Firelight
Page 37

Slowly, she pushed back from the desk. For every father there is a mother. And every creation, a creator. Stay away from her, Miranda. Victoria, with her silver eyes and flashing white teeth. The makeup covering skin that surely gleamed like moonstone. Archer broke my heart once. And I’m afraid I’ve never forgiven him for it. Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
A mad cackle broke from Miranda’s lips. He knew. He’d known all along. Only one thing could have escaped a man as strong as Archer: another immortal.
What I recognized was myself.
And now he’d gone to Victoria. Save she was whole, and he still part human. A final battle that he would not win. Unless…
“Bastard!”
Chapter Thirty-two
Too bloody long. It took too bloody long to track down the home of Lord Maurus Robert Lea, Seventh damned Earl of Leland. Leland was Archer’s best mate, was he? Brought him into this folly? Then he damned well better know where Archer was.
She rapped the knocker hard enough to draw stares from a smartly dressed couple headed out. One did not pound upon doors in Belgravia. Miranda glared in kind and resumed her assault on Leland’s door.
It was yanked open by an affronted-looking butler who quivered with restrained irritation.
“Lady Archer to see Lord Leland,” she snapped. “In short order, if you will.”
He narrowed his eyes, no doubt seeing only her mannish costume. “He is not in. Here, here!”
She ignored this protest as she pushed past him. “Pardon me if I see for myself. Lord Leland!”
The sputtering butler was hot on her heels but skidded to a stop as Lord Leland flew out of his library. Leland made a polite bow, drawing near.
“Lady Archer—”
Miranda pulled the sword from her belt and pinned Leland to the wall with it.
“You will forgive me, my lord, but let us get straight to the point.” She nudged the uncapped sword against his cravat. “Tell me, where is my husband?”
Beside her, the butler moved to grab her arm. She pulled the gun from her waistcoat and aimed it at his heart. The hammer cocked with a loud click in the cavernous hall. “I’m quite a good shot as well,” she said, keeping her eyes upon Leland. “Your master might be injured during a scuffle.”
Leland swallowed hard but his sharp blue eyes stayed on Miranda. “Go on, Wilkinson,” he managed at last. “Lady Archer and I have need of privacy.”
The butler ran off, most likely to find reinforcements, and Miranda pocketed the pistol.
Leland looked down his crooked nose at the sword still hovering before him. “If you wouldn’t mind, Lady Archer. I shall need my throat if I am to talk.”
She lowered the sword and stepped back a pace.
He smiled thinly. “You know you might have simply asked.”
She laughed without humor as she sheathed her sword. “I might have done,” she said. “Save I am damned angry. And damned tired of high-handed men at the moment.”
He gave a small bow of his head. “Understood.”
“Do you know where he is?” Now that she was there, her fear surged forward once more, leaving her trembling.
“I do.” He sighed then, looking very much his advanced age. “I am afraid you shall not like it.”
Her lips quivered before she got hold of herself. “Where Archer and revelations are involved, I never do.”
“Then you know him well.” He extended his hand toward the open library door. “Come. We have some time left. And there is much to discuss.”
She prowled the room like a wild lioness, the gold-red cap of her severely pulled-back hair glowing in the sunlight that slanted through the open windows. Leland watched her as he made his way to the drinks table. Her legs, encased in buff trousers, were long and supple, the firm thighs muscular but feminine. He’d seen firsthand the deftness with which she wielded her sword. Power, grace, a fencer’s body. He cut his eyes away from the curved arc of her bottom. For God’s sake, he was old enough to be her grandfather, great-grandfather in some families. Still, that hadn’t stopped Archer.
“Would you like a drink?” he offered, keeping his gaze resolutely on her face, and not anywhere near her fetching and quite pert bosom.
She gave him a small smile of gratitude, and his old heart skittered a bit. Hers was not the dainty, sweet beauty of fashion. It was a sculptor’s dream, precise, unearthly. She was Nefertiti, Helen of Troy. Beauty such as hers stunned. He blinked hard. Why hadn’t he noticed before?
