“Let’s notify the local authorities and then open the crates,” Gabriel said quietly.
He turned and started swiftly toward the narrow mouth of the alley, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the spoor of violence as possible. The desire to hunt was still under control but he could feel it whispering darkly, urging him to open himself to that other aspect of his nature, the part of him that he feared was anything but modern.
It took some time to check each of the relics that had been carefully wrapped and prepared for shipment against the list of artifacts that Gabriel and Caleb had made. In the end only one item was found to be missing.
“He took the damned notebook,” Caleb said, disgusted. “It will not be amusing to explain the loss to either one of our fathers, let alone the Council.”
Gabriel contemplated the empty interior of the strongbox. “We made it easy for him because we had already pried the lid open. He didn’t have to work very hard to retrieve the notebook. But why would anyone want it? At most it’s merely an interesting scholarly artifact filled with the deluded ramblings of a mad old alchemist. It’s of historical significance only to the members of the Arcane Society and then only because Sylvester was the founder of the society.”
Caleb shook his head. “It would seem that there may be someone who actually believes that the formula will work. Someone who is willing to kill for it.”
“Well, one thing is certain. We have just witnessed the start of a new addition to the legends of the Arcane Society.”
Caleb winced. “The Curse of Sylvester the Alchemist?”
“It has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?”
One
Two months later…
He was the man she had been waiting for, the lover who was destined to ruin her. But first she wanted to photograph him.
“No,” Gabriel Jones said. He crossed the richly appointed library, picked up the brandy decanter and splashed a healthy dose of the contents into two glasses. “I did not bring you here to Arcane House to take my picture, Miss Milton. I employed you to photograph the society’s collection of relics and artifacts. I may appear to be in my dotage to you, but I like to think that I am not yet ready to be classified as an antiquity.”
Gabriel was no aged relic, Venetia thought. Indeed, she sensed in him the power and confidence of a man in his prime. He gave every appearance of being just the right age to sweep her off her feet into the thrilling fires of an illicit passion.
She had waited long enough to find the right man for the task, she thought. By Society’s standards she was past the age when a lady could reasonably expect to contract a marriage. The responsibilities thrust upon her a year and a half ago when her parents had been killed in the train wreck had sealed her fate. Few respectable gentlemen were eager to take to wife a woman in her late twenties who was the sole support of two siblings and a maiden aunt. In light of her father’s behavior, she had grave misgivings about the institution of marriage, in any event.
But she did not want to live the rest of her life never knowing genuine physical passion. A lady in her situation, Venetia thought, had a right to engineer her own ravishment.
The project of seducing Gabriel had been a great challenge because she possessed no practical experience in the business. True, there had been a few minor flirtations here and there over the years but none had resulted in anything more than some experimental kisses.
The truth was, she had never encountered any man who was worth the risk of an illicit affair. Following the death of her parents, the need to avoid a disastrous scandal had become even more imperative. The financial security of her family was entirely dependent upon her career as a photographer. She must not do anything to jeopardize it.
But this magical time at Arcane House had been literally dropped into her lap—a gift that she had never expected to receive.
It had come about in the most mundane way, she reflected. A member of the mysterious Arcane Society had viewed her photographic work in Bath and recommended her to the society’s official governing Council. The Council, it seemed, had determined to have the contents of their museum recorded in photographs.
The lucrative commission had offered her an unprecedented opportunity to live out her most secret romantic fantasies.
“I would not charge extra for taking your portrait,” she said quickly. “The fee that was paid in advance will cover all expenses.”
And a good deal more, she thought, trying not to reveal her satisfaction. She was still dazzled by the incredibly handsome sum the Arcane Society had paid into her account at the bank. The unexpected windfall was literally going to change her future and that of her small family. But she did not think it would be wise to explain that to Gabriel.
Image was everything in her profession, as Aunt Beatrice never hesitated to point out. She must give her client the impression that her work was worth every penny of the huge sum that had been paid.
Gabriel smiled his cool, mysterious smile and handed her one of the brandies. When his fingers brushed against hers, a little thrill tingled along her nerves. It was not the first time she had felt the sensation.
She had never met a man like Gabriel Jones. He had the eyes of an ancient sorcerer. They were filled with dark, unfathomable secrets. The flames that flared on the massive stone hearth cast a wash of golden light across the planes and angles of a face that had been carved by strong, elemental forces. He moved with a dangerous, predatory grace, and he looked incredibly masculine and elegant in his beautifully tailored black-and-white evening clothes.
All in all, she thought, he was quite perfect for what she had in mind.
“Cost is not the issue, Miss Milton, as I’m sure you’re well aware,” he said.
Embarrassed, she took a quick swallow of brandy and prayed that the shadowy lighting would conceal her blush. Of course cost was not the problem, she thought, chagrined. Judging by the furnishings that surrounded her, the Arcane Society was evidently sustained by a comfortable fortune.
