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Phantoms

IN PHILADELPHIA

Phantom Knights

Book 1

AMALIE VANTANA
Phantoms IN PHILADELPHIA

By Amalie Vantana

Copyright 2013 by Amalie Vantana

Smashwords Edition

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains in the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this this ebook, please encourage your friends to download their own copy.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

Cover design: Robin Ludwig Design Inc., <http://www.gobookcoverdesign.com/>.

For John,

the very best part of my heart
Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Read on for a Sneak Peek at the next adventure in the Phantom Knights series

Chapter 1

Acknowledgements

Author's Historical Note

About the Author

# Prologue

Bess

20 May 1814

Baltimore

My father once said that to have a truly successful spy organization you must have the presence of mind always to be seven steps ahead of everyone else. My father's seven steps had been between the ages of eight and seventeen. He claimed that no one would ever suspect children of being spies. He was right. I was twelve when four men, my father included, formed a secret spy ring—to protect the good on which this nation was founded. Five years later and I am wondering if there was more to it than that. When you live a life of secrets, you trust no one and question everything.

"Lucy!"

It was well past ten in the evening when I stepped away from the brick wall that I was leaning against. A dark haired man in a red regimental coat came striding toward me holding a lantern that illuminated the darkened alley. When he reached me, he set the lantern on the ground, then his arms wrapped around my waist. He pulled me against him, his wet lips smacking on my mouth. I hated when he did that.

Be convincing.

I let him kiss me for a moment, then I pushed him back, casting down my eyes. "Willy, you are a rogue."

He did not laugh as he usually did, and when I glanced up at him, his eyes were focused on mine, or rather my black mask.

"We have been meeting in secret for three months, Lucy. When will you cease to wear a mask?" His voice was cool, and I thought I detected a hint of suspicion.

I flashed him my most enticing smile and laid my hand against his cheek. "I thought you liked a mystery, Willy."

His eyes hardened for an instant as his brows snapped together, but then his face cleared, and he laughed, unconvincingly. He was uncomfortable; something was not right.

"You know that I adore you, Lucy." He kissed my neck, and I fought the urge to run him through with a small ornamental knife that was in my hair. He stepped around me laying his cool hands against the bare skin of my shoulders. One of his fingers stroked the black beaded necklace I was wearing. "It is only that they offered me more than you; you understand."

At the entrance to the alley, three men appeared, and as they walked toward me, everything inside me went wild. My shaking hands twisted in the folds of my red dress. The men before me were wearing plain brown clothing, nothing remarkable, but it was the rings they all wore on their right hands that relayed their identities.

"At last we find you, Ma belle," one of the men said in a thick accent.

"Willy?" I pressed against him, my voice sounding small, frightened.

His hands tightened on my shoulders for a moment before he released me, stepping toward the very men I had been hunting for two years ever since they murdered the man I was going to marry.

"My payment," Willy demanded, holding his hand out to the evident leader of the men.

"Ah, yes, your payment, Lieutenant Standen." The leader snapped his fingers, and the man to his right pulled a pistol so fast that Willy had no chance of escape. As he fired, I dropped down, covering my ears with my hands. Willy stumbled back clutching his chest before dropping like a fallen tree. Willy was a fool to believe that those men would be fair. I stayed cowering on the ground until the leader stomped toward me and grabbed my arm. My eyes rose to his. He smirked.

"You do not much resemble your mother, Ma belle," the greasy-haired leader remarked.

"No, I take after my father," I replied, keeping him talking as my hand slid beneath my skirts and gripped a handle strapped to my leg.

"Your father?" he asked sharply. When his eyes widened in recognition, I smiled. He turned his head to yell at his men, but I was upon him before the words passed his lips. My arm wrapped around his throat, and I placed the tip of my dagger against his skin beside his eye.

He called in his native tongue for his men to halt when they stepped forward.

"Now, you will tell me what you want with Ma belle, or I will stick you like a pincushion."

The man choked out a laugh. "I remember you. You were there the night we killed that masked spy."

Do it! End him! Every thought was screaming for me to have my vengeance, but the tighter I held him and thought about stabbing him with my dagger, the more I knew I could not. I was not a murderer.

The largest of the men pulled a pistol, and I released the leader, shoving him toward his men. I reached into my coiffure of hair and pulled out a small knife. I threw it with a strong flip of my wrist. It struck its target, lodging in the big man's shoulder.

The second man, a wiry, foolish looking individual, charged me, knocking me to the ground. My breath left me in a rush, but I raised my hand with the dagger. He wrestled it away from me and stood, placing his boot against my stomach, pinning me to the ground. For someone appearing small, he sure held some force. The leader came up beside him.

"Tell me your name, little spy."

"Spy is such an ugly word," I retorted, the boot pushed harder against my stomach.

"What would you prefer?"

"Master investigator or skilled assassin, it makes no odds to me," I replied in a breathy, strained voice.

He chuckled, then laughed loud clutching his middle. My mind was trying to work out a plan. There were only two of them, and if I could get his boot off me...

Explosions roared in the small alley. I threw my hands up to shield my face. There were at least four shots fired, and as the heavy boot on my stomach fell away, I sat up staring through the cloud of smoke to where four masked men were standing. Their masks were all different, but their clothing was the same. Black breeches, black boots, black coats over black shirts. They were made to blend in with the shadows; to match the night. The first man wore a black mask with two horns sticking up above his head; we call him Hades. The second man wore a mask that was half brown, and the other half had four green leather leaves—Junto. Fenrir was the third man, and his mask was the face of a wolf. The fourth I knew was not a man at all. Her mask was plain black.

She came over to help me up while the others checked the bodies. Willy and the two they had shot were dead, but the big man I had stabbed was alive. His eyes were closed; the fool was feigning death.

"That one is not dead," I said, pointing to his still form.

He growled as his eyes opened, but Hades was there to restrain the man from standing.

Fenrir, the man in the wolf mask, came up to me. "We must make haste. Many will have heard our shots fired."

I nodded, but went over to where the leader was sprawled on the ground. I pulled the ring from his finger. It was pure gold, forged to resemble a snake, its body wrapped around his finger twice. When I turned back toward my team, Fenrir handed me my dagger and my hair knife.

"Artemis and I will go to the tree. After you have disposed of the bodies, meet us there," I said.

They agreed, and Artemis, whose name was given because of her adept ability with a bow and arrow, and I ran from the alley into the dark night. We knew our way around the city—how to stay to the shadows; how not to be seen.

The 'tree' was code for the house we lived in, a plain, unobtrusive building in a set of row houses. Our neighbors were merchants whose lives were too full to allow them to be inquisitive. By the time we went to work at night, they were abed for an early morning of work. When Artemis and I reached the house, we went in through the rear door. The night had not gone as planned, but we all were safe.

"Raven!" a sharp voice boomed from down the hall.

Standing at the door to the front parlor was a shorter man dressed in the blue regimentals of an American soldier—captain to be precise. A feat indeed for a young man of sixteen, but then, he was not like others his age. I walked toward him slowly as his eyes were piercing me with each step I took.

"How do you come to be here, Jack?" I asked as I reached him.

The top of his head came to my forehead, but he always appeared larger when in his uniform. At the moment, he was daunting with his light blue eyes narrowed and his angular jaw firm.

"What were you thinking? Keeping company with the enemy?" He bit out each word, over annunciating.

I pushed past him, walking into the parlor, tripping over the skirt of my red dress. The events of the night were weighing heavily on me; I had lost a valuable, yet unsuspecting, informant, and I was in no fit mood to listen to my little brother berate me. I pulled off my mask as I turned to face him.

"I was doing my job of extracting information, and before Willy betrayed me tonight, I compiled a list of names from him that will make Papa proud."

Jack ran a hand through his short black hair, and I knew something was not right. He only did that when he was agitated. I walked toward him taking his hand. I was not only the elder by eleven months but also the taller between us by three inches, a sore spot with my little brother, and I was the calmer sibling.

"What is amiss, Jack? Why are you here?"

Jack pressed my hand for a moment, then pulled a note from his pocket. "I received this. I regret to have to tell you this, Bess, on your birthday of all days, but Father is dead."

"No!" I took a step back, gripping my mask in my hand.

Jack unfolded the note, holding it out to me. I snatched it and read over the words, but did not believe it. My father had been found dead early this morning. I dropped the letter, sinking down onto the sofa.

"You understand what this means, Bess," Jack said softly.

Squeezing my eyes shut for a moment as my heart and mind were begging him not to say it. Please do not say it. Please...

"You are the new leader of the Phantoms."

# Chapter 1

Bess

20 May 1816

Washington

Seven years to the day it has been since the forming of the Phantoms. As I sat on my bed in the house that our team always occupied, while on a mission in Washington, I thought back to the night my father William had come home to our cabin in North Carolina. I remember it so well, because it was the day of my twelfth birthday.

My father had been a spy in England until his identity was discovered, forcing us to flee. When we arrived in America, smuggled in during the night when I was nine, my father was determined to begin anew. He would disappear for months at a time searching for the perfect men to join him in a venture. In the end, he found three men, and together they formed the Phantoms.

I was not surprised when I learned that I had been named the new leader; but neither did I wish for the charge. There were those who thought that Jack should have been named the leader, being the only son, but they did not know what we knew. My father named me his successor, because I was the most like him.

The five members of my team accepted me without question, following my lead for the last two years without complaint, but I knew their faith in me would be shaken if they knew my deepest desire. To find a way out. To have the one thing that we fight so hard to protect. Freedom.

A knock fell on my door, and when it opened, it was Jack. Seeing him never failed to bring me a moment of comfort. He had come through the war with nothing more serious than a graze to his arm. There was much to be thankful for that he was still with me. So many people had lost their loved ones to the ravages of the war that had lasted over two years. The war had ended over a year past, and we had entered into a time of regrowth and by the end of the year, new leadership, but we would never forget all that we had lost.

"Many happy returns," Jack said cheerfully.

My teeth clenched together. His words were not meant to upset me, but my birthday was not something I wanted to remember—ever. It meant that I had been the leader for two years, but also that my father had been gone that long. It also meant that I was nineteen, considered by society to be an old maid with no marriage prospects; no way out.

"What are you thinking, Bess?" Jack nudged my arm with his.

I did not want him to know my dark thoughts, so I lied. "I wish that we were home with Mama. I have spent far too many birthdays away from her."

Over the last seven years, I had only been with my mother for two of the last seven birthdays, my being leader keeping me away for months at a time.

"We will soon be home. When she returns from Savannah, I am sure that she will host you a large celebration. You are about to come out after all."

Groaning, I leaned my head against the bed post. I did not know why our mother insisted that I come home and play the demure daughter, about to make her debut in society.

"It is useless for what I want I will not find," I said seriously.

"Someone to match yourself in strength and stamina?"

"Yes, for I cannot give my hand and heart to a fool."

"Is it so important that you do find someone?" Jack asked quietly.

"I am nineteen, Jack," I retorted indignantly.

"Undoubtedly an old maid," he said with amusement evident in his tone.

He was funning, but he knew not how true his words were. I was nineteen, three years older than what most of the other girls entering society would be. The war and then my father's death offered me excuses for why I had not yet taken my turn being placed on display for all of the Philadelphia bucks to ogle me, but that could not change the fact that I was an old maid.

Blowing out an exasperated breath, I frowned at my brother. "Be serious, Jack."

The light in his eyes faded. "If you want a man of strength and stamina, you must first be willing to let a man come close enough to show you his heart. You are so guarded that no man can scale the walls you have built." He took my hand in his. "You will not allow the men who have shown interest to take Ben's place."

Both surprise and alarm struck me a fierce blow to the gut. "Are you saying that I should trust some man with our secret?" It had been different with Ben. He had been one of us. A spy. A Phantom. It had gotten him killed.

"Not some man, but the right man, perhaps. First, you must open your eyes to look about you, and when you see him, grant him a rope."

"To hang himself?" I quipped.

"To scale the wall," Jack said, nudging me with his arm again.

My fingers twisted the ring on my right hand. Jack had a way with words; he always knew what to say to make me think. Jack touched his own ring, identical to mine. They were gold with ornate scrolls on the sides and a round sapphire stone raised in the center; the rings of our family. Our father had given them to us the night that he told us we were to become spies. I was twelve, and Jack was eleven.

Jack rose and held out his hand. "Enough of the gloom. Come, I have a surprise for you."

He escorted me down the stairs and in to the dining parlor, where each member of my team was present to celebrate my birthday with a special dinner. Jack led me to a chair at the head of the table and sat beside me.

Junto, whose real name was Leo and the only one of us with culinary skills, had cooked a wild turkey that Fenrir had killed during his morning hunting trip. As Leo bent over the table to place the turkey in the center, his dark brown hair fell across his square forehead. As he straightened; one of his eyelids dipped over his blue eye in a wink.

Each mask that was worn by the Phantoms coincided with the wearer's deputy name and the personality they would take on when wearing the mask. Such as the green leaves on Leo's mask representing strength.

Fenrir's mask of a wolf face and his name both came from Norse mythology about the father of wolves. When Jericho wore the mask, he became a wolf, but when he was not wearing a mask, he was both kind and entertaining. Good looking, too. At eighteen, he stood taller than the rest of the team, with rich blond hair and a face that turned many maidens' heads.

Jericho smiled as he picked up his glass. "I propose a toast. To Bess," his brown eyes lowered in sure sign of mischief, "a far prettier woman than Jack could ever hope to be."

Laughter spilled across the room as they raised their glasses to me. On one of our missions, we had needed three women, so Jack, being the shortest, and the others absolutely refusing, donned the role. He had made a fetching girl in a brown wig.

"Those petticoats were the devil. I do not know how you women do it," Jack interposed.

Jericho chuckled and Leo, who was silent most of the time, smiled.

Jack was saying something, and Mariah laughed, her sweet voice ringing out. My gaze moved to her, a smile touching my lips. When my father had formed the Phantoms, he had gone in search of children, orphans without family, declaring that no one would ever suspect children of being spies. Mariah was the first orphan my father brought home. He trained her along with Jack and I in weapons and self defense, and my mother taught her all the skills necessary to be a lady's maid. Mariah worked as my personal maid back home in Philadelphia when not on a mission. Something Jack said made her head go back as her soft laughter filled the room.

When meal was through, and everyone was moving out of the dining parlor, Levi, the youngest of our team at fifteen, stopped beside me. He held his hand out and dropped a smooth stone onto my open palm. He had painted a raven taking flight on the surface. I thanked him by rising and throwing my arms around his neck. He was the same height as Jack and could have been our brother, and was, in a sense. He had been given the surname of Martin when my father brought him home as a young boy of eight. He and Jack looked alike with their dark hair and narrow faces, but Levi's eyes were green. Levi was the wild one on the team, and his name of Hades fit.

When Jack and I were alone, I watched him as he drained his wine. A lock of his thick, black hair fell across his brow, as it always did, making me think of our mother. She had the same dark hair and they each had blue eyes, but Jack's were so light they were nearly gray. She was also the one that Jack received his small stature from, while I was taller like my father had been.

Before we had moved to Philadelphia, we had lived in Savannah for a year so that my parents could test their acting skills in society. My father bought a plantation and set us up as a family of great means supposedly arrived from France. We had moved to the much larger and grander Philadelphia after my parents thrived in the ranks of high society and were confident in their deception. We were thought to be a wealthy family who owned a large plantation in Savannah. We did own the plantation, but the wealthy part was questionable.

After Jack signed up to fight in the war when he was fifteen, my father assigned me to Baltimore, and my parents told their society friends that they had sent me to live with cousins for the duration of the war. Since the end of the war, my mother told her friends that I was traveling, but it was a lie. I had been living outside the city, dressing as a man and working to protect the good people of Philadelphia from dangers that they did not know threatened them. Not all of the threats left when we won the war.

Jack left the house a little while later, and I had some time alone to think. Now that my mother's two year mourning period had ended, and she would soon return to Philadelphia from her trip to Savannah, she expected me to return home. As the only daughter of the house, it was my duty to marry well. It sounded simple, but I was not like other young girls and my life was anything but simple.

An hour had passed when Jack arrived back at the house carrying a letter for me. He sat across from me as I broke the seal and read the single sheet. The letter was dated 5 June, which gave me my first clue. As it was only May, it meant that every fifth word was the real message.

Dearest Elizabeth,

The carriage ride was the longest hateful mile of my wretched life. To find that Sarah's beautiful orchard is part of Henry's grown over property is reprehensible. Leads one to ponder if the heart does indeed give way. Guard your own heart.

P.

Ride mile to orchard grown leads the way. P could only mean one person.

"What is it?" Jack asked.

As I folded the letter, I replied, "Nothing of importance. A note from Penelope only."

Jack accepted my reply without question, and we discussed our plans to go home within the next few days, and then I took myself off to bed, but not to sleep, I had a meeting to prepare for.

***

When I set out the following morning, the sky was gray, and the sun had yet to rise. I was dressed in black boots, breeches, shirt, coat, and hat. My mask was tucked safely in my pocket, and my pistols were in my belt. I went first to the stable where we kept our horses, then set off to the only orchard that I knew of.

Jack would not be pleased when he discovered that I had gone off without him, but as his presence was not requested in the letter, I would not take him along. The man who had sent that letter was an informant who had sold information first to my father and after his death, to me. Pierre could be trusted to know everything that was happening in the city.

Riding a mile outside of the city as the letter directed, I reached the orchard. Looking around, there was an overgrown lane that was barely visible due to a fresh set of horse tracks. Turning down the lane, I rode through the trees until the lane split in two. The lane to the right had the fresh horse tracks, so that was the path I followed.

There was a bend in the lane before it stopped at the steps to an old building. The white stones were molding; grass was tall around the exterior, but it had signs of once beautiful craftsmanship. The building was square with a raised dome colored with stained glass. Two large doors were shut tight, and no windows covered the walls. All was quiet in the stillness of the early morning. To all outward appearances, the building looked to be deserted, all except for a single mount that was standing in a copse of trees.

Once my own horse was hidden in the copse of trees, I put on my mask and walked to the building.

Pillars flanked the front doors, as I stepped up the two stone steps. Pierre had led me there which meant that whatever was on the inside he wanted me to see. I rapped on the door with a brass ring.

"What's the password?" A deep voice called from the other side of the door.

"Écouter," I replied immediately, knowing it was the correct thing to say. Pierre and I used the password at our every meeting.

Bolts were drawn back, and I was greeted by the long barrel of a musket, a pair of black eyes appearing over the gun. As soon as he saw my mask, his eyes widened before he threw the door open fully.

"Come in, come in." He grabbed my arm, pulling me into the inner room. He released me to bolt the door, but my focus was on the room in which I stood.

Leaves and twigs covered the floor, and a pile of broken chairs covered one corner of the room, but it was the raised platform that drew my gaze. There was a single pedestal in the center, and on top of it was a black velvet pillow. Nestled on the pillow was a black, odd-shaped object with many points and with symbols engraved in gold covering all of the points.

The door to the right of the platform opened. A small man, dirty and rotund with a long gray beard that was matted together and hung to his waist, came through followed by another small man with a short, black beard. Pierre.

"Raven," Pierre said, as he came toward me.

"Salutations, Pierre." I shook his hand then looked at the two old men who were staring at me intently.

"Raven, these are my brothers. Zacchaeus," he motioned toward the one who had opened the door, "and Jeremiah." The man with the long beard grunted a greeting.

"A pleasure," I said before turning my attention to Pierre. "My friend, it is unlike you to want to meet during the daylight hours."

Pierre laughed, but it sounded strained. "Sit, there is much to explain." Zacchaeus pulled over the only unbroken chair, and I sat.

Pierre handed me a thick packet which I tucked away in the hidden inner pocket of my coat.

"First, Ma belle will be delivered on time," Pierre said, causing excitement to burst in my chest.

"When? Have you seen her?"

We had first heard about Ma belle during the war. The same men who had attacked me in that alley were attacking a woman on one of the back streets of Baltimore. To say that they were not above killing to find Ma belle was an understatement. They had robbed me of Ben, my betrothed, so I was determined to take Ma belle from them. When I had her, then I would find out what they wanted with her.

"Soon," Pierre said, forcing me to pull my thoughts away from the past.

Feeling in my gut that he knew more than he was willing to say, I asked, "But you know who she is?"

"All will be revealed in time."

My eyes slid shut for a moment. It was what my father used to say.

"A matter of urgency has arisen." He was frowning when I looked at him. "George was captured last week. Taken from his carriage. To be a sacrifice."

Disbelief had struck me for a moment before it was replaced by a sudden fear.

George Crawford was one of the four founders of our spy organization. Whoever had him surely knew who he was, for why else would anyone want to capture an attorney. George was not the most cautious of men, but neither was he a deputy of the Phantoms. He was the financier of our group. He was also like an uncle to us.

"A sacrifice? For what?" We were not living in the middle ages nor were we living near savages who sent up sacrifices to their gods. This was America, and we were civilized people; well, we tried our best.

"Levitas." When I looked blankly at him, he whispered, "The lightning bolt through the pyramid."

I was rendered speechless. During the war, my father had been searching for a group who were selling secrets and munitions to the British. They knew we were after them, so they started taunting us, marking their path with the bodies of people who had either discovered who they were or crossed them. There was always a brand on their back; a pyramid with a lightning bolt through the center. We had found seven people with such a mark upon them, but we had never been quick enough to save them nor had we discovered who they were or the name of their organization. But now I knew. The last body was left in January of 1815, and we had not heard from Levitas since.

"Levitas is seeking Ma belle. You must stop them before they find her. Now you must go." As he walked me to the door, he handed me a pouch. "Give this to Loutaire. Tell him to use it well."

Pierre had only met with Jack a handful of times, but they acted as if they were longtime friends. I turned toward the door, but before I could draw back the bolts, there was a pounding on the brass knocker.

Zacchaeus came forward with his musket and called out, "What's the password?"

"Écouter," returned a deep voice.

Pierre pulled me over to the pile of broken chairs. "You must not be seen."

I did not question his command. Getting on my knees behind the pile of chairs, Pierre and Jeremiah stood on the platform, flanking the pedestal with the odd shape. The iron bolts were drawn back, but when Zacchaeus opened the door, he cursed and tried to slam it shut. The heavy door struck something hard. A large hand reached in and wrapped around his throat, and he was pulled roughly outside. Jeremiah ran toward the door grabbing the musket. He leveled it, but before he pulled the trigger, shots rang out, and he stumbled back, red quickly seeping into his dirty shirt.

Hunching down, I started to load my pistol with shaking hands. Inwardly I was cursing myself for not bringing Jack along. I was not afraid so much as worried. I only had two pistols, and I knew not how many men were outside.

A twig snapped. I looked up.

A giant no less than seven feet tall stood inside the temple. Fear slammed through me, leaving me gaping and panicked.

He was not looking at me; did not even sense my presence as he walked toward Pierre. Pierre was terrified; I could see it in his eyes, but he remained where he was. The giant snapped his sausage fingers and four men rushed into the temple, ran onto the platform, and grabbed Pierre. In my shock, I did not react, did not move as they carried him from the room ignoring all of his shouts and curses. I heard a door slam outside, and a whip snap followed by hooves moving away.

The giant raised his large paws in the air looking toward the stained glass dome while his voice spouted an incantation.

His voice was deep, almost scratchy sounding. I could only hear a few of the rhythmic words he was saying, but it was enough to know he was speaking Greek. He said the words gods of thunder and lightning. He stepped up on the platform, and it creaked under his weight. Both of his hands reached out, and he gently picked up the black shape and placed it in a gold bag that was covered in the same kind of symbols that were engraved on the shape.

My mind was traveling fast trying to form a plan. I could not let him leave with that shape, but I could not take him on by myself. He looked like it would take more than the shots in my pistols to stop him.

He did not look to the right or the left as he moved away from the platform, but at the door he stopped. I held my breath, not moving, not blinking; my palms sweating. My heart hurt from the rapidity of the beatings. If he looked to his right, he would see me. His head tilted to the side, as if he were listening for something. I was sure he could hear the beating of my heart. After a long moment, he ducked his head and went out of the temple.

I let out a silent breath and leaned over, my arms resting on the dirty floor. Breathing in and out, I tried to slow the too fast pace of my heart. I had seen many unusual people in my years as a Phantom, but that man's height, and build was a new frightening sight for me.

When I heard a horse whinny, I rose and moved to the door. He was riding away atop the largest horse I had ever laid eyes on, but it would have had to be large to carry the boulder upon its back.

"You," a soft voice called out, and I turned. Jeremiah's hand was raised above his stomach. I went to him, dropping down to kneel beside him.

"Must retrieve box," he said with his black eyes staring directly into my eyes. "Must...retrieve...box."

"The black box? You want me to go after the giant and get the box back?"

Jeremiah nodded.

"What do I do with the box once I have it? Whom do I give it to?"

Jeremiah tried to reach into his coat, but his hands were trembling. I reached into his coat gently, feeling around for a pocket. My fingers touched a piece of paper, so I pulled it out, placing it in his hand. His fingers closed around it, and his eyes slid closed, as if he were relieved to touch it.

He took my hand, pressing the paper against my palm. "Ma belle."

I flinched. What did the black box have to do with Ma belle? I tried to question Jeremiah further, but I could not rouse him again. I laid my ear against his chest, and I could hear his heart beating faintly. A twig snapped to my right, and I turned, raising my loaded pistol.

# Chapter 2

Jack

Would you mind lowering the pistol, Raven?" I asked as I stood in the doorway to the building that I now knew was some kind of temple.

Bess sagged forward and lowered the pistol. She was relieved, but then she scowled at me, and I knew what was coming.

"You went through my belongings," she accused.

I shrugged as I stepped further into the temple. "When I awoke this morning, I remembered that Penelope does not know our address."

Bess pushed to her feet, a grim expression on her face. "Now that you are here you may help me."

She strode to the door, and after another glance around the room, I followed. I helped her carry the body of a small, but heavy man into the temple, placing him next to the other. Whoever those little men were; they were not the enemy.

We went out of the temple shutting the doors, and she ran around the building, disappearing into a copse of trees only to emerge again with her horse Pegasus. I went to my horse Brutus and mounted him. She did not say a word as we rode through the trees. It was not until we reached the main road that she spoke.

A dark cloud descended upon me as I listened to what had happened at that temple. Giant's, incantations, and mysterious black boxes were stories usually belonging to fairy tales. Pierre being captured was a great loss for us, but Bess was determined to find those responsible. Then she told me that George had been taken. For a moment, I could only stare at her in disbelief.

"What is the plan?" I demanded when I realized she was not jesting.

"First, we find the giant and retrieve the black box and then I will send a note to the Washington Phantoms and set them onto locating Pierre. After that, we will go home and find George and the people who took him," Bess said, removing her mask before riding onto the main road heading toward the city. "I do not see the giant, so we will trot and wait for him to overtake us."

It was only a few minutes before we heard another rider coming up behind us. When he passed us, I had to keep my jaw from sagging. The man was a beast. I glanced at Bess, who nodded, but said nothing. The giant was riding at a canter, so we picked up pace following him into the busy city streets.

We rode past where the President's house had been burned by the British during the war in 1814. The exterior sandstone walls still stood, but the fire had destroyed the interior, both floors and walls. Congress discussed rebuilding the President's house in another city, but President James Madison wanted the house to be built exactly as it looked before the war, to symbolize America's determination, that both the nation and government were here to stay. The same man who drew the designs for the original structure was hired to oversee the rebuilding of the President's house. Workers were busy with the reconstruction. President Madison still lived on Pennsylvania Avenue, but in a townhouse down the road.

The giant rode into a neighborhood where many of the city's merchants lived. We followed at a safe distance. When he pulled up his horse outside a house, we rode past. At the end of the street, we turned left, but at the first hitching post, we dismounted.

There was a narrow path too small to be a road that ran behind the houses. Bess counted the houses, pointing to the fourth.

All the houses were small, brick structures, each with a patch of grass behind it. We moved to the door on the back of the house. With each step, my excitement mounted. The large man had looked like a worthy foe, and I had never fought a giant before. With our masks in place, I turned the knob and found it unlocked.

Bess gripped my shoulder before I could open the door, saying, "I will create a diversion while you retrieve the box. Do not, under any circumstances, allow him within reach of you, and if you must, shoot first."

I nodded, opening the door. She took the lead, tiptoeing down a narrow passage toward the front of the house. There was a small staircase a few steps from the front door, but there were no doors on the right wall. The only room was to the left of the stairs. The door was open, but from where I was standing, I could not see into the room. The wood slats under our boots did not make a sound as we moved around the front of the staircase, slinking against the small portion of the wall between the door and the staircase. Bess moved her head to take a peek into the room. Suddenly her whole body jerked, and she was lifted into the air.

Sparks of terror tore through me as Bess disappeared around the corner, her pistol falling to the floor with a loud clang that ricocheted off my nerves. Darting around the corner, Bess was extended in the air, her arms reaching for the giant's neck. His long arms held her away from him. I had only moments before Bess would die; her air closed off by his massive hand around her throat.

My fear was threatening to break me, but I shoved it away as I had many times during the war. Bess knew that we only had one chance, for she pulled her knees up as high as she could. I growled as I charged beneath Bess and struck the giant a solid blow to the groin. As I jumped back, he cursed, releasing Bess and clutching himself. Bess landed on her knees.

While the giant was bent over in pain, I threw my fist against his throat, not hard enough to kill him, but enough that he would not be able to speak for some time. He started making choking noises, but my attention was on Bess. She was trying to inhale as much air as she could, but it was coming in gasps.

A gold bag was tied to the giant's waist, so I pulled it, tearing the strings. I grabbed Bess by her collar and pulled her to her feet. With my hand against her back, we stumbled toward the front door. I wrenched the door open, and Bess was about to run, but I grabbed her shoulder.

Riding toward the house was a group of rough looking men, but it was a woman in the center of the group that gave me pause. She was dressed all in white with a white hood pulled over her hair and white lace mask over her eyes.

We stood there only seconds before I slammed the door shut, throwing the bolt. Any person riding in the middle of a group of rough men and wearing a mask in the middle of the day was either a Phantom or up to no good.

As Bess ran toward the back door, I grabbed her pistol from the floor and followed her as if the devil was on my heels. It was not fear that drove me from the house, but self preservation.

Bess flew through the back door, landing on the grass in a half-crouched position. I came through the door behind her, slamming it shut, but not before we heard shouts and the front door burst open. We split up, Bess entering the house directly behind the giant's, while I ran down the lane to my horse. I could only hope that she could get away, but she would not thank me for dwelling on her safety instead of escaping with the box.

I rode off down the road at a near gallop. I tried to avoid the busiest streets, but as I turned onto Pennsylvania Avenue it was rough going as I had to dodge carts, other riders, people walking, and carriages, but Brutus made it through without incident.

Once the city streets were behind me, and I was safely off the road, I pulled up and opened the bag.

There was a box inside, but it was round, not what Bess had described. A clever foe, the giant. Horse's hooves coming toward me at a clipping speed, drew my gaze.

"Thunder an' turf," I exploded as I snapped the reins of my horse, allowing Brutus to gallop.

The woman in white was pursuing me. She looked to be alone, but it was a gun in her hand that set me searching for a place to hide and take her unaware.

I rode into the woods determined to lead her on a merry chase. My heart was beating in quick, perfect rhythm with Brutus' hoofs against the ground. There was a clearing ahead that would present the perfect opportunity for her to have a clear shot at me.

Only one thing to be done...give her what she wanted. Part way across the clearing, I tossed the gold bag in the air behind me and rode on into the cover of the trees.

When I did not hear her pursuing me, I pulled Brutus up and turned him. At the tree line, I watched as the woman in white had one foot in her stirrup and the other hanging free as she lowered herself, her horse seeming to know that she wanted it to move toward the bag. When she was close, she held on with one hand to her saddle while the other hand scooped up the bag. I was impressed, and a smile turned up my lips when she reseated herself. It faded when she started to move back the way we had come.

Impressed, amazed, intrigued, and not ready to let her go yet caused me to make a rash decision. I pulled my pistol from its holster and fired one shot above her head. She ducked against her horse's mane, and I opened my mouth, releasing a shrill laugh high above my own voice; the laugh of a Phantom and one which I had cultivated after my sister assured me that it would set anyone's teeth to chattering and nerves to fraying.

The woman in white looked in my direction. I waved. Even from the distance that separated us I could feel her anger. It made me chuckle. She turned her horse, and they shot across the field toward me.

My surprise had held me still for a moment before I moved Brutus into action. I turned him to move through the trees. I knew the area well, so I knew exactly where I wanted to lead her. We rode through the trees until I saw another clearing ahead. The only sounds were made by our horses as they snapped twigs, rustled leaves, and pounded across the earth. I pushed Brutus faster, allowing him to gallop through the tree line and out to where a pond took up much of the open meadow.

A gun fired from behind me, and pain seared across my arm as Brutus veered to the right. Thank the Heavens my horse was accustomed to hearing guns fire, and knew how to react. I glanced at my sleeve. Annoyance bounced through me like taking a ride across an uneven road. It was only a graze, but it infuriated me. I rode to the far tree line and turned Brutus when I did not hear her pursuing me. She had halted and was watching me from across the field.

For a moment, we stared at each other, much as two enemy forces stared at each other across the battlefield. She kicked her horse into moving and started toward me. Her white hood flew off, black hair bouncing on the wind. Brutus charged toward her. She wanted to play; then we would play.

Our horses headed straight for each other and exhilaration filled me. Bess would have called it recklessness to be playing with the woman, but she would not fault me for refusing to veer away. She would say: If you must insist upon challenging every foe you meet, always be the first upon the battlefield and the last to walk away.

