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 breasts. 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.”
Her ripe mouth puckered but she nodded in acceptance. “And the rest of them? Was it simple jealousy that caused them to dislike Archer? Or the incident with Marvel?”
He felt a small jolt. “You know of that?”
“Only that Archer and Marvel quarreled over her.”
Leland snorted. “Archer was trying to save Marvel. Victoria had come back and seduced Marvel. She urged Marvel to make the change. Archer was incensed. He knew firsthand what would happen to the youth.” Leland took another sip of his drink. “Marvel was just another pawn. I believe Victoria thought if she roused Archer’s passion, got him jealous, that he would realize the depth of his love for her and return. Instead, Archer got his first true taste of the monster he would become when he beat Marvel within an inch of his life. He agreed then to the members’ ridiculous banishment to keep them, and others, safe.”
“Ever the protector,” she murmured, her brow furrowing. The frown increased. “I still do not understand why Victoria has waited all these years to return. Why did she not go after Archer from the first?”
“The woman is well over three hundred years old. What is sixty years to an immortal? The equivalent of a few months, perhaps?” He shrugged, enjoying the feeling of such a crude gesture. “I believe she truly thought he would return to her, that Archer was merely in a mood. Unfortunately for all of us, he proved he was very much over her wiles.”
“By marrying me.”
“No, my dear,” he said softly. “By falling in love with you.”
She took an unsteady breath. “Hell hath no fury…”
“Indeed.”
Lady Archer rose from her chair in one fluid movement. “So he had to change to stop her.”
“You cannot begin to understand the power she has.”
“Believe me, Lord Leland, I can.” Her hips swayed as she paced. “If Archer possesses even one-tenth of her strength, I can imagine.” Her bitter laugh cut off abruptly, and she rounded on him. “You said he would lose his soul…” She paled, beginning to see the inevitable conclusion.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “When he changes, he shall crave the light of other souls the way you and I crave air. The very first life he takes shall damn him for eternity. And with each life thereafter, a bit of his humanity will go.”
She swayed and grabbed hold of the mantel.
“That is why he fought this curse with everything he had,” he said. “The kiss is an act of consent. Without it, the elixir must work on its own, slowly. For a short time, Archer thought he’d found a cure. There was a ring.”
Her green eyes sharpened. “A ring?”
“The ring hid a note from his old valet, Daoud. Victoria killed him long ago, but not before he sent a message containing the true nature of the demon curse to Archer.”
“And he found the ring?” The hopefulness in her voice crushed him.
“Yes. Just recently. There wasn’t a cure, my dear. Only a way to end it.” He forced himself up and crossed the room to his desk, all the while aware of her trembling lips and shimmering eyes.
“This is the Sword of Light.” He lifted the ancient weapon out of his drawer. “The only thing that can pierce a light demon’s flesh. Archer must thrust this sword into Victoria’s heart and destroy her.”
“And then?” It was the barest whisper.
Leland’s strength wavered. “Then he must turn it upon himself.”
He watched her fall apart, press her hand to her middle, curl into herself, yet remain standing. Agony slashed at her features. But she did not cry. She took a deep breath but her resolve failed. A keening wail slipped through her lips. He went to her only to have her lift her hand and warn him off. She got hold of herself and straightened.
“Why—why do you have the sword?”
“We must not risk her finding it until Archer’s change is done. I am to take it tonight. Leave it outside the cavern where they have gone.”
She paced again, holding her middle as though holding on to her sanity.
“All is not lost,” he said desperately. “Archer need not lose his soul…”
“Only his life! Forgive me for being selfish but it is a small consolation to me.” She whipped round before stalking back to the fire. “How?”
“Should he be destroyed before he takes a life, his soul will remain intact.”
“And just how is he to avoid that?” she snapped. “When he must first destroy Victoria?”
Leland blanched. “I…”
She snorted. “You did not consider it, did you? Neither of you did.”
