Temptation & Twilight

“And how do you know anything about Sheldon,” Sussex growled, “when your face is constantly gazing into the bottom of a whisky decanter?”

Iain lunged over the desk, ready to tear his friend apart, but Black caught him by the coat and hauled him back. “None of that, now,” he grunted as he tossed Alynwick into the chair. “Stay!” he shouted, pointing at Iain as if he were a biddable canine when he tried to stand up again.

“I’m no’ a bloody mongrel to heed yer commands.”

“Really?” Black straightened his waistcoat and resumed his seat. “You look like something that’s been roaming the street for weeks. Where did you go after I left you in Sutherland’s care?”

He’d gone to find Lady Larabie, that’s where. But he’d been too deep in thought to do anything but regale the lady with the gossip of his fight with her husband. Contrary to Larabie’s boasts, the man had not returned home to deal with his wife, but instead made his way to his club in St. James’s. That had left the lady free to dally, but dallying had been the last thing on Iain’s mind. In a strange mood, he had sought out Georgiana for something else entirely. Comfort perhaps. Solace. She’d provided nothing of the sort—only petulance that he did not seem inclined to pleasure her. He was literally sickened by it, sitting in her overly ornate little parlor fending off her roving hands, when all he really wanted was to lay his head in her lap and feel her feminine fingers run through his hair while he pretended he was with Elizabeth. But it had all been to no avail. The lady was not capable of solace, and he had left, disgusted with himself for desiring such a thing. Iain Sinclair did not need anything from anyone—most especially sanctuary in a woman’s arms.

With a sigh, he answered, “You doona want t’ know where I was.”

“By the stench of you, I think I already do.”

Iain sent Black a glare, aware that he appeared debauched. But he wasn’t. He was restless, mindless. There was a sickness ruling his thoughts, and if he had the courage to look through the darkness inside him, he’d be able to name the illness. He was heartsick, his soul crying out for the one remedy that could cure his illness. Elizabeth.

But she did not want him, or the love that he could no longer deny.

Sliding deeper into the chair, Iain allowed his hands to riffle through his hair. He wanted his bed, the cool, crisp sheets, and he wanted the images of Elizabeth burning his brain. In his fantasies he could have anything. Even Elizabeth back again.

“Good God, Alynwick, what the devil were you thinking, coming to the Sumners’ and stirring up that scene?” Sussex continued, his considerable arrogance pricked. “It’ll be in all the gossip rags this morning, and we don’t need that kind of exposure. Damn you!”

Sulking, Iain stared out the window, thinking of last night and the scene that had greeted him. A smiling—glowing—Elizabeth standing beside a man who was looking down upon her with far too much interest. “A provocation, I believe.” He was under control now, his brogue banished. “I was never good at resisting taunts.”

“Taunts?” Black asked quizzically as he looked from Alynwick to Sussex. The duke shrugged.

“I told you,” Alynwick growled with quiet menace, “to leave her out of this.”

“We’re afraid, old boy, that neither of us understands a damned thing coming out of your mouth,” Black drawled.

“Yes, whom are you referring to, and what was this taunt?”

“Elizabeth!” Iain said it with such a snarl that Sussex sat back in his chair. “Damn you both, don’t you know the trouble she can get into? It could make matters worse for us. She has no place in this affair. She should be at home, beneath a wool blanket, sitting by the fire, where nothing and no one can touch her!”

Black and Sussex stared at one another, confusion written all over their expressions, but Iain didn’t give a damn. So be it if they discovered that he was unable to think of anything other than Elizabeth this morning.

“Dear me,” said a sweetly feminine voice from the doorway. “All this roaring and fighting has awakened the entire house.”

Iain stiffened at the sound, but kept his gaze focused on the grey streaks of daylight breaking through the rain clouds. He was not yet ready to see her, to feel the onslaught of emotions when he looked into her lovely and haunting grey eyes.

“Elizabeth, do come in,” Sussex ordered.

“I’ll be on my way, then,” Iain muttered, while he rose.