We were within a yard of each other when the hair on the back of my neck stood up, but the warning came too late. A flash of silver met my eyes a moment before she raised her hand and threw a knife at me. I leaned, misjudged my own jerky movements, my boot slipped from the stirrup and my gloves lost their hold on the reins.

My back hit the water first then I was submerged in the murky darkness of the pond. I came up gasping for air before running a hand over my mask and face. My hat was floating on the water beside me. I looked around until I saw her at the tree line, smiling; then she let out a shrill laugh mocking me. I had never wanted to capture someone more that I did at that moment.

She pressed a hand to her lips, released it in my direction, and disappeared through the trees. I grabbed my hat in one giant splash of annoyance and trudged through the water, my boots sticking to the muddy bottom. When I was finally free from the pond, I whistled for Brutus. He came toward me as I picked up the knife she had thrown at me. It was sturdy with an ivory handle. There was a star painted on the handle, but nothing else.

After mounting Brutus, I decided to return to the city to find Bess; for there was no reason to pursue the woman in white. She did not have the black box, and I doubted she would be getting it from the giant. He struck me as someone who worked alone.

I decided to leave my mask on, since many people surely saw me galloping out of the city, and I did not want them to see my face if they should recognize my horse. I rode to where Bess's horse had been left. It was gone, giving me hope that she had made it safely to the tree. I left Brutus at the stable where we kept our horses; a stable ran by the Washington Phantoms, then I made my way across the three roads to where our house was located.

As I entered through the back door, I removed my muddy boots with the bootjack then hurried to the parlor. As I rounded the corner, I stopped. All of my team was there with Bess, who was seated on the sofa. There was a cloth around her throat, and Leo was kneeling before her, but it was the man standing behind her with his hands resting on the back of the sofa that drew my attention.

"Frederick. What are you doing here?"

Frederick smiled at me, creating a desire in me to rearrange his teeth, but that was always my first impulse where he was concerned. I pushed my annoyance away as I advanced into the room holding out my hand. Frederick moved around the sofa to greet me.

Frederick Nolan was the leader of the Washington Phantoms; a wealthy dandy who thought himself far above the rest of us. When my father formed the Phantoms, my father led the Philadelphia team, while one of the other founders, a soldier, led the Washington team. When they died, Frederick and Bess took their places, though no one outside the Phantoms and my mother knew that Bess was the leader. Anyone who heard of us, which were not many, thought I, Loutaire, was the leader, a ruse that Bess had insisted upon.

"Greetings, Jack. I would ask how you fared, but I can see from your attire, not well."

Ignoring the bait, I replied, "You have yet to say what you are doing here."

"Freddy was kind enough to bring me home," Bess rasped out causing me to take a good look at her.

Bess was a naturally beautiful woman, even though she spent more time in breeches than she did in petticoats. Her oval face, if a little too brown from the sun, was smooth as fine silk. Her shoulder length, brown hair was hanging limply, and her brown eyes were tired. She had our father's coloring, but where she saw that as a disadvantage, I saw it as a blessing. She had both height and beauty. She was not considered inconsequential due to her height the way I was for my lack of inches.

Other than the cloth that covered her injured neck, she did not look like much was wrong with her. Until she spoke. She should not have been talking. I was about to say as much, as was Leo, when Frederick spoke.

"You should not be speaking, dear Bess." He picked up her hand, holding it between his two. I could barely see him through the haze that was my annoyance.

I stepped between them, forcing him to drop her hand. I sat beside her on the sofa staring up at him with my arms crossed over my still damp chest. "What do you want, Frederick?" My tone said that I would accept none of his usual babble. I wanted him to state his business and depart.

It was not that I did not like Frederick, for I liked most people, but I detested the way he acted around the deputies of the Phantoms. Frederick may be the team leader of the Washington Phantoms, but he had lost many good men through his carelessness—not a good trait for a spy leader—that, and he was fond of my sister. Frederick had a reputation with women, and I would not allow him to add Bess to the list of his conquests.

"I see your manners have not improved, Loutaire," Frederick said as he seated himself in a chair across from the sofa.

Leo propped himself against the wall, watching the banter between me and Frederick.

"I save my manners for the women," my lips twitched, "a trait we have in common."

Frederick's top lip curled. I could tell that he was not amused. It added to my own amusement.

"How did you happen upon my sister?" I looked from him to Bess. She stared down at her folded hands.

She must have sensed my eyes on her for she whispered, "Freddy caught me as I was making my escape from the giant. He was in the house of," she paused, looking at Frederick, "a beautiful woman. He escorted me here."

"One of my men retrieved her horse. What were you thinking, Loutaire, to allow your sister in the presence of that brute?" Frederick's words were dripping with disdain.

Bess stiffened beside me, as did the rest of our team. I could feel their anger growing thick in the room. Frederick was one of the few people who hated that a female was the leader of our group.

"As Raven is the leader of this team, she makes the decisions," I replied coolly.

Frederick smiled, but his eyes were burning with annoyance.

Bess touched my arm, her way of begging me to stop goading Frederick. I bit the inside of my lip to keep from laughing. Calling him Frederick, when everyone else called him Freddy, was another way that I baited him. In truth, even though we relentlessly taunted each other, we were Phantoms, and there was a bond there that refused to break.

"Whose house was it?" I asked. Bess stiffened immediately. When I glanced at her, there was a hint of a blush in her cheeks.

"A friend," Frederick replied, but I had understood. It was the house of one of his fancy pieces. Women flocked around him wherever he went. It was said that he had lady friends scattered about the city. "We move away from the point. My sources say that George was taken hostage last week, but he is still in the vicinity of Philadelphia, which means," Frederick paused to look at Bess, "that you and your team should go home."

Bess sighed beside me, her relief great. Frederick's face hardened for a brief moment as he looked away from her.

During the war, Bess worked with Frederick's team in Baltimore, and they had formed a friendship, one that Frederick thought was more. Thankfully, Bess did not. I could never stomach Frederick as a brother.

"What of the giant?" Levi asked from his post behind the sofa.

"My men went to his house, but it appears that he has run."

"Then there is nothing left for us. We will depart immediately," Bess whispered.

As Frederick stood; I helped Bess to her feet.

"I will leave you." He held out his hand to me, and I shook it. "Let us hope that our paths do not cross again for some time to come."

I agreed and watched as he said goodbye to Bess. His hand held hers longer than necessary, but there was nothing in her eyes that said she felt more for him than friendship. Frederick pulled away, gave a final wave, and left the house.

Bess leaned her head against my shoulder. "Finally, we go home."

# Chapter 3

Jack

The journey to Philadelphia took us five days, since we halted in Baltimore for a short sojourn before traveling on to Philadelphia. We stopped a few miles outside Philadelphia at a farmhouse to exchange our horses for our family carriage. The house belonged to a faithful friend of the Phantoms and he would see to it that our horses were transported to the stable in town that housed them. We also said goodbye to Levi at the farm, since he was the only member of our team who did not work as a servant in our house. It would have been too complicated with his last name being Martin. Martin was a common name in Philadelphia so his having our surname did not garner attention because we made sure never to be seen together unless in our Phantom guise.

Our trunks that had been kept for us by the farmer were opened, and our raiment changed before climbing into the carriage. Before we set off, Leo reminded me that I was out of my favorite cognac.

After I had thanked him, he went to inform Jericho, who was to drive the carriage, where we were to go. There was a small Inn on the outskirts of Philadelphia that was known for their fine liquor. It was imperative that we stop for if my society friends called upon me they would expect to find only the best liquor in my house.

Once we were on our way, Bess opened the packet that she had received from Pierre. She pulled out a letter and handed me a small book.

There was a crest stamped on the front of the black leather book; that of a pyramid with a lightning bolt through the center and vines of ivy surrounding the pyramid. The same crest was on the first page. As I went through page by page, I ascertained that the book was all about Levitas.

"Listen to this," Bess said, "Levitas is a secret society that was created to be a safe haven for gentlemen; a place they can go to discuss topics that some might consider treasonous."

The treasonous part I could well believe. I went back to looking over the book, and when I was halfway through, I read something that interested me. It said that their meetings were always held at nine strikes of the clock. There were handshakes listed, each with a different meaning; then I came upon a drawing. It was a chalice with what appeared to be some kind of crest on the side. I showed it to Leo, Bess, and Mariah.

"It says in the letter that the artifacts are the sacred pieces of the Holy Order. They hold an unknown power, but only the sun can wield their power. It is why the artifacts are never kept in the same place. For safety."

Besides the chalice, there was a sword, a dagger, a ring with a raised stone, a small book much like the one I was reading, and an odd shaped box with symbols all over it.

"Is this the black box?" I showed the drawing to Bess.

Bess nodded. "Pierre said that Levitas was after Ma belle, and Jeremiah said to retrieve the box and give it to Ma belle."

As I turned the page, I sucked in a quick breath. Bess leaned over and looked at the page. She mumbled a curse.

There was a sketch on the page of the final artifact; a ring in the shape of a coiled snake.

"Could it be the same one you have?" I asked Bess, since she had taken such a ring from the hand of her attacker two years ago.

She slowly shook her head. "The eyes are different. See how these are raised like gemstones, mine are smooth gold."

So those men who had attacked Bess and murdered Ben worked for Levitas did they. At least we now had a general idea of who was responsible. One thing was plain; Ma belle was the connecting component.

We reached the Inn, and I pulled my eyes away from the book. The building was a two story brick structure with a small, wooden sign hanging over the door, but I knew that the outside belied the ambience to be found within its walls. We had spent many evenings in that hostelry while on missions. Leo left the carriage to go purchase my cognac.

"Does the letter say anything else?" I asked as I closed the book.

Bess stared at the letter for a moment and then refolded it. "A name only. Nicholas Mansfield. He must be in some way connected to Levitas. He may be their leader."

"So, we find this Nicholas Mansfield, and we find Levitas."

"Or Ma belle," Bess said. I gave her the book, and she slipped both back into the packet.

Bess and Mariah started chatting about dress fashions, so I stared out my carriage window in time to see Leo reaching the front door of the Inn. It suddenly swung open, and he nearly collided with a young woman as she was stepping out. She smiled, and something within me stirred, like a sudden wind. I leaned closer to the window to gain a better view.

She looked to be near my age. By the expensive cut to her clothing and the tilt to her chin, I would guess her to be a lady of breeding. What, then, was she doing at an Inn alone? She walked toward a black carriage across the yard, lifting her navy skirt and revealing a pair of small boot-clad feet. The door to the Inn flew open again, and my eyes shifted to it as a young man stormed out of the building, charging toward the young woman's carriage. My head struck the glass of the window as I craned my neck to watch. He grabbed her arm as she was climbing into her carriage. I could hear his voice shouting even through our closed carriage door. Their argument was none of my business; she could have been his wife, but I could not pull my eyes away. The man pulled the young woman away from the carriage and threw her across the yard, pointing at the Inn. She stumbled and dropped in a heap against the dirt.

A deep anger that I had not felt in a long time overtook me, and I snapped. Grabbing my walking stick, I threw open the carriage door, leapt to the ground, and ran to where the man was towering over the young woman as she knelt on the dirt.

"You there, I say halt!" I shouted as I ran forward, placing myself between the woman and the man.

He had to be at least six feet tall, a good six inches above me, because I found myself looking up into his thin, long face, which closely resembled the face of a horse. Patches of yellow hair stuck out at all angles from under his hat, and small, protuberant, blue eyes stared down at me. His mouth was hanging open like a fish for a moment before he again found his tongue.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

"That is what I would like to know. I shall not allow you to mistreat this lady," I said and turned, holding my hand down to her.

My eyes locked on hers, and the angry man, the dusty yard, the gawking eyes of the stable boys all faded away. My breath felt labored; I could not move, her eyes were holding me transfixed. My heart started to beat as if it were playing along to a highland reel.

Her eyes that were between a blue and a purple reminded me of my mother's favorite flower, the hyacinth, and I suddenly understood her liking for it. The young woman's oval face, the color of purest ivory and untouched by blemish, was framed by a bonnet that covered her hair, but a few strands fell across her smooth brow. The corners of my lips creased into a smile. Two years past, I would have called her hair red, but a mission in which Bess had donned a red wig, she taught me that the color was auburn, not red.

Her small eyebrows lifted, causing me to snap out of my stupefaction.

"Allow me to assist you to stand." As my fingers wrapped around her gloved hand, our hands fit as if they were two pieces of the same puzzle, finally finding their match. I shoved such ridiculous thoughts away and helped her to stand.

The man again demanded my attention. With a growl, he grabbed the young woman's wrist, jerking her hand from mine.

The dog! I struck his arm hard enough to bruise it with the ball of my walking stick. He leapt back rubbing the offended place.

When he took a step forward and grabbed the front of my coat, I lost my will to remain calm. I threw my fist against his jaw with enough force to make him stumble back.

With a hand against his jaw, he shouted, "Do you know who I am?"

"No. Nor do I wish to know a man who mistreats women. You, sir, are a pestilence, and I shall not stand by as you force your plagued attentions upon this lady."

The man sputtered in rage. "Those are fighting words, boy," he said, as if he were so many years older than I. "You had better be able to stand behind them."

"When and where you please," I replied, my gaze never wavering.

The man looked like he wanted to murder me. We held each other's gaze for a few warring moments; then his eyes fluttered to something beyond me. He slammed his mouth shut, took a step back, and turned his eyes upon the woman, snarling.

"We shall see what your guardian has to say about this." He cast me a look of pure hatred before stomping to where his horse was tied. He rode wildly out of the yard leaving a cloud of dirt behind.

There. I tossed my stick lightly in the air, caught it and turned to look at the young woman beside me. I was not a tall man by any means, but the beauty smiling at me was even shorter than I.

She held out her hand. "Thank you, sir, for your gallant rescue." Her voice was sweet, musical.

"It was a pleasure, madam," I said as I bowed, raising the back of her gloved hand to my lips.

The feeling that I had met her before was strong. She reminded me of a girl that I met once three years ago, but I knew that she could not be the same girl. I shoved the painful memory away as the door to the Inn opened and a stout woman bustled out, exclaiming in a high pitch.

"My dear! I saw the entire episode from the window, but that fool of an innkeeper would do nothing but say that the young gentleman could handle himself."

The stout woman looked me over like she was appraising a horse at the auction house. I watched her, my mouth in a full smile. She gave me a nod before walking toward the black carriage. I exchanged an amused glance with the young beauty beside me.

"I do believe you have found favor with Martha," the young lady said softly, and I wanted to say that it was she and not her companion whom I wished to please, but I kept my mouth shut—for once.

Her companion cleared her throat loudly from inside the carriage, so I offered my arm to the young woman. I helped her into her carriage, and once she was seated, she leaned her head out of the open door. Her eyes again held me mesmerized.

"I shall remember you, sir, and what you have done for me this day. That I promise you."

My smile was wide as I closed the door and stepped back. As the carriage moved away, I stared after it for a moment, then my eyes slid shut in exasperation. I had forgotten to ask her name.

I stared where her carriage had been sitting, and my smile slowly returned. I would have to find her. I was a spy, after all. Turning toward my carriage, I halted. Bess and Mariah were leaning half out of the carriage; Leo was standing beside the door, and Jericho was smiling at me from the box, a pistol resting in his hand. That must have been what made the vile man leave without trying to fight me.

When we were again on our way, Bess nudged me with her shoulder. "How your poetical friends would stare if they saw what we witnessed."

A groan escaped me. My cover when at home was that of a devout poet who engaged in nothing but literary pursuits and was destined for the church. So far it had served me well, but Bess was correct; if my fellow poets had seen my actions in going to the beauty's rescue, they would most definitely stare.

# Chapter 4

Bess

26 May 1816

Philadelphia

When we arrived home, mingled feelings of resignation and contentment washed over me. The knocker was on the door. It could only mean one thing; our mother was home.

When my father moved us to Philadelphia, he accomplished a great feat. Suddenly, we were an affluent family living in a mansion and accepted into the elegant circles of society. Jack and I never learned how our father accomplished such a coup, but William Martin was a man of many talents and even more lies. What was truly shocking was finding out that he indeed had a fortune, and I was an heiress.

When we entered the foyer of our house, it was in a bustle. Maids that I did not know were cleaning, men in their shirtsleeves were carrying furniture from the drawing room, and our mother's housekeeper was standing amongst it all issuing orders in an authoritative voice. I removed my gloves and bonnet, tossing them on a side table as I looked around. I had only moved back into this house three months ago, a few days before my mother left for Savannah. Shortly after that, Jack and I had left for a mission in Washington, but I knew enough about my mother to know when she was up to something. Jack was speaking with Arnaud, our mother's French butler, when a gasp came from the stairs. Standing on the landing was my mother. A white lace cap sat jauntily over her black hair. Her blue eyes shimmered with tears as she lifted her skirts, floated down the stairs, and wrapped her arms around us the moment she reached us.

Mother was small in stature, but one hardly noticed her size when she spoke or moved. She had all the grace of a queen and the personality of a warrior. Jack had once compared her movements to an autumn leaf in the wind; one moment it is there, and the next it is carried off to someplace else.

As I bent to kiss her cheek, I caught her scent of roses, and my childhood flashed in my mind. My mother loved roses, and my father would bring her a bouquet every time he came home from a mission.

Since my father was gone, I was the tallest in our family. Being tall had its advantages when masquerading as a man, but that was the only time. No man wanted a wife, or a dancing companion for that matter, who would tower over him.

As she released us, Jack asked lightly, "Did you know of our coming, or does this bustle spring from some other celebration?"

"Shall we adjourn to the library?" Mother pointedly ignored his question as she walked across the tiled floor to a tall, ornately carved wood door.

Jack glanced at me with raised brows, and we followed in our mother's wake.

Standing in the room with its floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a large walnut desk brought back many memories of my father, but I pushed them resolutely away. This was Jack's room now with new memories to be made.

"What is this party, Mother?" Jack asked as he entered the library. I watched my mother as she walked across the carpeted floor to the marble fireplace. She pretended to have an interest in the fire.

"Why, Bess's birthday celebration of course," she said as she turned to smile at us.

She was lying. When my mother lied; she always took a moment to compose herself before speaking. "I have sent out cards, and we will have a full house with only the best company that this metropolis has to offer."

I closed the door before advancing into the room and sitting upon one of the two sofas. "We will have the truth now, if you please."

Mother huffed crossing her arms. "It is as I say."

My eyes narrowed in on her finger. She looked down at it then lowered her arms to hide her hand in the folds of her skirt, but it was too late. She wore a gold ring with a large sapphire stone that was not a part of our family jewels.

"Mama, where did you get that ring? You promised to economize and rein in your incessant spending habits." My mother had no thoughts for budgets of any kind. In the years that she had lived in this house, she had redone the drawing room no less than five times. Mother's man of business had been to see us three times in as many months because of her spending.

"It was a gift." She looked between us and sat on the sofa across from me. She breathed a deep sigh, and as she smiled at us, the tiny lines around her mouth became more pronounced. "I am betrothed."

The clock in the foyer ticking by the seconds was the only sound as we stared at her as if we were frozen.

Jack's bark of laughter broke the silence. His laughter was always swift and loud. Suddenly, I started to see the hilarity of the situation. Our mother was the most devoted wife imaginable. She would no sooner become engaged to another man than she would dress up as King Lear and perform on the stage. I put my hand over my mouth, but could not contain the laughter that spilled forth. I hiccupped, and Jack pointed at me, laughing even harder. Pulling my handkerchief from my sleeve, I dabbed at my streaming eyes while Jack collapsed beside me on the sofa, his shoulders still shaking in mirth.

"It is no joke!" our mother exclaimed with an appalled frown.

Jack and I laughed louder.

Mother stood and clapped her hands to get our attention. "I speak the truth."

I blinked several times, trying to regain my control. "You cannot possibly be betrothed," I said, but the look in her eyes made me doubt my own beliefs. I lowered my handkerchief; an icy wind climbing inside me as the realization slapped me in the face.

Jack leapt to his feet, placed his hand to his side, and drew it out as if he were holding a sword. "Who is the rogue who has seduced you, Mother? Hmm? I will run him through again and again." Jack lunged forward with his imaginary sword poised before him, and I wanted to laugh at his absurdity, but only a choking noise came from my throat.

"Jack! I have not been seduced. Think better of your mother, I pray."

Jack lowered his hand, all amusement fading. Now he understands.

"You are in earnest? You have indeed accepted the hand of some unknown man?" Jack asked.

"I love him." Tears had formed in her eyes before she turned away from us.

Pain mingled with guilt as it sailed across my chest. "Mama, we did not mean to hurt you, but it has come as a shock. Please tell us how this came about." I held my hand out to her.

She moved to sit beside me. I glanced over at Jack, but he was scowling at her. In his eighteen years, he had perfected that scowl; the dip of his black brows, the hard lines around his mouth mixing with the stormy color of his eyes.

"How was your trip?" She dabbed the corners of her eyes with her handkerchief.

"We ran into some disturbing weather, but we are as you see, unharmed and happy to be home," I explained. Not unharmed, but we would not tell her that. The high collar of my gown covered the bruises around my neck that were fading, but still visible.

"Now it is your turn," Jack said.

She slowly explained that the name of her betrothed was Richard Hamilton. She met him on the ship to Savannah, only to find out that he owned the ship. He was a wealthy merchant from Baltimore, who owned a large import export business. I continued to hold her hand, but I felt utterly betrayed. Mother's two year period of mourning ended only six days ago, and she was already contracted to a new man. It made me sick to my stomach to think that she contracted such an alliance without our knowledge. Casting a quick look at Jack, I could detect a hardness to his face. His lips were compressed tightly, his jaw working while he was grinding his teeth. I knew he felt the same.

"Richard has an appreciation for the finer aspects in life. He called on me every day in Savannah, and when we sailed back to Baltimore, he admitted that he could not live without me."

Jack snorted, and we both looked up at him.

Mother bristled. "I was not looking for love, but it found me, and I will not fight it." She was always defensive around Jack. I thought it was because his mulishness reminded her of Father.

"We must meet your Richard, mustn't we, Jack?" I asked, trying to keep the two of them from arguing.

Jack turned to look at the fire refusing to reply.

"Have you decided upon a date?" I asked softly.

She did not have a chance to reply, as Jack turned toward us, his eyes burning with restrained anger. He shook his head then smiled, but it was an unpleasant tilt to his lips. "Do you expect us to believe this farce?"

Before Mother could speak, a knock fell upon the front door. A deep voice came from the foyer that caused Mother to rise.

Wringing her hands in agitation, she whispered, "It is Richard. Please, Jack, please play your part, Richard knows nothing about our work." Without awaiting our reply, Mother pasted a smile upon her lips and called entry.

Richard Hamilton bounced into the room on high heel shoes that were no longer fashionable and bowed low before my mother. He was a trim man with a head of black hair and straight black mustache stretching along his upper lip. Holding him up against my father's regal bearing, I failed to see why my mother liked him. He was dressed neatly in a cranberry colored coat and a silver waistcoat, but he held his chin too high and the look he cast my mother made me want to box his ears. I moved to stand beside Jack.

Mother bestowed a dazzling smile upon him, murmuring, "My dear Richard."

I felt like I was going to lose my breakfast.

Richard took both of her hands in his and kissed the palms of each. His familiarity awoke my ire.

She laughed, pulling her hands away as she tittered, "We are not alone, my dear."

Richard looked around until his dot-like eyes narrowed in on us, his black, bushy eyebrows snapping together. I felt Jack stiffen, so I laid an admonishing hand on his arm.

"Richard, I would like to present you to my children, my son John and my daughter Elizabeth."

Richard Hamilton executed a grand bow, and as he rose, he met our eyes when he said, "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Your mother has spoken of you much."

I must play my part.

I curtseyed as Jack bowed; then Jack was the first to speak. "The pleasure is all ours, sir. To meet one who has brought back a smile into my mother's eyes is a treat indeed."

Mother coughed, warning Jack to step warily, but said nothing as she led Richard to the sofa. I moved to sit in a chair by the fire, and Jack stood behind my chair resting his arms on the back. I watched Richard's every move, for every movement had a meaning. Speaking with the hands could mean agitation and nervousness. Shifting in one's chair could mean a desire to flee. My eyes moved to Richard's hands. His middle finger on his left hand had a callused bump, from writing no doubt, which meant that he was left-handed.

My father had said I have the gift of observation, as he had. It was one of the reasons why I was made the leader. I could see everything and find a way to make it work in my favor.

"What has brought you to Philadelphia, sir?" Jack asked with interest sparking his words.

Being left-handed, I watched to see which way his eyes looked. For a left-handed person to look left while speaking, they were remembering something, and to look right meant they were creating something in their mind, often a lie.

"I am searching for a house. I have considered expanding my business to Philadelphia for some time and now," he looked at my mother with appreciation in his dark eyes, "I have reason."

"What is your stand on slavery?" I asked, watching as Richard's eyes darted to his right then down, which could mean that he was creating the reply that he believed I wanted to hear.

He met my eyes as he said, "Why, I am opposed." He turned an amused gaze to my mother. "I see that your daughter has your zeal for politics."

"Elizabeth has a brilliant mind and is a great advocate of freedom for all men, but she is not political."

Richard turned his eyes upon Jack, asking, "And does young John have a political zeal?"

"Decidedly not," Jack said, disgust dripping from his voice. "My tastes are much more refined."

"Were you not a soldier?" Richard asked, and for a moment I thought I saw a look of more than curiosity, but then he glanced at me, smiling, and I was not sure. I would acknowledge that he had all the appearances of a good man, but appearances could be deceiving; look at us.

"I was," Jack replied without emotion.

"Jack served in Baltimore, but he does not like to speak of it," Mother explained.

I felt Jack shift behind me. "War changes a man. It is why I am considering entering the church."

"The church?" There was a blank glaze to Richard's eyes, as if what Jack had said was spoken in a different language.

"My mentor the Reverend Gideon Reid has been tutoring me in all forms of literature and says that I would do well there. Tell me, have you read Cowper? Gideon dotes upon Cowper."

"A clergyman would prefer the words of a spiritual man," said Richard, clearly uncomfortable. He turned to my mother, but Jack spoke in a reverent tone.

"Fierce passions discompose the mind, as tempests vex the sea, but calm, content and peace we find, when, Lord, we turn to thee."

An uncomfortable silence followed. I covered my mouth with two fingers as I leaned against the arm of my chair, trying to keep from laughing. Mother shot Jack a glance that said she was not at all amused.

Richard stood awkwardly. "Well, my dearest heart, I must away. I only stopped because I saw the carriage and knew the prodigal children have returned."

Richard winked at us, forcing me to I fight the urge to laugh again. So he did at least know one Bible story. Though the term prodigal did not exactly fit what we had been doing while away. He turned toward my mother again and kissed her hand.

When both the library door and the front door had been closed, Jack demanded to know if Mother was in earnest about Richard.

She reached out a hand toward him. "Jack, I understand your anger."

He stepped away from her hand. "You do not! My father has been dead but two years. Frankly, I question your loyalty, ma'am."

"Do not treat me as if your father's death has not affected me to the core. When your father died, I nearly died," she paused, taking a deep breath, "but I had to go on for you and Bess. By marrying Richard, I am not dishonoring your father. He would want me to love again."

"My father was often hailed to be a generous man. Your mistake is in expecting me to be as generous. I will uncover the truth in all of this, and when I do, there will be hell to pay." Jack walked away from her toward the door. I could feel his anguish. He was being a wee bit harsh with her, questioning her loyalty, for if there was one thing that our mother was, it was loyal, but I understood.

"I am in debt."

I started, my eyes focusing on her in astonishment. She had apparently startled herself by her admission, for she was pressing a hand against her mouth and her eyes were wide in horror.

"What?" Jack demanded from his place beside the door.

Her shoulders sagged in defeat. "I am in debt."

"That is your reason for marrying Richard?"

"In two months, possibly less, I will be without a cent to my name. With the house and our way of life, we exceed our monies."

The Phantoms do not pay much, not nearly enough for the way our mother spent money, but I knew that our father left her well provided for. Jack asked her about the money.

"Look around you, Jack. This mode of living is costly. Add to that the clothes we wear, the loss of certain assets, and the bad harvest last year. All has worked together to run us dry."

Oh no. "My dowry?" I asked, unable to keep a note of despair from my voice.

"Safe. At least I shall see you properly wed." Relief washed over me; then I felt ashamed. My mother was near to destitute, and I was thinking of myself.

"Why did you not tell us?" I asked softly.

"Mr. Hobbs paid me a call in January to inform me of the situation. I went to Savannah to attain what I could through the sale of the plantation."

"You sold the plantation?" Jack demanded, but Mother shook her head.

"I could not do it. I did sell most of the furnishings which will get us through the next few months, and we still have the crops. Provided this is a good year, the money from the harvest will last a year but not more. The only course open to me is marriage."

"Does Richard know that you are marrying him for his money?" Jack asked.

Mother winced at his words. I threw him a look of reproach, but he ignored me.

"What Jack means to ask is if you love Richard or is it a marriage of convenience?" I asked, my eyes daring him to say a word. He smiled at me, but it was his devilish smile. There was too much anger in his blue eyes.

"Of course it is, Bess. A man of diamonds he may be, but a heart of gold? We shall see," Jack interposed sarcastically.

"Richard is a good man, and I will hear naught against him," Mother said with a stern voice.

Jack bowed his head in mock surrender, but I knew he would not accede so easily. "So this party is to throw Bess to the wolves?"

"It is to help her find a suitable match. The time has come." With that said, my mother swept me out of the library.

When we reached my bedchamber, Mariah and Mrs. Beaumont were there along with a woman I recognized as my mother's modiste. There were dresses everywhere—all across my bed, hanging from the front of my wardrobe, over the chair by the window, all in whites, pale blues, pinks, yellows, purple, and pale green.

Shoved behind my dressing screen, Mariah helped me to remove my travel gown. When I was down to my undergarments, I turned and pointed to my throat. Mariah inspected it then shook her head. The marks were hardly visible. I pointed to my hair. Mariah straitened the wig I wore then stepped back.

When I was sixteen, I cut off all my hair in a moment of extreme annoyance. When my mother saw what I had done she scooped up the long strands, handing them to Mrs. Beaumont, who had them made into a wig. My mother demanded that I wear that wig at all times when not on a mission. My hair had grown out, but I kept it cut short, falling to my shoulders. Mother was still adamant about my wearing the wig.

Gown after gown was tried on, and each time, before stepping out from behind the screen, I raised the skirt to see how accessible my weapons would be. I never went anywhere without my weapons strapped to my legs or wherever else I could place them. When my mother and I finally agreed upon white muslin over a slip of pale blue with tiny seed pearls, they left the room, leaving me leaning against the wall in exhaustion.

Mariah was frowning.

"What is amiss?" I asked.

She went to gather all the gowns that my mother had chosen for me. "Have you heard the rumors?"

I pushed against the wall and walked over to help her pick up the discarded gowns. "No."

"From what Mrs. Beaumont says, people have been disappearing for the last month." Mariah looked at me across the bed, her blue eyes wary. "From all the reports, a black carriage arrives without warning and four men dressed in black capture people, and then the carriage takes them away. As of yet, no one has been able to discover where they come from or why they take whom they do."

Memory of Pierre being taken flashed in my mind. There were four men, and they were dressed in black. "How many have been taken?"

Mariah looked down at the gowns over her arm. "Seven."

Seven bodies with the brand. Seven people were taken by carriage. Surely there was a connection. If the carriage were taking people for Levitas, then that could only mean one thing—Levitas was in or near Philadelphia.

# Chapter 5

Jack

When Bess and Mother left me, I sat on the sofa burying my head in my hands. Peace was the last emotion that I was feeling. The homecoming that I expected had quickly turned into a nightmare with my mother's confession and meeting the man whom she hoped would solve all her problems. I had not believed her story about Richard until she spoke of her debt. Then, it all fell into place. The way she went through funds, it was inevitable.

Richard appeared a pleasant enough man, but with our secret at stake, I could not afford to grant my approval without great consideration. I knew I would have to do some digging and see what I could discover about Richard Hamilton. Add that to my full plate, and I was feeling tired beyond my eighteen years.

A loud knock echoed through the room making me raise my head. Levi came in, silently closing the door behind him. Apprehension surged through me. Levi knew not to come to the house unless I signaled him. He advanced toward me with his dark hair all askew and his nose red from being out in the chilly air.

His smile nearly stretched its length, "I have found him. I have found the giant!"

I leapt to my feet; all my problems forgotten. "Where?"

"I rode to the apothecary shop, to see how it went during my absence, and while I was there, the giant entered. A seven foot tall man is impossible to mistake. I hid in the back room, but had the chance to observe him, and when he left the shop, I followed." Levi's impish grin and air of excitement were contagious.

"To where did he go?" I asked anxiously.

"I followed him to a house near the shipyard."

"Was he there to conduct some business?"

Levi rocked back on his heels. "Nay, I paid a street urchin to tell me who lived in the houses. He described the giant in detail. His name is Dimitri, and he frightens the children."

My excitement matched that of Levi. "Good work. Tonight you, Leo, and I will pay a visit to the giant and see what we can discover." Walking over to my desk near the window, I stopped, remembering something important. "Do not say a word of this to Bess."

Levi contemplated that for a moment before shrugging. "She would only insist upon going and well, after what happened the last time, we must do what we can to protect her."

I unlocked my desk and pulled out a pair of matching pistols.

"Meet us at the waterside tavern at two, and we will go from there." Levi touched his forelock in salute and moved to the door. He looked into the foyer first, then disappeared from my sight.

Even though I felt like my father had done Bess a disservice naming her his successor, trapping her forever into a life of danger, I was glad that he had not laid such a burden at my feet.

Bess had done a remarkable job over the last two years. Losing not one agent was a great accomplishment; better than the other two leaders could say. Frederick had lost no less than three agents within the last year, and Samuel Mason, the leader of the Charleston Phantoms and George's nephew, had lost one. Thinking about Sam brought thoughts of George and his capture.