His hand shook as it ran through his hair, sending limp strands over his brow. “The legend was quite clear; those who take up the light without thought of personal greed shall find redemption. Only a savior true of heart shall wield the Sword of Light, and out of fire that comes not from man but the gods the blade shall come alive and meet its destiny.”
Lady Archer stopped her restless pacing and stared at him. “Fire?”
“Yes. Such artifacts usually come with fanciful riddles. Most likely it is allegorical. However, the Egyptians, who crafted this sword, believed that the lake of fire, from which this sword was forged, had the power to both purify and destroy. The innocent would be redeemed by fire, and the guilty annihilated. Perhaps piercing her with the blade shall turn her to flame,” he mused.
“Thought this out, have you?” She sighed. “Forgive me. I am unsettled.”
“Quite understandable, my dear.”
She took a deep breath and then steeled her spine. “There is only one recourse.” Emerald fire lit her eyes. “I shall have to destroy Victoria. And then…” Her lips trembled violently. “And then Archer as well.”
“Out of the question!”
Lord Leland’s shout cracked through the air like a shot.
“I was not asking for your permission, sir.” Miranda’s heart felt as though it were truly in danger of failing, so great was the pain, but she looked at the elderly man with resolve. “There is little choice in the matter. Archer cannot kill her, or he will lose his soul. You cannot do it because you are too frail.”
His mouth opened in outrage, yet he could hardly deny the truth of her statement.
“Archer forfeited his life to change,” he said with heat. “Because that is the only way to defeat her. She is too strong otherwise!”
“That is where you men have failed to understand,” she said. “Should you have thought it through, you would have realized your error. Archer believed he must engage in a physical battle. He thought only of his previous battles with her. Like a man, he sought to solve this problem with brawn.”
Were Archer here, Miranda would have hit him with something very large and very hard. Damnable man. Why did you have to shut me out? Black fingers of panic crawled across her field of vision. She took another deep breath.
“And in his blind haste, he overlooked his true weapon. The sword.” She went to Leland’s desk. The sword lay upon it, a seemingly simple weapon. Nothing so dazzling as to decry it the ultimate threat against an immortal demon. Her hand closed around the bronze hilt, and a sizzle of power coursed against her palm. She nearly dropped it, then adjusted her hold. Another shot of power surged through her, and deep down, the fire inside of her seemed to answer it, flaring hot in her veins for an instant. She pulled the sword from its sheath.
“Careful,” Leland warned unnecessarily.
It was an evil-looking thing. The leaf-shaped blade was pure black, made of a metal she could not place. Light coming through the windows caught its edge with a gleam. Frightfully sharp. Her hand wavered. She would plunge this into Archer’s breast. I cannot!
Victoria. Think of her.
“He needed only to use the element of surprise,” she said.
“My dear Lady Archer, you cannot think that you shall take Victoria by surprise.” His white brows touched his hairline. “It is folly. I will not allow it, I say.”
Miranda sheathed the sword and attached it to her belt with the hook on the back of the scabbard. “As I said, Lord Leland, I have not asked for your permission. I shall do this thing.”
He moved to stop her, and her temper broke. “If anyone is to end Archer’s life, it is to be me. If I cannot have him back, I can save his soul, damn you!”
He eased away. “I understand your pain—”
“You do not! Nor do you understand my strength. You see only a helpless female. Why is it, do you think, that Archer hid this from me?”
“To spare you the pain of knowing beforehand,” he said with equanimity.
“No. He hid this from me because he knew I am well capable of facing Victoria, and if I had found out about her, I would have tried to kill her myself.”
“Then he is well-justified in his precaution. The very idea horrifies me.” Leland drew himself up. “If I must protect you from yourself, I will.”
“I do not need your protection. If anything, you need protection from me.” And with that she let the fire free.
Flame from candles and lamps in the room burst from their glass houses with an angry hiss. Leland let out a strangled sound, like that of a man choking upon his soup. “Impossible.”
Her laugh was bitter as she reached for her cloak. “You of all people should understand that all things are possible.” She slipped her arms into her cloak and headed for the door. “We leave now.”