She had arrived at the crumbling heap of stone named Arcane House six days ago, conveyed in a modern, well-sprung private carriage that Gabriel had dispatched to meet her at the train station in the village.
The massively built coachman had been a dour sort who had spoken very little after confirming her identity. He had hoisted the trunks that contained her clothes as well as her dry plates, tripod and developing chemicals as easily as though they contained nothing but feathers. She had insisted on carrying her camera herself.
The journey from the station had taken nearly two hours. Night had fallen and Venetia had been uneasily aware of the fact that she was being driven deeper and deeper into a remote, seemingly uninhabited landscape.
By the time the taciturn coachman had drawn up in front of an old mansion that had been built upon the ruins of an even more ancient abbey, it was all she could do to conceal the jittery sensations that coursed through her. She had even begun to wonder if she had made a great mistake by agreeing to take the exorbitantly lucrative commission.
All of the arrangements had been conducted by post. Her younger sister, Amelia, who worked as her assistant, had planned to accompany her. But at the last minute Amelia had contracted a bad cold. Aunt Beatrice had been anxious about Venetia going off on her own to complete the commission, but in the end financial necessity had won out. Once the grand sum of money had been deposited into the bank, Venetia had never once considered declining the project.
The isolated location of Arcane House had generated more than a few doubts, but her first encounter with Gabriel Jones had quelled all of her private concerns.
When she had been ushered into his presence by the near-silent housekeeper that first evening, she had been nearly overwhelmed by a rush of astonishing awareness. The sensation was so acute it had aroused and excited all of her senses, including the very special kind of vision that she kept secret from everyone except the members of her own family.
That was w
hen the inspiration for her grand plan of seduction had struck.
This was the right man, the right place and the right time. After she left Arcane House she was highly unlikely to ever again encounter Gabriel Jones. Even if by some chance they did happen to cross each other’s path in the future, she sensed he would be gentleman enough to keep her secrets. She suspected that he had a few of his own.
Her family, clients and neighbors in Bath would never know what took place here, she thought. While she was at Arcane House she was free from Society’s strictures in a way that she never would be again.
Until today she had dared to hope that, in spite of her lack of practical experience, the seduction of Gabriel Jones was going well. She knew from the occasional glimpses of heat that she surprised in his eyes and the exciting aura of energy that enveloped them when they were in the same room that he was attracted to her.
In the past few days they had sat down to long, intimate dinners and stimulating, wide-ranging conversations by the fire. They had breakfasted together in the mornings, served by the taciturn housekeeper, and discussed the day’s photography plans at length. Gabriel seemed to enjoy her company as much as she did his.
There was just one problem. This was her sixth night here at Arcane House and thus far Gabriel had made no attempt to even take her into his arms, let alone carry her upstairs to one of the bedrooms.
True, there had been many small, fleeting, incredibly exciting little intimacies: his warm, powerful hand on her elbow when he guided her into a room; a casual, seemingly unintended touch; a sensual smile that promised more than it delivered.
All extremely tantalizing, to be sure, but not what one would call definitive indications that he desired her enough to make mad, passionate love to her.
She was starting to worry that she had fumbled the business. In a few more days she would depart Arcane House forever. If she did not do something soon, her dreams would remain unrealized.
“You have made excellent progress with your work here,” Gabriel said. He went to stand in front of the windows, looking out into the moonlit night. “Do you feel that you will be able to finish on schedule?”
“Most likely,” she admitted. Unfortunately, she added silently. She would have given a great deal for an excuse to linger. “With all the sun we have enjoyed these past few days I have had very few problems with the lighting.”
“The light is always a photographer’s greatest concern, is it not?”
“Yes.”
“The word from the village is that the weather is expected to hold.”
More bad news, she thought glumly. Poor weather was the only reason she could think of for prolonging her stay.
“How nice,” she said politely.
Time was running out. A sense of desperation gripped her. Gabriel might feel some desire for her, but he appeared to be too much of a gentleman to act on it.
Her plans for at least one night of illicit passion appeared to be evaporating before her very eyes. She had to act.
Recklessly she tossed back the last of the brandy. It burned all the way down but the fire gave her the courage she needed to rise to her feet.
She set the glass aside with such determination that it made a decided clink when it hit the table.
It was now or never. Would he be appalled if she simply threw herself into his arms? Most certainly. Any true gentleman would be utterly shocked by such unseemly behavior. She was rather appalled at the thought herself. What if he rejected her? The humiliation would be unbearable.
This situation called for subtlety.
She groped for inspiration. Outside, moonlight streamed down onto the terrace. It cast a very romantic spell, she thought.
“Speaking of atmospheric conditions,” she said, striving for a light tone, “it has become a trifle warm in here, has it not? I believe I shall take some fresh air before retiring. Will you join me, sir?”
She moved toward the glass-paned doors that opened onto the terrace in what she hoped was a suitably sultry, inviting manner.