George liked to say that even in a time of peace there are threats at work. Never had he uttered truer words.

***

It was past two in the morning when Leo, Levi, and I were standing in the shadows of some trees across the street from Dimitri's house. There were no lights shining from any of the windows, but I knew better than to put my trust in a dark house. I was on edge about venturing into the house of the giant. I had seen what he did to those temple men, and I had no desire to join the ranks of those he had killed. I turned to Leo and Levi.

"You both guard the alley. If you see anyone trying to enter it, stop them. I will go into the house myself. I will fire one shot if I need you." I looked back toward the alley, swallowed down a rising lump in my throat, and darted across the street.

The moon offered enough light to see my way, as I hopped over puddles of a foul-smelling sewage. The houses in this part of town were known as bandbox houses, and most were between two and three stories in size. I knew the layout of such a house. There was one room per floor with a narrow staircase that connected each floor. Dimitri's house was two stories. The lock on the wooden door was rickety. I pulled out a small metal tool, and within seconds, I had the door unlocked. If there were bolts, then I would have to find another way into the house. I sucked in a breath as I turned the handle.

Please open. Please open, I kept repeating in my mind as my black-gloved hand turned the brass handle. There was a click, so I slowly pushed the door open. As it creaked on its hinges, I paused, listening for any sounds of movement.

The house was dark and silent, so I pushed the door open enough to slip through. I left it open, so I could fit through in case of a hasty exit and the extra light from the moon would help me see my way.

Four walls, all close together made the room boxy. There was one small, square window on the front wall and a wood table with two wooden chairs, but that was all the furniture in the room. I ran a hand along the wall as I bounced and wriggled a foot on each floor board, hoping for a loose board or a crack in the wall; anything that could contain a secret compartment. I made it all the way around each wall stepping on each board through the center of the room, but there were no loose boards, and the black stove was empty.

After as thorough a search as I could do in the dark, I removed my black boots at the bottom of the stairs, and carefully put my foot on the first stair. Testing my weight on the stair cautiously to avoid creaking, no sounds met my ears, so I stepped onto the second and then the third. I was halfway up the stairs, when a board creaked under my weight. My teeth instinctively clenched while my back tensed as I listened. No sounds came from above; I blew out a silent, relieved breath.

At the top of the stairs, something ran across my foot. My body tensed. My first reaction to kick at whatever had touched my foot, but I refrained. I imagined it was a mouse from the size, but still an unpleasant experience. A sound like a grizzly bear rumbled from the room, and I jerked, nearly tumbling down the stairs. Another sound like a shrill whistle followed. Not only was someone sleeping here, but they were not alone.

You have fought in a war; you can surely face a sleeping giant. Telling myself that did little to help the feelings of anxiety as I thought that the giant could probably take on a small troop alone.

There was a stench of unwashed bodies, rotting straw, and stale onions. My stomach tightened against the sickening smell. I made my mind focus on searching the room, trying to ignore everything else. Moonlight was shining in through a small window near the ceiling so I could see the large frame of Dimitri, his long limbs hanging over the sides of a bed. His grizzly, rumbling snore echoed through the room then came the shrill sound from another man who was sleeping on a cot. There was a second cot, but it was empty.

With my eyes accustomed to the darkness, I could make out a desk in the far corner. The only problem was that I would have to pass both sleeping men to get to it.

You have not come this far to turn coward.

My little mind talk had the desired effect. Squaring my shoulders, I stepped past the bed and cots. A cold draft swirled around my stocking clad feet making them feel numb. With each step, shards of pain burst in my feet, but I kept on to the desk in the corner. As I reached it, I felt along the sides and back, then knelt before it, feeling underneath for any latch or lever. There was nothing, but inside the desk, there was a single sheet of paper so after snatching it and stuffing it in my pocket, I turned toward the bed. Dimitri would keep it under his guard. My eyes scanned the room, but the only clothing was that which the two men were wearing. I stepped next to the bed and felt around the bed. The bed was made of four small posters that held a pallet in the center and straw was thrown down for padding. Dimitri was far too large for the bed, so his arms and legs hung off the sides. As he snored, his breath blew on me. There were the onions. I closed my eyes, pressing my lips tightly together. I shook my head, trying to focus on something else other than the sickness that threatened to come up.

There is something that I am overlooking. Even as I thought it, I had a strange feeling. What I was looking for was not on the second floor. If I were Dimitri, where would I hide something I did not want anyone to find? I considered that he could keep the box on his person, but I immediately struck that down. He was a big man; he exuded a grim confidence, so he would not need to keep it on him to know that it was safe. I needed a different tactic. We would watch his house in the light of day and wait for him to depart then search the house.

A large hand grabbed my leg. My heart leapt so hard I thought it would stop. As my stomach roiled, alarm echoed in my head. I clutched my pistol and looked down at where the giant was still laying. A moment passed then his rumbling snore sounded again. The giant was asleep. Slowly I turned my torso. The giant had a hold of my leg in his sleep. I bent, carefully pulling my leg, but he held fast. If I could get him to shift he would release my leg, but it had consequences. If I moved too much, it could awaken him.

A distraction was needed. My calling card for the Phantoms was a black feather which was the reason that my mask was shaped like three stacked feathers. Pulling a feather from my pocket, I leaned toward the giant, barely running the feather against the end of his nose, repeating the action until the giant removed his hand from my leg to rub his nose. I jerked my hand away before he could touch me, and moved from the bed.

Midway down the stairs to the first floor, the same stair creaked under my feet. It shifted. A smile curved up my lips. Moving down two more steps, I knelt to pull on the creaking board. There, within the stair, was a compartment. Feeling inside, my hand immediately touched a dagger hilt. There was nothing else was in the compartment so after taking the dagger, I put my black feather in the compartment, the sign of Loutaire of the Phantoms, then replaced the board. At the bottom of the stairs, I unsheathed the dagger, running my finger along the top of the blade. Grooves and ridges met my touch, assuring me that it was engraved, like the one pictured in the Levitas book. I sheathed it and tucked it into my belt.

As I pulled on my ankle high boots, a shadow passed the window, and I tensed. It was not Leo or Levi coming to check on me, for they knew not to leave their post unless they received a signal from me. Pressing against the far wall was the only place to hide.

My back touched the wall as the door creaked open further. A figure slipped into the house, and immediately I knew it was no ruffian who stood upon the threshold. Incredulity was mine; it filled me as my arm began to throb where she grazed me with her shot six days ago. With the light behind her, the woman in white appeared as a faceless ghost. Her long, white cloak was around her, the hood covering her hair, as she moved further into the room. She did not sense my presence, but from the way she moved without making a sound, she knew someone was in the house. That begged the question of how she made it past my deputies. She began quietly to sound the boards.

I considered capturing her, but if she did not work for Levitas, it was too great a risk of exposure for the Phantoms. Until I could discover more about her, I had to leave her free.

A wicked, tantalizing thought entered my head.

The woman in white deserves a fright. Nothing too terrible, merely repaying her kindness to me.

My smile widened as I watched her work her way around the room. She made it to the corner where the back wall and the wall I was leaning against met. I had to act with haste and precision or not at all. I took three silent steps toward her. In her oblivion to all else but searching the boards, she did not sense my presence until my hand was over her mouth and my other arm wrapped around her waist. I locked her arms against her sides. She jerked around, trying to fight me off.

A wildcat.

She twisted and threw her body from side to side. When that did not work, she threw her head back, but I was able to move my own to the side before she could hit me. She growled under my hand and threw an elbow to my stomach. One of her arms got loose in my moment of grunting. A flash of silver appeared right before she swung a knife toward me, trying to slash my arm. Grabbing her wrist, we struggled against each other for control of the knife. I pushed her arm down, backing her against the wall then releasing my hold on her mouth to pin her arms against the wall. She opened her mouth about to call out, and panic seized my chest, then my mouth pressed against hers, cutting off any sound.

For a moment, she stopped struggling. If she were feeling an ounce as surprised as I was, it was no wonder she stopped struggling. Breathing was the last thing I was thinking about. The edge of my leather mask touched the lace of her white mask. Her lips were soft as feathers. Her small feminine body pressed against me caused me to begin to lose sight of why I was kissing her. I could feel every rise and fall of her chest as her breathing came in quick successions. For that brief moment, she was warm and most inviting.

The moment ended far too quickly. Her whole body went rigid in nothing short of rage. She jerked her head from side to side, trying to break free from my hold. I pulled back, but kept her arms pinned against the wall as a deep chuckle escaped my throat. In one swift movement, I pressed my forearm against her arm and grabbed my pistol from my belt then placed the end of the barrel against her cheek. She went completely still, all but the rise and fall of her chest.

As I stepped back, I released her but kept the pistol against her cheek. The rigidity of her body assured me that she did not doubt that I would use the pistol. As I backed to the door and pushed it fully open with my boot, it creaked on its hinges as moonlight flooded into the room. The light was against my back, but it illuminated her. She took a cautious step toward me, but stopped when I held up the Levitas dagger in the moonlight. As her mouth parted; her anger was so full that it heated the cold room.

Pleasure coursed through me at besting the woman. Backing out of the house, I threw her a mocking kiss on my fingers and slammed the door. Down the alley, I ran, leaping over the sewage puddles. Light appeared through the second floor window, and a voice started to shout.

Leo met me at the entrance to the alley and as we ran from the houses; I questioned Leo about the woman in white, but he assured me that he saw no one enter the alley. When we met up with Levi, he said the same.

How had she gotten past them unseen?

After we had separated from Levi at his apothecary shop, Leo and I moved toward home, and I could not wipe the smile from my lips.

"That woman could have been a phantom the way she sneaks around," Leo said from beside me. It was a disconcerting thought, but it gave me an idea.

"That is what we will call her." Leo stopped to look at me. "She is now the white phantom."

# Chapter 6

Jack

27 May 1816

Standing between my mother and Bess, we greeted the arriving guests at the foot of the stairs. It appeared that all of Philadelphian society would turn out for Bess' ball. Nearly every family had an unattached son in tow who begged for the honor of a dance with Bess. When my good friend Dudley Stanton had learned that we were home, he had hurried to the house yesterday to beg Bess for the first dance, and since she had no previous offers, she accepted. I saw Dudley pushing his way through the throng of well-dressed persons.

Dudley Stanton was the epitome of a fashionable man from his light brown hair arranged artfully messy in a windswept style to his black tight-fitting coat. He was the kind of man who would never stir out of doors if his cravat was not tied precisely to his liking. When he bowed, I heard the sound of creaking, which caused me to bite the inside of my lip to keep from laughing. Dud insisted upon wearing a corset beneath his too-tight clothing. It was a fashion from days gone by, but as Dud was both short and plump, it was for the best. Over the last year when we were not on a mission, I had gone into society a few times with Dudley.

I glanced at my sister, and she, too, was trying to control her laughter. When Dud greeted Bess, a look of such longing came into his eyes that Bess glanced at me in a plea for help. Dudley had been in love with Bess from the time we first met him upon moving to Philadelphia, but his feelings were unrequited. She liked him well enough, but what Dud refused to acknowledge was that Bess saw him as another brother.

When Dud looked as if he would remain at her side, I stepped in and moved him away.

We made our way toward the drawing room, bumping into others that were also trying to make their way through the crowded foyer. Dud was telling me that it was finally his time; that he would win my sister and how her beauty grew each time he saw her. When she moved home three months ago, Dud had nearly lived on our doorstep. He was at the house every day, until we left for our mission in Washington.

As we reached the drawing room, I glanced over the assembled guests crowded into the room. The furniture had been removed and was replaced with small chairs that lined the walls and a small ensemble of musicians with stringed instruments. The middle of the floor was for dancing.

My name was called, and I looked to my left to where a group of my friends were hovering in the corner. I waved but did not go to them. It was my duty as the head of the house to greet all of the guests before I spent the rest of the evening with my friends.

The gold scrollwork on the ceiling glittered, and the candles in the gold sconces on the yellow walls flickered. Added to that, were the two crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, and you had a room fitted for any palace.

When Bess appeared at my arm, it meant the start to the dancing. Dud elbowed me out of his way, as he took her hand and led her to the center of the floor. As they were joined by other dancers, I leaned against the wall for a moment to watch. Poor Dud had to tilt his head back to be able to see Bess's eyes, but her height never once bothered him. He was a man in love, and what others considered flaws, he considered marks of beauty. The truly sad fact was I would give my consent to their marriage if Bess felt different. I could not say that about any other man in the room.

At the end of half an hour, I had greeted several people, passed by some with a nod and a smile, and stopped beside a few who hailed me. With my duty done, I was making my way to my friends, when I heard my name being called. I turned to my right and nearly cursed.

Mrs. Campbell, a plump, nosy, outspoken woman, was beckoning to me with her large, feather-edged fan. There was no way to escape the inevitable, so I fixed a smile on my lips and moved to greet her. I bowed, but she gave me no time to speak for she was off like a horse at the races.

"Why are you not dancing? If due to the selection, then I do not blame you. Watery, the lot of them." She swung at me with her closed fan, and I stood still, taking the rap on my arm without a word. I focused on her purple turban as she went on. "Your sister of course is the reigning beauty, but you will hardly dance the night with her." She then changed subjects. "Are you sure that you prefer the church to marriage? I know of a young woman who would suit you well. My niece Elvira is biddable, perfect for any young man."

To my complete annoyance, she waved at someone with her fan. As I turned I collided with a young girl, freckled and gap-toothed. The top of her head bumped into my chin, and unruly hair tickled my nose. She grasped hold of my arms, but she was in no danger of falling. I placed my hands on her arms setting her back and getting my first good look at her.

Saints preserve me. She could be no older than fourteen. That was one of the downfalls of being a member of high society, playing agreeable with people you would rather not play with at all. But, I knew my duty, so I bowed.

"Ask the girl to dance," Mrs. Campbell urged, with a sly smile.

There was no way out, short of fire or my death, or Mrs. Campbell's. I bit my cheek to keep from grinning at that pleasant thought as I extended my hand and asked for a dance. She showed not the slightest reluctance, as she clamped onto my arm and pulled me toward the other dancers.

As the music struck up, Elvira never once looked at my face, too occupied with looking at her feet and counting her steps. Try as I would, she would not be engaged in conversation. I was determined to keep away from Mrs. Campbell and her niece for the remainder of the evening. As we passed by where Bess was standing, she cast me a brilliant smile, one that told of her amusement at my expense. I crossed my eyes, making Bess laugh and tip her champagne glass, spilling some on one of the men vying for her attention.

As we went down the line of dancers, I received some piteous looks from my friends. Most of my friends avoided Mrs. Campbell like she was a plague trying to attach to them and rob them of their lives or bachelor status. For some, it was the same thing.

There was some stir amongst the men as they edged their way toward the door or elbowed each other, smiling. Then I saw why. My heart gave a startling lurch and began beating like it wanted to escape my body as my eyes locked with the hyacinth eyes of the woman from the Inn. Jolts of energy were dancing along my spine as a smile formed on her pink lips. My chest tightened in a way that was both painful and foreign. It felt like someone had sucked all the air away from me, but yet I felt more alive than I had in the past seven years of missions, espionage, and battles of the war.

Something solid bumped into me shattering the moment. I drew my eyes away as I caught Elvira about the waist, trying to keep us both upright. Something akin to an apology flowed from her lips, but she cast an imploring look at her aunt. I offered an apology of my own when the music faded.

As I looked toward the door, my stomach clenched tight as heat crept up my neck. The young woman from the Inn was covering her mouth with her fan, but I could see the laughter in her eyes. She looked away as a group of men surrounded her.

A tug on my arm brought me back to where I was, standing in the middle of the floor with Elvira. I begged her pardon and escorted her to her aunt. The woman scowled at me, but I excused myself without apologizing to her. She did not deserve an apology.

An army of men was surrounding the woman from the Inn when I reached them. I could only stand at the back of the group.

"Greetings, John," Thomas one of my friends said to me in his good natured voice.

"Thomas, good evening," I replied as I shook the hand he held out to me. Thomas was the most unruly of all my friends. It did not matter where we were, whether it be at a card party or an elegant evening soiree, you could count on two things. One; that Thomas's appearance, from his yellow hair to his loose fitting attire, would be in disarray, and two; that he did not care in the least.

"I see that you have noticed the newest beauty in our midst."

"Who is she?" I asked, as I tried to get a view of her through the ten men hovering over her.

"Miss Clark. Newly arrived last month and staying with a chaperone. It is said that she has come to find her legal guardian, but I know no more."

"Will you introduce me?" I asked, hope rising inside me.

Thomas smiled impishly. "Let us see if we can squeeze through this den." Thomas's smile faded, and he became all business, pushing his way through the men. "Look out, coming through. Master of the house coming through. Stand aside." I followed Thomas as we pressed our way through the men, most of whom I knew well. I stood behind Thomas, allowing his tall frame to block me as he greeted Miss Clark, and then he stepped aside.

"Miss Clark, allow me to present my friend and the master of this house, Mr. John Martin."

I bowed before her, and when I looked into her eyes, she smiled. She was poetically beautiful. Her auburn hair was piled atop her head, her purple-blue eyes unmatched in any other person I had ever seen, and she had a dimple in her right cheek when she smiled.

"I do hope that no more discomforts have plagued you," I said as I straightened.

Her eyes lit up. "It is you, I was sure that I could not be mistaken." Upon Thomas's look of inquiry, she explained. "Mr. Martin rendered me a service yesterday. He was quite gallant."

Thomas looked from her to me in disbelief. "What, Saint John, our proud poet, the knight gallant? Surely you mistake."

"Saint John? I had not heard that epithet, but I have heard of you," she said.

"Lies, I assure you, if it was from this lot here that you heard my name."

Thomas and a few of the others cried against my words, but I ignored them.

"He is destined for the church you see," Thomas explained, and I felt myself losing ground.

She looked at me like she could not believe it, or would not. "But you are a man of birth and family. Surely the church is not necessary."

"I assure you, Miss Clark, that the church is always necessary, but as for joining, it is yet undecided."

"Ah." She said the one word as if she were relieved.

The men began to press closer, growing restless at my taking up so much of her time, so I held out my hand, determined to get her away from the group. "Might I have the privilege of this dance?"

She cast down her eyes. "I am unsure how to reply. What if you stop in the middle of our dance and I am cast upon the floor?" She lifted her eyes to mine, amusement sparkling in their depths. I said nothing as Thomas came to my rescue.

"No fear there, John is an excellent dancer." He stopped abruptly, and I nearly laughed as he went on, "Oh, what I mean to say is that he will surely trip you. You should instead dance with me. I shall not cast you upon the floor." Thomas held out his hand to her as well, but it was mine that she reached for.

As I led her into the set, I assured her that I would not tread upon her feet. She laughed. Her voice was like a melodious song. She reminded me of a bird; a beautiful, rare bird that if not handled with extreme care, would suddenly fly away, never to return.

"Is it true that you always carry a book of sonnets?"

I smiled, for without their knowing, my friends had done much to aid me by talking to her of me. I laid a hand on my chest where my pocket was within my coat. "It is true, for one never knows when one may be called upon to render a verse."

Her smile turned mocking. "Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind?"

So she knew poetry, did she? Before I could make a reply she added, "Do you believe that for truth?"

"Truth is a matter of perception, with each man believing his perception is the only way," I replied simply and honestly before I reflected how my words would be taken. As we separated in the dance, I watched her brows crease. I wanted to kick myself for stepping out of my role of a poet and speaking my true thoughts. There was something about the woman that made me want to be honest, and that in itself was a danger.

When we came back together in the dance, I was ready to speak a verse to her about her beauty, but she spoke first.

"Is that woman a relation of yours?"

As my eyes moved in the direction Miss Clark was looking, Bess was watching us intently. I smiled at Bess, and she smirked in return. "Yes, that is my sister Elizabeth. I know that she will want to meet you. I shall present you if you have no objections."

"None," Miss Clark replied before moving away again.

When the dance ended, I did not have the opportunity to make an introduction, as Richard came upon us.

"John, I was hoping to find you. Would you accompany me to the library? A group of my friends are there and desire to meet my future son." He spoke the words as if all of Philadelphia were privileged to the truth. As I glanced around, I realized that they were. My mother had some explaining to do. I turned to Miss Clark, excusing myself, but I had little qualms over leaving her as she was pounced upon the moment I stepped away.

My library was opened, as a place where men could gather. When Richard and I entered the room it was full of older men, most of whom I was acquainted, but Richard did not know that.

Richard began the introductions with a tall man who had his back to me. When he turned, I clenched my hands at my sides as my first impulse was to strike. Miss Clark's attacker stared me down with as much hostility in his eyes as I was feeling in my body.

"John, allow me to present Nicholas Mansfield."

For a moment, I stared up at the man in incredulity. I had half expected the man who accosted Miss Clark to be some poor tradesman, but no, he was not only a man of some means but the possible leader of Levitas. More than ever, I wanted to pull out my small pocket pistol and rid the world of the scum.

"My dear Nicholas, what happened to your jaw?" Richard asked.

Nicholas's jaw was swollen and an ugly mixture of purple and black. I bit back my smile.

"I tripped over an upturned rug striking my chin on a table."

"You must pay heed to those upturned rugs; you never know from whence they will spring," I said, then moved on with Richard, turning away from Nicholas's menacing stare.

Richard started to introduce the next man, but I stopped him.

"The General and I are well acquainted."

As I shook General Harvey's hand, Richard turned away giving me a chance to speak alone with the long-time family friend. "What think you of that one?"

The general's bushy eyebrows rose pointedly, and the silver whiskers on his cheeks twitched as his eyes took in Richard. "A fine match. Your mother has done well for herself."

General Harvey's opinion meant much to me since he had been a close friend of my father's. My father had always spoken of the general with pride; something that William Martin did not make a habit of with other people. Only three men ever made my father gush with pride. General Harvey, George Washington, and Benjamin Franklin.

I did not make a reply. I had sent to Baltimore for more news of Richard, and the contents of the reply would form my decision for me.

A six-inch scar on the general's left cheek, only partially covered by his full gray and white beard, captured my attention. It was an old war wound, and for some reason, I could not help but glance at it every time he was near. Looking away I listened as the general said he would be hosting a party for his niece, Edith, Bess's dearest friend, and expected us to be present.

Once Richard introduced me to the last of his friends, I moved to lean against the wall as most of the seats in the room were filled.

Nicholas greeted different men, making his way about the room, when something caught my eye. As he greeted a man named Charles Knowlton, Nicholas stood with his right foot pointed straight ahead, but his left foot was behind and to the left. When they shook hands his first and second fingers wrapped around Charles Knowlton's wrist in the shape of a v. It would not have been suspicious to anyone else, but I knew he had ties to Levitas, and I had read about the v handshake in the Levitas book. It was code for a meeting.

After Nicholas had sat in a chair near the fire, the conversation turned political. Mr. James Monroe was the hopeful to take President Madison's place. Mr. Monroe was a kind, good man. He would make a fine president—in my opinion at least.

I moved away to the window that looked out to the street. I wanted to listen without the men thinking I was listening. Most of them knew of my aversion to all things political, or at least that was what I made them believe. I was interested in the outcome of the election, especially since it would change the course of the Phantoms.

When my father formed the Phantoms, Mr. Monroe was one of men who joined him. He was a silent founder and only a part, because of his political connections, but if he chose to disband the Phantoms when he took office, he would have the power to do so.

Nicholas's voice, excusing himself, brought my thoughts back to the room. Nicholas walked into the foyer and stopped to speak with someone out of my view, but I could see the copper colored skirt of her dress. Nicholas took a letter from her, inserted it into his inner coat pocket, and returned to the library. I turned back to the window. Intriguing.

When Nicholas was again in his seat, I went into the drawing room, arriving as another dance was concluding and intercepted Miss Clark. She agreed to dance with me again, much to the chagrin of a young man who must have been her next partner.

While we danced, I mentioned her slighted partner, and she laughed.

"They may think what they like, but I choose to dance with you. We have a common interest after all."

"Do we?" I asked, trying to think what it could be.

"Yes, but I shall not tell you what it is. If you want to know, you must call upon me tomorrow."

"I shall be only too happy to oblige," I replied, though I was a little taken aback at her forwardness in suggesting that I call upon her, but pleased nonetheless.

When the dance was ended, I kept hold of her hand, placing it on my arm as I led her toward my sister. Bess was standing beside a young woman dressed in pink with golden hair like morning sunshine.

We were but a few feet away, when a sultry voice spoke loudly, "So, John is Miss Clark's next victim. She has had no fewer than ten since her arrival last month. I had thought better of him, than to be entrapped by such blatant beauty." I stiffened, feeling hot, but my outrage was nothing in comparison to Miss Clark. Her eyes were narrowed, and her delightful mouth was set in a hard line.

As Bess turned, I caught a flash of a copper-colored skirt. It was the same woman who had given Nicholas the letter.

# Chapter 7

Bess

Long before the party had begun, my mother had come to me with a list of eligible men, beginning with the richest and moving down to the unworthy. Mother had ranked every young man of our acquaintance that I had met a few over the years with Jack. She expected me to memorize the list, and to grant only the wealthier men more than one dance. It had ruined my mood for the party before the first chords of music were ever struck. Ephraim Knowlton was at the top of the list, a pity since I detested Ephraim, and second was Dudley. If I had told her that I did not mean to marry any of the young men on her list, she would have had heart spasms.

Since my dances with both Dudley and Ephraim were over, I agreed to dance with whoever asked me, regardless of their wealth and prospects.

I had watched in curiosity the young woman from the Inn enter, but after witnessing Jack's blunder by stopping in the middle of the dance, then going straight to the group that was surrounding her, I had a moment of discomfort. Jack was well-known in society to be considering entering holy orders. Watching him go to her and then dance with her, well, the effect that woman had on him was nothing short of alarming. Jack had never paid very much heed to women, at least not without a set purpose. When on a mission and the task called for it, he would spend time with women to discover what he needed to know, but that was all.

"Would you, Miss Martin?" Dudley's nasal voice spoke. I looked at him where he was seated in the chair beside mine.

"I do apologize, Mr. Stanton, but would you mind repeating that?"

He was not affronted. "I was asking you for the pleasure of the next dance."

Oh. I remembered during our first dance of the evening that I had never liked dancing with Dudley. He would stare at me silently, or he would spout some horrible line of poetry or praise. He had a habit of praising my superior height, as if I wanted to be reminded that I stood above many of the men and women in the room.

When my dearest friend entered, I excused myself to Dudley and went across the room to greet her.

"Oh, how I have missed you. Promise that you shall not leave again for some time to come," Edith Harvey exclaimed.

We broke apart, though held hands as I looked down into her deep brown eyes and laughingly promised that I would be in Philadelphia for the present.

Edith was fifteen years of age and a slip of a girl. She still had that little girl softness to her face. She was the niece of our family friend General Harvey and had been my friend for the past four years. Even though I was gone from Philadelphia during the war, we stayed in touch through letters. When I moved home three months ago, it was like we had never been separated. Now that we were both making our debuts in society, we would be spending most days together.

Edith and I stepped away from the door as the music and dancing ended.

"You must tell me all about your trip," Edith said, and my mind started going through the story that I had rehearsed about what I had done in Washington and whom I had met. Lies; which made guilt nag at my mind. Another lie to add to the ever growing list. For me, it was the worst part of being a Phantom, never being allowed to tell the people closest to me the truth. But then, what would I tell her? Edith, dear, I can kill a man with my bare hands and have done so on one occasion.

She would think I was mad and rightly so. Women of high society did not know the art of self defense. We were trained to be demure creatures, seen, but not heard, agreeable without being too forward, encouraging without speaking. When we finally snagged a husband, we were an accessory for his arm, but with no opinion contradictory to his. It was a bleak prospect for one who had lived as a man, traveling through the countryside without restraint. I did not know if I could do it, not to mention my fortune, the dowry that the men hunted me for and would go directly from the solicitor's hands into his, never truly being my own.

When I saw Jack start toward us leading the young woman from the Inn along with him, I started to smile, until I heard that hateful voice. "So, John is Miss Clark's next victim. She has had no fewer than ten since her arrival last month. I had thought better of him, than to be entrapped by such blatant beauty." I wanted to claw the speaker's eyes out.

Edith and I both turned to face Mrs. Hannah Lamont, a woman who was small in stature, mind, and morals. She was my age but had been widowed a year. I had met her first in Baltimore last year, where we had attended the same party. She was as disagreeable then. My gaze ran over her, and I was both disgusted and not surprised by her attire. Her copper-colored gown was cut too low, leaving little to the imagination, while her thick, black hair was pulled back with a few curls dangling across her bony, ivory shoulders.

I forced a smile to my lips, though I wanted nothing more than to throw the woman from the house. I looked over my shoulder and saw Jack standing near, but it was the look on his companion's face that brought words to my lips. Turning back to Hannah, I replied, "No indeed, for my brother knows true quality when he sees it."

Jack was speaking softly to Miss Clark as if to allay her chagrin over the unfortunate comment, so I hooked arms with Edith, and we walked out of the room.

As soon as we were in the foyer, Edith spoke, "The nerve of that woman. She boils my blood."

"Why, Edith Harvey, I do declare that you have a violent nature. That sweet face masks a dark heart."

My words pulled a laugh from Edith. "I am not as interesting as that. Come. Let us taste some of those delicious cakes that your mother's cook makes so well."

Edith led me into the dining parlor, and we went to the sideboard where all manner of small cakes and sweets were waiting to be selected. Leo entered with a tray of champagne, so I took two from him. I was raising my glass to my lips when Jack entered with his companion still upon his arm. I took a moment to appraise her person. She was wearing an ivory gown threaded with gold and gold slippers peeped from beneath the hem. It was her eyes though that set her apart; making her leaps and bounds above the rest of the young women. A truly rare color, and one that I would not have minded possessing. The perfect tone of her pale skin made me feel self conscious over the browned tone of my own. What was one to expect after hours of riding in the sun?

"I was hoping you would bring your lovely partner to meet me," I said as they neared.

"My dear sister, allow me to present Miss Clark. Miss Clark, this is my sister Elizabeth and our dear friend Miss Harvey."

Miss Clark offered her hand, and I shook it. For such a small woman, she had a firm grip. She turned to Edith and hesitated a moment before offering her hand. I watched in some curiosity as Edith barely touched it then her eyes lowered to the floor. That was odd, even for sweet, quiet Edith.

"I thought I recognized you as the young woman from the carriage when your brother came to my rescue."

"Yes, and quite surprised was I, but then, John has such a kind heart. He cannot abide to see others mistreated. He has written many a verse on the subject. You should let him read them to you sometime. They are rather good." I cast Jack an innocent smile.

"Thank you, sister," Jack said, trying to end the subject. He knew I loathed poetry.

"Perhaps, I shall, if he is ever so inclined," Miss Clark replied, looking up at Jack like he was some mystical creature she found enchanting. I swallowed down a laugh along with my champagne.

"I hear that you have only recently arrived in our fair city," I said, appearing conversational, but I was interested because of my brother's interest.

"Yes, and I find it prodigiously to my liking." Miss Clark bestowed a warm smile upon my brother.

That woman was good. She knew how to draw a man in.

Jack cast me a look that said he needed to speak with me.

"Edith and I were about to enjoy some of this delicious food. Will you join us?"

Miss Clark looked at Jack then agreed. Jack seated Miss Clark at the table with Edith, and he and I went to fill plates. With our backs to the others, Jack placed two fingers inside his jacket and with his forefinger he traced a N and then a M on the top of his coat. He pulled his fingers from inside his coat, spreading them wide, like in the shape of a note or letter then he intentionally slipped his fingers back into his coat. He tapped his chest over his heart. We had made many signs over the years, ways to speak without words. All of our deputies were well versed in the signs. If I understood his message, Nicholas Mansfield was here and had a letter in his pocket we would do well to acquire. The only setback was that I had never met Nicholas Mansfield. I did not, however, allow that to bother me.

We were able to enjoy a half hour undisturbed before a man stalked into the room and his eyes fastened on Miss Clark. He looked familiar, and when he spoke, I remembered.

"Miss Clark, I have come to beg the favor of a dance."

I glanced at Jack, who was staring grim-faced at his glass. He was turning the stem in his fingers, and I knew what he was thinking. He raised his eyes to mine, and I barely shook my head. The last thing we needed was for Jack to throw champagne on the man.

"I do apologize, Mr. Mansfield, but this dance has been claimed by Mr. Martin."

So that is he.

Miss Clark rose, and the rest of us followed her lead. She smiled at Jack, and even I could feel the heat from that look she cast him. "You do remember Mr. Martin, do you not?" She looked again at Nicholas, and I wanted to clap at so skilled a snub.

"Indeed I do," Nicholas replied, but Jack only smiled as he took Miss Clark's hand, leading her away from us.

Nicholas stared after them, presenting me my chance. I walked toward him then stumbled, catching his arm. He jerked toward me, his arms going about my waist. I pushed myself up straight, bumping the top of my head against his chin. As his chin jerked up, my hand slid into his coat, and two fingers grabbed the top of the letter. It was a trick that my father taught us. He would tie bells to our fingers then make us try to pick his pocket. If the bells rang, we failed. We practiced that until we could snatch anything, large or small, without his feeling a thing. I slid the letter out, crumpling it in my hand and then burying my hand in the folds of my dress.

"So clumsy, I do apologize."

His arms were still around my waist, so I pushed back, and he released me. There was a look that I did not like on his face as he smiled down at me. It was like he thought I did it on purpose. I had, but from the look in his eyes, snatching the letter was not what he thought I was after.

"You must be Miss Martin," he said, and I curtseyed. "I hope you do not find me too forward, since we have not been properly introduced, but would you do me the great honor of dancing with me?"