“Really, Alynwick, don’t be so childish. Do you think I am naive? I know exactly what you think of me, my infirmity and my limited skill in aiding your cause. You don’t have to go slinking off because I’ve overheard you talking about me.”

It was like a knife to his heart. He never wanted to hurt her. Never again. “My apolo—”

“I don’t require that, either,” she said. “Because it’s a lie. You aren’t sorry. It’s what you feel. Don’t bother to deny it.”

“You have no idea what I fe—”

With a slight wave of her hand, she effectively cut him dead, and he knew the expression on his face was one of shock and outrage.

“Do carry on,” Elizabeth ordered. “I only came for a cup of tea. Mrs. Hammond claims to have brought you a tray, and I don’t want to wait for another tray to be sent up.”

Black did the honours pouring, and Iain watched as his friend carefully passed her the cup and saucer. Her morning gown, a crème-colored silk-and-lace confection with long, fluttering sleeves, was at once prim and proper, yet so damn enticing. It made him want to slowly pull the tie of her wrapper loose to discover what wicked thing she wore beneath.

“Now, then, keep it down, if you please, or the servants will be privy to everything. I heard two maids giggling as I approached the study. No doubt they were spying. As an aside, Lucy and I will be meeting today. It’s likely she’ll come here, so I hope the three of you will make yourselves scarce, because I plan on quizzing her about matters.”

“What matters?” Iain demanded. He hated how Sussex allowed her take to part in any Brethren discussions. It wasn’t safe.

“That, my lord, is none of your concern. Seek your own clues to this case, and I will seek mine. Now, then, come along, Rosie,” she said regally. And obeying her ladyship, Elizabeth’s spaniel nudged her in the right direction, away from anything that might impede her regal exit.

“Damned female,” Iain grunted bitterly. “A curse and a pox on headstrong women who won’t be led by a man.”

“I daresay you’ll have half the women of London sporting pox marks and curses, Alynwick.”

Iain scowled at Black, but continued to watch as Elizabeth disappeared through the door. The thought of her being hurt while trying to aid them in the search for Orpheus sent fear through him. Iain Sinclair, Marquis of Alynwick, feared nothing—except losing Elizabeth. Even though she did not belong to him, and likely never would, Iain took comfort in the fact that he could see her, listen to her, stand back and quietly watch her, and think of the impossible—all the things he would do and say to her if she was his to possess. If he couldn’t see her, if she were taken and no longer a part of his world, he wouldn’t survive. His stolen looks and dreams of her sustained him.

No, Elizabeth must not be allowed to be part of this mystery that surrounded them. The danger was too real, and the thought of losing her much too painful. But before he could speak his mind, and protest her involvement, Black interjected.

“Now, then, gentlemen, if you please,” the earl murmured as he sat in the chair opposite Sussex’s desk, sipping at his tea as though he were a damned prince. “The task of the duel is done, the objective reached and our mission can commence,” he said smoothly. “I acted as second, performed a credible act, and now it is all water under the bridge.”

“Oh, go to hell, Black,” Alynwick muttered as he sank farther into the matching chair. “You’re being a self-righteous bastard, and I’d love to shove my fist into that smug face of yers.”

Black’s black brows rose over the rim of his teacup, and Sussex groaned, closing his eyes.

“Be that as it may, we need to go forward from here. What is our next move? Sussex, have you learned any more about the coins, or Orpheus?”

“As a matter of fact I have, just last night—”

“Your pardon, Your Grace,” his butler said from the doorway.

“What is it now?” Sussex groaned, sending the butler, Hastings, scurrying behind the wooden panel, only to peer around it.

“You have a caller.”

“What?”

“A caller. A visitor,” Hastings clarified.

“Now? At this hour?”

“Your Grace?” the butler discreetly cleared his throat. “Shall I send her on her way?”

Before Sussex could answer, a flurry in emerald-green velvet trimmed in black satin swam through the door, causing Sussex’s butler to grow white with horror.

“And what is the meaning of this?”