Scoundrel - The Blades Of The Rose Part 36

Both Bennett and London nodded, somber.

"Our information has said that the Heirs have almost unlocked the Primal Source," Catullus continued. "Which means we will need Astrid. She and Michael spent one winter studying it in Africa. They knew the Primal Source better than anyone. And now she alone possesses knowledge about the nature of the Primal Source that is essential in our fight against the Heirs. So there's no choice but to find her and bring her back. She may hate the Blades, she may hate me, but none of us have the luxury of personal feelings or grief anymore."

Everyone around the small table lapsed into a grim silence, contemplating this.

Catullus shook himself. "This is what happens when you let an inventor out of his workshop," he said with a wry laugh. "You show up, full of good news, and I stomp all over it with my usual lack of tact."

"Lack of tact, indeed," Bennett snorted. "This from a man who owns a hundred waistcoats."

Catullus grinned, smoothing his hand over the bronze and forest green silk of the waistcoat he now wore. "We're all allowed a desire for variety."

"Not me," said Bennett. He picked up his wife's hand, stroking it between his own. "Once you find something exactly right, there's no need for anything else."

London laughed. "Are you comparing me to waistcoats?"

"No, love," said her husband. "For one thing, no waistcoat has your ear for language. The best one can hope for in a waistcoat is a smattering of French."

The lighter mood restored, they spent the next few hours talking of their mission in Greece and catching up on gossip and trifles. Everything Catullus heard amazed him, but he was especially gratified to learn of the success of his illumination devices and glider. Their teacups were refilled three times before Bennett stood and stretched, then helped his wife to her feet.

"We'll come back tomorrow," he said. "There's still much to discuss. And there's the matter of London's initiation."

"Aren't you going to stay here at headquarters?" Catullus asked. "I'm sure the staff could have your room ready in a trice."

Bennett shared a look of scorching intimacy with London. "We have lodgings elsewhere in town. No one would appreciate it if we slept here." His tone made it clear that sleeping would be fairly low on his and London's list of things they would do in a bedroom together. And London's carnal blush confirmed it.

Catullus was well acquainted with his friend's amorous pursuits, but not the love gleaming in Bennett's eyes. Once again, Catullus felt isolated, lonely. It was difficult enough for him to merely find a woman who understood his mania for his inventions. He was Negro, which meant that the color of his skin that forever marked him as a stranger in his own home country and, in fact, wherever he went. What woman could see him as a man first, and not a scientific anomaly?

Still, as Catullus walked Bennett and London to the door, he saw his friend's love for his wife, a love that was reciprocated wholeheartedly. If someone had told Catullus even the day before that Bennett Day would find one woman to whom he would be forever faithful, Catullus would have laughed at the impossibility. Now, it was not only possible, it was real. The scientist in him couldn't dispute the evidence.

If such marvels could happen for an unrepentant scoundrel as Bennett, then maybe Catullus might find his own miracle. After all, the world was full of magic.

Don't miss the rest of the Blades of the Rose series!

In September, we met a WARRIOR in Mongolia...

To most people, the realm of magic is the stuff of nursery rhymes and dusty libraries.

But for Capt. Gabriel Huntley, it's become quite real and quite dangerous...

IN HOT PURSUIT.

The vicious attack Capt. Gabriel Huntley witnesses in a dark alley sparks a chain of events that will take him to the ends of the Earth and beyond-where what is real and what is imagined become terribly confused. And frankly, Huntley couldn't be more pleased. Intrigue, danger, and a beautiful woman in distress-just what he needs...

IN HOTTER WATER.

Raised thousands of miles from England, Thalia Burgess is no typical Victorian lady.

A good thing, because a proper lady would have no hope of recovering the priceless magical artifact Thalia is after.

Huntley's a.s.sistance might come in handy, though she has to keep him in the dark. But this distractingly handsome soldier isn't easy to deceive...

There was a knock at the wooden door to the tent. Her father called out, "Enter." The door began to swing open.

Thalia tucked the hand holding the revolver behind her back. She stood behind her father's chair and braced herself, wondering what kind of man would step across the threshold and if she would have to use a gun on another human being for the first time in her life.