"Why, yes, thank you, Mr..." I looked up at him expectantly.

"Mansfield. Nicholas Mansfield."

"Allow me but a moment to fetch my fan." I turned away from him in the guise of searching for my fan but tucked the crumpled letter into the bosom of my dress. Thankfully it was not too low cut; my mother thinking the lower cut fashions scandalous.

"It is here," Edith said. She had picked it up from the table.

Nicholas offered his arm to me and politely offered his other arm to Edith. The man had some manners at least.

He escorted Edith to a chair, then he and I joined the dance.

The dance passed as all others––with little conversation and utterly forgettable. After our dance, I sat between Edith and Miss Clark in one corner of the room.

"Your brother is very charming," Miss Clark informed me.

I looked into the woman's eyes and was not sure whether to be amused or alarmed. Jack had made as much of an impression upon her as she clearly had upon him.

"Yes, John is a dear."

Miss Clark looked at Edith and her lips quirked up. I followed her gaze. Edith was looking anywhere but at Miss Clark. That Edith was not acting her cheerful self surprised me and made me wonder whether there had been some disagreement between the two. Miss Clark appeared to be a pleasant enough young woman, and she had clearly won Jack's good opinion.

"Do you ride, Miss Clark?"

"Yes, whenever I get the chance."

"Then perhaps you would care to join Edith and me one afternoon." I looked at Edith and noticed her face had paled an entire shade.

"Why that would be delightful," Miss Clark said, adding, "and perhaps your brother would accompany us."

"Mr. Martin does not care for riding," Edith informed her sternly.

I sat between them, my gaze going from one to the other while they stared at each other. Miss Clark smiled rather roguishly.

"Perhaps he would change his mind, if the temptation were enough."

The look Edith cast Miss Clark was full of so much scorn that I quickly changed the subject.

"I have heard that you reside with a chaperone."

"Why, yes," she said before looking toward the foyer. "There she is dear woman."

I followed her gaze and had to keep my mouth from dropping open. It was the robust woman with the unnaturally yellow hair from the Inn. She could be perfectly respectable, but she wore a bright orange gown that she was well-nigh bursting from, and a yellow turban was perched atop her yellow hair. She looked like a Thanksgiving decoration. The woman beckoned Miss Clark with the wave of a large hand.

"Pray, excuse me." Miss Clark joined her chaperone at the door.

Edith and I were soon surrounded by a group of young men all on the hunt for a rich bride. Edith's fortune was larger than my own, but she was so shy around gentlemen, that it took some encouragement for her to choose a partner among all the offers. Thomas arrived, and she gave her hand to him. He was the least threatening to her, as it was well known that Thomas was not in the market for a bride.

As there were more men than young ladies, I had seven gentlemen vying for my attention. I listened to their witticisms with an air of interest until I heard someone grunt.

Behind the wall of men, someone's head was bobbing up and down. When it appeared again, I realized it was Dudley, and he was jumping. The men were holding their shoulders against one another to keep Dudley out of the circle. It was a game with them, but I did not see the humor and was about to say something cutting, when Dudley dropped to his knees and climbed through a gap between one of the men's legs. My mouth hung open, but I could not help it.

Creaking and grunting came with Dudley's ample form that almost did not fit between Henry Clay's legs. Henry's arms flapped, and he grabbed onto Ephraim's arm. Ephraim jerked his arm away and bumped into another man who went sprawling to his side, right onto Mrs. Campbell's lap.

She shouted and moaned, while beating him over the head with her fan.

Dudley was immune to everything going on around him as he knelt before me. I was covering my mouth with my hands as my laughter bubbled forth. I was not sure what I should be feeling, for hilarity, mortification, and endearment all surged within me. Dudley had committed a social blunder, but hearing his corset creaking was too hilarious, and having him create such a scene to approach me was oddly touching. When he begged me to dance with him, I agreed so I could get him away from the other men before they started a brawl. I helped him to his feet and took his proffered arm.

After our dance had ended, Dudley and I were standing together across the room from the men casting Dudley scathing looks, when Jack joined us.

"What have I missed?" he asked, but I only shook my head, unable to tell him all lest it made me laugh again.

Jack's eyes settled on Hannah where she stood across the room. I watched as she tossed him a saucy smile; one meant to entice.

"Is everything all right?" I asked near to his ear.

"Deceit springs from within whilst lies touch her lips, shadows dance within her eyes, no mercy can eclipse."

I glanced toward Hannah again. She was smiling up at Nicholas Mansfield, and it all started to piece together.

Hannah was not only some self absorbed society minx; she was in some way connected to Nicholas and I was sure, Levitas.

# Chapter 8

Bess

The morning after the ball was spent seeing the house put to rights. Mrs. Beaumont, Mother's housekeeper, had a book that detailed each room and what went where. I was holding the book while she directed the footmen where to place the sofas in the drawing room when I realized that there were some effects missing––figurines from the mantle and ormolu clock that had belonged to my father. When the room was set how Mrs. Beaumont liked, I followed her into the dining parlor.

"Mrs. Beaumont, you do know that some of my mother's possessions are missing." It was a statement since she had every list memorized.

She kept her back to me as she worked at straightening something on the sideboard. She did not respond, so I laid the book on the table.

"You would tell me if there was something that I needed to know?"

Her face was strained as she turned. "Yes, miss, of course."

My eyes focused on her green ones for a moment. She had been with our family from the time we first became Phantoms. My father had hired her to be my etiquette teacher, but she quickly became so much more. Mother started to confide in her, and when we moved to Philadelphia, Mother took Mrs. Beaumont on as housekeeper. I did not know her background, nor did I ever ask. If my father, who was an untrusting individual while he lived, trusted Mrs. Beaumont, I had no qualms about trusting her. She knew of my gift of observation. If she lied, I would know it.

"To where do we hail this evening?" Jack asked from behind, and I turned away from her.

"We are at home this evening. Mama feels we need time to recover from the party."

Jack and I went into his library. A tray was on the low table that was placed on a large rug before the fireplace. Jack poured me a cup of coffee then one for himself. Coffee had quickly replaced tea in our favor, as sometimes it was all we had to drink while on the trail.

Jack sat on the sofa and picked up the stack of letters lying there. He sliced through them with his silver letter opener, and I sat across from him so I could watch his face. At the third letter his brows knit together.

I was feeling anxious; I needed a diversion. Leisure and I never agreed. Work had always kept my mind occupied; kept the memories away. "Is there anything for me to do?" I asked.

"Eager to be at work? Your admirers must be doing an atrocious job of keeping your thoughts engaged," he replied, without looking up from his letter.

Disgust rose within me. "Admirers," I scoffed. "If I were destitute they would not be such admirable gentlemen. Animals at heart, every one."

Jack refolded his letter then picked up his cup, smiling, his dark brows arching. "Even Dudley?"

I had a fondness for Dudley; he was like another brother, but it did not go beyond that. Even so, I was both flattered and amused after his actions at the party. "I will have you know that Dudley secured my hand for two dances," I said.

"Your admirers must have left a gap in the circle surrounding you."

"Nothing of the sort," I informed him. "He climbed between poor Henry Clay's legs."

Jack's head went back against the sofa as he laughed, the sound filling the whole room.

I tried to look stern. "You may laugh but it was very shocking."

"I can believe it, but at least he achieved his goal." Jack's eyes were at their bluest when he laughed.

"After such a display of eagerness I could not deny him," I said, smiling, but inside I felt weary. It was like I was traveling through a maze with no end, forever to be lost and with each wrong turn the sides were quickly enclosing upon me.

"What is the matter?" Jack asked softly.

He was the one person that I could tell my feelings to and know that he would not judge me for them, but I did not feel myself able to confess that I was tired of a life of lies.

Instead, I leaned forward, picking up a leather bound novel from the low table. I grimaced when I opened it. "How you can read this drivel I do not know." I hated poetry with a passion that Jack found comical. He did not know from whence my hatred came, so he usually teased me about it. He would not tease me so if he knew the truth. That Ben used to read poetry to me. My hatred was not from the words so much as a guard against hearing anyone else recite it to me. I did not want someone else to take Ben's place in my memory.

"It is not as bad as that," Jack retorted.

"Indeed? Allow me to demonstrate my point." I flipped through the book until I found a sonnet that always made me laugh. "Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever," I broke off, casting him a haughty look, "though there we agree." I went back to the poem. "One foot in sea, and one on shore, To one thing constant never. Then sigh not so, But let them go, And be you blithe and bonny, Converting all your sounds of woe Into Hey nonny, nonny." I closed the book with a snap, shaking my head. "If a man quoted that to me, I would laugh in his face."

"You would not if he were the right man," Jack replied as he swiped the book from my hand.

"Trust me, Jack, if he quoted poetry to me, he would not be the right man."

Jack smiled but wisely changed the subject. "Have you plans this day?"

"Nothing pressing."

"Would you like to call upon Miss Clark with me?"

I sat up straighter. "Yes, I would. Thank you. It will give me an excuse to be away should anyone call upon me."

Jack laughed.

***

At one that afternoon, we were standing on the brick sidewalk before Miss Clark's house on Pine Street. It was a two story row house like all the other houses in the neighborhood; shabby genteel and not at all the kind of house that most members of society lived in. From the happy look on Jack's face, it mattered naught to him where she lived as long as she allowed him to visit her. He was smiling up at the second story windows. I followed his gaze and saw a flash of auburn hair move away from the window.

Jack used the small brass knocker to sound our arrival. I hunched down into my long coat as a cold wind whipped against us. May had been unusually frosty this year.

After only a moment, the door swung open, and Miss Clark's chaperone stood there smiling at us. "Welcome, Mr. and Miss Martin. Please come this way."

Jack followed the woman, but I moved slower, examining the foyer. It was narrow enough that I could have touched both walls by stretching out my arms. There were three doors that led off the foyer and a narrow staircase. The stout woman never offered to take our hats or gloves before she bustled out of the parlor with the promise to fetch Miss Clark, and wiggled up the stairs

"Well, she is certainly an oddity," I said, watching until the woman disappeared from my sight.

Jack was not paying the slightest heed to me. His eyes were fixed on the stairs.

The parlor was a small square room with bare walls and little furniture. The small fire burning in the grate was the only thing to make the room quaint.

Voices floated down the stairs, the deep voice of the stout woman, then a melodious sound that could only be Miss Clark. Hearing her voice, Jack sighed, and I stared at him agape. I wanted to slap some common sense into him. What was there about her that could possibly make him sigh? It was so out of character for him that I briefly entertained the notion that he had been bewitched.

As she entered the parlor, she was smiling at Jack as if it had been longer than last night that she had seen him. For a painfully awkward moment, they would only gaze at each other. I cleared my throat.

Miss Clark was the first to look away. "Martha should have taken your hats. I do apologize."

Jack had his off in seconds, holding it out to her, but I removed mine with more decorum. She asked us to be seated. There were only two chairs and one sofa in the small parlor, so I sat beside Miss Clark while Jack angled his chair to face us.

Their eyes locked again, and I was forgotten. I allowed this to go on for a full minute, but no more.

"Miss Clark, is Martha your guardian?"

She was not in the least shamefaced about ignoring me to stare at my brother when her eyes met mine. "Oh, no, Martha is my chaperone. My guardian does not yet have a house in the city, so I am living here with Martha until he acquires one."

Her words brought a memory back to me, of a different person saying something similar.

"In truth, my guardian is Richard," she said.

Jack's eyes widened, but he did not take his worshipful gaze from her. My chest grew tightly. It was as I feared. This delightful girl was going to steal my brother's heart. Especially now that we were in a way connected.

"I am surprised that he did not tell you himself. He may not have wanted it known. I give him plenty of trouble; I assure you."

I do believe that. "Well, this is unexpected," I said, but I was not heeded.

What was it with those two that made them want to gaze longingly into each other's eyes? It was enough to make one sick, or vexed.

When Miss Clark finally looked at me, she said, "I have heard that you are a great horsewoman, Miss Martin. Perhaps when we take that ride, we could pit our skills against one another."

"Perhaps we shall, Miss Clark, but I assure you that my skill has been exaggerated. I am nothing above average."

"Can we count on you to join us, Mr. Martin?"

The look she cast Jack was full of the right amount of pleading without looking ridiculous. I was beginning to believe she had bewitched him, and when he agreed, I knew it for truth. It was known that Jack did not like to ride, another mask to hide the truth, but one that protected our secret. This was not something I could agree with, but I would save that for home.

Jack and Miss Clark began to converse easily, about books of all things, when I thought to ask, "Miss Clark, do you know Mr. Mansfield well?"

Jack scowled at me, but Miss Clark replied, "Unfortunately, yes." She made a face of dislike. "He was the captain of one of Richard's merchant ships until recently. Why he has moved to Philadelphia, I do not know. I would have thought he would have gone home to England."

"England?" I asked with great interest.

"His mother owns a theater or some such thing, and Mr. Mansfield was known to tread the boards before joining the fight."

"He fought for the British?" Jack asked, doing a convincing job of sounding incredulous. It was humorous considering that we were born in England.

"As I said, unfortunately, yes. He defected at the end when the fighting is nearly over."

"You are forthright," I said with a laugh.

She inclined her head. "A rule that I live by."

When half an hour was coming to an end, we rose to take our leave. As she walked us to the front door, she mentioned riding again.

"What day do you suggest?" I asked kindly.

"At the moment, I am unsure. Shall I let you know?"

"Please do. We look forward to it. Do we not, John?"

"Indeed we do," he said as he bowed.

We left the house, and as our carriage had not yet returned, we decided to walk down the street together. We had reached the street corner when we heard a man shout from behind us.

"What do you mean she will not see me?"

I looked over my shoulder then turned completely around. Nicholas Mansfield was standing before Miss Clark's door facing Martha. I could not hear her reply, but she started to close the door in his face. I half expected him to shove his way into the house, but he did not. Grabbing Jack's arm, we turned so that our backs were to him as he marched toward us. He passed us without a look and crossed the street. I waited until he was half down the next row of houses before following.

"What do you think you are doing?" Jack demanded.

"Pursuing. Now come along," I said, picking up my pace.

Nicholas walked toward the river and turned down Front Street. I looked over at Jack. Jack was not at all surprised.

Nicholas turned down an alley that led to a row of bandbox houses, and we stopped at the corner. Nicholas pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, placed it over his nose and mouth, then tapped on the door with the end of his walking stick. When the door opened, he went in. I did not wait for Jack, but moved down the alley, hunching low to move beneath the window and then rose to my full height. I leaned against the front of the house beside the door. Jack came up beside me shaking his head in amusement. Even dressed as I was to make morning calls, in a white gown, and long blue pelisse fastened tight to protect me from the cold, I was not above venturing into the unsavory parts of the city if it would provide useful information.

"Leave it open. I will not remain long," Nicholas said to someone inside. The door was left open, and we listened as Nicholas told someone he had come for the dolk af hemmeligheder. Nicholas knew Danish? Dolk af hemmeligheder meant dagger of secrets. An artifact, surely.

"What," Nicholas shouted, and I jumped a little. I glanced at my brother, but he had sucked in his bottom lip as he always did when he was trying to keep from laughing out loud.

"Give me that!" A moment passed then Nicholas ground out, "You fool! That is the sign of the Phantoms. When last did you see the dagger?"

For a moment, I was sure that they were mistaken, for I had not been to this house before. It dawned on me like rays of sunlight breaking through the clouds. Jack.

A deep voice rumbled, but I could not tell what he said.

"It is a good thing then that I have the box, lest you allow them to steal that as well." Another rumbling sounded, but Nicholas cut him off. "I do not care what you have to say. Be prepared to meet me on the morrow at Stark Manor for the meeting. As the new lord of Levitas, your negligence shall be dealt with accordingly."

We moved away from the house in a low, swift run. Nicholas was the new lord of Levitas was he? Well, we would have to see what we could do to disrupt his plans, and we now knew who held the black box.

"Jack, how did the mark of the Phantoms come to be in that house?"

"Not here," he whispered, so I remained silent for the walk home.

Once we were in his library, and the door was closed, he unlocked a drawer in his desk. My father had built both Jack's desk and mine in my bedchamber. They were each filled with secret compartments, but Jack's desk was larger. He pulled a dagger from one of the drawers. It was the same dagger that had been in the Levitas book. Dolk af hemmeligheder was what Nicholas had called it.

"Levi came to tell me that he had found the giant. He, Leo and I paid a call and found this lovely piece of craftsmanship," Jack explained as he admired the dagger.

The hilt was, upon close inspection, pure gold, and the thick blade was engraved in the center with an eagle perched on the top of a throne. Above it were the words Min Herre, min Konge.

"My Lord, my King," Jack whispered almost reverently. We did not know what the significance of the dagger was but holding it I had the feeling I was staring at something important.

"That was the giant's house? He works for Levitas?"

"So it appears. His name is Dimitri, and I am told that he frightens children," Jack said.

I shuddered, touching my neck where the marks from his large hand had faded. "Not only children. He frightens me."

Jack was too absorbed in thought to pay heed to my words. "What did the letter from Hannah say?"

"It was an invitation to a party at her house. One of those sordid affairs," I said pointedly for I knew Jack had attended a few of those parties.

Jack locked the dagger back in his desk. "According to the Levitas book, all meetings begin at nine. I saw Nicholas giving the coded handshake to several of the men, Mr. Knowlton included."

"Ephraim's father? Well, Mrs. Knowlton has complained about her husband a number of times to our mother."

"Now we know the date and location, though I have never heard of Stark Manor," Jack said, moving to his wall of bookshelves to retrieve a book.

Nor had I, but I knew that Leo would know. Leo was not only a member of our team but was Jack's valet and spent his free days exploring the countryside.

"Should we assemble our team?" Jack asked over his shoulder.

The giant, the black carriage, Pierre's capture, the men who had murdered Ben, and now the artifacts; they were all tied to Levitas. Freddy had described the black carriage as being the one to capture George, but thus far, the only information that we had learned was that his servants thought he was on a trip to visit his nephew in Charleston. If Levitas had snatched him, then his servants would surely have known. His servants were as close as our own. We had to find George, but if he were with us, he would tell us that Levitas was most important. I had a strange feeling though that if we took Levitas, we would find George.

"No. I believe that you and I should see what this is all about first." Then could we move in with the aid of our friends who were constables and watchmen and destroy their traitorous society as my father had wanted. "But, Jack," he looked over his shoulder again, "this time we go together."

# Chapter 9

Bess

Leo had come through for us with the location of Stark Manor. It was a house outside the city and one of the country houses that the more affluent citizens flocked to during the summer months. After there had been a citywide epidemic of yellow fever in 1793 that took the lives of nearly five thousand people, those who could afford to do so quit the city for the fresh aired country.

When we reached Stark Manor, it was hidden from the road by a long lane in the middle of a large wood. We rode past the lane, circling the house through the trees, and stopping where the woods dipped down a hill then opened into a meadow that had a small pond. We tied our horses there, making sure to secure them where they could graze.

As we came upon the back of Stark Manor, we halted, my breath stalling for a moment.

The back of a three story gray stone country house was before us and built onto the back of the house was a two story round structure that had a colorful glass dome rising as high as the roof. Jack and I exchanged a look of wonder before scouting the area. There was a stone courtyard and drive that came down the side of the house directly to a large stable building. The courtyard was clear of people, so we sprinted across the green lawn and on around the left side of the house. At the front, the first windows looked into an empty dining parlor, and the door that led from the room was closed.

I kept watch while Jack tried to open the window. The first one he tried was unlatched, so he pried it open and climbed through. I followed, closing the window behind me. As I placed my ear against the door, all sounded quiet. Jack grabbed a red apple from a compote of fruit, placed it in his pocket, then nodded his readiness. Easing open the door; all was clear in the wide foyer, but voices came from behind a closed door across from the dining parlor.

We ascended the staircase, which had plush, but faded red carpet that muffled our steps. In the dark upstairs hallway, the only light came from the windows in the large bedchambers that we passed. There was one door that beckoned to us. It was black with a golden lion head shaped knob. After listening for sounds on the other side, I slowly turned the knob. It opened into the round room, and I let out a little gasp. We stepped off the carpeted floor of the hallway onto a black iron walkway that followed the walls in one large circle.

In incredulous awe, our eyes took in the ornate surroundings. Carved and painted on the center of the floor below was a large emblem of a golden pyramid with a gold lightning bolt through the center and running along the outside were leaves and vines of ivy.

Gold throne chairs with blue cushions lined the walls angling toward a platform against the far wall that held three larger thrones. The same emblem that was on the floor was also on the wall behind the platform. It was the most ostentatious room that I had ever looked upon. Jack shut the door to the hall as I looked fully around the room. There were three doors that led off the walkway, with matching doors on the first floor. A few alcoves were carved into the walls along the walkway with either half naked statues or groups of palms that covered the alcove. I raised my eyes to the dome, even larger than it had appeared on the outside. The sides were etched glass stained red, blue and gold, but the top was of clear glass, and I could see the darkening sky above. It was nearing nine, and the light was fading. I moved to the right, following along the iron walkway as I counted the throne chairs below.

"There are thirteen in all," I said to Jack. I started to say something else when Jack held a finger to his lips and pointed to an alcove behind me. I pushed through the palms followed immediately by Jack as he leapt through. We resettled the leaves to wait for whatever it was that Jack had heard.

A loud thud echoed through the room, and I tensed.

"Light all the candles. The twelve will arrive soon," a deep voice said from near the door. We stayed completely still as two men walked their way around, lighting the candles that were set in gold sconces along the walls.

The same gruff voice yelled, "Don't be lighting those, fool!"

Soft glow from the candles lit the room as the sky above turned black. Boots stomping along the walkway moved closer to our hiding place, then stopped right before us. We did not move, and I did not breathe. I closed my eyes and began to pray.

"What time are they to arrive?" A different man's voice asked.

"Even now the first carriages arrive. The ceremony will begin at nine rings of the clock. Come, we must get to our places," the gruff voice replied before moving away.

The door closed with more force than necessary, and I released my breath. Jack was sitting against the wall across from me, and when my stomach growled, loud and surly, he chuckled.

"I have not eaten since breakfast," I whispered.

Jack pulled the apple from his pocket and tossed it to me. I caught it, twisted the stem out, then placed my thumbs on the top of the apple, applying pressure and pulling out. The apple made a crunching noise as it split in two. My father had taught us how to split apples with our hands when I was nine. He would say that one never knew when they would be without a knife.

We sat eating apple pieces and watching the room below through the small gaps between the leaves. It was almost like a picnic, if you did not count the murdering lunatics, giant, or throne room of iniquity. At our angle, we could see the door below, all the thrones on the far wall, and part of the platform.

Ten minutes passed before the doors below opened, and men started entering the room, each was holding a single lit candle. Every man placed his candle in the sconce beside his chair then stood silently. They wore long, blue capes with hoods pulled up, shading their faces from our view. Their suits under the capes were dark blue with golden scrolls running along the sides of their trousers and up the sleeves of their coats.

A white haired woman entered wearing the same cape but with a dress underneath. A gold chain encrusted with sapphires hung around her thin neck. She moved to the throne directly across the room. A silent moment passed before two men, one of them Nicholas, entered, walking together toward the platform. A silent minute passed, and when the doors opened again, a figure dressed in a long white cloak entered. I leaned forward for a better look at the woman in white. She was not as ethereal as I had first thought her in Washington. I felt Jack tense beside me. His eyes were intent upon the woman in white. There was something between them, something that ran deeper than her grazing his arm with that shot; I would swear to it. I looked back down in time to see her smirk at the men on the platform.

All air left me in a rush as my mind reeled. I knew that smirk. I knew that smirk well. Her hood was covering her hair completely, but both her height and slender frame assured me. The woman in white was Hannah Lamont.

Jack was still watching her, but after a moment, his eyes widened and he leaned forward on his hand, as if trying to get closer to her.

"Yes," I hissed. He looked at me, and I nodded, watching as his jaw began to work. He was trying to gain control of his emotions.

Hannah stood before the chair next to the white-haired woman as the man who had entered with Nicholas stepped forward and spoke.

"Let the ceremony commence. Brothers and sisters, as you know at our last meeting we swore in our new leader. It is with humble unworthiness that I present to you the new lord of Levitas."

Nicholas took a step forward, stood next to the other man on the platform, and returned Hannah's smirk, but she was not paying him any heed. Her attention was focused on the crest on the floor. I wanted to shoot them both. Not to kill, but to repay them for all the trouble, the disappearances, the giant, the pain they caused Jack. It would be so simple; there were two of them, and I happened to have two pistols. All it would require would be aiming my pistols...

The doors creaked open, and I glanced at them, and at that moment everything within me lurched.

My emotions were in a spiral. Disbelief had my mind shouting doubts, then alarm had me clenching my fists. Another bout of disbelief had me telling myself it was not so, a surge of fear caused a shiver to race up my spine. Rage coated the fear, and then I was back to disbelief.

This cannot be. This cannot be.

Richard.

Richard's black cape made his look like a bat as he walked toward the platform. A gold ring with a ruby stone glittered on his finger.

Rage pumped my blood, and I could hear it swishing in my ears. I felt Jack shift beside me. Jack was reaching for his pistol. I grabbed his wrist, and his eyes shot to mine. I was momentarily taken aback. I had never seen such fury in his eyes, and I had seen Jack angry many, many times. As I shook my head, his face became a sneer as he pulled his arm from my grasp, but released the handle of his pistol.

Richard stepped on the platform then spun with his cape twirling behind him. "Be seated."

Everyone but Richard sat. "Brothers and Sisters, let us welcome the gods of thunder and lightning." Richard raised his head and looked toward the dome, and his eyes rolled back as he spouted off a Greek incantation. Lightning flashed across the sky above the glass dome, and I jerked, bumping my arm against the wall. I had not known it was storming until that moment.

Richard smiled and lowered his head. "I have given my oath to serve you, and my first order as your new lord is to unmask a traitor within our midst."

I could not help but look at Hannah. She was, after all, the only one wearing a mask.

"Bring forth the traitor," Richard's voice boomed.

Dimitri ducked to get through the door pulling with him a bound man with a black cloth, like a sack, covering the man's head. Richard sat upon his center throne and flicked his finger upward, gesturing for Dimitri to remove the bag. My insides had recoiled before I was reaching for my own pistol.

Pierre.

If hearts could stop, even for a moment, then mine surely did. I had my suspicions that Pierre was taken by Levitas but not this. Never this.

Jack grabbed my wrist, and when I met his gaze he shook his head, but I could tell that it was with reluctance.

Pierre rose to the middle of Dimitri's large chest, showing no fear as he stared at Richard.

"Pierre Travoy, you are charged with selling secrets to the enemy, betraying our trust, and associating with Phantoms." At the sound of our name, I tensed as my heartbeat skittered, and my palms began to sweat. "Kneel," Richard said to Pierre, but he did not comply, so Richard snapped his fingers, and Dimitri shoved Pierre to his knees.

Richard moved to stand before Pierre. "Let it be known that all traitors of the order will be dealt with the same way. As the leader of Levitas, I will not allow any to come against us, and with the power that has been given me through the gods of thunder and lightning I shall strike." Richard's hands came down hard on Pierre's shoulders. There was a look of something inhuman on Richard's face, like it was someone else there, someone bloodthirsty, instead of the kind man that I had met in my brother's library.

Pierre screamed a sound that caused icy shards to freeze my blood, and a flash of lightning illuminated the dome overhead. Pierre's body started convulsing, and Richard released his shoulders but kept his hand extended above Pierre as Pierre dropped on his back, writhing in certain pain. I could not move, could not take my eyes away from Pierre and the terrible thing happening to him. I felt Jack take my hand, realizing how badly it was shaking. We could not do anything to help him. I did not even know what was wrong with him. I watched and listened in horrified silence to the muffled shrieks that came from Pierre. Then it was all over. Pierre's eyes stared up, but there was no life there, no movement, nothing but terror and death. My shaking hand covered my mouth, but I did not fully understand what had happened. Movement all around the room made my gaze snap to each member that I could see. Every one of them was squirming in their seats, fear on all of their faces, save one.

Hannah was not looking at Pierre's dead body but at Richard, with a look of complete unconcern on the part of her face that I could see. I knew she was a cold-hearted wretch, but I never knew how heartless she was until that moment.

Richard snapped his fingers again, and Dimitri dragged Pierre's lifeless body from the room. Richard was speaking to the members, but I could not hear it.

"How many guns have you?" Jack asked against my ear, and I held up two fingers. He cursed softly.

Why did I not bring the others? There were only four pistols between us and no way to charge out to capture Richard, not without one of us being harmed—or worse. Who knew what Richard would have done to us if he caught us watching his ceremony. We would not escape; I knew that much.

When the ceremony ended and all the members were gone from the throne room, Jack and I climbed from the alcove. The hallway outside the throne room was completely dark as we made our way toward the stairs in silence. I was about to go down, when Jack caught my arm and pulled me back. The white-haired woman stepped into the house through the open front door as the rain poured outside the house.

"Do not walk away from me!" said an angry voice from the room across from the dining parlor. The older woman moved, so she could see into that room.

"You have tried to make me look the fool." It was Nicholas's voice; I recognized the English lilt.

"You do not need my help for that," a woman's sultry voice replied, and I stiffened. It was her voice.

Nicholas spoke again though softer. "When you approached us for a place in the society, it was I who gained you entry into this sacred court, but do you treat it as you should? Do you respect the key that I have offered? No."

"If you believe that because you spoke for me I should feel indebted to become your wife, you are far from the mark. I owe no man."

A shadow stepped up behind the white-haired woman and gripped her arm. She screeched, shrinking away until she saw it was only Richard. "Listening at the door, Mrs. Lewis? Surely you have better uses for your time than to listen to a lover's spat." Richard held out his arm and the woman laid her hand on it. They walked into the room together.

"Why you must quarrel so much I declare I know not," the older woman scolded.

"When Nicholas accepts that I shall never marry him, our quarrels will cease. My life may not be my own, but it shall never belong to Nicholas." The woman in white walked into the foyer, slamming the door behind her. She was still hooded and cloaked, but I could tell that she was taking a deep breath.

She walked past the stairs disappearing from our view. Jack touched my shoulder, and we moved down the stairs. I thought we were going toward the dining parlor, but Jack turned us right at the stairs.

Beyond the stairs was a hall, dimly lit, with portraits hanging on both walls and three doors. Jack stopped at the first door on the right that had not been fully closed. It led to a staircase that went down below the house. Jack pulled out his pistol, and I had followed suit before we descended. At the bottom of the stairs was a cold, damp room that had jars and marked crates of food stacked. There was a door directly before the stairs that had not been closed all the way. Leaning against the stone wall, we looked into the room. She was standing with her back to us looking down at something on the floor. She shifted, and I saw Pierre's face. I sucked in a silent breath as despair and sadness washed over me. We lost a great ally this day. Hannah knelt beside Pierre. There was a small vial in her hand that she uncorked. She placed a hand beneath Pierre's head and tilting it up; she slipped the rim of the vial into his mouth and poured the contents in.

"Arise, Pierre. Death is not yours this day."

Confusion and disbelief coursed through me. The woman was mad. Pierre's eyes fluttered, and his back arched.

My shaking hand came up to cover my mouth as Pierre's eyes opened, and his head turned toward the door. Jack and I both jerked our heads back. Jack motioned for the stairs. I was near to bursting with questions, but I remained silent as we made our ascent. We pushed open the door and walked through, right into a man as wide as the door.

"Intruders," he spat, trying to grab Jack. Jack threw his fist into the man's gut, shoved him back, and we ran into the throne room, Jack slamming the door behind us.

The man's shouts made us run toward a room to the right of the platform. There was a single candle burning in the room illuminating a long table and a spiral staircase that rose to the second floor. Jack grabbed the table, and we shoved it against the door. There was one other door, on the back wall that I moved to, pulling with all my strength. Pounding echoed through the room followed by splinters of wood as a large fist made a hole in the barricaded door behind us. Jack shoved me away from the door I was pulling on, unbolted the top and threw it open. We jumped through and dropped onto hard ground.

"Run, Raven, lead them away. I am going for Pierre." Jack ran toward the side of the house, and I ran across the lawn to the woods. I pulled my special triple barrel pistol from my pocket as I ran through the dark trees, rain droplets, and tree limbs hitting me in the face. I needed a diversion to give Jack time to rescue Pierre. I heard shouts and curses behind me as the guards were entering the woods. I stumbled over a fallen log and fell to my knees, pain shooting through my legs. Laying flat on my stomach leaning into the log, I heard the men coming closer. I was wearing all black except for the red on my mask, but I kept my face and body pressed against the log. My heart was beating like a war cry as I heard leaves rustle and twigs snap around me.

"Spread out and find them!"

I stayed against the log for what felt like an hour but was closer to five minutes. When I could no longer hear leaves or twigs, I pushed to my knees with my back hunched over and looked around. My eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, but I could only see a few feet before my face. As branches swayed and leaves rustled, no larger figures moved. I jumped up and ran to my right, cutting to the eastern trees opposite to where the guards were heading. I kept looking over at the house to see if Jack had come out. The shadows were many as the moon broke through the clouds. I thought I saw a small man darting across the lawn. I ran along the edge of the trees so that he would know where I was.

A large shadow jumped out from behind a tree, and I shrieked as I slammed into his chest. He grabbed my arm. I threw the barrel of my pistol against his head; my fist struck his nose, and I shoved him off, running deeper into the woods. He did not follow me that I could tell, but I was feeling skittish, and my heart felt like it would explode within my chest if I stopped. Our horses were not at all contented at being left in the rain with lightning flashing and thunder rumbling the earth. I pulled some sugar from my saddle bag and held out both my hands. Pegasus nipped it immediately, but Brutus was angry and stomping. A rustling came from behind me, and dread pulsed through my blood, danced along my arms, darted up and down my spine. I turned, raising my pistol at the dark trees.