“Have you any bourbon?”
“Not you as well?” Leland shook his head. “Perhaps I ought to buy a cask.”
She laughed, all warmth and huskiness. And Leland understood why Archer had lost his head over her.
“Perhaps you ought to,” she said. “It is really quite good. As you are bereft, I should like a whiskey, then. Neat, please.”
He poured her drink and watched, his breath catching, as she glided over to take it. The curve of her hips, the dip in her waist; she was a Stradivarius. Damn his eyes, he felt like a man of thirty inside. A small shard of envy toward Archer cut him then promptly brought him round. Hard enough to bring him shame. He bowed formally and handed her the glass.
“You are very much alike, you and Archer.”
She quirked a burnished brow. “Our taste in drinks?”
“Yes, that. And in temperament as well.” He gave her a tight smile. It hurt too much to do any more. His oldest friend had gone off to destroy himself. And left him to pick up the pieces. “He too would have stormed in to hold me at sword point should he be in a temper.”
Eyes the color of Chinese celadon glaze ran over him in appraisal. “I suspect you are a man of action as well, sir. Though perhaps you prefer to skewer with words rather than swords?”
He laughed. “You are quite right, madam. Touché.”
Her sculpted cheeks plumped then promptly fell. Her eyes misted. “Where is he, Lord Leland?”
Leland set down his glass. “Please be seated, Lady Archer, and I shall tell you all.”
She complied, folding her lithe body gracefully into the same chair Archer had occupied not long ago.
“Promise me one thing,” he said as he sat across from her. “Let me finish what I must say, and then you may do as you wish.”
Her shapely mouth curled into a lopsided grin. “I do not have a history of keeping such promises, sir. But I shall try.”
So like Archer with her forthright nature.
“What has Archer told you of all this?” he asked.
As Leland listened, awe filled him over her capacity to take all the horror in and still love Archer. For all he was.
“So it was Victoria, then,” she finished, “who created him?”
“Yes.” He ran his fingers over the base of his glass. “I shall be forthright with you now. For you have to understand the allure she held for us. All of us within West Moon Club were scholars. And through our collective effort, we learned much about the ancient world. Archer and I went to Egypt to excavate ancient tombs, immersed ourselves in the pharaoh’s world. It was all for naught. True, there were hints, allusions to life everlasting. Does not our own Christian Bible speak of men living well beyond the pale? Is Noah himself not said to have lived past nine hundred years?”
He curled his hand into a fist, remembering those years of frustration. “We could not find a true solution. Until she came.”
For a moment, he simply remembered the day Victoria had walked into their meeting as though it were not a secret society at all. A goddess, silver and light. Exquisitely beautiful. “You can well imagine the effect her appearance had upon us,” he said to Lady Archer. “You’ve seen Archer. And she was fully transformed. We did not doubt a word she said. Or her claims that she was an angel of light.” His laugh was bitter. “Not an angel. No, we would learn that when it was too late.”
What Lady Archer thought, he could not know. She held herself in complete control.
“We would not all be given the gift, however. She was to choose the most worthy.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “She settled on Archer and me. We became her lovers.”
A soft blush stole up Lady Archer’s cheeks but she remained silent. Nor could Leland blame her for blushing. Even now he could see Victoria, her nubile body writhing beneath his. Pert br**sts. Nipples translucent as glass yet succulent, they drove him mad. Take me, Maurus. The heat of her body. The light pulsing through him as he bedded her. He’d felt invincible. And later, when she had wanted more.
“I desire you and Archer in my bed. Together. Come to me, my heathen men.”
By God, he had been willing. So shameful. But there it was. The hold she had on him was madness. And Archer’s wrathful expression. His dark brows scowling. He had stormed out, shoving past her bed in disgust, even as Leland had been crawling into it, all but tearing his clothes from his body in his lust-filled haste. Her sick laughter filled his ears even now.
“It was a test,” he said to a stone-faced Lady Archer, realizing that he’d said the whole shameful tale aloud. “Archer was stronger. Possessed the willfulness that she desired. I was merely a secondary diversion.”
