the unsettling feeling of losing his good luck plaguing him once again.
The small door at eyelevel slid to one side. “Password.”
“Blunderbuss.”
With a creek and a groan, the large door inched open. Jeremy walked into the chamber, thinking at least one mystery would be solved today. He would learn Falcon’s identity.
Glancing around, he noticed the Guardians gathered at the table, Elder in his usual seat. But no one new.
Elder waved him forward. “Ah, Rogue, right on time. Come in, take your seat.” He motioned to the far end of the table at Jeremy’s right.
When Jeremy settled in his chair, Ghost leaned over the empty seat between them. “You know who Falcon is?”
He shook his head. “You?”
“No. No one here but Elder does. Very tight secret.”
Jeremy started to speak but the iron door screeched open. In walked Siren, who had been working in France for many years, leading someone blindfolded into the room. Someone he recognized in an instant. His Helen of Troy! Dressed in dark wine silk, her gown fit snugly over every curve, and dipped low over her breasts, showing a nice amount of creamy skin. The two women ambled forward, the soft candle light shining amber, wine, and cognac threads through Helen’s curls, and the door closed behind them.
Murmurs broke out and Jeremy almost leaped to his feet, but caught himself in time. What the deuce was she doing here? Siren knew better than to bring a stranger here. Even if the lady could not see, it was still very dangerous for anyone to be in here. Voices could be recognized, smells detected. She could have even counted steps to know exactly where they were.
What game was Siren playing?
“Ah, good,” Elder said, and the room went silent. “Please, come forward.”
Siren led them to the center of the room, and after a pat on the lady’s shoulder, she moved to her usual seat at the other side of the table. Helen stood there alone beneath the circle of light from the iron chandelier above.
“Guardians,” Elder began, “this organization began over three decades ago out of sheer necessity. Lawlessness and chaos threatened the very fabric of our existence. Something needed to be done to keep this country and its citizens from falling victim to evil machinations, just as France had been infiltrated by a secret society that picked the country apart like a swarming cloud of locus. People, regardless of situation, income, or gender, rose up to fill this need.” He paused to glance proudly around the room. “We became the Guardians and have succeeded in keeping the locus from swarming here. Thus far. Our success,” Elder spread open his arms, “has been due to all of you and your predecessors.” He placed his palms on the table and leaned forward. “Each of you is crucial to this organization. Each of you fulfills a sacred mission to save this country and her citizens. Each of you is irreplaceable.” Elder fell silent, his last word echoing around the room, and Jeremy couldn’t keep a shiver of pride from racing down his back.
The leader of the Guardians straightened, the lines arcing across his forehead even more pronounced than usual. “Yet, at times, a seat at the table becomes empty and must be filled,” the man said softly.
Jeremy turned to Ghost, the emptiness of the seat between them as stark as the day they lost Giselle. The beautiful twenty-four-year-old actress had caught the attention of Harold Taskers and was about to learn something critical when she was suddenly fished out of the Thames one cold morning last winter. Everyone felt her loss, but Jeremy knew Ghost had gotten too close and suffered the most. He gave his friend a sympathetic smile and turned back to Elder when the man continued to speak.
“An empty seat cannot be filled by any random person. As you know, a new recruit must pass his or her first test before being considered to join us.” Elder glanced down to the blindfolded lady and a rare smile broke free. “I think she not only passed her test last evening but surpassed all of our hopes in obtaining information even the most seasoned among us could not do. Without her, we would not have learned Viper’s identity, nor would we now have a probable location of the Nest.”
Jeremy leaned back in his seat, stunned, as a ripple moved through the Guardians around the table.
“So, if you accept the invitation to join the Guardian’s, Falcon,” Elder continued, “please swear your allegiance to this organization and then remove your blindfold.”
“I so swear my allegiance to the Guardians and will faithfully execute my duties to the best of my ability and without reservation,” she stated the oath without reluctance, her voice clear and strong. Then she reached up and untied the black scrap of cloth covering her eyes.
And a jolt of shock went through Jeremy as he recognized who she really was.