Jack broke through the trees. I leaned against Pegasus in profound relief. I quickly untied the reins and mounted Pegasus. Jack grabbed Brutus's reins and climbed swiftly into the saddle.

When we were a safe distance away from Stark Manor, I asked Jack about Pierre. His face was grim in the moonlight. "He and the white phantom were not there."

That was the strangest night of my life. Richard was a leader of a deadly secret society; Pierre was killed and then brought back to life, and Hannah Lamont was a black magic wielding white phantom. Life had taken a turn into lunacy.

# Chapter 10

Bess

1 June 1816

Three days had passed since the Levitas meeting, and though I had sent my team to search around Stark Manor, we had not found Pierre. I briefly entertained the notion that Hannah was a witch, and Richard used black magic, but Levi, who owned an apothecary shop, was sure that if Richard poisoned Pierre, Hannah could have had an antidote that would have counteracted the poison.

Mariah and Levi were worried about the disappearances and what they meant. Mariah told us that people were scared, and the weather was only adding to their fears. We had record lows, and there had been ice upon the ground last week. Ice in May! There were whisperings throughout the city that a supernatural deity had been made unhappy by the war and was determined to purge our great country and that the people taken were being offered as sacrifices.

I had assigned Levi to watching Hannah's house and reporting anything he found suspicious.

As my mother nearly always took a tray in her chamber, and Jack had not come down yet, I ate alone in the dining parlor. When I was near to finished, Arnaud brought a letter to me. When I broke the seal and spread open the single sheet, the food I had consumed threatened to come up.

21 May

Elizabeth,

This letter is to be delivered into your hands when I am gone. I have known what was ahead and what I had to face. It was my destiny, as my beautiful is yours. You must finish your journey. For your father.

Before he died, I was working with him against the devil. Your brother was not the only one with faith. For two years, I have been carrying on in his name. Now it is your time. You must possess the knowledge which others seek for if they become knowledgeable, they will wield it against you. Many people very dear to you will suffer from their chatter. My beautiful, your key is restoration.

Regretfully, P. Travoy

The letter was written on the day that Pierre was captured; the day that I had met with him. I contemplated the meaning. They could only mean Levitas, as Pierre would never put their name to paper. One of the members worked at the post office. I had recognized him. My beautiful, of course, was Ma belle. The knowledge which others seek. Levitas was seeking Ma belle and the artifacts.

Jack would know. He was good with translations. I rose from the table and took the letter with me into the library to wait for Jack.

When he finally put in an appearance, it was mid morning, and his gait was slow. I surveyed him critically. He had gone out last night with a group of his friends.

"Is Dudley in any better shape?" I asked.

Jack chuckled. "I assume that Dudley is his usual robust self."

I handed him the letter to read. When he had read over it twice, he stood and went to the fireplace. He placed the letter before the flames, and I moved to his side. When words appeared, I dropped to my knees to read over his shoulder. Invisible ink. A mixture of iron sulfate and water, or the juice from a lemon, would create what was known as invisible ink. It had been George's primary way of writing. It was a risk, for anyone could hold the letter up to a candle and see what was truly written between the lines, but George would say that if it worked for the Great Man, then it worked for him. George was named for President George Washington as his father had been a spy under General Washington's command during the Revolution, though he never met the man personally. When George joined my father to form the Phantoms, he prided himself that his ring of spies would be further advanced than those whom his father had served. Instead of numbers for deputy names, each deputy was called a word that could be written into any letter without the least suspicion of underlying meaning. Junto was the name of the club which my father had been a member. Fenrir was a Norse mythology about a great wolf beast. Loutaire was a combination of my grandfather's name and his favorite word, silence.

Words appeared on the letter where there had been none. The leader of Levitas is Richard Hamilton.

"I wish that he would have told me when we met."

"That would have made our search simpler," Jack's expression turned grim, "but when has our job ever been uncomplicated."

Ma belle. A woman of means, powerful, hiding between Boston and Savannah.

I read the last description, but then had to read it again. It said powerful sorceress with a past of darkness. One name came to mind, but I shoved it away. It could not be that simple.

Jack tossed the letter into the flames, and we watched it until it was ash. At least we knew Pierre was alive, somewhere, and when I found him I would ask him about the contents of the letter. Until then, I would work on finding George and the remaining artifacts.

We spoke about George and where he could be. Jack said that since it was Leo's day of leisure, he was scouring the countryside around Stark Manor for any place that they could be keeping George.

"What if we are wrong and the black carriage has nothing to do with Levitas?"

"Then we have one more riddle to solve, but do not worry," Jack laid his hand on my shoulder, "we will find George."

***

It was half past noon, and I was coming down the stairs from having changed my frock into an afternoon gown when I saw Richard. I stopped and turned, fleeing up the stairs, out of view before he noticed me. Peeking around the wall as he was let into Jack's library, my curiosity got the best of me, and when Arnaud left the foyer I went down the stairs to the library door. It had not been shut completely, so I was able to hear what was being said.

"Please be seated." Jack sounded calm. "There is something I wish to discuss with you." What could Jack possibly want to discuss with Richard? "At my sister's party I met a vision and I understand that she is your ward."

Richard barked out a laugh. "My boy, it will take a strong man to tame that filly. A firebrand is what she is."

"Sir, I will have you know that poetry is considered a powerful weapon upon the senses."

Richard laughed again, but Jack interrupted him. "Could you tell me about her? Who were her family? From where does she hail?"

It was silent for a moment before Richard said, "She is seventeen and her family is all gone. She hails from Boston, and she has recently become betrothed. So as you can see, she is not for you."

"To what was once my only dream, a storm has come to break the sheen," Jack replied reverently.

"Yes, yes," Richard mumbled, and I nearly laughed. Relief was thrumming through me. If Miss Clark were betrothed, then Jack was safe.

"I hear that it is to you that a man must come when seeking your sister's hand in marriage. Surely your father, a worthy man I am sure, must have named someone older to have the final say in such a delicate decision."

I was startled. Why would Richard be speaking about me?

"My father was not so gothic in his views. He knew that I would choose such a man for my sister that he would approve of."

"I believe I know of such a man." Richard's voice sounded much too cheerful. "Nicholas Mansfield. You met him at the party. He would be most suitable, and he has the means to keep her in the comfort to which she is accustomed."

The fiery lakes of Hell will freeze over first!

"You may have something there."

My jaw slackened. Indignation coupled with outrage as I clenched my teeth. I looked through the crack in the door.

Richard was positively gleeful as he slapped his knee and sat back. "She is not growing any younger and we must work together, as the two men in her life who have her best interests in mind, to choose wisely for her."

"May I ask what makes Nicholas Mansfield believe he would be a good match for my sister?"

"He assures me that your sister was taken with him at the ball; enough to cast herself against him in the pretense of stumbling so she could garner an introduction."

My heart was beating wildly, my palms sweaty and aching as I dug my nails into my skin. So I had been right; he did not believe I had tripped. He thought I was after him. I shuddered. Disgusting!

"You should bring him by one day soon." Jack was grinning. Grinning!

Richard laughed and said he would do that. Richard winked at Jack, "Best not to tell the ladies of our plans."

"I concur wholeheartedly," Jack replied with conviction.

Richard rose, and I leapt away from the door and ran to the dining parlor. I waited until I heard Richard leave the house before going back to the library.

Jack was leaning his head against the sofa with his eyes focused on the ceiling. "Father forgive me for what I have done that I should strike a deal with the devil's own son."

I shoved the door open, and it struck the wall. "You will have to do more than that to acquit you of such a sin, John Traitor Martin!" His head shot up.

Every thought was black as I stood inside the doorway with my hands on my hips, seething with anger. My chest was rising and falling as I huffed in and blew out short breaths through my nose.

Jack's startled face and conscience-stricken eyes barely alleviated my anger. He slowly arose, his eyes never moving from my face.

"Now, Bess, it was not at all like that. You know me. Would I honestly make a deal with the son of the devil if I did not have a good reason?"

"I do not care what your reason," I lied. "You betrayed me to him."

Jack sighed and came toward me. I stepped away from his outstretched hand, but he was reaching for the door, not for me. He closed the door, then walked back to the sofa, but he did not sit.

"Listen, Bess, I had no intention of betraying you, but I saw an opportunity and I took it."

"An opportunity? Is that what I am to you? I suggest you explain." I crossed my arms over my chest and waited.

"You know that our father told us that chances present themselves every day if we only have ears to hear. Nicholas has knowledge hidden in his house, and I needed an opportunity to search for it. You are to be that opportunity."

I bit my bottom lip as I thought that over. It did sound logical, and it sounded like something I would have done, as would our father. Uncrossing my arms, and moving to sit on the sofa, Jack sat beside me.

"I am listening," I said.

"Richard will bring Nicholas to call on you, and you will keep both men entertained for at least an hour. Giving me enough time to ride to his house and search for the black box."

"An hour? That is not possible."

"Three quarters of an hour then. I need as long as you can give me. His house is only two roads from here, but I will need time to get inside and search." Jack waited silently even though he knew I would never give up such an opportunity.

"I will try to keep them here as long as I can, but you must be swift. Half an hour is the correct time for a call, and I am not sure I could keep them here longer."

Jack smiled and squeezed my shoulder with that brotherly affection that said he appreciated me.

My mother came in a few minutes later, and by the look on Jack's face; I could tell that he wanted to speak to her about Richard.

Rising, Jack told her that he was glad to see her as there was something rather important that we needed to tell her.

"This sounds intriguing," Mother said with a smile.

"It is about Richard."

Her smile wilted as she looked from Jack to me.

Jack and I exchanged a glance, and I nodded.

"We went to observe a secret society in connection with one of our cases, and discovered that Richard is the leader of that society."

"You mean Levitas, yes I know that he is the leader. It is a great honor for him to be chosen."

She could not know all if she were still willing to marry him. "He has spoken to you of Levitas?" I asked cautiously.

"Richard has no secrets from me." Her back went straighter; her chin angled a touch higher in the air. "He told me that it is a society that strives to better this country, and he is leading the way. He is truly honorable."

She believed that rubbish. Anger was filling my chest as I gripped my knees and leaned forward. "Mama, it is not—" he cut in, "I appreciate your concern. I know that my marrying is difficult for you to accept, but I love Richard, I trust him, and I need you to trust me. I know what I am doing."

I opened my mouth to speak again, but Jack caught my attention and shook his head. I snapped my mouth closed as my mother stood.

When the knocker on the front door sounded, Mother gave me a look that said she expected me in the drawing room to greet callers, immediately.

After she went out Jack said, "So it begins."

I cast him a scathing glance as I went out, shutting the door behind me.

Edith was in the drawing room with my mother. Breathing a relieved breath, I went to greet her. I had only just seated myself beside Edith when Miss Clark came in. As she sat, she told me she was returning the kindness since my brother and I had called upon her.

Another caller arrived, one of my mother's friends, so Edith, Miss Clark, and I settled upon a sofa together.

"Are you excited about your party?" I asked Edith.

Her face perked up, and her blue eyes grew round with excitement. "Yes, I love any opportunity to dance."

She was such a lively dancer, the only time she ever showed that vivacious side of herself in society.

She turned until our knees were touching, and she leaned near me whispering, "My uncle says that Mr. Monroe has promised to make an appearance since he will be in Philadelphia."

Miss Clark's head snapped up from staring at her hands. She gazed at Edith through narrowed eyes.

"That is wonderful," I said, truly pleased but curious about Miss Clark's expression. James Monroe was a kind man and a friend of our family whom I had not seen him since my father's funeral.

"Uncle Harvey says that Mr. Monroe is bringing a young man with him," she swallowed hard, a look of fear shadowing her face, "to meet me."

"Well, you may be sure that if it is so, he will be a nice man. Your uncle would not allow any knaves or pirates into his house."

Edith laughed, her soft voice happy again. "Oh Bess, you and your pirates."

When Edith was younger she would beg me to tell her stories, and it was my pirate stories that she enjoyed the most. What she did not know was that the story about the maiden dressing as a boy and sneaking aboard the ship then being forced to leap over the side into the icy water had all happened to me. Though those had been smugglers.

"I have heard that there were some dashing pirate captains who roamed the seas a hundred years ago."

Miss Clark laughed. "The way you speak it sounds as if you would like to marry a pirate."

"No," I replied after a thoughtful moment, "it would be most uncomfortable, never knowing if he were alive or dead. And, sadly, pirates are no longer the fashion. Now, a pirate catcher, I could marry one of those. I would get to meet some real pirates."

Miss Clark and Edith laughed, and then Edith snorted, and we three laughed together.

Edith's carriage was the first to call for her, and after she had left, Miss Clark lingered. I had my suspicions why. When I walked with her into the foyer, she glanced at the closed library door speaking with perfect candor.

"I had hoped to see your brother."

"He will be most desolate to have missed seeing you, but Jack tries to be away from home when my gentlemen callers arrive. He says it hurts his poetical heart to see them making cakes of themselves."

She was watching me thoughtfully. "Jack?"

I never did get the chance to reply, for when Arnaud opened the front door for her to go out, Richard and Nicholas were standing on the other side.

Drat! Where was Jack?

Miss Clark looked as if she were thinking the same. Richard had wasted no time in bringing Nicholas to me; devil take him. Richard greeted us both kindly, but Nicholas looked as if he would like to gobble us up, one for dinner and the other, dessert.

"How fortunate we are, Richard, to come upon two such lovely roses."

His attempt at flattery left us untouched. The man required instruction. Dudley could train him in the art of compliments. I nearly laughed at the thought of sticking Dudley to the task. Miss Clark did not reply to Nicholas, but bid me good-bye and went out of the house without a word to either man.

"Will you not come into the drawing room? Arnaud, please bring tea." I led the way to the drawing room, but stood at the door for them to enter. The library door open and Jack smiled and slipped out of the house.

Do make haste, Jack, I thought and then entered the lion's den.

# Chapter 11

Jack

When I heard Miss Clark's voice in the foyer with Bess, I felt like a coward. My earnest desire was to go greet her, but Richard's words came back like a raging rapid, and I knew that if I saw her, it would only make matters worse. I enjoyed her company, but as a gentleman, I could not pursue her when she belonged to another.

Then hearing Richard and Nicholas enter, my mind went to work. I went to my desk and unlocked it removing my pistol and a knife. My pistols were always loaded when kept at home. Leo saw to that.

Deciding to walk the two roads to Nicholas's house instead of going for my horse, I made good time. When I reached his brick townhouse, I surveyed it from across the street. I did not know how many servants he employed, but it did not matter for I was determined to search that house.

The back of the house was built against the back of the house behind it giving it neither a yard nor a back entrance. I decided to try my luck at the front door. Excited energy spiraled along my spine as I walked up to it like I was master of the house and turned the knob. The door led into a small draft entryway as most well built houses had. There was another door that led into the foyer, so I eased it open enough to look into the house. It was empty, and all appeared quiet. The fact that the house was unlocked said that someone was there, but they may have been in the kitchen. The foyer was small and narrow with two doors on the left wall and a staircase built against the right. The first door was a blue parlor, but it was the second open door that drew me to it. It was Nicholas's study. Across from the study behind the staircase was a small dining parlor, but it too was empty.

I went into Nicholas's study and closed the door. There were two bookshelves and a desk on the far wall. That was all the furniture, and there were no windows, but there was a fire burning in the fireplace offering enough light to search the room. I started at the desk. There were blank sheets of paper and extra quills and ink stands, but what I found interesting were his expense accounts. Glancing over the figures revealed that the man spent money like my mother. I closed the drawers and went to the bookshelves, but they did not move or reveal a secret compartment. The man had horrible taste in literature and some of the books were fake. It hurt my literary mind being in the same room.

The fireplace was made of wood, not marble, and as I knocked along the small columns that flanked the front sides, I discovered they were hollow. I pressed each piece of the border that was running along the mantle until one piece sunk in. A piece of the wood separated from the rest. Excitement rose within me as I reached my hand into the secret compartment. It was empty. My excitement wilted. I searched the other side of the fireplace, but it did not contain a secret compartment. I rose, wondering if I should search Nicholas's bedchamber.

He struck me as the sort of man who would hide his valuables beneath his bed. At the top of the stairs, there were two bedchambers, and I went into the one on the right. It was bare except for a small bed with a patchwork quilt, a wash basin, and a mirror. I found nothing, so I went across the small hall to the other bedchamber. It was done in shades of blue, from the bed hangings to the curtains and the rugs covering the wood floor. My reflection surrounded me from where a looking glass hung on each wall. There were also three smaller glasses on his dressing table that you could hold in your hand.

The man was a prancing popinjay. Chuckling, I began my search. I searched around and under the bed, sounded the four posts and even stood on the bed to feel along the canopy. Nothing was there. I jumped down from the bed and brushed it smooth then went to the dressing table. There was nothing around or under that could conceal the box. There was a wardrobe, but no closets or hidden compartments.

Looking around the room, I wondered about Nicholas. Richard had said he could afford to keep Bess in style, but from his house and spending habits that did not ring true.

Pushing the thought away, I moved to the fireplace. It was another wood creation, so I pushed the same part of the border as I had in his study. The same piece slid back. I sucked in a hopeful breath and placed my hand in the compartment. My hand struck something hard. It was a small sword that had been wrapped in a cloth, and it was jammed in there tight. Gritting my teeth, I pushed and pulled on the wrapped sheath. My arm was held at an angle, working the blade forward. I pushed back on the hilt, and it moved. After removing the sword, I left Nicholas's bedchamber. I needed to get out of the house quickly.

In the foyer, as I reached for the knob to let myself out of the house, the outside door opened, and Nicholas's voice floated through the interior door. A small dose of panic struck me. I dashed into the parlor, my gaze sweeping the room. Long damask curtains around the window presented me with a place to hide. I whipped behind one, pressing my back against the wall and making sure that the curtain concealed all of me.

"I tell you, Richard, you are in for a deal of trouble with those two," Nicholas said. "Thinking of your living in the same house as that pup of a poet is enough to set me in whoops."

My teeth clenched painfully as I stared at the dark blue fabric, focusing as if I could see Nicholas through the heavy material.

"I shall manage. If he gets in my way, I shall deal with him accordingly," Richard replied, and my fist tightened on the hilt of the small sword.

"What of Helen?"

Hearing my mother's name used so freely by Nicholas shot bolts of heat through me. He deserved to rot in a cell where rats skittered across the floor, and there was always a cold draft.

"My wife shall do exactly as I bid. Do not forget that I am master in my home."

"I do not see her children acquiescing as easily," Nicholas retorted then laughed.

"And I do not foresee any issues, for I shall not have them in my house." For a painful moment, all was silent, and Richard continued suavely. "John will surely wish for a house of his own," that's the truth, "and Elizabeth shall be married."

"Unlikely. I tried, truly I did, but the woman is as cold as stone. She would not have me."

"She will have no say in the matter. It is that pup, as you call him, who has the final say, and I can wield him to my bidding."

That arrogant fatwit! I started counting. My father had always said, 'When in anger, count.' I was suddenly missing my father. He and I had not agreed that often, but he was a King compared to that vile snake.

"We have spoken of her fortune, and you know the arrangement. You pursue her, shower her with words that a young girl wants to hear, and when you ask for her hand, John and I will grant it."

"She's not that young, my friend. After spending some time with her I believe, we need to alter that agreement."

"You do?" Richard's voice sounded menacing, like he was glaring at Nicholas.

"If I am to tie myself in matrimony to a girl, not of my choosing, then I should have the larger portion of her dowry, not you."

I could scarce believe my ears. The counting in my head grew louder, more determined, for I was one comment away from pulling out the small sword and making a mess of them in the middle of Nicholas's parlor.

"My dear Nicholas, you must try to overcome this fruitless passion you possess for Hannah Lamont. She will never have you."

We were in the right. Hannah is the white phantom.

"If only she would be a little understanding," Nicholas whined.

"My dear fellow, your suit is anything but acceptable to her. Let us focus instead upon a sure suit."

"I do admit that the money would be agreeable, and Elizabeth is not wholly without charm."

I will destroy him. Slowly.

Nicholas spoke again, this time in a melancholy voice. "No, it would not do. You know as well as I that I cannot keep a wife here. She would only be in the way."

"There are solutions, Nicholas. Marry Elizabeth, become the possessor of her fortune, and then send her to England to live with your mother."

"That could answer, and mummy does need someone to cook and clean for the actors at the theatre." Nicholas gave an audible sigh. "She is no Hannah, but if one cannot have the prize pony, one must settle for the next best filly."

"Good," Richard said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. I wanted to make it so he would never smile again.

"Now, go and fetch Sværd af lyn. I have a desire to see it."

The sound of shoes walking across the foyer floor told me that Nicholas had left the room. Reaching my hand beside me, I tried to feel for the latch to the window. If Richard moved anywhere near the settee, he would see me perfectly. I needed to get out of there before they discovered me.

"No!" Nicholas screamed from above stairs.

Time to go. I heard feet on the foyer floor and Richard's voice calling to Nicholas as he went up the stairs. Unlatching the window, I leapt through and ran down the street. I turned the corner and ran in the opposite direction of my house in the chance of pursuit.

Half of an hour later when I finally reached home, I went in through the servants' entrance. Mrs. Beaumont was in the kitchen and not at all surprised to see me below stairs. She assured me the house was empty of guests, so I went in search of my sister.

Finding her in the drawing room, I entered asking, "Was it a kind of revenge that you did not keep them away more than half an hour?"

Her head shot up from over her embroidery hoop, and her mouth twitched at the corner.

"No. I tried to keep them here as long as propriety and my stomach would allow, but they insisted upon departing. I take it that they went to Nicholas's house?"

"You need not smile so," I said harshly and shut the door behind me. As I unwrapped the small sword, Bess came to stand beside me. "This is Sværd af lyn." The blade was sharp and perfectly polished. The handle was of black leather with a silver knob at the top. There was a phoenix engraved on one side of the knob and an L on the other side.

"What does it mean, Jack?"

"I do not know, but it is far safer in our hands than those of Nicholas Mansfield," I replied as I ran a finger over the phoenix.

"I will have you know that the vile dog tried to stroke my waist."

"What the devil was he doing anywhere near your waist?" My voice rose louder than I intended.

Bess shushed me then explained. "When Richard pulled mama from the room on some pretext, Nicholas sat beside me before I could dissuade him, and then his hand was about me."

"Did you stick him with your embroidery needle?" I asked, hoping.

"No, but Mrs. Beaumont came in and railed at him. She started speaking of Saint Peter, the pearly gates, the fire pits of Hell and men who took advantage of unsuspecting maidens. That was why he and Richard insisted upon taking their leave."

Throwing my head back, I laughed. Mrs. Beaumont was worth her weight in gold.

# Chapter 12

Jack

4 June 1816

The musical that was being held at Madame Grelaud's seminary was an opportunity for the young ladies attending the French school to socialize with members of high society. They also attended balls and other social parties upon occasion.

As I escorted Bess and my mother to a set of the chairs beside Edith and her uncle, there was a stir amongst the assembled company. Turning, I saw Mr. Monroe enter with his daughter Maria Hester. Maria Hester, a sweet eleven year old girl, saw Edith and Bess and said something to her father then walked toward them with the grace of someone twice her age. She smiled at me as she passed to go speak with my sister. Moving away from the chairs, I went to Mr. Monroe's side.

"John," he said as he held out his hand. I had to tilt my head to see his face.

"Good evening, sir. It is a pleasure to see you again."

Many were crowding in trying to get to speak with Mr. Monroe. Since he was a kind man, he greeted those trying to edge their way in, but then he looked back down to me.

"You know Madison do you not, John?"

A young man appeared at Mr. Monroe's elbow, and genuine excitement rose in me. I stuck out my hand. "Of course. Good to see you again, Andrew."

The man was tall, six feet at the least with blond hair and green eyes. The ways women judged men were different from the way men judged their fellow men. Ask me if he was a capital rider, a skilled athlete, a knowledgeable scholar, or an unsavory character and I could tell you, but beyond that you would receive a blank stare. Not because I did not perceive more, but because society expected me, as a poet, to be ignorant.

"It is very good to see you again, John"

Andrew Madison was the nephew of President James Madison, hailing from Virginia, but spending much of his time now in the Capital with his uncle. Andrew's eyes filled with interest as he looked at someone across the room.

"Is that she?" he whispered. When I followed his gaze I nodded, pride filling me. Yes, that was she.

The musicians who were playing softly at the front of the room struck a warning note, and I excused myself to go sit with my mother and sister. I had just sat down when Richard and Miss Clark entered and moved to the end of our row beside my mother. If I had known she was to be there...but no matter, I would speak with her at the interval.

Madam Grelaud welcomed everyone and then the musicians played. Music was very important in the school; all the young ladies playing at least one instrument. And, they could each speak French fluently. Their educations were so in depth that many newspapers frequently wrote articles praising Madame Grelaud and her teachers. If my father had been alive, no doubt he would have tried to convert some of the intelligent young ladies to our way of life. He was one of the few men in the world who did not discriminate against women due to their sex, often telling us that women were as able as men, more so in some cases. If they could learn to master their emotions, there was nothing that they could not be taught and nothing they could not accomplish. In the beginning, I was not sure how I felt about that, but now I agreed wholeheartedly. I was the better fighter, but Bess was the better spy.

When the interval came, which was a fifteen minute break for the musicians and for us all to be able to socialize, I moved immediately to Miss Clark. Richard had disappeared somewhere, and my mother had gone to speak with Mr. Monroe, so she was sitting alone. She smiled expectantly when I sat beside her.

Being so near to her, catching a whiff of her lavender scented skin, my disappointment came back full force. Earlier in the day, I had asked Richard about Miss Clark, I needed to know the name of the man to whom she was betrothed.

Alexander Robb. Relief had washed over me that I did not know him, so I would not have to cut any of my friends out of her affections. Not that I had any intention of doing so with Alexander Robb...yet. I wanted to check up on him, to make certain that Miss Clark was not contracting herself to a scoundrel. It was the least I could do, or so I kept telling myself, until I was seated beside her.

"I understand that I am to offer my felicitations." She looked at me curiously, and I added, "Richard tells me that you are to be married to an Alexander Robb." The words churned my stomach.

Color mounted her cheeks that had nothing to do with the stifling heat of the room. She turned to look fully in my eyes. "You must not take everything Richard says as truth. He has his plans, but so do I."

It was an odd statement for a young woman to make about her guardian, but Miss Clark was forthright. "Then you are not betrothed?" I asked watching her face closely.

"I am not."

Relief filled me, and I said the first thought that entered my mind. "The Heavens be praised."

Bess and Edith were advancing toward us, looking determined to disrupt our tete-a-tete. Miss Clark leaned closer to me and whispered. "Would you care to ride out with me tomorrow morning?"

"More than anything in the world. What time?"

"Seven," she whispered as Bess and Edith stopped before us.

"Do go away, John, we want to visit with Miss Clark," Bess said.

Bowing, I left the ladies to their gossip. In the empty foyer, I stopped near the door to the front parlor and leaned my head against the wall. I knew that I should not be so excited; I should not care so much for a woman I had just met, but Miss Clark was different. Her candor, her vivacity, and even her willful spirit made up a woman who was quickly filling most of my thoughts and some of my dreams.

"It is accomplished," a woman's voice said from inside the parlor. My head snapped up, and I stepped closer to the half opened door.

"Well done, Ma belle," Richard's cool voice replied.

For a painful moment, I could not think or breathe. As my eyes slid closed all the descriptions came to mind and slowly, piece by piece, it all started to make sense. Ma belle was a woman of means, the description fit Hannah. She lived in Philadelphia, where at least three of the artifacts were to be found. My father was surely turning in his grave. No doubt the great William Martin would have known, and he would have chided me for my lack of perception.

"Nicholas is not here."

"I am glad." Hannah's voice was dripping with disdain.

Richard laughed, and I cringed. I hated his laugh. It was like a trickle of water that refused to stop. "Here is your next mission."

"What if I refuse?" Hannah asked. I thought I could hear a tremor in her voice.

"Be sure to stay for the encore. I believe you will find it entertaining."

"What do you mean?" Hannah's voice was a rasp.

Richard did not respond, but I heard him move so I darted away from the wall and went to find Bess. When I reached her, the musicians were beginning another set.

"We have a situation," I said into Bess's ear. Her eyes were alert, questioning.

We could not discuss it there nor could we leave in the middle of the musical. I had to force myself to sit still, but as soon as the musicians ended their last note I was on my feet. I went to the door and looked over the room. Richard was not present, which sent a whole new wave of foreboding through me. In the foyer Richard was coming through the front door. His smile and the look in his eyes were too calculating as he passed me. Outside, carriages lined each side of the street awaiting their owners, but there was one that I found suspicious. It was pulled by a team of black horses and the man holding the reins was wearing all black, but not the livery of a servant. I felt against my coat for my small pocket pistol as the guests started flowing out of the house.

As I moved aside, I heard Richard's voice say, "Allow me to call for your carriage, Mr. Monroe."

Was that Richard's plan? To abduct James Monroe. My chest and mind filled with anger, craving revenge. I started down the steps, but Bess appeared through the crowd, somehow knowing what was afoot.

"Protect Mr. Monroe," she ordered in a whisper then she lifted her skirt and walked out amongst the carriages.

It was an order from my leader, and it took all of my self-control to obey. I pushed my way through the people exiting the house and took Mr. Monroe's arm. "Sir, a moment of your time if you will."

He smiled down at me as we moved through the thick of people back into the house. I did not know what Bess was going to do nor did I want to leave her alone for long. My mother was speaking with General Harvey when I led Mr. Monroe to her.

"Ma'am, here is Mr. Monroe. I told you I would reach him before he departed." Mr. Monroe was looking quizzically at me. "She was most distraught when she thought you had got away."

My mother, bless her, picked up the thread and began to wind it. "Please say you will have time to dine with us while you are in our metropolis."

I left him to my mother and tried to go outside. The front door was crowded. Forcing my way through as kindly as I could, I made it to the top step and looked through the carriages, but as it was growing dark all the carriages looked the same. My mind started yelling at me that they had captured Bess. Panic and terror seized my chest, my gaze swinging in every direction. Giving in to my fear, I panicked and yelled for her.

"Bess!"

A scream rose above the clatter of carriages, the horses' hooves, and the chatter of the people.

"Help! Help me!"

Bess. I tried to force my way through the crowd as it became frantic. Ladies began to shriek and run for the door while men were looking around for the source of the scream. Jostled aside, a tall man leapt over the rail and onto the sidewalk. I watched his familiar head disappear into the row of carriages until my mother appeared at my side, pale with fright.

"Keep Mr. Monroe inside," I demanded and ran into the night.

# Chapter 13

Bess

Jack frantically yelled my name, but I was not sure why until two large hands wrapped around my arms. My feet dangled in the air as I was carried backward. Surprise twisted through me, but I was not afraid because I knew who my captor was. I tried to kick my captor, but he would not release me, so I did what any other damsel in such a predicament would—I screamed.

"Help! Help me!"

Other screams and shouts joined mine, but either my captor did not care, or he wanted to make a scene. Either way, I would not allow him to take me.

He was backing toward his carriage. He put me down, keeping one hand on my arm as he pulled open the carriage door. I fought, halfheartedly, against him, punching the hand around my arm, scratching his wrist enough to draw blood. I tried to think what Edith would do in such a situation though I had a suspicion that Edith would have fainted. I was about to begin my fight in earnest, when shoes pounded toward us on the cobblestones and a stout voice called out. My captor cursed and shoved me away, causing me to stumble over the hem of my gown and fall. Rocks scraped my hands, and pain coursed through my backside causing me to wince. It was only momentary, for the sounds of fists meeting flesh made me forget my pain.

A tall man was striking my would-be captor over and over. I watched in awe for his fists were weapons of their own. He threw a right jab that was like watching wind—so quick was it delivered. I was so intrigued that I did not see the short man creeping up behind my rescuer, until he struck my rescuer against the back of the head with a cudgel. A horrified cry escaped my lips as the poor man stumbled back and fell heavily. I scrambled to my feet, but not to go to after my attacker.

The black carriage with its rogues drove off into the night, but it was my rescuer who required my full attention. I knew blows to the head could be fatal. As I knelt beside him, he was breathing, but his eyes were closed.

"Sir, can you hear me?" No response. Opening my reticule that was hanging from my wrist, I pulled out my smelling salts that my mother made me carry.

"Do forgive me," I murmured as I waved the foul smelling vial beneath his nose. His head jerked a little followed by a moan. I passed it beneath his nose again, and his eyelids fluttered.

The street lamps had been lit at some point casting a sheen of light over us. As he opened his eyes, I sucked in a surprised breath. His eyes were a beautiful, soft green with flecks of bronze.

"Can you hear me, sir?"

His voice was gravelly. "Yes." He stared at me for a long moment, and then he looked away as he tried to push himself up. When he winced, my heart lurched.

"You should not get up yet, sir. You have suffered a hard blow to the head. A doctor should be summoned."

His hand touched my arm, and I looked down at it. It was an ordinary hand, but its soft pressure caused my face to heat.

"Please do not. If you would only help me to my feet, I shall be well."

There were carriages all around us, and I could not see the door or the throng of people, but I could hear them, and I could hear Jack calling out to me. I did not respond to him. Instead, I helped the man to sit up.

"If you will allow me," I motioned to his head. At his nod, I moved around him to check his wound. Gingerly, I touched his sandy colored hair. It was thick and wavy, curling at his nape, and very soft. There was an awful bump on his head, but it was not bleeding. As I helped him to his feet, he swayed, so I put both my hands on his arms to steady him.

"Thank you, Miss Martin."