“You resented him for it,” Lady Archer said softly.
“Yes.”
Her sculpted face remained impassive. “All of you did, because Archer was the favorite.”
“I cannot deny it,” he said wearily. “Not one of us realized how lucky we were not to be favored. Until that night. There was a ceremony at Cavern Hall, a place she told us held great power. All of us drank from a silver chalice, filled with a silver liquid. One sip only for the rest of the members. A taste to keep them enthralled and do her bidding. But Archer and I… we would drink a cupful. The liquid took time to work. We were to drink and then she would bestow her kiss. The Kiss of Light. Victoria would push her energy into us, thus completing the transformation. We would then fall into a deep sleep for one day and one night. When dawn broke on the next morning, we would be full-fledged Angels of Light in body and in soul.
“On the night of the ceremony, Rossberry came to us. He was frantic. He’d found an ancient text. We would not become Angels of Light, benevolent beings who lived forever off the light of the sun, but demons who drew their power from the light of souls. And in doing so, we would lose our own souls.”
He took a steadying drink. “We were fools. Too blinded by her thrall to believe. Or at least I was. Archer had doubts, but the moment was all but upon us.
“Every vein in his body stood out silver against his skin when he drank that brew,” he whispered. “Then his eyes. Viscous silver ran over them before he blinked it away, and the gray irises turned to mercury. Victoria simply laughed. Time to pay the piper, she said.
“Archer regained his strength, and with it he ran, not into her arms as she had expected. But away from her. Out of the hellish cavern. Victoria had merely smiled.”
“She wasn’t angry?”
Leland glanced at Lady Archer. “Irritated, perhaps. She thought he would come back. He was her true mate, she declared. I knew then that she was in love with him. I was nothing. So I ran too. One sip was all I tasted.”
“It did not affect you?”
Leland smiled wryly. “I am ninety-two years old, my dear. An age most men do not reach. And should they do so, are usually quite useless. Yet I can ride a horse, read my books, walk to my club and back. I am not immortal, but my life has been altered from its human course. I age slowly.”
“When I met you, I thought your age closer to sixty.”
“Precisely.” His lip trembled. “I’ve outlived one wife, three children, and one grandchild.” The coals in the grate settled with a hiss as he stared into his glass, watching the honeyed liquid swirl. “That is why I’ve avoided Archer all these years. Guilt. All of us got what we truly wanted that night, a chance to live beyond our years, without fear of sickness or sudden death. All of us save Archer. And Rossberry.”
“What happened to Rossberry?”
“Victoria. She found out what he had told Archer and set him on fire. Left him to die. By some miracle, the man survived.”
Lady Archer shuddered. “How horrible. Although it is a wonder she didn’t simply kill him.”
“She might have cut him apart or taken his soul. However, something about fire disturbed Victoria—she would shy away from it. So I suppose she considered it the worst sort of punishment. I cannot help but agree. Rossberry suffered horribly.”
“Why does he hate Archer?”
“Rossberry believes Archer told Victoria of his defection. Archer would never betray another man’s confidence. That deed was Sir Percival’s doing.” He took a small sip of his whiskey and welcomed the burn. “There is no arguing with Rossberry. He is not… There is something extraordinary about him. About all members of his family, for that matter. It would serve you well to stay far away from him—and Lord Mckinnon, as well. There have been mysterious disappearances connected to their lot over the years.”
“Mckinnon knows Archer very well, doesn’t he?” she asked.
“They studied medicine together. And were good friends. Archer went to him for help in the beginning. But Rossberry soon turned his son against him.”
Her clear green eyes lifted to his. “Then Mckinnon is…”
“As old as the rest of us, and never had a drop of the elixir. Why he doesn’t age, I cannot say. As for Rossberry, he must be one hundred and thirty by now.” Leland held up a hand when she leaned forward intently. “I don’t know what secrets they keep. We didn’t understand until later that Rossberry and his son were never fully human. In truth, I believe Rossberry wasn’t looking for immortality but a cure for whatever it is that haunts his family.”