The man ducked to make it through the door, then immediately removed his hat, uncovering a head of close-cropped, wheat-colored hair. He was not precisely handsome, but he possessed an air of command and confidence that s.h.i.+fted everything to his favor. His face was lean and rugged, his features bold and cleanly defined; there was nothing of the drawing room about him, nothing refined or elegant. He was clean-shaven, allowing the hard planes of his face to show clearly. He was not an aristocrat and looked as though he had fought for everything he ever had in his life, rather than expecting it to be given to him. Even in the filtered light inside the ger ger, Thalia could see the gleaming gold of his eyes, their sharp intelligence that missed nothing as they scanned the inside of the tent and finally fell on her and her father.

"Franklin Burgess?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," her father answered, guarded. "My daughter, Thalia."

She remembered enough to sketch a curtsey as she felt the heat of the stranger's gaze on her. An uncharacteristic flush rose in her cheeks.

"And you are...?" her father prompted.

"Captain Gabriel Huntley," came the reply, and now it made sense that the man who had such sure bearing would be an officer. "Of the Thirty-third Regiment." Thalia was not certain she could relax just yet, since it was not unheard of for the Heirs to find members in the ranks of the military. She quickly took stock of the width of the captain's shoulders, how even standing still he seemed to radiate energy and the capacity for lethal movement. Captain Huntley would be a fine addition to the Heirs.

There was something magnetic about him, though, something that charged the very air inside the ger ger, and she felt herself acutely aware of him. His sculpted face, the brawn of his body, the way he carried his gear, all of it, felt overwhelmingly masculine. How ironic, how dreadful, it would be, if the only man to have attracted her attention in years turned out to be her enemy. Sergei, her old suitor, had wound up being her enemy, but in a very different way.

"You are out of uniform, Captain Huntley," her father pointed out.

For the first time since his entrance, the captain's steady concentration broke as he glanced down at his dusty civilian traveling clothes. "I'm here in an unofficial capacity." He had a gravelly voice with a hint of an accent Thalia could not place. It was different from the cultured tones of her father's friends, rougher, but with a low music that danced up the curves of her back.

"And what capacity is that?" she asked. Thalia realized too late that a proper Englishwoman would not speak so boldly, nor ask a question out of turn, but, h.e.l.l, if Captain Huntley was was an Heir, niceties did not really matter. an Heir, niceties did not really matter.

His eyes flew back to her, and she met his look levelly, even as a low tremor pulsed inside her. G.o.d, there it was again, that strange something something that he provoked in her, now made a hundred times stronger when their gazes connected. She watched him a.s.sess her, refusing to back down from the unconcealed measuring. She wondered if he felt that peculiar awareness too, if their held look made his stomach flutter. Thalia doubted it. She was no beauty-too tall, her features too strong, and there was the added handicap of this dreadful dress. Besides, he didn't quite seem like the kind of man who fluttered anything. that he provoked in her, now made a hundred times stronger when their gazes connected. She watched him a.s.sess her, refusing to back down from the unconcealed measuring. She wondered if he felt that peculiar awareness too, if their held look made his stomach flutter. Thalia doubted it. She was no beauty-too tall, her features too strong, and there was the added handicap of this dreadful dress. Besides, he didn't quite seem like the kind of man who fluttered anything.

Yet...maybe she was wrong. Even though he was on the other side of the ger ger, Thalia could feel him looking at her, taking her in, with an intensity that bordered on unnerving. And intriguing.

Regardless of her scanty knowledge of society, Thalia did did know that gentlemen did not look at ladies in such a fas.h.i.+on. Strange. Officers usually came from the ranks of the upper cla.s.ses. He should know better. But then, so should she. know that gentlemen did not look at ladies in such a fas.h.i.+on. Strange. Officers usually came from the ranks of the upper cla.s.ses. He should know better. But then, so should she.

"As a messenger," he answered, still holding Thalia's gaze, "from Anthony Morris."

That name got her attention, as well as her father's.

"What about Morris?" he demanded. "If he has a message for me, he should be here, himself."