I frowned, perplexed. He knew my name, but I had no notion who he was.

"Bess!" Jack ran around one of the carriages, sliding on the loose rocks. He halted when he saw who I was with.

"Madison, are you all right?"

I glanced sharply at Jack and then up at the man who stood several inches above me. Andrew Madison?

"Martin," the man nodded to Jack then winced again.

"John, do not stand there gaping. Help me to get him to his carriage."

Jack moved to his side, and together we supported him through the line of carriages until we found the one belonging to Mr. Monroe.

The driver looked nonplussed as we helped Andrew Madison into the carriage. When he was seated, I told Jack to go in search of both Mr. Monroe and our mother. Jack looked mutinous for a moment, but gave in and moved away quickly.

"Thank you for your assistance, Miss Martin," came a tired voice from inside the dark carriage.

"It is I who should be thanking you, Mr. Madison, for if you had not come to my rescue, I do not know what would have happened." I would have fought, but it might not have ended well.

"Miss Martin," he said, and I looked into the carriage where his head was resting. He leaned forward to look me in the eyes. "I know that we have not been properly introduced but," he paused for breath, "might I be permitted to call upon you?"

I was taken aback, not so much from his words as from a rush of flutters in my stomach which were uncommon for me. "I shall be honored, Mr. Madison."

He smiled, and the flutters began to dance a minuet.

"I say, Andrew, are you hurt?" Mr. Monroe asked as he came up beside me.

"A bump on the head, nothing more." Mr. Monroe turned to look down at me.

"Mr. Madison very kindly came to my aid and was struck on the head by a cudgel."

My mother came up beside me and wrapped her arm around me. "How can we ever thank you, Mr. Madison, for your brave rescue of my daughter?"

"Knowing that Miss Martin is safe is all the thanks I require," he said, rising in my estimation.

"You must both come to dinner." Mama looked to Mr. Monroe. "Tomorrow evening?"

Mr. Monroe agreed and climbed into his carriage. Jack closed the door, and we stepped back.

"What was that all about?" My mother's voice was sharp as we watched the carriage drive away.

"Nothing you need worry over. Jack and I have everything well in hand." So I hoped.

***

While Jack and I rode to Miss Clark's house the following morning, he questioned me about the attack. I had a suspicion about what was afoot, so when I reached the black carriage, I asked the driver if he were Mr. Monroe's driver and when he answered in the affirmative I told him that Mr. Monroe was detained.

It was an unfortunate misstep that made me think I had everything well in hand. I was about to move away from the carriage when Jack yelled for me. There was a man inside the carriage I had not seen, and it was he who had grabbed me. I supposed to him one captive was as good as the next. I was indebted to Mr. Andrew Madison. He had come to my aid and attacked those dangerous men without an outward qualm. I was impressed and could hardly wait until he came for dinner. Only thirteen more hours to go.

Jack and I met Miss Clark outside her house punctually at seven. When he had told me about his assignation, I had offered for Edith and me to go along. He looked as if he would deny, but I promised that I would follow if he did not allow me to go. I had also learned that she was not betrothed as Richard had said.

Jack was smiling like a besotted fool when Miss Clark greeted him. Her eyes were only on Jack having not noticed my presence, and the look that passed between them spoke more than any words ever could. They were smitten. Discomfort arose inside me. It was not unnatural that Jack found a young woman in whom he showed interest; the Lord knew he deserved only the best, but therein lied the problem. We knew next to nothing about Miss Clark. She was lovely, granted, and I found her both witty and intelligent, but I did not know if she was good enough for Jack. Jack was my little brother; I relied on him, and he relied on me. If some other female became first in his affections, he would cease to need me. Jack was the only person who needed me, and the truth of it hurt.

Miss Clark looked to me, and I smiled. I had to give her credit for not showing her disappointment on her face in seeing me; it was only in her eyes. From first impressions, she was the sort of girl that I would have chosen for Jack, had I been a matchmaking female, but I was not.

When I greeted her kindly, she replied by saying, "Please call me Guinevere."

"What a beautiful name, and you must call me Bess." I glanced at Jack and found his eyes intent upon Guinevere. She did have a poetic name. "I do believe you have rendered my brother speechless. A near impossible feat I do assure you."

I did not know how she did it, but even her laugh was unique. Like a song flowing from a harp. She insisted that Jack also call her Guinevere before gathering up the reins. "Shall we set off?"

I looked around, asking, "But what of your groom?" Even though we did not have a groom with us, I was with my brother and I never rode alone in the city without either Jack or Jericho.

Guinevere explained that she found the groom that Richard assigned to her to be a nuisance, so she did without his presence. I would have done the same had I not my secret to protect.

The ride to Edith's was silent as we had to maneuver through traffic. When the Harvey's mansion came into sight Edith was mounted and waiting for us.

Guinevere said nothing, but I could see that she was not best pleased to see Edith. We stopped before the general's house, and Edith greeted us cheerfully. Her forest green riding habit was lovely, accentuating her ivory skin and the deep chocolate color of her eyes. Her cheeks were rosy from the chilly morning air, and her spirit was high.

Edith and I rode together ahead of Guinevere and Jack, but once we were outside of the city, we were able to ride four abreast.

"I must say, Bess, that I am thankful that you are here with us. I was never more shocked in my life than to hear of those horrid men attacking you," Guinevere said. "What possessed them to try to attack a woman of our class?"

Edith paled. I would not have chosen to speak of such happenings before her, but Guinevere was curious. I assured Guinevere I did not know. It was not me that they were after, but I would never breathe that to a soul outside of the Phantoms, so I turned the topic to something less alarming.

"Tell us, Guinevere, from where do you hail?"

"Boston originally, but when my family died, and I was left in the care of my guardian, I moved to Baltimore and then here."

She had my deepest compassion, for I knew what it was like to lose a parent.

My father had not been an easy man to understand. Hardly anything I ever did met with his approval. When Jack and I went to work in Baltimore, and our father remained in Philadelphia, I was relieved, even if there was a war going on. Jack and I grew closer, and for the first time in my life, I felt like someone appreciated my efforts. We were no longer walking in my father's shadow but making shadows of our own. I pulled my thoughts away from my father when Guinevere said words that surprised and amused me.

"Shall we have that race, Bess? Across the field to those trees?"

"Ladies do not participate in horse races." Disapproval laced Edith's words.

"You need not participate. You may stay here and watch, but I shall race. On my count." Guinevere counted to three, then her chestnut took off across the field, and after only a second, Edith urged her horse to follow.

Jack looked at me, warning in his voice. "Bess, do not win that race."

My grin was surely incorrigible as I pressed into my dapple grey. He did not have the speed of Pegasus, but he was strong. The cold wind whipped against my face and tugged at my hat, but it was secured by many pins. With each rise and fall of the horse, I felt freedom––from restraint, from the weights pressing against my shoulders. It was glorious.

We reached mid field, when a flash of blue from off to my right caught my eye. As I glanced over, another rider charged across the field from the trees. I did not take the time to look at the rider's face as I pushed into my horse, determined not to lose to three racers. I passed Edith easily enough, but was behind as Guinevere noticed the rider and urged her horse faster. Guinevere's chestnut and the other rider's white horse charged along at a breakneck pace. I knew I would not win the race, so I pulled my horse to a trot and watched, a twinge of envy settling in my chest.

My cover depended upon my acting the lady at all times when not at work but how I would have loved to best them. I found myself mentally cheering for Guinevere.

The two riders were side by side until at the last moment when the new rider eased up, and Guinevere's horse reached the trees first. I wondered if Guinevere knew it. I rode to the trees and pulled up my horse ready to congratulate Guinevere, but all words stuck in my throat as I recognized the new rider. Hannah Lamont.

"Elizabeth, I am surprised to see you participating in such sport, no matter how inexperienced your performance."

Pasting on a smile, I spoke with a sweetness belying my true feelings, "It would have been fruitless to try harder. Guinevere clearly holds the advantage."

Hannah's eyes narrowed. If looks could kill, I would be laid dead upon the ground. I would have come back to haunt her so it was better for her that her venomous looks could only amuse. Hannah turned her attention to Jack as he rode up, but Jack was staring at Guinevere's flushed face with appreciation and awe. His whole face was softened and unguarded for a moment, but it was long enough for warnings to ring in my head. I had never seen Jack look so...besotted.

Hannah moved her mount next to Jack, blocking his view of Guinevere. She smiled and batted her eyes at him as she tried to engage him in a flirtation.

"What nerve," huffed Edith, low enough that Hannah could not hear.

I thought about reassuring Guinevere, but decided against it. To offer the woman any help would give the impression that I approved of Guinevere's obvious feelings for Jack, which was something I was not ready to do. It would take a special woman to win my approval, and even though she was like the woman I would have chosen for him, I did not think her Jack's equal.

Guinevere stared at Jack a moment longer before pulling her eyes away. She shrugged a shoulder, and my estimation of her rose. "We must see what we can do to put her in her place, mustn't we."

I laughed, thinking to myself that the odious Hannah Lamont may have met her match.

Hannah joined us as we rode back to town, staying at Jack's side and flirting shamelessly. Even when Jack started speaking about Reverend Gideon Reid's church and sermons Hannah would not move from his side.

We delivered Edith home first, then rode on to Guinevere's house. When we reached it, Hannah looked at Guinevere. "Oh, have we arrived so soon? And here I have monopolized all dear Mr. Martin's time."

Jack dismounted and helped Guinevere from her saddle. She looked up at Hannah. "No matter. I am sure we will have ample time to speak over dinner this evening. Good day, Mrs. Lamont. Until this evening, Mr. and Miss Martin." Guinevere's groom took her horse away as Jack remounted, and we rode with Hannah to her house. She tried to wheedle an invitation to dinner, but Jack and I both refused to comply. When we reached her house, we bid her good day and rode away without a second glance.

"Did you know Guinevere was coming to dinner?" I asked Jack as we rode toward home.

"No, but I am not surprised. Mother told me she had invited the Harvey's, so you may be sure she wanted an even number at her table."

When we arrived home, it was as Jack had said. Since Richard was dining with friends, mama had invited Guinevere.

"She will be in my charge when Richard and I marry, so it is only right that we all become better acquainted."

From the smile hovering on Jack's lips he agreed wholeheartedly.

***

When Andrew and Mr. Monroe arrived, I was surprised speechless. In the light of the candles, Andrew Madison deprived me of breath, and at the same moment, filled me with nervousness. He was not precisely handsome, not in the common way; his nose had a bump as if it had been broken, and there was a sternness to his face, but there was also something striking about the contrast of his strong jaw and the softness in his green eyes.

At dinner, my mother had placed me between Andrew and Mr. Monroe. When I asked Andrew about his aunt, telling him all of the good that I had heard about her, he was thrilled.

It was well known that Mrs. Dolley Madison had been in Washington during the war when the British took the city. She and a faithful servant loaded a cart with valuables, including her husband's documents, and departed the city before the British army set ablaze the President's house. She escaped the city and capture.

"She is a treasure and a great credit to my uncle. It is the wish of any politician, or man for that matter, to have a wife who is not only a suitable hostess, but a woman of courage and kindness who will understand and uphold her husband's aspirations and dreams."

"Here, here," Jack said enthusiastically from his place beside Guinevere.

"Like your mother," Andrew added, raising his glass toward Mother.

When dinner was ended, and the men joined us in the drawing room, Mr. Monroe drew me a little apart from the rest as General Harvey regaled everyone with his war stories.

Mr. Monroe's voice lowered so that only I could hear him. "I understand that George has gone to visit his nephew."

"So I have been lead to believe, sir."

He smiled as if I said something witty. "Do you know when he means to return?"

"Any day now, I am sure." Mr. Monroe smiled again and patted my hand. It was what he wanted to hear. Even though I knew he meant the questions that he had asked, I also knew what he had not asked. He knew George was missing, and he knew that I and my team were searching for him. I considered telling him about my suspicions that the black carriage had been after him, but I held them in. Mr. Monroe had enough to consider without adding my own misgivings. I and my team would see to it that he was not disturbed again in such a way.

When my father formed the Phantoms, he had met with three men, an attorney, a soldier, and a politician. The politician was James Monroe. He knew about us and kept our secret without becoming involved, since our spy ring was not sanctioned by the government.

When we rejoined the others, Jack and Guinevere were sitting together, speaking in low voices to each other, Edith was speaking with my mother, so I had Andrew to myself.

"Might I ask you something, Mr. Madison?"

"Anything you please."

"Would you tell me about your family? To come from a large family must be exciting."

Andrew launched into his family history. He was the second of six children, and he was twenty-four, and as much as he adored his family home, he believed that his future was in politics.

Any question that I asked he answered, looking upon me with appreciation and approval. He watched me so intently that I knew he was committing everything I said to memory. In turn, I studied his every look; I listened for the sincerity of his words, and I watched where his eyes focused when he spoke. Everything had its own meaning to me. My work as a Phantom had taught me how to tell between lies and sincerity merely by the tone of the voice and the focus of the eyes.

He spoke of many different people and was pleased when I said I knew them. It occurred to me that there was a connection between the people. They were all politicians. Andrew Madison was looking for a wife and having the right connections was a necessity. He was good; I would grant him that. If I had been any other female of my social set, I would never have caught on to his way of questioning. Then realization dawned. My heart stuttered. I sucked in a short breath, and I stared. Andrew Madison, the nephew of the President, was looking to me as a possible candidate for his future wife. I do not know if I made another coherent reply for the remainder of our visit.

When he rose to take his leave with Mr. Monroe, he asked me if I would grant him the first two dances at a party Richard was to hold for Guinevere. I agreed, and the smile he flashed made my insides tumble. He had a pair of dimples that surely came from the angels.

What would it be like to spend a lifetime being the recipient of that smile?

I was fairly certain it would be heavenly as the Lord intended when he made Andrew Madison.

After all our guests had departed, my mother came over to me and laid a hand on my forehead.

"Are you coming down with something, my dear?"

"Of course not. You know that I cannot abide being ill," I said as I pushed her hand away.

"I believe that my sister has a touch of love at first sight."

Mama smiled. "Of course. He is charming and so handsome."

"He is more than that," Jack said, holding up a letter.

Excitement and interest sparked together. "Are those his credentials? Do, pray, let me see them."

My mother shook her head, her face scrunching in disapproval. "My dears, one does not fall in love with credentials. It is the heart that one falls in love with."

Jack's resources knew no bounds. The paper was full of everything from a list of Andrew's parents and siblings to Andrew's years at school and his grades. Even his monetary value was there. I continued reading, about what Andrew had done after leaving college, a description of the house he was having built, and the size of his property; then spoke without looking up.

"Now that I have read this, I do declare that I am in love. His heart is pure gold."

"Remember, my dears, credentials are not enough to build a lasting relationship upon," Mama said before sweeping from the room.

I handed the letter to Jack, leaned back and sighed. I may have only just met Andrew Madison, but what I knew of him made me want to know more—everything—his likes and dislikes, his aspirations and dreams. To discover if he was someone I could trust with my heart, and more importantly, my secret.

# Chapter 14

Bess

10 June 1816

With Andrew Madison showing interest in me, enough that he had called on me every day for the past six days, I began considering what I wanted for my life. There were times I wondered if I was broken—if my father did some psychological damage to my brain when I was a child.

My father began our training when I was seven, and we still lived in England; I just did not know what he was training us for. I was being trained to fight with a sword, to shoot a pistol, to hit with my fists. As I grew older and learned that only men participated in such sports, I thought my father the greatest man ever to live, that he would want his daughter to be the equal of men. After we moved to America and he assembled his team of children, Jack and I helped him to train them in the same arts. Then the real lessons began.

While most young ladies of means were learning how to stitch samplers, speak French, play upon the pianoforte or sing, I was learning how to manipulate grown men with my words, how to know when someone was lying by the look in their eyes, how to pick pockets without being detected, and even how to hold my liquor without getting sick. That one was not a memory I relished.

Never in my life was I so frightened as when my father took me out for my first mission. It was the night of my thirteenth birthday. We had been training to be spies for nigh on a year, and I thought my father was taking me out for a reprieve—a celebration. When he pulled up our wagon in the nearby town and pointed at the tavern telling me what I was to do, my trust in my father faltered. He left me at the door to the tavern, saying he would return in two hours and expected me to have accomplished my task. Then he drove away without looking back.

Being that I was a headstrong child, I was determined to do my task and get away from the tavern long before the two hours were over. I went to the back of the building and entered through the kitchen. No one cared that an unknown girl was walking through the kitchen. I found my target, a smuggler captain, who was across the smoke filled taproom. I stayed out of sight for the men in the room were a disreputable lot. When the smuggler captain rose from his table and stumbled toward the staircase, I saw my chance and followed him up. I went to the door of the room he had gone into, and when I opened the door, he was lying on a small bed. The stench of unwashed bodies and something much worse was rife. I was trembling from head to foot, but forced my feet to take me into the room in silent movements. His eyes were closed, the even rise and fall of his chest soon told that he was asleep. I reached my hand toward his coat, my fingers shaking, my heart beating painfully fast, biting so hard on my lip that I tasted blood. My fingers touched the envelope that was sticking out of his inside pocket and started to pull it toward me.

His hand wrapped around my wrist as his eyes popped fully open. I was startled into immobility as my back hit the bed, and he landed on top of me. It happened within one blink of my eyes and the next. The only part of me that felt like it worked were my eyes that would blink, but not close. They burned as hot tears slowly fell down the sides of my face. I did not know what was about to happen, but I knew it would forever change me.

As soon as his rough hands started trying to rip my dress, I turned frantic. He was not holding my hands down, so I raked my nails down his face, jerking from side to side to find a way to get him off of me. He was saying things that I could not hear, for the blood pumping in my ears. He was momentarily diverted by the blood coming from the scratches on his face, so I used those seconds to focus my mind. I was my father's daughter; I could find a way out. My mother's trembling hands when she dressed my hair suddenly made sense, but also what she placed in my hair.

He was trying to rip my bodice again, so I reached up and grabbed the ruby encrusted silver hair dagger. He was leaning on his knees, reaching his hand down to his trousers and not looking at me when I stabbed him between his shoulders. I do not clearly remember what happened after that, only fragments of his screams, my bloodstained hands, the bloody envelope, and a girl my own age hiding me in her room and helping me out the window. I ran the two miles to our house in the woods.

When I walked in with my ripped bodice and my hands stained with blood, my father was seated in his favorite chair—his fingertips together and a pleased smile on his face. I remember my mother's cries from the corner of the room, but I ignored her. I held the letter out to my father. He took it, looking like I was handing him a sack of gold. I curtseyed then climbed into the loft that was mine and Jack's bedchamber. I did not wash my hands or change my gown. I lay upon my cot as the events came rushing upon me. Staring at a notch in the ceiling, I realized what I had done. I had survived.

I never told anyone what happened. None of the others would have believed me if I had. The other children worshiped my father. To them, he was a savior who had rescued them and provided them with a place to live, food, clothing, a name. I decided that night while I lay on my small cot that never again would I feel helpless.

After that night, I threw myself into training. I was determined to become the master of any situation that I entered. My father would be my leader, but never again would he be my papa.

The other children never spoke of their first missions either, but they were each successful.

Leo was the only one not trained by my father. When he joined our team, the Phantoms had been working for three years, and he came in knowing everything we did. He rarely spoke of his life before the Phantoms.

When I excelled in everything that my father threw at me, he announced that I would one day take his place. The other deputies were all masters of something, but I was the one most determined to thrive in everything. I never told them that it was not a matter of thriving, but surviving. I did not want to be the leader, but I accepted without comment because I knew that one day I could get out. I could escape the life forced upon me. With my plans in place, all I had to do was wait.

I was fourteen when my father announced that I would marry Ben. I was furious, but Ben was thrilled. Ben and his older brother had been with us since the beginning.

Ben and I spent time alone, and I learned that the marriage had been his idea. He promised my father grandchildren, the future generation of spies in exchange for my freedom. I would be out, and my children would take my place. When I told Ben that nothing would induce me to allow my children to become spies, he smiled at me and told me his plan. As soon as we were married, we were going to run away, to a place that my father would never find.

I loved Ben, but I was not in love with him. What we had was more than flowery words and fluttery feelings. We had a bond of trust; roots entwined that ran deeper than any sentimental feelings. For the first time, I could place my faith in someone else and know that he was going to protect me.

When the war broke out, we were sent to different places, he to Washington and me to Baltimore. Our wedding was put on hold. Jack left the Phantoms to fight in the army, and I was spying against the British. My father had stayed in Philadelphia, training a new group of children who would one day join the Phantoms.

The day of my sixteenth birthday, my father and Ben arrived at the house that Mariah and I lived in with Freddy and his team. My father announced that Ben and I were to be married in one week, and I had never been more relieved. Later that night, Freddy was attacked while on a routine patrol, and we went after the men who attacked him. My father ordered us to split up and search the streets. Ben went one direction and Jack, and I went another. Something inside me screamed to go after Ben when we were a block away.

Without a word to Jack, I turned back. When I found Ben, he was being beaten by a group of what I thought were ruffians. It was the ring they all wore on their right hands that told me who they were. Before I could reach him and rescue him, they shot him. When they heard Jack running toward them, they scattered, but I did not care. Ben died a few minutes later in my arms.

That was three years ago. Now that I was the leader, I could get out, I could leave the Phantoms behind, but when Ben died, something new awoke inside me. A need for justice.

After Ben's death, his brother deserted us, and my father brought me home to Philadelphia for a few months, but not to grieve. He wanted help to train his next batch of spies. My father died before he could see them made Phantoms. My first act as the leader was to place them in homes with parents who would love them. I wanted to give them a new life. If they mentioned anything about their training, I never heard about it.

***

As we stepped into the Harvey's mansion, my eyes searched the crowd until I found a pair of green eyes that caused the flutters in my stomach to take flight, tumbling into each other. I never had that with Ben—that pulse-speeding, blood-surging, butterfly-tumbling, momentary insanity just from the sight of Andrew. It frightened me, because for a moment, I was not master of myself; my emotions took over, and I was helpless. I hated those feelings, but I loved them. I could feel. In those moments, I knew I was not broken, and Andrew gave that gift to me.

Andrew was standing beside Edith, who was looking harassed and flushed. It was then that I remembered what she had told me that Mr. Madison was bringing a young man to meet her. Andrew was that young man. The thought soured my insides. I would never hurt Edith. But, the relieved look she cast me when we joined them spoke volumes. Edith had no feelings for Andrew.

Jack and Andrew were speaking amiably when I overhead Andrew invite us both to go with him to Mr. Peale's museum. "I have been promised a guided tour of the great incognito."

From the widening of his eyes, Jack's interest was piqued. "By Peale himself?"

"Of course." Andrew looked rather proud when he added, "Being the nephew of the President does come with its advantages, you know."

Jack laughed; his excitement marked. "We should be very happy to accompany you."

When Andrew escorted Edith into the first dance, I placed a hand on my hip, angling myself toward Jack. "What makes you think I want to view rooms full of bones and stuffed dead things?"

Jack smirked. "Give over, Bess. You know that you like him, and what is more, he knows it too. For as he said, being the nephew of the President does come with its advantages." He looked at me with a light in his eyes and added, "You know."

Huffing in annoyance, I left Jack to his mirth.

As Andrew squired me through the second dance, he spoke with a smile upon his lips that I was coming to adore. "I met your father once. He spoke of you with such fondness that I always craved an introduction, and now I am thankful to have been granted the desire of my heart."

"The desire of your heart, sir? Surely you must have more than one."

His dimples appeared as he leaned toward me, his green eyes full of emotions I was not prepared to analyze. "I have, but none, I am finding, hold a candle to meeting you." I did not know what to say to that. For once, my lowered eyes had nothing to do with pretense.

When we again joined Jack, he was standing with Guinevere, Hannah, and Dudley.

"Whatever were the two of you speaking of? I declare I have never seen two people so engrossed in their conversation," Hannah asked with a titter.

I opened my mouth to say something sweetly cutting when Andrew replied. "We were speaking of our heart's greatest desires."

"Odd dancing conversation," Dudley interposed.

I opened my fan and waved it before my heated face, as Jack stared at me with an amused lift to his black brows. Guinevere said nothing. Hannah was not so tactful.

"I should like to hear your greatest heart's desires, Mr. Madison, and perhaps together we could see to the acquisition." Hannah was playing the coquette, and when she sent a smirk my way, I took a step toward her, forgetting my surroundings, my meaning clearly written in the depths of my furious eyes.

Jack was the first to react, though I was sure everyone could guess my intent. Perhaps not my true intent. Most women did not consider murder in a ballroom an acceptable practice.

Jack stepped between me and Hannah, but it was Dudley who spoke somewhat abstractedly from where he stood next to Hannah. "Cake, a rich soufflé, and a man who can make proper boots."

Everyone looked at Dudley in astonishment. He glanced around our group then shrugged. "My desires." When no one seemed to be comprehending he added, "I thought we were speaking about our greatest heart's desires."

Guinevere choked on a laugh and covered her mouth with her fan. Hannah cast Dudley a scornful glance. Andrew stared at Dudley as if he were mad. Jack laughed, loud and without restraint. The dangerous moment had passed, but that did not stop Andrew from asking Hannah to dance with him. She agreed readily, tossing a dangerously coy look over her shoulder.

Jack offered his arm to Guinevere. She took his arm, and they went off together laughing.

I was left alone with Dudley, and after a moment, I looked down at him in incredulity. "Is that truly what you desire? Cake, a soufflé, and a man—"

"—Who can make proper boots, yes," Dudley cut in, nodding with enthusiasm.

There were no words to express my thoughts. I excused myself to Dudley and went into the foyer.

In the dining parlor, I saw Richard and Mr. Knowlton shaking hands. The way Richard was gripping his hand I knew he was signaling another meeting. When they broke apart and passed me to go into the drawing room, I watched my brother. Jack had completely missed the handshake. His eyes were on Guinevere, and he was engrossed in whatever she was saying. I walked to the buffet and picked up a glass of champagne, keeping my back to them as I listened.

"Why are you called Saint John?"

Jack's voice was soft, almost hesitant. "It is not something that can be told. I would have to show you."

"Very well, show me," she replied.

"Not here. Sunday, if you will allow me, I will share my secret with you."

I knew Jack's 'secret,' and if he was willing to share it with Guinevere, that meant his feelings ran deeper than I imagined. If things kept progressing at such an alarming rate, I knew that it would not be long before I had to have a talk with my brother, which, possibly, could end in a bout of fisticuffs. It would not be the first time.

# Chapter 15

Jack

By half past eight in the evening, our team was hiding in dense trees outside Stark Manor. We watched three separate carriages arrive, and Nicholas, Richard, and Mr. Knowlton enter the house. No guards were standing outside the house, so when the carriages drove to the stables, Bess, and I darted across the lawn and stopped outside the dining parlor window.

"They should learn to bolt their windows," Bess said as she opened the unlatched window. Once inside, I moved to the open door with Bess on my heels.

"Absolutely not!" Hannah's voice said, with a growl to it.

"Be sensible. Think of the advantages," Richard whined. He whined.

"I know what you are about. You want me to marry Nicholas so that you can use me to get to the Holy Order. They will never admit you without someone to speak for you," Hannah shot back with disdain lacing her words.

Hannah works for the Holy Order.

"If you would but give me a chance, you would see my undeniable love—" Nicholas had said but was cut off by the sound of shrill, mocking laughter.

"The only thing you love is yourself! You want my money and my connections. Neither of which will you ever possess."

"We stray from the point," a deeper woman's voice said. "The artifacts."

"I want those artifacts returned," Richard shouted. "I do not care if you have to tear apart the entire city. Find them!"

"At least we have the black box," Nicholas said, "and Knowlton has the book of incantations."

"You may be sure that I shall not let those rogues who prance around in masks find the book." It was Charles Knowlton's voice. My hand closed around the handle of my pistol. That book was said to explain the power of the artifacts.

"Sværd af lyn and dolk af hemmeligheder have been taken," Nicholas sounded mournful.

We had both the sword of lighting and dagger of secrets, and it gave me great pleasure hearing how annoyed they were about it.

"We know, do we not, where den kop torden is to be found?" It was Richard's voice again.

"Yes, it is in a strong box in Philadelphia," Hannah's said.

Where? Tell us where. My body leaned closer to the door, my anticipation high.

"You will acquire it, and you will bring it to me. I am sending Nicholas with you. I will not allow another failure, so if any stand in your way, deal with them as you deem necessary," Richard instructed.

"What of my meeting with the men? That is to be tomorrow at midnight," Nicholas said.

"Where are you meeting the men, Nicholas?" Charles Knowlton asked.

"Elfreth's alley. Dimitri chose the team, but as you instructed, I will go to approve them."

"By one you will meet our dear lady and together acquire the artifact. Now, let us adjourn."

Bess and I sprinted across the dining parlor and left through the window.

Our team was stationed at different positions around the house, but Mariah was with our horses. We watched the house for a half hour, and when all three carriages drove away, we knew that there was no Levitas meeting.

When we assembled on the road, Bess told the team what was afoot. We did not know what Nicholas's meeting was pertaining to, but if Dimitri chose the men, it could not be good. Elfreth's alley was in a dangerous part of town where many immigrants and sailors resided. We settled it that I would attend the meeting, and when I knew what those men were ordered to do the rest of the team would come in and subdue them. Then, there was the matter of getting to the white phantom and stopping her and Nicholas from taking the artifact. Bess assigned Mariah to follow Nicholas when he left the alley. She would discover where he was going and make haste back to tell us. I was adamant that I would be the one to go after the white phantom.

"Under no circumstances would I let you go after her alone," Bess retorted vehemently.

"Raven, this is something that I must do alone." I was staring straight ahead, but there was no mistaking my determination and Bess knew it. The white phantom and I had a score to settle.

***

It was five minutes before midnight, when I walked down a small lane between two rows of bandbox houses. We were a block from the river, and the grassy lane between the houses was not wide enough for a carriage or a horse. It was more of a narrow alley than a lane, and the doors to the houses were only steps from each other with all the houses built against one another. I followed behind another man to the third house and waited as he knocked on the door.

It was a two-story house made of brick with one window on the front exterior. A large man opened the door, and I held my breath. I was taking a gamble, and this task could be over in a moment if I was wrong. I kept my shoulders squared as I stepped up to the door. The large man held it open for me to pass into the house.

Leo had helped me with my disguise, and I was pleased to see that I looked the same as every other man in the single room dwelling. I was wearing ordinary, dirty clothing, and a black beard was pasted around my mouth, hanging the length of my neck. Leo had me wearing body padding to make me look larger. One man nodded at me, but the rest paid me no more heed than I paid them. It was an unwritten code with ruffians that you never show fear; you meet their gaze and hold it long enough for you each to understand that the other would not hesitate to kill you if you crossed him.

Many people did not know that such men existed in America, but with men trying to find work after the war, and with immigrants arriving every week, some men were desperate enough to take whatever job offered.

The room smelled like sewage and death. There was a bed made on the floor and a small wood table with a single chair. Two candles lit the room; certainly a big expense. Men who lived in such houses rarely could afford candles, and most lived by the light of day, and when that light went out, they made their way to a local tavern, walked the streets, or simply went to sleep.

A knock on the door stopped all conversation in the room. Nicholas stepped in, holding a lace handkerchief over his nose and mouth. Nicholas was curt as he promised a large sum of money if his orders were followed. Two of the men rubbed their hands together in anticipation, while another licked his cracked lips.

Nicholas said there was to be a party held at the address he would give us. The servants' wing of the house would be unlocked for the men to enter. Two would stand guard outside the house. Clothing would be provided, and it was required that each man had a bath before they dressed in the clothes. Mustaches were appropriate, but no matted beards. The more Nicholas said; I realized that these rogues were to attend as servants and guests. When one of the men asked who would do the deed, I listened intently.

"Peter will carry out the deed, as he has been successful in past tasks." The man who had opened the door puffed out his chest.

"Should any of you be captured, remain silent. We will see to your release. Should you talk, you will meet your end."

Levitas had men in high places if they were able to break the ruffians out of confinement. Our allies in the constables would have to be warned. Nicholas left after explaining how payment would be received, and he handed slips of paper to Peter.

When the door shut behind Nicholas, Peter handed out the slips of paper. Most of the men sat on the floor discussing what to do, but one small man said he had to return to his berth. He left but would not make it far.

I unfolded the slip of paper in my hand and held it up against the only window in the room to make out the address. I sucked in a breath that did nothing to dispel the churning in my gut. The address belonged to Charles Knowlton.

One of the men asked Peter who the victim was. I had not yet considered that it would be one of the guests that the men would harm. Alarm for my mother and sister struck me like a slap. If it were a party at the Knowlton's, my family would be invited. My mother and sister would be in harm's way. I had to get those men in chains.

"Ye jest worry 'bout yer own work an' let me worry 'bout mine."

"Come on, Pete, share with yer mates."

Peter looked around at the anxious faces; then his chest expanded again. "He's a man of position, but that's all I be sayin'."

A man of position? That could be any number of men in society.

One of the men pulled a pipe from his pocket and went outside to smoke. I needed to speak with my team, so I pulled my own pipe from my pocket. It was a pipe that Pierre gave me through Bess the morning he was captured. I followed the other man out. My meerschaum pipe was a piece of fine craftsmanship with a carved head of Zeus. I had never used it before, but for some unexplainable reason, I felt like bringing it with me on the mission.

The other man leaned against the house and watched me as I lit the pipe with flint, then allowed a few moments to pass in silence and clouds of smoke.

"Be there any taverns near, I am in need of a hearty drink," I asked in a gruff, but conversational tone.

The man named two within walking distance and added his recommendation to stay away from the dockside tavern. "You'll meet only cutthroats there."

