Tensing with the deeply growing suspicion that had been triggered in Mishra’s shop, Eleanor wasn’t fully satisfied. It was simply too difficult to know by the image in the bridal scene if the necklaces weretruly the same.
The next page, however, held a more detailed image of the piece.
Eleanor’s stomach tightened with dread—sharp and poignant—as she turned the page.
Beneath the same bright and beautiful bower, the wedding party was now surrounding a long table for a feast. But what should’ve been a scene depicting the joining of two families, was instead an image of death and despair. Everyone was slumped over the table or fallen to the ground. The accompanying text explained how the entire wedding party and the close family from both sides had been poisoned.
The story her grandmother had always told was that the bride had been promised as a young girl to the son of a powerful maharaja, but before the approach of her marriage, she’d fallen in love with another. Though the breaking of such an arrangement could bring great dishonor to her family, she begged her father to end her betrothal so she could wed the man of her own choosing. Having lost his wife and sons in years past, the maharaja loved his only remaining child deeply. Believing himself powerful enough and rich enough to circumvent the worst of the consequences, he indulged her request. Though he sent a fortune in riches to the other maharaja in compensation for the broken agreement, the prospective groom’s father was enraged. He plotted a tragic revenge against the bride’s family and that of her chosen husband, sending an assassin to ensure the deaths of them all.
The bride’s uncle, and Eleanor’s ancestor, had significant wealth and power of his own. He had not been present for the tragic wedding and spent the rest of his life waging war in retaliation, nearly wiping out his own family, but ultimately claiming victory and a vengeful justice.
Eleanor knew the tragic story well as it had always fascinated her. The stark and painful shift between the image celebrating love and future happiness to the one filled with tragedy and violence had touched her deeply. She’d dreamt of the wedding as a child.Sometimes, her subconscious would find a way to foil the murderous plot and create the happy ending she wanted for the doomed couple. But mostly, it went the way of history and she’d wake up sobbing, with her stomach clenching painfully, as if she were the bride watching everyone around her fall because of her desire to marry for love.
Her grandmother had explained that the disastrous tale was often told to young girls as a warning of the dangers that could result if one went against their family’s choice in future husband. Her words from the conversation Eleanor had just recalled echoed in her mind as she stared down at the image of death and tragic loss.
There is too much risk in love.
Eleanor forced her gaze to the edge of the dramatic scene to where—partially hidden by the branches of an olive tree at the foreground—the shrouded assassin strode boldly from the tragedy he’d caused. Hanging from his fist was the bridal necklace he’d stolen in his final act of degradation to the sacred bonds he’d destroyed.
Her understanding was that the necklace had never been seen again. Its existence passed swiftly into legend, becoming a symbol of the heartbreaking retribution that can follow broken oaths.
Rising to her feet, she fetched a magnifying glass from the drawer of a small writing desk. Returning to the book, she more carefully examined the image of the necklace as it dangled from the assassin’s hand.
After only a few moments, Eleanor lowered the glass with a heavy sigh. The bridal necklace matched her recollection of Lord Waring’s drawing to a shocking degree. The same three-stranded design in gold and jewels, the same honeybee in the center.
Stunned at what that could possibly mean, she sat back on her heels.
How in hell had an English viscount gained possession of the image of a necklace from Indian antiquity that had been lost for generations?
Chapter Seven
Two nights later,Phin accompanied Maggie and Delia to a soirée hosted by one of his late brother-in-law’s close friends. He’d been prepared for a dull and rather frustrating evening—his thoughts being overly occupied with the fact that he hadn’t yet heard back from Mr. Mishra about the necklace. But then, as he entered the drawing room where everyone was gathered, he caught sight of the fair Lady Eleanor.
It seemed that he and the young woman were developing a habit of being in the same place at the same time. And he wasn’t upset by it.
In fact, as his body tightened and hummed with a rush of intent awareness, he acknowledged that he was quite pleased.
The lady stood near the far end of the room, cloistered by her two cousins and lorded over by her stiff-spined brother. Though she was tucked into the corner and surrounded by others in their evening finery, she sparkled like a diamond in a silvery-blue gown. It took only another second for Phin to realize that she didn’t appear to be enjoying herself. Her posture was tense with her hands clasped in front of her. Her chin was slightly lowered as were her eyes…as if she were trying to minimize herself.
He recalled how panicked she’d gotten at Maggie’s ball and then her stiff awkwardness at Mishra’s shop. It was clear that she was not comfortable in social situations. Was the lady simply shy? Or was it something more?
With a frown, he forced himself to look away, recalling how she hadn’t been particularly fond of his attention the last two times they’d met.
For the next half hour, he dutifully followed his sister and niece in their tour about the room, but his thoughts were not so easily commanded. After nearly a dozen introductions were made, Maggie and Delia settled in amongst a group of friends and Phin risked another glance toward Lady Eleanor only to find her staring back at him.
Her gaze was direct and focused. And though she tensed and her lashes fluttered very subtly when he looked her way, she did not shift her attention.
Adrenaline spiked in his blood. His physical attraction was hot, sharp, and more intense than any reaction he’d had to a woman in a long time. If ever.
Curious of his reaction, he naturally tried to examine it. Though the lady was lovely beyond compare, he couldn’t ignore that something deeper than appreciation for her loveliness was triggered when he looked at her. Something disconcerting and powerful.
There had been times in his many adventures when he’d been faced with certain quandaries or forked paths. He’d learned to rely on his instincts in such situations. In doing so, his ability to recognize when a decision feltrighthad grown stronger and stronger over the years, to the point where he trusted his intuition implicitly, often despite evidence that disputed his internal judgment.
What he felt when he looked into Lady Eleanor Fairchild’s eyes was similar. Something just feltrightabout her.
He’d never had such a reaction to a person before. It was unsettling, to say the least.
He couldn’t quite comprehend the effect she had on him, but he forced himself to calm his response as he tilted his head and offered a smile.