The captain broke away from looking intently at Thalia as he regarded her father. He suddenly appeared a bit tired, and also sad.

"Mr. Morris is dead, sir."

Thalia gasped, and her father cried out in shock and horror. Tony Morris was one of her father's closest friends. Thalia put her hand on her father's shoulder and gave him a supportive squeeze as he removed his gla.s.ses and covered his eyes. Tony was like a younger brother to her father, and Thalia considered him family. To know that he was dead-her hands shook. It couldn't be true, could it? He was so bright and good and...G.o.d, her throat burned from unshed tears for her friend. She swallowed hard and glanced up from her grief. Such scenes were to be conducted in private, away from the eyes of strangers.

The captain ducked his head respectfully as he studied his hands, which were gripped tightly on his hat. Through the fog of her sorrow, Thalia understood that the captain had done this before. Given bad news to the friends and families of those that had died. What a dreadful responsibility, one she wouldn't wish on anyone.

She tried to speak, but her words caught on shards of loss. She gulped and tried again. "How did it happen?"

The captain cleared his throat and looked at Franklin. He seemed to be deliberately avoiding looking at her. "This might not be suitable for...young ladies."

Even in her grief, Thalia had to suppress a snort. Clearly, this man knew nothing of her. Fortunately, her father, voice rough with emotion about Tony Morris's death, said, "Please speak candidly in front of Thalia. She has a remarkably strong const.i.tution."

Captain Huntley's gaze flicked back at her for a brief moment, then stayed fixed on her father. She saw with amazement that this strapping military man was uncomfortable, and, stranger still, it was her her that was making him uncomfortable. Perhaps it was because of the nature of his news, unsuitable as it was for young ladies. Or perhaps it was because he'd felt something between them, as well, something instant and potent. She did not want to consider it, not when she was reeling from the pain of Tony Morris's death. that was making him uncomfortable. Perhaps it was because of the nature of his news, unsuitable as it was for young ladies. Or perhaps it was because he'd felt something between them, as well, something instant and potent. She did not want to consider it, not when she was reeling from the pain of Tony Morris's death.

After clearing his throat again, the captain said, "He was killed, sir. In Southampton."

"So close!" Franklin exclaimed. "On our very doorstep."

"I don't know 'bout doorsteps, sir, but he was attacked in an alley by a group of men." Captain Huntley paused as Thalia's father cursed. "They'd badly outnumbered him, but he fought bravely until the end."

"How do you know all this?" Thalia asked. If Tony's death had been reported in the papers, surely someone other than the captain would be standing in their ger ger right now, Bennett Day or Catullus Graves. How Thalia longed to see one of their numbers, to share her family's grief with them instead of this man who disquieted her with his very presence. right now, Bennett Day or Catullus Graves. How Thalia longed to see one of their numbers, to share her family's grief with them instead of this man who disquieted her with his very presence.

Captain Huntley again let his eyes rest on her briefly. She fought down her immediate physical response, trying to focus on what he was saying. "I was there, miss, when it happened. Pa.s.sing by when I heard the sounds of Morris's being attacked, and joined in to help him." He grimaced. "But there were too many, and when my back was turned, he was stabbed by one of them-a blond man who talked like a n.o.b, I mean, a gentleman."

"Henry Lamb?" Franklin asked, looking up at Thalia. She shrugged. Her father turned his attention back to the captain and his voice grew sharp, "You say you were merely 'pa.s.sing by,' and heard the scuffle and just 'joined in to help.' Sounds d.a.m.ned suspicious to me." Thalia had to agree with her father. What sort of man pa.s.sed by a fight and came to the aid of the victim, throwing himself into the fray for the sake of a stranger? Hardly anyone.

Captain Huntley tightened his jaw, angry. "Suspicious or not, sir, that's what happened. Morris even saved my life just before the end. So when he gave me the message to deliver to you, in person, I couldn't say no."

"You came all the way from Southampton to Urga to fulfill a dying man's request, a man you had never met before," Thalia repeated, disbelief plain in her voice.