Motioning with my pipe, I repeated the directions, and as I did I felt my pipe stem turn. Keeping the pipe in hand, I turned the stem until I felt something click. I raised the pipe to my lips, but no smoke came forth. I held up the pipe, looking at the stem and the other man also stared at the pipe, stepping before me to watch what I was doing.

Somehow the stem was jammed. I raised the stem to my lips, and blew. Something small flew from the front of the pipe and the man before me grunted and raised his hand to his neck, but it never made it. He staggered back and slid down the bricks of the house. Sticking out of his neck was a tiny dart.

Pierre's instructions were to use it well. I knelt beside him, feeling around for his heart beat. Nothing. Slowly I leaned back on my heels. The man was dead. I pulled the dart from his neck to inspect it. Leave it to Pierre to have a pipe that shot poisonous darts.

Someone came up behind me, and I turned quickly. Jericho stared down at me, his wolf mask giving him a sinister appearance, but it gave me relief. I signaled for Jericho to take the man's legs and together we lifted the man and carried him to the end of the houses where we lowered him against the wall.

"We caught that fellow who left. He is snugly bound and awaiting transport."

"Did Artemis follow Nicholas?"

"Aye, and will return when she knows where he has gone," Jericho replied.

"Good, now let us get to work. There are only four men in the house."

Bess grabbed my arm. "Loutaire, the man who opened the door, I recognized him." She inhaled a deep breath. "He was the same man who struck Andrew the night of the musical."

So that was it. Peter was one of the men from the black carriage. An even greater desire to capture him covered me. Leo and Levi joined us, and the four of us moved toward the assassins' house, leaving Bess to guard the wagon. I put my mask on and even though the assassins had seen my face, I was wearing a beard that disguised the true shape of my face.

I opened the door to the house and walked in followed by my team. As Jericho closed the door, the four assassins stared at us for a moment before leaping to their feet. They knew whom we were without us having to say a word. It was four against four. A fair enough fight. Peter charged straight for me, but I raised my pistol. He slid to a halt, but it did not stop him as I had planned. He slammed his palm against the side of my pistol, and as it jerked in my hand, my finger struck the trigger and it exploded, the sound nearly deafening in the small room. One of the assassins sunk to the ground and Leo looked from the body to me then laughed. I would have laughed if Peter had not chosen that moment to grab me around the neck and slam my back against the wall. I reached my left hand out and grabbed the back of his head and jerked it toward me, then jammed my right thumb into his eye socket. He cursed, spraying my face with spit, and released me. I ducked and went to move around him, but his hand shot out and grabbed my beard. My head jerked for an instant before a sharp pain shot through my face as the paste ripped away from my skin. Peter held the beard in his hand and looked down at it then to me. I took his momentary shock to my advantage, throwing my fist against his stomach. He grunted, dropping the beard. I struck him again. When he hunched over, I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him toward me as my knee came up against his groin. Leo gave me his pistol, so I placed the barrel against Peter's chin then motioned for him to sit. I never took my eyes from him as he stared down the barrel of the gun.

"I will shoot you and rid the world of your presence," I said to him, as I could see that he was trying to decide if he could be faster than I could pull the trigger.

Behind us, the sounds punches exchanged echoed through the small room. Jericho, with a bloodied nose, came up beside me and pulled a cord of rope from his pocket. I kept the pistol on Peter while Jericho tied his hands. I told Jericho where to find the paper with Peter's instructions on it. Jericho pulled it out of Peter's pocket, but Peter growled and threw his forehead against Jericho's head. I turned my pistol in my hand and slammed the butt against Peter's head, twice. Peter's back slid down the wall, but he was still conscious. I turned my pistol and pointed it again at him, but glanced at Jericho. He was shaking his head, dazed, and when his eyes were again focused, he took a step toward Peter.

"See to the others," I said, motioning over my shoulder with my head.

Jericho sneered at Peter before moving to where Levi was still fighting one of the men. Jericho grabbed the man around the neck and pulled him against his chest as he waited for the man to lose consciousness. Levi wiped blood from his busted lip. His red eye would turn black. Leo moved to my side as I unfolded Peter's paper.

Target-J.M. Remove body. Carry to SM where payment will be received.

My mind moved through all the people I knew with those initials, then my eyes slid shut as my heart thumped against my chest. Other than myself, there were two men I knew of with those initials, but only one was frequenting Philadelphia. James Monroe. I turned back to Peter. He was smiling at me like he was happy about something.

"You smile, but we have the advantage of knowing Levitas' plans, and now that I have you, there will be no more disappearances." Peter's grin fell from his mouth.

Once the assassins were bound and loaded in Levi's wagon, I took a black feather from my pocket and tucked it into the pocket of one of the men. Stepping back, the wagon moved away. Levi and Leo were escorting them to the constables while Jericho, Bess and I waited for Mariah to return.

Ten minutes later, Mariah came running up the path. "I did as you instructed, Raven. He is at the house of Mr. Calvert on Chestnut."

Bess laid her hand on my shoulder, pressing it for a moment in silent blessing. I turned to look at Jericho. "Take them home, this next task I do alone."

# Chapter 16

Jack

The ride to Chestnut Street was brief, as we were on that side of town. I hitched Brutus to a post and ran through an alley, coming out on Chestnut across the street from the house that I sought. The first floor windows were all boarded up, making the house appear both deserted and eerie. A flash of white passed the upstairs window, and I smiled, pulling out my pistol. I ran across the street and opened the unlocked front door. All was black, but there was light coming from one of the rooms above stairs. Then I heard their voices.

"Have you done yet?" Nicholas demanded.

"No, and I will not if you keep plaguing me to make haste. Five minutes is all I require," Hannah replied, exasperation filling her voice.

"Five minutes will be too late."

"What have you done?" Hannah demanded in a shrill tone.

"Set fire to the house. No one steals from Levitas!" Nicholas's voice was high pitched, hysterical.

"Then you must let me be about my task!"

"Well, I shall not await you to be burned to death," Nicholas shouted. I edged against the wall in the shadows as Nicholas appeared at the top of the stairs and nearly ran down in his haste to flee the house.

Considering my best course of action lasted only a minute before I saw smoke filtering into the room from the back of the house. An orange light was vibrant and flickered through the crack beneath the door. I ran up the stairs, not caring if Hannah heard me.

She was on her knees before a strong box, her white cloak covering her entirely. A lit lantern was on the dirty floor beside her, and she did not appear to be aware of my presence. She gave a small cry as she pulled open the strong box door. She took a long black box from inside, pulled off the lid and reverently reached for a silver chalice. The woman hugged it to her breast before placing it in a burlap sack. Holding my pistol before me, I moved to stand behind her. I placed the barrel against the back of her head. She stiffened completely. I reached over her shoulder and took the sack from her grasp.

"Stand!" I demanded. She slowly stood with her back to me. "Walk," I said, pressing the barrel harder against her. She edged around me and walked to the small landing at the top of the stairs.

Below was a mixture of smoke and flames as the fire was spreading at an alarming rate. I was considering the best means of escape, when Hannah turned quick, knocking the gun from my hand. She grabbed the bag and ran down the stairs.

Halfway down the stairs gave out, and she tumbled forward, landing in a heap at the bottom. The chalice landed a few feet away from her.

I shook the banister and found it sound, so with a deep breath I hopped on and slid quickly down. My feet landed above her head. The hem of her cloak was caught on the bottom step, burning. I could grab the chalice and run, let her get herself out of the house, but when I looked down at her back and the cloak covering her like a cocoon she was not moving. I quickly stamped out the flames on her cloak with my boots then lifted her still form and tossed her over my shoulder. The smoke was a fog, hiding the door from me. Moving forward slowly, my boot hit the sack with the chalice, so I scooped it up and inched forward until I found the door. Using the sack on the hot knob, I threw open the door.

As I leapt from the house, I gasped for fresh air, but the smoke coming from the house behind me made me cough. I ran across the street carrying the white phantom who had started coughing against my shoulder. I needed to get her away from the fire and out of that burned cloak.

She started to wiggle in my hold, but I held on until we were midway into a dark alley. The bells of the fire brigade sounded in the distance as I set her on her feet. I started to untangle the cloak, but as soon as her arms were free, she grabbed the sack from me and started to run. She made it five steps before I caught her and pinned her against a brick wall. There was a glow at the end of the alley from the brightness of the fire, but she and I were standing in the shadows. I could not see her face, but I was beginning to see a pattern with her. I held her arms against the wall and clicked my tongue. She growled in frustration and tried to hit my head with her own.

A deep laugh passed my lips but turned into a cough. She jerked up her knee, but I was faster. I jumped back, releasing her and barely missing the attack that was meant to pain me. She took advantage of her free state by running again. I ran after her, grabbing her arm and tossing her against the wall again, only this time I did more than pin her in place. I leaned down and placed my lips against hers.

She struggled so violently that I lifted my head. I felt a pang of remorse for having taken advantage of the situation––until she got a hand free and slapped my cheek so hard my ears rang. I did not know why I had kissed her, but the woman brought out a different side of me. I grabbed her wrist and forced it down, shaking my head to dispel the ringing.

Leaning close, I whispered in my deepest voice that I used only as Loutaire, "Yer not very conciliatory fer one who saved yer life."

Her body stiffened, and I knew that she was staring at me, but I could not see her eyes in the darkness. After a moment, she pressed her lips against mine, a little crooked. Surprise burst in me, followed immediately by heat, everywhere.

Desire awakened in my belly, and I deepened the kiss, my mouth moving over hers like she was the water I needed to put out my fire. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew she was trying to distract me with her kiss, but it did not bother me. What caught me off guard was the way she melted into my embrace, leaning against me and her mouth following my lead. Her hand rested on my shoulder, and I placed my hand on her waist, pulling her against me. My other hand still held her wrist, but I raised it until it was resting against my shoulder. As her tongue slid into my mouth, she tasted sweet, and as much as I wanted to follow where this was going, I remembered whom I was kissing and where we were. I forced myself to pull back.

I could hear her heavy breathing before she turned away from me to run again. I reached out and jerked the sack from her grasp. She swung around. I raised my pistol and cocked it, the sound echoing like a sharp intake of breath. She did not move, but I could tell by her rigid stance that she wanted to fight me for whatever was in the bag. I swung it up into my hand and felt around the bag. It was the chalice, den kop torden. I began to back away, and she made no move to follow.

"We'll speak again soon," I said in my deepest voice before backing out of the alley. The last sight I had of her was her sagging against the brick wall.

After riding away at a clipping pace and following a roundabout direction, I left my horse at the livery that housed him.

All was quiet when I let myself into my house. I walked up the stairs to my chamber. Leo must have arrived home before me, for there was a fire burning in the grate. Opening the bag, I pulled out an ornately carved chalice. There was an engraving on each side of the goblet, a throne on one side, and a crest that had an eagle and a lion poised over a shield. The shield had a phoenix in the center. Den kop torden.

I put the chalice under my bed and changed out of my smoke covered clothes. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I stared out the window into the dark night. Hannah's face flashed in my mind dressed as the white phantom. I put her up against the Hannah who flounced around ballrooms. One woman intrigued me, the other disgusted me.

Thinking about our kisses, heat crawled up the back of my neck. That woman knew how to entice a man, but I could not allow my emotions to get caught up in a few heated embraces. She was my enemy, and as such, I had a duty to fulfill. It did not matter that she could ignite a passion in me that I had never before known. Hannah would be present at a picnic Ephraim was holding, and I hoped that I could finally get some answers. Then I could put all of my misguided feelings for the woman to rest and focus my attention on a woman who needed me. Guinevere. But, first came Sunday, and I wondered for the hundredth time if Guinevere would ridicule me for my secret—or respect me.

***

On Sunday morning when Jericho stopped the carriage before Guinevere's house, I opened the door. I had not particularly wanted to take a carriage, but what I was about to show Guinevere would take too long to reach on horseback. As I knocked on the door, it was opened immediately by Guinevere. I stepped back, admiring the picture she presented. She wore an ivory gown beneath a long pelisse of dark green velvet. Gold clasps fastened the top of the pelisse across her chest, giving it a military look. The green suited her pale skin and auburn hair. I asked after Martha, but Guinevere said she had not invited her to accompany us.

Chuckling, I offered my arm, and she stepped down, closing the door. I had prepared for such a circumstance. It was for that reason Mariah was riding beside Jericho on the box seat.

When we were seated in the carriage, she did not ask where we were heading. She trusted me. I liked that.

"I was surprised that you wanted to go out so early. Do not poets sleep until noon?"

Leaning into my corner of the carriage, I watched her. Her delicate brows were raised in question, but the twitch of her lips told me she was nearly laughing.

She was in a fun humor. I laid a hand over my heart. "You wound me, milady. I hardly ever sleep until noon."

"Ten then?"

"I will have you know that I was used to rise promptly at eight every morning. Until I met you," I said with an air of importance that one would expect from a devoted poet.

"What changed when you met me?" she asked, giving me a coy smile.

"My world." The words dropped upon me like a heavy stone sinking to the bottom of a lake. It was true.

"Charming," she replied.

My head warned to be careful where I went next. "But, you believe not a word of it."

She laughed because I had caught on. She did not believe me; at least she was trying not to. Guinevere was guarded with her emotions, but she was honest, and she expected me to be honest in return. This day was the first step.

When we reached our destination, Guinevere's eyes grew round as she looked out the window and then to me. The carriage came to a stand, and I opened the door.

"You are taking me to church?"

I could not contain my laughter as I stepped down from the carriage and turned, placing one foot on the carriage step. "You asked to see why I am called Saint John."

"Yes, but I did not expect this." There was no derision in her voice, only astonishment.

I held out my hand, and with a long-suffering sigh, she took my hand and climbed down as the church bells rang.

The church was a small, white building with a white bell tower on the top. Farmers and their wives were entering the building, but as we approached, people stepped back; the women beaming at us and men removing their hats. As we went through the double doors, I led Guinevere to a pew, and she slid in. We were the only two in the row.

When the bells stopped their joyous ringing, a door at the back of the church opened, and Reverend Gideon Reid my mentor and friend entered. He caught sight of me and my companion and smiled. I returned it readily.

Gideon had been a friend of my father's, and after he had died, Gideon took me under his wing, mentoring me in all forms of literature. It was only within the last six months that I learned that my father had given a full confession to Gideon, extracting a promise that Gideon would look after me—help me to keep my cover of a poet. My father trusted Gideon so much that he told him our secret. Other than Bess and Leo, Gideon was the one person I could speak openly with. He never condemned me and was always ready with advice without being overbearing or interfering.

The service was wonderful as always. Gideon was unlike any minister I had ever met. Instead of reading from the Holy book alone, he would tell stories so his congregation could better understand what he was trying to teach them. He knew how to make a crowd hang upon his every word. When the service ended and Gideon had made his way down the center aisle, the congregation rose to follow.

Gideon stood at the door and greeted each person by name. I glanced at Guinevere and was relieved to see that she was not upset or nervous, only curious.

"Why, John, it was good to have you in service today. Won't you introduce me to your companion?" Gideon asked as I shook his hand, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes multiplying when he smiled.

"Reverend Reid, this is Miss Clark."

"Ah, yes of course. I have heard your name spoken."

Guinevere glanced at me, and I looked innocently back. She turned back to Gideon, holding out her hand which he shook with a gleam in his eyes. "I thoroughly enjoyed the service, Reverend."

"Thank you. I hope you will come again soon," he said sincerely. Gideon was kind to everyone, and I had spoken to him of her when I came to see him one day a week.

As we moved on, he winked at me over Guinevere's turned head.

We stepped into the churchyard, but Guinevere tugged on my arm, and I stopped. "I still do not understand."

"You will," I assured her.

"Mr. John! Mr. John!" shouts came from the door to the church as five small boys ran toward us followed by four older ones at a more decorous pace. They surrounded us, with my greeting the orphans by name. Each child I had spent time with in the past, either by giving them rides on my horse or tossing a ball with them in the field.

"Is this your lady?" one of the smallest, a boy of six, asked.

"Hezekiah, that is none of your concern," one of the older boys said.

"It is all right, Zachariah," I assured the older boy gently, then looked over the group. "Gentlemen, on your best behavior." They threw their shoulders back, standing at attention as I had taught them a soldier would. "This is a friend of mine. Miss Clark. What do you say?"

They saluted her. A smile appeared on her lips. "Thank you, gentlemen, for that kind salute."

She caught sight of something over my shoulder, and I turned. Four orphan girls were behind us, and they were watching Guinevere closely. She laid a hand on my arm briefly before moving toward them. As she greeted them, the area around my heart tightened. I became aware of eyes upon me and looked down at the little men around me.

"At ease, soldiers."

They relaxed, and one of the smaller said, "She be winsome."

Watching Guinevere converse with the girls, I knew without a single doubt that there was no comparing anyone to her; she was without match. "That she is."

Half an hour later as we were again in the carriage, she stared at me from her corner. "Are they all orphans?"

"No, but they are all fatherless. Most of their fathers were killed during the war. I spend as much time with them as I can. I know I cannot replace their fathers, but I hope that at least I can show them that someone cares about them."

Guinevere was silent for a few minutes as she looked out the window. Then, without looking at me, she asked, "How often do you see them?"

"I try for once a week, but that is not always possible. I wish there was more that I could do—" I broke off as she turned toward me and laid her hand over mine where it was resting on the seat.

"What you do for them, giving of your time, showing that you care, will stay with them forever." There was such conviction in her eyes that I could not speak. She was near to tears, and I all of a sudden remembered that she was an orphan herself, she had a guardian, but no real family. I felt like a complete fool. I should have considered how something like that would affect her, but I had not.

She turned away to look out the window again. "You will make a wonderful minister."

Would I? Not likely. What she did not know was that, though I thoroughly enjoyed my time spent with the orphans, I had volunteered my time to try to atone for my sins of all the people I had killed both as a Phantom and in war. "At another time, your words would have given me great joy."

She turned toward me again, hope showing in her eyes. "But not now?"

"Not now," I agreed. "Miss Clark, there is to be a picnic at the Knowlton's on the twentieth. I was hoping that you would like to go, with me."

"Yes. Yes, I would like that very much indeed."

An understanding passed between us, unspoken, but there all the same.

# Chapter 17

Bess

20 June 1816

We were seated in the carriage on the way to the Knowlton's home where Ephraim, Charles Knowlton's only son and heir, was hosting a picnic for the younger people of society. I was seated beside Edith, listening to Guinevere, who sat across from us with Jack at her side, telling a story about when she bought her first horse.

I was listening, but as I sat back in the corner of the carriage, I kept my eyes on Jack, watching him as he gazed at Guinevere. He was falling in love, though I doubted that he knew how deep his feelings were. Guinevere was lovely with her dark auburn hair and her eyes so blue they appeared purple. She could tell a story by expressions alone, and she was vivacious. When she spoke, I could tell that she loved life, but in moments when she thought no one was watching, there was a sadness that would creep into her eyes, like her thoughts were on a memory that caused her pain. If she caught you looking at her, she immediately perked up.

As the carriage came to a stop outside the Knowlton's brick house, a footman was there to open the door and help us down from the carriage. Edith took my arm, and we moved ahead, rounding the house and walking toward the garden. A veranda stepped down to a pebble path that led straight into the opening of the garden. Entering the garden was like stepping into your own private utopia. Walls of green shrubbery surrounded you in every direction as you walked through a labyrinth of colorful flowers. When you stepped out of the garden at the north end, you were looking over a delightful pond resting at the bottom of a small hill. People milled about over the manicured lawn, shooting arrows at the archery targets, swinging on the two seated tree swing, or filling plates with food at the three tables that were well stocked with every imaginable dish.

Ephraim Knowlton was standing at the entrance to the garden. He greeted Edith and I in his usual style, which was a haughty smile, then a roving eye. He was considered handsome by some, Edith among those, but he was not the kind of man who attracted me. He was tall but lanky, and he carried himself as if he ruled the world. Edith and I passed along as Jack and Guinevere came up behind us.

When I saw Andrew ahead, the flutters started, until I noticed that he was speaking with Hannah. When his eyes met mine he excused himself from Hannah and came toward me, and that brought the flutters back full force.

"Here you are. I have been looking for you," he said. The glance he gave me warmed me all over.

Edith excused herself, and Andrew and I took a turn around the lawn. As we walked, he told me about his home in Virginia. His father owned a rather large plot of land that had the family's home, a farm, and many cabins for the servants. He made sure that I understood that the Knowlton's home was nothing in comparison. I knew he was trying to impress me, but his holdings were not nearly as important as the man himself.

When I was not with him, I had a hard time coming up with exactly what it was about him that put him above every other man in my estimation. His looks were certainly pleasing, and his manners were impeccable. He had both good breeding and fortune, but strip all that away, and what would be left? That was what I was trying to discover while keeping my tumbled feelings in check. If I were not cautious, his marked attention to me would go to my head. Having the attention of the nephew of the President was a great honor, but what confused me was, what had I done to deserve his attentions. I was no more interesting, while in society, than Edith, and if looks were what he wanted, Hannah was by far superior, or Guinevere and her vivacity that drew men to her wherever she went. I was analytical, and at times, it was a curse.

Jack and Guinevere were walking toward us, and I felt Andrew stiffen beside me, but when I looked up at his face, he was smiling in welcome.

"Bess, we are to play blind man's bluff. Do come," Edith called out to me from the middle of a group of girls.

There was a patch of the lawn that had been made into a circle by small poles with colorful ribbons hanging from them. Edith and the other young ladies all walked toward it.

I captured Guinevere's arm, hooking mine around it. "Do come, for I will need your support if I am to play such a game."

Guinevere's face softened, and I knew she was relieved. Why the girls excluded her from everything I did not know, but I would not leave her out. We excused ourselves from the gentlemen, and when we joined the other girls, they were laughing and talking.

"Mr. Martin is so handsome," one of the girls said as she gazed worshipfully at my brother.

She was correct in her estimation that Jack was handsome. His strong, narrow face gave him distinction, and his thick, black hair was envied by many of the women, while his blue eyes that could change like the weather were unmatched. Mariah once told me that when you look at Jack, you do not remember his lack of inches.

The girl glanced at me. "I envy you, Elizabeth," she sighed as she looked over her shoulder at Jack again, "getting to live with him."

"You would not envy me so much if you had to listen to his poetry recitations all the day long."

"He could recite poetry to me anytime," a blonde said, ending with a dreamy sigh. That was another thing. They sighed when they looked at him, as if he was something out of their reach—which, of course, he was.

"Mr. Martin has much to recommend him beyond his good looks," Edith replied. "You should see if you can lure him in, Sarah."

"Leaving Ephraim Knowlton to you. You sly girl, I know what you are about." They laughed as they walked between the poles and picked up the sash that would be tied around someone's eyes.

Guinevere said nothing during this sally of romantic nonsense, nor did she look as if their words bothered her. Why would they? She was the only woman Jack showed a partiality for.

We walked toward the circle, but not before I heard Ephraim say that the men would bowl.

"To where do you go, Dudley?" Thomas called out, and we stopped to look back. Dudley was following us to the circle.

"Will you play a ladies' game?" another called out.

"Yes, I shall." Dudley stopped next to me, never influenced by the opinions of others, and offered his arm. "Fools, the lot of them, but no matter, I mean to enjoy myself prodigiously." He offered his other arm to Guinevere, and we walked together toward the circle where Edith was being blindfolded. Once the yellow sash was tied over her eyes, the game began.

As Edith tried to catch hold of someone, the others would tap her on the shoulder then dart away from her outstretched arms. Some would give her a light shove toward someone else. If she stepped too close to the poles, everyone would yell 'Pole' and Edith would stop and turn about. Taunting shouts of 'Buffy' were called to her, as she was the buffy until she found someone and guessed their identity correctly.

Hannah bumped Edith directly into Dudley, and she caught herself against his chest. Once her hand touched his startlingly large cravat, she yelled out, "Mr. Stanton!"

"By jove! However did you guess, Miss Harvey?"

I laughed at Dudley's earnest incredulity; poor, dear Dudley. But, Dudley was not so poor in his own estimation; for, who, among the men-folk at the picnic, was surrounded by all of the young ladies. No slow top was Dudley, as his friends sometimes assumed.

The sash was tied around Dudley's eyes, and Edith waved several times before his face to make certain he could not see. She spun him around, tapped on his shoulder, and he set off, gingerly feeling ahead of him. Being that gentlemen rarely played such a game, the girls were giggling as they tapped his shoulder or called to him. He spun around so fast that his feet twisted together, and he tripped, falling on his backside. The girls were all shrieks and laughter as they helped him to his feet then set him off again.

"Buffy! Buffy!"

I was near to one of the poles, nowhere near Dudley, when he caught Hannah, though not by her own doing. Guinevere had bumped against Hannah's back and knocked her right into Dudley. Guinevere looked at me and winked. I covered my mouth to keep from laughing aloud.

Dudley's hands moved over Hannah's neck and then up to her cheeks. His thumb ran across her lips, and the girls around me were near to bursting in their enjoyment. I was watching Dudley's face, and his mouth was frowning, but when he had touched Hannah's lips, a wistful smile turned up the corners of his lips.

"Miss Martin!" Dudley announced loudly.

Hannah and I were nothing alike, and she was much shorter than I. Hannah glared at Dudley and disgustedly pushed him away from her. She left the circle, as the girls clapped three times to let Dudley know his guess was incorrect and that he was still the Buffy.

"Why, I do say that Stanton has the right idea," Thomas said from behind me. I looked over my shoulder at him.

"Care to join the fun?" I asked him.

"Don't mind if I do," he replied and stepped into the circle.

The rest of the men were over at a smooth area of the lawn that had been specially designed for bowling. I watched Andrew as he tossed the ball, his coat tightening across his shoulders, and then my own clothing felt too tight.

Arms wrapped around my waist, and I jumped, my elbow instinctively connecting hard against my captor's shoulder. He grunted.

"Truly, my dear, all in the name of fun," Dudley whispered, and I relaxed my tense shoulders.

His hands were on my waist and slowly started up. I whispered, "Bess." Dudley had been Buffy long enough anyway.

"Shall I hazard a guess?" Dudley called out for the sake of the game. Giggles greeted his words. "Miss Martin?" He made his voice sound unsure, like he was truly guessing.

"Indeed it is," I said, and Dudley removed the sash.

Dudley was the one to cover my eyes and spin me, then give me a light push toward the center of the circle. Girls giggled all around me, and every time one of them touched me on the shoulder, I had to force myself not to react. It would not have done to break one of the girls' noses or blacken an eye. The giggles increased though sounding further away, and I moved slowly around with my hands out before me.

"Buffy! Buffy!" was called from my right. I had taken three steps in that direction before my hand hit something solid. I knew it was no female, nor was it Dudley. This man's stomach was strong. It could have been Thomas, but I only thought that for a moment as my hands touched his shoulders that were broader. I am ashamed to admit that I knew who it was, but I did not immediately call out his name. My hand felt along the front of his silky waistcoat and then along his shoulder.

From the giggles that had to have come from outside the circle, they thought they were playing a trick. Well, I would give them a good show. My hand touched his smooth cheek, and I knew he was smiling. He knew that I knew. My breath caught as I chewed on my bottom lip, trying not to laugh, or sigh.

"Mr. Madison," I called out and was met with cheers and laughter. He helped me to remove the sash, and I found myself looking up into his green eyes that made me think of a forest with their soft brown flecks. His lips were parted in a half smile, then slowly his dimples appeared, and I felt myself leaning toward him as if pulled in by some invisible force. A small choked sound came from my throat as I quickly stepped back. My face was aflame as I took a deep breath.

"Very witty," I called out to my friends who were outside the circle watching us. Andrew offered his arm, and we left the circle to take a stroll around the garden.

"I apologize for my friends, Mr. Madison."

"No need, Miss Martin. I rather enjoyed that game. I used to play it with my brothers and sisters, but I do not remember it being so enjoyable."

My face flushed with more color, and I could not look at him, but I was gratified. I was never one given over to blushing—until I met Andrew Madison.

As the afternoon turned to evening and the sky above grew darker, servants lit torches around the lawn, and a large camp fire was started where Thomas began telling ghost stories.

An hour into the stories, I saw Edith break away from the group. I touched Andrew's arm before moving toward her.

"Oh, Bess," Edith moaned, "I do not feel well."

Placing my arm around her shoulders, I moved us toward the house. I was looking for Jack when Andrew came up beside me.

"Whatever happened, Miss Martin?"

"Edith is not feeling well. I must see her home."

"Please," he said, as his hand rested on my arm, "allow me to offer my carriage. There is no need for your brother and Miss Clark to be pulled away when I am departing myself."

Without thinking too deeply into his sudden departure, I thanked him and went to find Jack. Jack looked rather pleased when I told him that Andrew would escort us.

"Jack, take care," I said, but did not add any more, for he understood my meaning as I glanced at Guinevere.

The carriage Andrew was using I had never seen before, but I did not question him. I knew that Mr. Monroe had left Philadelphia, and Andrew had stayed behind. He said he would be in the city for two weeks before traveling to his uncle's house for their independence celebration.

Since the Knowlton's lived outside the city, and the only light was that of the moon and the lanterns that hung from the carriage, the progress was slow. Conversation was sparse as Edith moaned with every bump of the carriage. We were but a mile outside the city, when shots rang from outside the carriage.

The carriage lurched, and Edith screamed as we were tossed onto the floor. Andrew's strong hands helped us to sit up, but the carriage was resting at an angle. He pulled a pistol from one of the seat pockets and checked it.

"Stay here," he instructed and opened the carriage door and climbed down. I felt around for a second pistol, and my finger had touched one when Edith screamed again. Twisting around, I came face to face with a man wearing a muffler pulled over his mouth and nose. A pistol was in his hand pointed directly at my heart.

"Out," he ordered, and slowly I rose and started to climb down.

When my feet hit solid ground, I heard punches being exchanged. The man who was taller and stronger than I cursed, tucking his pistol into his belt. He wrapped his arms around my waist, throwing me over his shoulder. He ran with me toward his horse. I did not have a pistol, but I did have a knife strapped to my leg. If I could only reach it. Knowing that the man would have to release me to get me on his horse that was when I would strike. Edith screamed my name, terror in her voice, and Andrew was running toward us with the other man sprawled on the ground behind him. I would not have to rescue myself. I was set on my feet beside a large horse, and my captor swung around, but the pistol was knocked from his hand, and a fist was thrown against his jaw. When the pistol hit the ground, I quickly picked it up and leveled it, but the two men were wrapped in each other's arms, engaged in a dangerous dance of sorts. As soon as my aim was upon my erstwhile captor, they would shift, and the barrel would be pointed at Andrew.

Andrew. He was brilliant. They were evenly matched in strength, but Andrew had a steely determination. I lowered the pistol to watch. Andrew broke free and struck hard against the man's face, and followed swiftly with a blow to the gut. His fist slammed against the side of the man's nose, and the man went down. I wanted to clap, to cheer. I was impressed beyond words.

Andrew's breaths were ragged as he stared down at the man. When I reached his side, he looked at me, and my heart constricted. His lip was bleeding, and one of his eyes was swelling.

"Oh, Andrew. We must have someone see to your wounds." I took his hand, seeing the blood on his knuckles. I swallowed the lump in my throat as we moved toward the carriage.

"Should we not turn him over to the constables?" Andrew asked, stopping to look at the man on the ground.

"Edith would have hysterics if we put him in the carriage. I believe that the pain he will feel upon waking will be punishment enough."

Andrew asked his coachman about his condition, and the man said he received only a graze. He had the carriage back on the road, and when I opened the door, Edith was in the corner sobbing. I sat beside her for the rest of the journey to my house. When we arrived, I asked Andrew to come in, but he refused.

"Please," I said in a harassed tone, "the least I can do is to see to your wounds, though I owe you so much more."

Andrew finally agreed, and I directed the coachman where to take the carriage and then to go to the back door where someone would see to his wound.

When we entered the house, my mother was not home from a party, but Arnaud and Mrs. Beaumont were there to greet us. Mrs. Beaumont led Edith, who was no longer sobbing, but still shaking, above stairs.

Arnaud hovered over us until I sent him to fetch the necessary items to clean Andrew's wounds. I took Andrew's arm and led him to a chair in the library as it was the only room with a fire in the hearth.

"Now, I will survey the damage, if you do not mind."

Andrew remained quiet as I looked him over. His right eye was the color of coal, and it was already swollen shut. His lip had a cut across the top, and his hands were covered in cuts and dried blood. His nose was perfect, as was his left eye through which he watched me closely. Arnaud brought in water, bandages and brandy, and scurried off again in search of Leo. As gently as I could, I cleaned the cut on his lip and applied sticking plaster. I knelt down before him to clean his hands then wrapped them in the white cloth bandages, and for some inexplicable reason I felt like crying. I told myself it was from the events of the past month, but I knew there was more to it than that.

"I can never thank you enough, Mr. Madison. You fought so valiantly. I feel responsible for your wounds."

"Elizabeth," he said softly, and my gaze flew to his, "you are in no way to blame for what happened. I give thanks that you are safe." He smiled then winced.

My emotions were spiraling out of control. He had called me Elizabeth, and I liked hearing it, I liked him, but my feelings caused a pang of guilt.

"You called me Andrew earlier, and I rather liked it. I hope that you will do so again."

Biting my lip, I nodded, but I felt like a traitor, like I was doing wrong allowing this new familiarity with Andrew, even though I knew there was nothing wrong with the way I felt for him.

After Andrew had drunk a glass of brandy and Leo had looked over his wounds, I walked with him to the door.

"I believe I will postpone our outing to the museum a few days."

"Rightly so. Do take care, Andrew," I said as I took his offered hand. He kissed the back of my hand and departed the house, leaving me feeling bereft and guilty. It was the guilt that caused tears to trickle down my cheeks.

