Geneviève lowered to sit beside Desi.“I do not believe we’ve been introduced, mademoiselle.”Her smile was gentle, kind, revealing rows of pearly white teeth.Unusual for the time.“Je suis Geneviève de Montverre.”
“Desi Starr.”Desi flashed a quick smile, not at all interested in conversing with Caleb’s Ex.
“Enchantée, mademoiselle.”Her eyes traveled over Desi as if weighing her and finding her wanting.“Pray, from where do you hail?I cannot place your accent.”
Heat flooded Desi’s face.“You would not believe me if I told you.”
“Vraiment?How mysterious.”Geneviève’s lips curved in mock amusement as she cast a glance at Liam who had taken an interest in a gold statue perched on a side table.Then leaning closer, her tone softened to a murmur.“You should know that Caleb and I have mended our quarrel.We are courting once more.”She paused, the faint trace of her perfume drowning Desi in sudden sorrow.“Indeed, we sealed it with a kiss only nights ago.”
The words sliced like a blade through Desi’s heart.So, that’s what happened.No wonder Caleb had seemed distant lately, avoiding her.The room seemed to tilt, and she clung to the arms of her chair, forcing a placid expression, refusing to let the French vixen glimpse her pain.
Uncomfortable, she rose.“I have no idea what that has to do with me, mademoiselle, but I hope you and Caleb will be very happy.”The words burned in her throat as she turned to leave, longing to be anywhere but in this woman’s presence.
Geneviève’s hand shot out, her slim fingers clasping Desi’s in an iron grip.Fire burned in her eyes, the searing fire of jealousy.“Listen well.Caleb is mine.He has always been mine.N’osez pas—do not dare—to imagine he has any affection for you.”Her voice was glass.“Or ever will.”
Desi’s heart thundered.She yanked back her hand and flattened her lips.“No problem.A man like Caleb could never betray a woman he loved.Unless, of course, his heart is not as fixed on you as you say.”
The words hung between them, silken yet edged, before Desi fled out the door.
Thankfully, Liam didn’t follow.She needed time alone.She needed to get far away from the beautiful and cultured Geneviève.She needed not to care if the woman’s words were true.
Making her way down a long hall, lit by filtered sunlight streaming in through windows, she descended a flight of stairs, intent on making her way to the gardens.
Haughty eyes followed her from a row of paintings lining the wall, portraits of men in powdered wigs and rich clothing, their expressions bold, their chins in the air.The marquis’s ancestors.Same arrogant bearing, same pinched nose and lips.
Bootsteps sounded.Someone was coming.French words shot back and forth, followed by laughter.Close.Too close.Desperate, Desi searched for a place to hide.There.A door handle.Not locked, she opened it and slipped inside, then gently closed it behind her.
The voices passed, fading away.Desi released a breath and spun around.Shelves of books decorated every wall from floor to ceiling except the back one where an open French door led out to a patio.Dust sparkled in streams of afternoon sunlight that spread over a large table in the center of the room.
An odd chill permeated the scent of dust, ink, old leather and secrets.She hugged herself.This must be the marquis’s library.No doubt these ancient copies would be rare and pricey back in her day.Moving to the shelves, she trailed her fingers over the spines, their titles faded in gilt letters.She should leave.Immediately.
Making her way to the French door, she noticed a large map stretched across the table.Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a map of the world, though the continents were separated into two circles.Drawings of people, sailing ships, and flags adorned the chart, while decorative borders framed its edges.It was a beautiful work of art.So, why would the marquis destroy it by marking these—she counted them—seven crimson circles across the continents and sea?
She peered closer.One of the marks lay off the coast of Florida, near shallow shoals where she’d discovered theSentinel’s broken hull.Another smaller circle marked a spot in the Caribbean beneath Puerto Rico.The next one…she shook her head.How odd.From studying the chart on Caleb’s desk, it appeared to be right over the very island where she now stood.The rest were scattered across the map, one in the shadow of a pyramid near the Nile; another over England where strange stones were etched; another in the far Pacific, where lonely statues stared at the sea; and the last one high in the Andes.
“What in the world…?”What was so special about these places?An icy chill prickled down her back as her pulse raced.
A floorboard creaked in the hallway outside the door.
♥
The marquis leaned one arm on the mantel and stared at the gilded coat of arms hanging above the fireplace.“The Montverre line traces back to Sir Géraud de Montverre, a knight who joined the Order of the Temple in the twelfth century.”
Caleb studied the large wooden coat of arms, decorated in gold leaf with brass accents.Impressive in both its size and design with its knight’s helmet, two charging destriers, and a shield adorned by a Templar cross and sword.“I did not come to learn your pedigree, Marquis.”
“Géraud fought in the Second Crusade,” the marquis continued, “and later returned to France where he founded a Templar commandery on the family’s land, one of the last to be absorbed into the crown following the suppression of the order in 1307.”Pride lifted his tone.“Centuries passed, yet rumors lingered that my family safeguarded hidden relics and documents of the Templars locked away beneath the chapel crypt.Ancient scrolls that spoke of the famed Ring of Solomon and the power it wielded.”
Caleb’s blood ran cold.
Montverre snapped an incriminating gaze to Caleb.“My father spent his life searching for Solomon’s Ring, following ancient maps and documents.Before his death, he believed it was in the hands of the Jews in Spain.”
Despite the sudden tightening of his heart, Caleb forced a sigh of boredom.“And they were dispersed in the 1400s, many coming to the Caribbean.But what does this have to do with me?”
“Because,mon cher capitaine, I have traced it to your family.”
Air vacated Caleb’s lungs.Blood raced to his head.Yet recent confusions sorted into understanding—this French fop’s kindness, the reason he summoned Caleb here today.Yet how could he know?
The marquis flipped the curls of his wig behind him.“Do not attempt to tell me you don’t have it.I know the mission your father has tasked you with.”