The captain did not even bother answering her. "It couldn't be written down, Morris said," he continued, addressing her father and infuriating Thalia in the process. She didn't care for being ignored. "I've had it in my head for nearly three months, and it makes no sense to me, so I'll pa.s.s it on to you. Perhaps you can understand it, sir, because, as much as I've tried, I can't."

"Please," her father said, holding his hand out and gesturing for Captain Huntley to proceed.

"The message is this: 'The sons are ascendant. Seek the woman who feeds the tortoise.'"

He glanced at both Thalia and her father to see their reactions, and could not contain his surprise when her father cursed again and Thalia gripped a nearby table for support. She felt dizzy. It was beginning. "You know what that means?" the captain asked.

Franklin nodded as his hands curled and uncurled into fists, while Thalia caught her lower lip between her teeth and gnawed pensively on it.

She knew it was bound to happen, but they had never known when. That time was now at hand.

In November, get lost in the Canadian wilderness with REBEL...

On the Canadian frontier in 1875, nature is a harsh mistress. But the supernatural can really do you in...

A LONE WOLF.

Nathan Lesperance is used to being different.

He's the first Native attorney in Vancouver, and welcome neither with white society nor his sometime tribe.

Not to mention the powerful wildness he's always felt inside him, too dangerous to set free.

Then he met Astrid Bramfield and saw his like within her piercing eyes. Now, unless she helps him through the harsh terrain and the harsher unknowns of his true abilities, it could very well get him killed...

AND THE WOMAN WHO LEFT THE PACK.

Astrid has traveled this path before. Once she was a Blade of the Rose protecting the world's magic from unscrupulous men, with her husband by her side.

But she's loved and lost, and as a world-cla.s.s frontierswoman, she knows all about survival.

Nathan's searing gaze and long, lean muscles mean nothing but trouble. Yet something has ignited a forgotten flame inside her: a burning need for adventure, for life-and perhaps even for love...

He had looked into her. Not merely seen her hunger for living, but felt it, too. She saw that at once. He recognized it in her. Two creatures, meeting by chance, staring at one another warily. And with reluctant longing.

Yet it wasn't only that immediate connection she had felt when meeting Lesperance. There was magic surrounding him.

Astrid wondered if Lesperance even knew how magic hovered over him, how it surrounded him like a lover, leaving patterns of nearly visible energy in his wake. She didn't think he was conscious of it. Nothing in his manner suggested anything of the sort. Nathan Lesperance, incredibly, was utterly unaware that he was a magical being. Not metaphorical magic, but true true magic. magic.

She knew, however. Astrid had spent more than ten years surrounded by magic of almost every form. Some of it benevolent, like the Healing Mists of Ho Hsien-Ku, some of it dark, such as the Javanese serpent king Naga Pahoda, though most magic was neither good nor evil. It simply was. And Astrid recognized it, particularly when sharing a very small s.p.a.ce, as the Mounties' office had been.

If Nathan Lesperance's fierce attractiveness and unwanted understanding did not drive Astrid from the trading post, back to the shelter of her solitary homestead, then the magic enveloping him certainly would. She wanted nothing more to do with magic. It had cost her love once before, and she would not allow it to hurt her again.

But something had changed. She'd felt it, not so long ago. Magic existed like a s.h.i.+ning web over the world, binding it together with filaments of energy. Being near magic for many years made her especially sensitive to it. When she returned from Africa, that sensitivity had grown even more acute. She tried to block it out, especially when she left England, but it never truly went away.

Only a few weeks earlier, Astrid had been out tending to her horse when a deep, rending sensation tore through her, sending her to her knees. She'd knelt in the dirt, choking, shaking, until she'd gained her strength again and tottered inside. Eventually, the pain subsided, but not the sense of looming catastrophe. Something had shaken and split the magical web. A force greater than anyone had ever known. And to release it meant doom.

What was it? The Blades had to know, how to avert the disaster. They would fight against it, as they always did. But without her.

A memory flitted through her mind. Months earlier, she'd had a dream and it had stayed with her vividly. She dreamt of her Compa.s.s, of the Blades, and heard someone calling her, calling her home. Astrid had dismissed the dream as a vestige of homesickness, which reared up now and again, especially after she'd been alone for so long.