Pride & Passion. Charlotte Featherstone

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СКАЧАТЬ him sympathy for those less fortunate, for those who were born to circumstances beyond their control. He cared for things that no other duke would concern himself with. For the lives of those left to struggle without help.

      It was moments like this when he realized his role in society gave him power, power that he didn’t waste on flaunting his wealth, or using his name to gain admission to clubs, parties and liaisons with beautiful women. No, his power went to protect those who, unlike him, had never been blessed by anything but hard times. When he worked diligently with his cause to emancipate the poor in the East End from their daily suffering, he was not unworthy. Nor a fraud, nor an impostor in this world he had never understood and never wanted.

      “Adrian,” Lizzy said, amusement ringing in her voice. “You’re brooding about something. I thought you had outgrown that particular pastime years ago.”

      “My apologies, Lizzy. You were saying?”

      “The moon. Is it full?”

      “No, it is not,” he murmured as he came to sit beside her. “It is just a little crescent.”

      “When it’s full, I expect you to invite me into your study and you can describe it to me—vividly,” she clarified. “I swear, Adrian, you have no gift for words.”

      “No, I do not.”

      Perhaps if he did, he could seduce Lucy with them. But words had never come easily. Twelve years ago, he had learned to guard well what words he used. Being too free with his words could cost him everything he loved, his position within the Brethren Guardians, his sister and Lucy.

      “Ah, that feels nice,” his sister whispered as she lifted her feet up and toward the heat that was now blazing in the hearth. “I thought my toes might drop off.”

      “Well, your tootsies shall be warm momentarily.”

      “I wonder how you didn’t feel the chill?”

      He was inured to the cold. Growing up, he had forever been cold, and he had strengthened his mind around it. He could not tolerate any weakness in himself. Just like his father could never tolerate any weakness in his son, or daughter.

      “Your lack of skill with words aside, you’ve been inordinately quiet of late. Do you care to share your troubles? And don’t deny you have them,” she commanded. “I may not see your sullen expression, but I can sense it. Your melancholy shrouds every room you’ve been in.”

      He laughed. “Damn frightening what you can sense.”

      Smiling, she titled her head until she found his shoulder, and let her head rest against him while she continued to pet Rosie. “Is it this Brethren business, Adrian? I thought the investigation was getting somewhere.”

      “It is getting somewhere—deeper and murkier. Thank God we found the chalice in Wendell Knighton’s office at the museum. How the bastard discovered its hiding place, and the importance of its existence, I would dearly love to know, but it’s unfortunately a secret he took to his grave.”

      “Well, at least it’s back in your possession, and Black has the pendant. All three artifacts are safe and sound.”

      “But who took them is still a mystery,” he muttered. “However, we have some leads. Black’s wound has healed and he’ll begin searching through the Masonic Lodge for more clues of this mysterious Orpheus, and Alynwick and I have taken over the investigation of the House of Orpheus. Although, being allowed admittance into the secret club is proving more difficult than either of us had anticipated. Still, Alynwick won’t let it rest.”

      “Alynwick,” Lizzy snorted. “You’ll only find him of use if you can keep him out of the bedchambers.”

      Frowning, he realized his sister was right. Iain, the Marquis of Alynwick, was a rake, and little induced him to be anything but.

      “If Alynwick would put his head into it—and not the one he’s so fond of using—you might discover the identity of Orpheus much faster. Alas, the marquis is selfish and only interested in what amuses him. And it is not, I am afraid, Brethren business. Oh, if only I had been born a male, I would have kicked Alynwick in his rear end, and forced him to remember his oath.”

      Smiling, he thought of Elizabeth as a boy—and a Brethren Guardian. She was brave, smart and so disciplined—not to mention she was the eldest child. She would have made an excellent Guardian—better than him—and she certainly would have given the marquis some much needed grief.

      “Alas, I am only a poor helpless female, concerned only with fashion and fiction. Speaking of that—Lady Lucy and Lady Black are due here any moment. They’re bringing the new penny dreadfuls.”

      Adrian hid his groan. Lucy in his house. He could hardly bear it. But he would, for Elizabeth’s sake. She had very few real friends, and he would never think to deprive her of Isabella and Lucy’s companionship.

      “Now, you know that I don’t condone this … this snooping about, but should I question Lucy about anything?”

      Elizabeth could not see the surprise on his face, but she sensed it.

      “You didn’t think I knew, did you? Adrian, really, she’s my friend. And you’re my brother. I want to help you find the man responsible for stealing the pendant and murdering Mr. Knighton. I want also to keep Lucy out of danger, if indeed she is in danger.”

      “She is,” he growled, “believe me, she is.” He thought of the murderer who had been carrying Lucy’s handkerchief. What the devil had she been about giving a man such as that any token of her affection? A strange sense of betrayal filtered through his blood but he shook it off, determined to try to think of other things.

      “Why don’t you tell me what it is, so that I may aid both of you?”

      He’d kept the secret well-guarded, deep in his heart. It haunted him at night, and he wanted to be purged of it, to forget he had ever discovered it. But was telling his sister the thing to do? Was it betraying Lucy?

      “Adrian?” she asked. “There is no need to war with yourself over this. I just thought, well, sometimes secrets are a burden when one must shoulder them alone.”

      Suddenly he was speaking, not thinking it through, only knowing he needed this, the ability to talk to another soul who might have some wisdom to impart to him.

      “The man who shot Knighton,” he began, recalling the scene a few weeks ago when the pendant, one of the relics the Brethren Guardians were responsible for keeping, went missing, and Isabella’s—now Lady Black’s—former suitor, Knighton, had been found with it. “He was involved with Orpheus. Hell, he might even be Orpheus.”

      Orpheus was a rogue Freemason. Adrian was certain. This Orpheus had an uncanny knowledge of the Brethren Guardians. Their existence was a secret. No one but the three of them and their families knew of it. No one knew that the relics they protected even existed. But Orpheus knew. And so had Wendell Knighton. The urge to find and unmask this Orpheus positively seethed and festered inside him. It should have been because of his oath—the liege he owed to the generations of his family who had successfully kept the chalice and the secret of the Brethren Guardians carefully hidden. But it was not. It was the knowledge that Lucy was intimately acquainted with the bastard that ate at him, made him want to discover Orpheus’s identity, and tear at him—destroy him. For what, СКАЧАТЬ