“Yes, of course,” Gabriel said.
Her spirits soared. This just might work.
He followed her to the door and opened it for her. When she stepped out onto the stone terrace the chill night air struck her with unexpected force. Her optimism failed abruptly.
So much for her brilliant ploy, she thought. This brisk temperature was hardly likely to incline Gabriel toward a state of heated passion.
“I should have brought a wrap,” she said, folding her arms beneath her breasts to warm herself.
Gabriel braced one booted foot on the low stone wall that surrounded the terrace and examined the starry night sky with an assessing expression.
“The crisp, clear weather tonight is another indication that we will, indeed, enjoy ample sunlight tomorrow,” he said.
“Wonderful.”
He glanced at her. In the moonlight she could see that he was smiling his cryptic smile.
Good grief, was he amused by her poor attempt at seduction? That was an even more distressing thought than the fear that he might reject her.
She hugged herself more tightly and imagined the photographic portrait she would have made of Gabriel if he had given her the opportunity. There would have been areas of intense, powerful shadow in the final image, she thought, reflections of the invisible dark energy that emanated from him.
That knowledge did not alarm her. She knew that the metaphysical darkness that flared around Gabriel was evidence of his strong will and self-mastery. It was not the sort of disturbing energy that emanated from a fevered brain. She had glimpsed those peculiar, dreadful hues occasionally among some who sat for their portraits. The chilling experiences never failed to leave her with a sick sense of revulsion and fear.
Gabriel Jones was very, very different.
She pondered the night and her failed attempt at seduction. There was nothing to be gained standing out here shivering. She might as well admit defeat and retreat back into the warmth of the library.
“You’re feeling the cold,” Gabriel said. “Allow me.”
To her amazement, he unfastened his elegantly cut coat and peeled it off with fluid masculine grace. The next thing she knew, he was draping the heavy garment around her shoulders.
The fine wool carried the residual heat of his body, warming her instantly. She inhaled and caught the trace of his scent.
Do not read too much into this bit of gallantry, she thought. He was merely playing the gentleman.
Nevertheless the intimacy of the situation was incredibly exhilarating. She wanted to cling to the coat and never let go.
“I must tell you that I have found this photography commission quite interesting,” she said, huddling deeper into his coat. “From both an artistic and an educational point of view. I had no idea that the Arcane Society even existed before I arrived here.”
“As a general policy the members of the society shun any sort of public notice.”
“You have made that clear,” she said. “I know it is none of my affair, but I cannot help but wonder why the society is so intent on maintaining a cloak of secrecy.”
“Blame it on tradition.” Gabriel smiled again. “The society was founded some two hundred years ago by an alchemist who was obsessed with secrecy. Throughout the years, the members have maintained the same attitude.”
“Yes, but this is the modern age. No one takes alchemy seriously these days. Even in the late sixteen hundreds it was considered to be one of the dark arts, not a genuine science.”
“Science has always been dark at its edges, Miss Milton. The border between the known and the unknown is extremely murky, to say the least. Today, those who explore those obscure fringes call what they do psychical or metaphysical research. But in truth, they are merely modern-day alchemists sailing under a new flag.”
“The Arcane Society is engaged in psychical research?” she asked, startled.
For a moment she thought he might not answer the ques
tion. But then he inclined his head, once.
“That is correct,” he said.
Venetia frowned. “Forgive me, but in that case, the obsession with secrecy seems very odd indeed. After all, psychical research is a perfectly respectable field of study these days. Why, they say that in London one can attend a séance any night of the week. And there are a vast number of learned journals dealing with psychical investigations published each month.”
“The members of the Arcane Society view the majority of those who claim to possess psychical powers as frauds, charlatans and tricksters.”
“I see.”
“Arcane Society investigators and researchers take their work very seriously,” Gabriel added. “They do not wish to be associated with impostors and deceivers.”
It was clear from the tone of his voice that he held similar strong views, she thought. This was certainly not the time to announce that she could see auras.
She tugged the edges of his coat more snugly around herself and retreated into the safety and privacy of her own secrets. The last thing she wanted to do was leave her fantasy lover with the impression that she was a charlatan or a fraud. Nevertheless, she could not bring herself to drop the subject without some small protest.
“Personally,” she said, “I prefer to keep an open mind. I certainly do not believe that all who claim to possess paranormal senses are liars and frauds.”
He turned his head to look at her. “You misunderstand me, Miss Milton. The members of the society are more than willing to allow for the possibility that some individuals do possess paranormal senses and abilities. That possibility is the reason the Arcane Society is still in existence.”
“If the society’s focus is psychical in nature, why has it acquired the rather strange artifacts in the museum here at Arcane House?”
“The antiquities in the collection are all believed to have some metaphysical importance, either real or imaginary.” He shrugged. “I think it is safe to say that in the majority of instances, the latter is the case. Either way, each relic has research and historical significance as far as the society is concerned.”