# Chapter 18

Jack

While escorting Guinevere home from Ephraim's party, she asked if I would ride out with her at seven in the morning. My agreement came immediately, for any time spent with her was fortunate, but when she asked to meet at a country church instead of at her house, I was intrigued.

Seated upon my brown mount in the church yard, I took out my pocket watch for the fifth time. Guinevere was ten minutes late. There could be any logical explanation, but anxiety grew within me for I knew that she liked to ride without her groom.

The sound of a fast horse approaching from around the bend in the road made me sit straighter in the saddle. When she appeared, a sigh tumbled out from deep within me.

As she halted near me, my heart stuttered. The pink in her cheeks from the cold morning air, her blue riding dress that made her eyes appear more blue than purple, and the smile on her lips made me wish that I could paint. I would keep her image with me always, to remind myself when in the darkest of places that I knew what light and life looked like.

"Are you prepared for a gallop across the countryside?" she asked with a smile that tilted up one side of her lips. She knew, as everyone in society did, that John Martin was not at his best upon a horse.

"I shall try my poor best," I replied.

She took the lead while I kept a distance between us. The wind blew wisps of her auburn hair from the coil secured against her head, and her blue bonnet was a little askew.

Love had never been a word that I said unless in poetry or to my sister. The truth was that other than my mother and sister; there had never been anyone that I loved. I respected my father, but it would have been a falsehood to say that I loved him as I did my sister. He never gave us much thought other than what we could do to further his causes. He did not inspire or encourage deeper emotions, especially love. Not that what I was feeling for Guinevere was love...

She was waiting for me, and my thoughts turned back to the moment. Stopping beside her, I gave my best look of a man exhausted from the ride. Guinevere rode a circle around me with a victorious smile lighting her face.

"You ride better than I expected," she said.

My hands gripped the reins of my horse as I acted as if I was gasping for breath. "A surprise," I gulped some air, "even to myself."

She laughed as she looked up at the trees. The leaves were dancing with the wind. She closed her eyes as the wind caressed her face. "I do love early morning gallops. They strengthen the senses and are the beginning to a perfect day."

Plain Jack Martin would agree with her, but Poet John Martin wisely kept his mouth shut.

She looked at me with a lift to her dainty brows, "Do you not agree?"

"It would be to speak a falsehood if I were to agree."

"What? No poetry to the horse galloping across the frosty plain?"

"If poetry is what you wish." I laid my hand over my heart. "No earthly beasts can tame, her wild streak that came when upon the wind she rides––"

She interrupted me with a laugh. "Never mind that," she said dismissing my quotations. "Can I show you something? It is a bit of a ride from here. Are you prepared for the challenge?"

I nodded, not at all upset that she interrupted me, she usually did when I tried to spout poetry to her.

Again, she took the lead. She led me further into the country, cutting across fields and wooded areas until she was coming closer to Stark Manor. She rode a half mile past the lane to Stark Manor before cutting into the woods. She knew her way around, for she rode through the trees at a pace that I struggled, without pretense, to maintain. Ahead, the woods ended and we came upon a clearing with a lake a few yards away. It was completely secluded with trees surrounding it in every direction. Guinevere pulled up beside a copse of trees and waited as I dismounted.

As I reached up for her, I asked, "Do you come here often?"

"This is part of Richard's country estate. He completed the purchase only a week ago."

I wondered if my mother knew.

Guinevere dropped into my arms, and all other thought flew away as she leaned her body against me. She was warm and soft as I set her feet on the ground, my heart beating faster. She smiled up at me, leaning against me for a few moments more; then she turned and sauntered toward the lake. I tied the horses' reins to a branch before following her slowly.

The skirt of her blue riding dress swished along the ankle high grass. She glanced over her shoulder, her pink lips curving upwards in a smile. I stopped to watch her every movement, feeling things that were foreign to me. I was sure that the feelings of excitement, intrigue, desire, and trepidation were surely the same emotions felt by the explorers who first stumbled upon this land.

She walked around an oak tree, running her gloved hand along the bark as she circled it.

Would that I could be that tree.

She sat, leaning against the tree. She patted the ground beside her; her look inviting me to join her.

Inhaling a deep breath, I walked toward the tree. Once seated, our shoulders were touching as we stared at the quiet water of the lake. The setting was peaceful, so unlike the man who owned the land.

When Richard was arrested, there would be a scandal, and Guinevere would feel the brunt of it. She would again be without someone to protect her, alone in this unkind world. With my new, developing feelings for her, how could I even contemplate causing her grief? She had borne so too much grief in her young life.

Understanding some of her pain as I lost my father, but he and I were never close, I could not imagine losing my mother and sister.

When Guinevere told me that she had lost both parents, her strong will was explained. She was trying to cover the truth; that she was a young, vulnerable girl searching for someone to love her unconditionally. I wished that I could be that person, but I was not sure that I knew how to love, not the way she deserved. She needed someone who would make her their world, not destroy hers. Were I to try to be the man she needed, there would be much put at risk. Should my enemies ever discover my feelings for her, they would use those feelings against me, hurting her, possibly even killing her. It should be unthinkable, and yet, part of me was convinced that I could protect her.

"Something is bothering you. Your thoughts are not here with me," Guinevere said softly.

Jerking out of my thoughts, and turning to look into her eyes, her concern for me was evident along with something much, much more. My mind was searching for something to say as I sighed audibly.

"It is only my mother. I worry about her. Is an acquaintanceship of a few months long enough to consider marriage?"

"I suppose it depends upon the couple," she replied before turning her eyes toward the lake. "Richard appears determined to marry her."

"What kind of guardian is he?" There was no hint of anything but wonder in my voice.

She laughed, but it sounded hollow. "He is like all men of means. Over bearing, stubborn, loyal to his work."

"Was your father like Richard?" I asked softly.

A frown covered her lips and eyes. "No. Richard is a veritable tyrant in comparison to my father. My father was the best man while he lived." She leaned her head against the tree, staring at the water, making plain that she did not wish to speak of her past.

Relinquishing my hopes to draw more out of her, I took off my hat, placing it on the ground and closing my eyes. A breeze was blowing through the trees, rustling the leaves and giving me a feeling of serenity. My mind immediately moved to the woman whose shoulder was brushing mine. Guinevere had a way about her that could make me forget my troubles. Most of my time spent in her company had been a time of happiness, and that was something that I had not experienced much since my childhood, before the Phantoms.

Guinevere was close enough that I could smell her scent. She always smelled of lavender. A churning feeling in the pit of my stomach made me want to kiss her until the feeling subsided, but that would neither be proper or something that she would tolerate. One thing was for certain; Guinevere made me feel light, carefree, and yet, I had a strong desire to shelter her and protect her from all pain—even the pain that I would inflict.

The feelings within me were powerful, waiting anxiously to be unleashed—like a team of horses on the brink of losing control, all that was needed was to drop the hands, give them their heads, and hang on for the ride.

She moved, her shoulder no longer touching mine. Opening my eyes, she was leaning toward me and studying me with curious eyes. My gaze searched for the depth of her feelings behind the curiosity in her eyes, before dropping to her lips. The corners tilted up in a delicate smile, and she leaned closer, pressing her lips against mine.

For an instant, I could do nothing, as my body relaxed in a feeling of ecstasy. It was like I had been deprived of sustenance for years, and when I took my first bite, nothing had ever tasted better. But like all first bites, the craving for more, to devour, took hold.

My hand moved to the small of her back pulling her closer. Her body sighed, and she leaned further into me. I could feel her longing in the pressure of her lips against mine. It both surprised and intrigued me. She needed me, wanted me, and I needed her. Longing so strongly seized my chest that I could barely breathe.

I love her.

The thought struck me so forcefully that I pulled away and pushed to my feet. I backed away two steps, staring down at her surprised face.

Running a hand through my hair, I uttered, "Forgive me."

A look of confusion crossed her sweet face. "Why do you need forgiveness, John? I kissed you. If you are apologizing for breaking away, then I forgive you. Now, come. Sit."

Staring at her, not making a move to do as she insisted, she frowned, but with what I was feeling, neither of us would be safe.

She leaned against the tree. "If I promise not to kiss you again, will you sit?"

That was not what I was worried about. It was not a good idea, and I knew it, but I stepped toward her anyway. To be safe, I left a few inches between us when I sat.

Silence reigned for several minutes as I fought to get my desires under control. When I glanced at her, her brow was lowered in a scowl.

After a few more minutes passed in silence, she finally spoke. "I had not thought it of you before." She turned to look at me. "You are a puritan. Deny it, if you dare."

Holding her gaze for a moment before looking back at the water, I wanted to laugh but did not dare. If I answered her honestly, telling her that the intensity of my feelings for her made me want to be anything but a gentleman, she would surely slap my face.

Instead, I said what John Martin should say. "I am a stickler for propriety, yes."

"Then why did you agree to ride with me when you knew I rode without a groom?" she demanded

"You have discovered my weakness, for I could not deny you anything, but the other side of the coin is that I never want to do anything to harm your reputation. I feel things for you that are new to me. You are—" I paused, wondering how best to describe my feelings. Her eyes begged me to tell her the truth, and at that moment I never wanted anything more. "I am better with verse." I picked up her gloved hand, entwining our fingers and pressing them against my heart. "So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, so long lives this," I tapped our fingers against my heart, "and this gives life to thee."

She stared into my eyes for a moment more, then nodding; she pulled her hand from my clasp. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth, something she did when thinking.

After two minutes of silence passed, she stood. "We should return to town." She started toward the horses.

I was on my feet in an instant. "Guinevere," she stopped but did not turn, "if I have done or said anything that makes you uncomfortable, I do apologize."

She nodded again but said nothing. Confused by what had transpired, I picked up my hat, jerked it on my head and followed. After assisting her on to her horse, she moved away without waiting for me. I mounted and followed as she led the way toward the city, never once letting me come up beside her. When we neared the country church, she finally slowed for me to join her.

"I need some time, John," she glanced at me, then away all too quickly.

I nodded, but I felt sick. Somehow I had ruined whatever was forming between us.

"Did you mean what you said?" she asked.

"With all my heart," I assured her.

She rewarded me with a smile. "I shall expect you at my house on Monday at two." She rode away, leaving me in a state of surprise.

Her meaning was clear. She expected me to propose...and I was going to.

# Chapter 19

Bess

When Jack and I came in from a morning ride, Jericho was awaiting us in the library. Jericho was not dressed in livery, but in his leisure clothing, as he had already been out that morning searching for George.

When the door was closed, I approached him. "Have you discovered something?" Please, let it be so.

"Unfortunately not. If there were ever a trail, it has long since been covered. I fear that until we force Levitas to disclose his whereabouts, we will not find him."

It was as I feared. Levitas had not met again, nor had there been any word that they knew about our capturing their assassins.

When Jericho was seated across from us, I watched him closely. From the way he clasped then unclasped his hands; I knew he was worried over something.

Jericho had long been a favorite of mine. When we were children, he had given me my first kiss. It was done on purpose, but it was a memory I cherished. We had been training in the art of seduction. As my father was wont to say, "Seduction is not restricted to one sex. A person who can seduce can reduce their mission time in half."

We were each given a card and told to tuck it somewhere on our person. The object was simple. The first person to retrieve the card from their partner was declared the victor. Jericho and I had been teamed together, and while I toyed with my fan and batted my eyelashes, Jericho went straight for the win. He had been twelve to my thirteen, but he was the tallest of all the boys. His arms wrapped around my waist, and the next thing I knew he was kissing me. I was so stunned that I never noticed his retrieving my card until he released me and bowed. Since then, I knew never underestimate him, and that his kisses were a power all their own. We had grown to be a family, and my girlish fancy had changed into a deep respect.

His jaw was tight, and his lips were compressed. When he met my gaze, there was a strong will in his brown eyes. "There is something that I must ask," Jericho said, and as he nervously shifted his weight foreboding moved inside me.

"I would ask your permission and your blessing on my marriage. To Mariah."

Jack and I stared at him, each with our mouths agape. Surprise, astonishment, and fear all coursed within my body. Surprise and astonishment I understood, but the fear was unsettling. As the leader of the Phantoms in Philadelphia, it was my permission that had to be gained if someone wished to marry. That brought thoughts of Ben into my head. Ben had had to gain my father's permission to marry me, not only as my father, but as my leader. That must have been where the fear stemmed from. Ben had died in our line of work.

"Am I," I cleared my throat, "to understand that you love Mariah?" Jericho nodded, holding my gaze. "Does she return your regard?"

A smile crept slowly to Jericho's lips, and he was again the little boy whom my father had brought home all those years ago; the wild boy with the free spirit who knew how to protect himself. I had always been secretly impressed and a little in awe of Jericho. He possessed an inner strength to rival my father's. When Jericho donned the wolf mask, he became a wolf, but he never struck against someone until they made the first move. He was just.

"I can think of no other man who would be better for Mariah," I said, and Jericho released a puff of air. "I will give my blessing, but you must wait to wed until after this mission with Levitas, and George is found."

Jack and I stood, and Jericho threw his arms around Jack and hugged him, picking him completely off the ground.

"Put me down, you wolf," Jack said with a laugh. Jericho dropped Jack to his feet and came toward me. I took a step back in funning, but he only took my hands and stared down into my eyes.

"I swear on all the stars in the sky you will never have cause to regret this decision."

Somehow, I knew I never would. I had never thought about it until that moment, but there had been looks passed between them for months, and Jericho was always the one who helped Mariah into the carriage or onto her horse or to escort her when I sent her on an errand. Mariah would marry a great man, which she mightily deserved.

"When shall you ask her? Is it to be kept secret?"

Jericho looked sheepish as he ran a hand through his fair hair. "I would like to ask her immediately, but not here."

"Most definitely not here. Take her on a picnic," I said, and both Jericho and Jack stared at me. "I can be romantic when the occasion demands."

Jericho laughed then planted a kiss on my cheek. I went out with him, and as he went to saddle their horses, I told Mrs. Beaumont what was afoot, and she scurried off to see to a basket lunch. I found Mariah in my chamber and told her she and Jericho were being sent on an errand, one that would require she not wear her maid uniform.

After Jack and I had seen them off, there was another pang in my heart. It was like a void, a cavern of emptiness, dark and daunting. We went back into the library, and Jack shut the door then leaned against it with a frown fixed on his lips. I leaned back against my chair and closed my eyes. Andrew came to mind, but he was immediately replaced with Ben's image. I knew that what I was feeling was guilt and shame. Somehow over the years, I had become bitter, clinging to a memory. It was that memory which drove me on day after day, mission after mission. A need for justice that I could never possibly acquire.

"Bess, what is going on in your mind?"

Jumping at the sound of his voice so close, I raised my gaze to his. He was standing before my chair, staring at me with concern etched in his frown. For a moment, I considered lying, shrugging his question away, but I needed to speak with someone before I burst.

"Do you believe I am betraying Ben," I swallowed the lump rising in my throat, "by allowing Andrew's attention?"

Jack sat in the chair across from mine, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. I looked away from Jack's intense stare.

"Did I ever tell you that Ben came to see me on the day he died?" Jack asked, and my gaze instantly flew to his. I could not speak, so I shook my head.

Jack clasped his hands, staring at them. "He arrived at the camp, insisting that he was my brother and had to see me. My commander knew Father, so he allowed me to meet with Ben in his tent." Jack rose and moved to lean an arm against the fireplace mantle. "Ben was more than my closest friend. He was my brother." Jack looked at me, and I saw the same turmoil in his eyes that I had felt for three years. "Not many people knew how much he truly loved you, Bess. He was good about hiding his feelings. We all are." Jack ran a hand through his hair. "He extracted a promise from me, should anything happen to him I would do my utmost to see you away from a life of danger. I am ashamed to say that I have failed in my promise." Jack knelt beside my chair and took my hand, pressing it tight. "I know that you carry guilt for what happened to Ben. It is why you work so hard for justice. Believe me when I say, no one understands that more than I, but he would not want you to blame yourself for what was never your fault. You know what his motto was."

"No revenge, no regrets," I whispered, blinking away the moisture building in my eyes.

"I believe it is time for us both to put the regrets of the past to rest. Ben loved you, and he would want—no, demand—that you accept the happiness that is being offered to you." Jack gave a small laugh. "And you know how adamant he could be when something riled him."

Ben, Jack, and Ben's brother Henry used to tell me daily that I was high-handed in my demands, but on the rare occasion when any of them was angry, there was no way but theirs, and God save the fool who tried to argue.

"Ben wanted your freedom and happiness more than anything else in the world. So lay Ben to rest, and marry Andrew, if that is what you want. Live out the rest of your life free and happy, knowing that Ben's blessing is upon you because it is, for now and for always."

Inhaling a long breath, I knew that everything Jack said was the truth. I knew it deep in my soul. It was time for me to lay the past, the guilt, and the regrets to rest. It was time for me not just to exist, but to live.

***

Andrew had only stayed away two days before he sent a note asking Jack and I to meet him at the State House for the tour of the museum. Edith was at our house, so she accompanied us.

Andrew was waiting outside the large brick structure, and when he saw us, he smiled. The cut over his lip was all but healing, and the bruise around his eye had lightened to green and purple, but at least he could open it. He offered his arm to me and led us into the building and up the wide staircase to the second floor. There we were met by Mr. Charles Peale and his son.

Mr. Peale, a man in his seventies who leaned heavily on his ebony cane, greeted us kindly before guiding us into the first room, answering any questions we had.

We entered upon a room filled with large preserved beasts, some I had never seen nor heard of. A bison, elk, anteater, grizzly bear, llama, and many monkeys were among the group. Jack's eyes were alight with intrigue. He was not only a great reader, but he enjoyed learning. Edith, dear girl, shrank back from the beasts with their black, lifeless eyes that looked straight at you.

We were led into the long room that was aptly named, for cases that, by what Mr. Peale said, were filled with over one thousand birds of all shapes, sizes, and colors and ran almost the length of the room. Backgrounds had been painted to match the birds to their natural surroundings. It was an overwhelming and impressive collection, one which I had never seen. Jack had been to view the museum a few times, but never when Mr. Peale was giving the tour.

Portraits of famous people, from scientists to heroes of the revolution, were staring down at us from their frames on the walls. There were insects, fossils, coins, and an organ loft that played music as people viewed the curiosities. When we left the long room, and I caught sight of the marine room, I jerked back, causing Andrew to chuckle.

"John," I called over my shoulder, but not taking my eyes from the fright before me, "remind me never to set foot in the ocean." What Mr. Peale called a hammer head shark, though I thought it more a creature from the depths of hell, was ahead of us.

Edith would not even step foot in the room, so I released Andrew's arm and went to stand beside her, telling the others that Edith and I would like to view the long room again and that they should take their time. Edith nearly pulled me away, while Jack apologized to Mr. Peale for our lack of scientific enjoyment.

When they joined us, and Andrew said we were to view the great beast, I again took his arm. The American Incognitum, as it was called by most, was the skeletal remains of a mastodon that Mr. Peale had excavated years before. It was said to be so large that a banquet could be served beneath its ribcage, and there were rumors that such a thing had happened when Mr. Peale first opened his museum.

As we walked to the other building, Andrew and I had a chance to speak as Jack and Edith fell behind with Mr. Peale and his son.

"I was pleased to see that Miss Harvey and not Miss Clark was with your brother. Might I drop a friendly word in your ear?" He did not wait for me to agree before saying, "That connection should be severed before it has a chance to take root." I did not know what to say, so I said nothing.

He continued seriously. "Whom you know is important and whom you marry is even more so. Having connections such as those, without family, are never good for one's aspirations, especially those seeking political power."

I did not misunderstand what he was saying, but I pretended to. "John has no political aspirations."

"No, but I do and when you and I marry having a brother who is married to a woman of no family would be a hindrance to our aspirations." Unable to breathe, I stopped and turned to look up at him in astonishment. It was not that he took for granted that I would marry him; it was that he had made an unofficial declaration. A part of me wanted to dance or shout or sing for joy. What I wanted more than anything was imminent. But, my excitement was tempered with the knowledge that I did not entirely agree with his words about Guinevere. Jack was a man and could choose whomever he wanted for his life's partner, as I would choose mine. I would not hold it against Andrew, for what he said did make a certain amount of sense. I could hear my mother's voice in my head instructing me to encourage Andrew, for men will never come to the point without the necessary encouragement.

"I cannot speak for what will happen with my brother and Miss Clark, but I do hope that it will not hinder our future."

He did not miss my meaning. He took my gloved hand and kissed the back. "Nothing in the world could do that, and if you have no objection, I would like to seek an interview with your brother soon."

"I have no objection," I replied earnestly though breathlessly.

"Come along, you two, the great American Incognitum awaits," Jack called to us as they passed us.

Andrew leaned closer to me. "Others are always watching. We must be above reproof."

# Chapter 20

Jack

24 June 1816

In my bedchamber, Leo spoke as he helped me into my coat. "Jericho said that the ground was covered in ice again this morning. A quarter inch in the country is what is being said."

The farmers were all in a tremor as there had not been a day to go by without frost or ice covering the ground. Snow was falling in the northern states. We had not seen snow in Philadelphia, but the cold temperatures, ice and frost every week were little better. Crops were on the brink of ruination, and some shopkeepers were claiming shortages due to passes being covered in snow. Snow in June. If the weather persisted, we could be facing a panic. If there were no crops, there was no food, and if there was no food, people would starve.

My mother had been selling valuables for months to keep ahead of the creditors, but last week she had sold the last of the good silver. Bess had been distraught, but there was no other way to keep us afloat. With George missing, the small stipend that we made as Phantoms had been cut off. We had nothing to contribute. All we had left were the family heirlooms that Mother would not part with, a small farm in North Carolina, and the plantation in Savannah. The state of our finances made my appointment with Guinevere timely. Once I married, my fortune would be released from the trust, but money was the least of reasons why I wanted to marry Guinevere.

Instead of taking the carriage the five roads that separated my house from Guinevere's, I walked. I spent the time considering what I would say. How did one propose marriage? Should I kneel? Should I speak some verse to her beauty, or do I simply tell her what is in my heart? Thinking the words was one thing, but saying them aloud was something else entirely.

When I reached Guinevere's house, I had no more notion of what I would say than I did when I decided that I would propose. I tapped on the door and waited. With each second that ticked by, my heart felt like it might explode. The rapidity of the beatings was making me even more nervous. Inhaling and exhaling deep breaths did nothing to calm me. My palms were sweaty in my gloves, and every moment that passed tied my stomach into another knot. When two minutes passed without an answer, I knocked harder. The door swung open with my hand poised to knock again. Martha greeted me with a wide grin, remembering to take my hat, gloves, and walking stick. She laid them on a small table and motioned toward the parlor door.

"I have a soufflé near destruction," she muttered, before she bustled off toward the back of the house. She was ever a curiosity.

After straightening my white cravat before the looking glass on the wall, I moved to the open parlor door. Guinevere was seated upon the sofa reading a book, dressed in a light blue gown that made her eyes look more blue than purple. I walked to her and bowed.

"You are punctual as ever, John. Do be seated." We had given up trying to maintain a formal air at the picnic. She was Guinevere, and I was John, though, at times, she slipped and called me Jack. It was those moments that I craved.

"Guinevere, I have something that I would ask you."

She set her book aside and clasped her hands. She appeared serenely confident, all but the way she was biting on her bottom lip. Gazing down at her, I saw my future, and there was no hint of fear.

All I had known since childhood was duty—to the Phantoms, to my father, to protect my country in both war and work, and now duty to provide for my mother and sister. I was tired of doing the work of others, and I never wanted Guinevere to become a duty, that I had to marry her because I was stealing her guardian from her, or to unlock my fortune.

When I was contemplating proposing, I had taken a moment to consider giving her up. My heart had immediately constricted in grief at the thought of anyone else touching her, kissing her; God forbid the rest. It had all become clear. I knew what I wanted for my life, and looking into her eyes, I was sure that I would never regret my decision. I opened my mouth to pour out my soul to her, but was cut off by a deep voice behind me.

"What is the meaning of this?" Richard demanded as he stalked into the room. I had not heard the front door open, but there he stood in all his indignant pomposity.

"Richard, I must beg you to give us a few minutes. John has not finished what he was saying," Guinevere said with determination coating her words.

"John is it? John? This is the outside of what is acceptable." Richard's eyes were wild as he looked from her to me.

"Indeed it is not," Guinevere retorted as she nearly leapt in her attempt to rise. She was staring at Richard, her stance that of a warrior. "I believe that even I am allowed to receive an offer of marriage."

"Marriage," Richard sputtered, his face turning a purple-red shade. "Not as long as you are my ward."

"Sir, Miss Clark holds no blame here. If you must be angry with someone, make it I."

Richard cast me a scathing look. "I assure you, I have plenty to say to you, but I will not soil my ward's ears. You and I are taking our leave." Richard crossed his arms, determined not to leave me alone with Guinevere.

As I looked at Richard, I had to fight down my mounting rage. He dared to look at me as if I were the wicked one. Turning to Guinevere, there was contrition in her eyes. It raised my ire toward Richard. None of this was Guinevere's fault.

Ignoring Richard's hard stare, I moved to Guinevere and bowed over her outstretched hand. I raised it to my lips and mouthed, forgive me.

She nodded as she withdrew her hand. She walked with me to the door and waited as I picked up my possessions from the table. Richard stepped between us and ushered me out like I was some petulant child.

"How did you arrive? By carriage?" Richard demanded.

"I walked, sir."

Richard grunted then motioned to his carriage that was coming toward us. When it stopped, he ordered me to get in.

My every instinct was to laugh in his face and turn away, but that was not how John Martin, scholar and poet, would act. I climbed in and sat. When Richard sat and beat on the roof, the carriage moved forward.

I spoke first. "Sir, before you speak, allow me to assure you that my intentions toward Miss Clark are entirely honorable." Richard grunted again. "It is my most earnest desire to make her my wife, and I had every intention of seeking your consent to our marriage."

"My consent? My consent, that's rich. Where were your honorable intentions when you accompanied her, unchaperoned, on morning rides? What have you to say to that?"

"Only that you are correct, I should not have done so the one time that it happened, but I mean to make it right. I humbly ask your consent to my marriage with your ward." There, I had said it, though it cost me dearly.

Richard crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at me. "Too little, too late." His voice dropped to a low, menacing tone, "You will stay away from my ward, or else I shall be forced to move her from your sphere."

"I do not understand you," I said but his meaning was clear.

Richard sneered, angled against his corner of the carriage to stare at me. "You have forced my hand, and it is to you the blame will fall when she is torn from a life of pleasure. I shall send her deep into the country until either she is of age, or until I find a worthy partner for her."

"You would do that?" I asked as I willed my body to keep from throttling the beast beside me.

"With ease," Richard replied with a satisfied smirk.

I silently counted to ten to keep my murderous feelings inside. "I understand you, sir. You have done me the honor of being frank. Now allow me to be the same. My mother loves her children; our happiness is her first priority. If you withhold your consent then I must withhold my own. You will have, as you say, forced my hand."

"Are you threatening me?"

"A poet only threatens through verse." The carriage stopped before my house. "Thank you for the ride, it has been most instructive." I opened the door, stepped from the carriage and walked into my house, not waiting to see if Richard followed. I walked into my library, slammed the door shut, and grabbed the nearest object, a book lying on the table, and hurled it. The sound of it crashing against the wall did nothing to stop my body from shaking.

"John!"

Slowly, looking to my right, Bess and Andrew Madison were standing beside the window. My anger blinded me to their presence until that moment.

"I do apologize. I did not see you there," I said blandly.

Bess was worried, but Andrew looked curious. He could remain curious, for I would not enlighten him.

"Are you all right?" Bess asked then frowned.

Ignoring Bess's question I nodded to Andrew before motioning for them to sit. "Where is Mother?"

"She stepped to the drawing room for a moment," Bess said with a hint of a blush touching her cheeks.

Andrew stayed for another fifteen minutes, conversing easily with Bess. She liked him a great deal, if the look on her face as she listened to him speak was any indication.

When Andrew was gone Bess said, "Tell me what has happened to make you behave the way that you did. You frightened me. I have not seen that side of you in many years."

Before I had a chance to speak, the door opened and my mother walked in.

"I hear that you have been seeing Richard's ward against his wishes." Not looking at either of them, I shrugged. "Jack, Miss Clark is not for you. Richard believes that you would not suit, and we must expect him to know his ward."

"The man keeps secrets from you, lying to you, and yet you take his side against me."

Mother stepped back, her jaw slack and her eyes round.

"Jack," Bess said with a warning in her voice.

I wanted to tell her all, but I refrained. "I apologize. My feelings upon the subject are raw."

Mother knelt before me, holding my hands in hers. "My love, you have time before you need to think about marriage. Do me this one favor and leave Richard's ward be." Mother was adamant. She did not want me to see Guinevere again. But, it was more than that. She was afraid, both of Richard and what losing him meant. She could not afford to anger him.

***

Four days passed without sight of Guinevere. Not from a lack of trying, but from a sly move by her guardian. Guinevere and Richard had left Philadelphia.

From what I could learn from my mother and Martha, Guinevere would be returning, but neither knew when. I was outraged, with both Richard and myself. I should have struck him down when I had the chance.

Pacing my library like a caged animal, my thoughts were in a tormenting spiral. I did not know what Richard had told her about me, but I could only hope that she would know that when she returned I would still be of the same mind.

When I threw myself into a chair, determined to read a book, a knock fell upon the front door. I rose to close my library door, not wanting to see any of Bess's suitors, when I halted.

General Harvey walked toward me leaning slightly on a wooden cane. He had been wounded in 1813 while serving in Baltimore. Shrapnel in the leg. He had never fully recovered and walked with a limp, but his wound never dampened his spirit. He was forever gracious and jolly with anyone around him.

I shook the general's hand then motioned for him to be seated. "I am honored, sir, that you have called upon me."

General Harvey leaned his cane against his chair as he spoke. "You may not feel so after you hear what I've come to say." I watched him intently. "I heard talk that young Madison has become particular in his attentions to your sister, and I would not feel right, knowing your father as I did, if I held my peace and did not warn you against such an alliance."

Of all the words that he could have said, speaking against Andrew Madison was definitely the last that I expected.

"William was a good man and a good friend." The general's eyes looked past me as if he were remembering something from days gone by. "Miss Martin deserves the best; a man who will care for her well-being, not only her lovely face and the connections she brings."

"You feel that Andrew Madison does not mount up to that description?" I asked, feeling skeptical about his motives.

He grunted. "Let us say that she deserves someone who will love her more than he loves himself, and you may be sure that Madison is not that man. His political ambitions alone should be enough to deter you from considering him."

So far I had heard nothing against Andrew that I found disconcerting, or that could constitute the general's visit.

As if he could read my thoughts, he replied, "Miss Martin will inherit a vast sum upon her marriage. Money like that could certainly help out a politically minded young man."

"Are you saying that he is a fortune hunter?" I asked, doing nothing to keep the incredulity from my voice.

"That's the right of it. He may care for Miss Martin, but as her brother, surely you wish more for her than a shallow marriage to an equally shallow man."

Staring at General Harvey, I was unsure if I should believe what he said. I could not shake the thought that the man had ulterior motives behind his visit. Edith came to mind, and the general's motives became clear. If I refused my permission to Andrew's suit, the general could then swoop in offering up Edith as a substitute. The connections that Andrew would bring to a marriage could cause even a friendly man like General Harvey to do his utmost in eliminating rivals, like fabricating a list of faults. I found myself thoroughly torn, for I liked the general, and he had long been a family friend.

The general used his cane to help him stand. "Think about what I have said, John. Sometimes appearances can be deceiving."

I thanked the general as I followed him to the door. After he had left, I went to the drawing room and pulled open the curtains fully, then went into my library and closed those curtains. It was a code for Levi to come at once. When Levi passed the house, he would see the code and enter through the servants' entrance. I sat at my desk and wrote out a letter while I waited for him to arrive. He did so three hours later. I closed my library door and had him sit.

"Fenrir will be taking your place watching the white phantom. There is something else for you to do. The instructions are written in this letter. Follow the one listed and report everything. From where he goes to whom he talks to. I want to know it all."

Levi nodded as he looked over the contents of the letter. When he looked up he was frowning. "Feelings growing strong between Raven and the president's nephew, eh?"

Feeling stretched beyond my limit, I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. "Let us say that I want to know more before I consider allowing him into the family."

# Chapter 21

Bess

30 June 1816

We received our first word on George early on Sunday morning. It came in a letter that was hand delivered to the house by a young boy who said it had been misdirected. Jack and I were at breakfast when Arnaud brought it in. It was from one of our informants in New York, and he said that he had found George alive and well.

Jack exhaled loudly as he read over my shoulder. Our informant assured us that he would see to it that George made it back safely, once the snow melted. I should have been relieved, as Jack was, but I could not release the suspicion that all was not as it appeared.

Every week since returning home from Washington, one of my agents had gone out searching for George, but to no avail, and then we hear that he was in New York. It did not work together in my mind. How did he get to New York?

George Crawford had led the Charleston Phantoms, a team in South Carolina until my father's death. George had then thought it his duty to move to Philadelphia to 'oversee' my new leadership.

George was one of the more boisterous against my being the leader instead of Jack. He did not believe as my father had, and he never failed to let me know of his disapproval if I failed in a mission. I appreciated George and his care of my mother after my father's passing, but there were times that I wished he had stayed in Charleston.

When Jack left the house to go for a ride, I ran up the stairs and into my chamber. Mariah was there, and when I told her what I wanted, she dug through my wardrobe until she found the black dress that I had worn to my father's memorial service. Concealed under the skirt were my work clothes. Mariah had sown buttons onto the waistband of my breeches and the inner collar of my shirt and then she buttoned them into holes that she had made under the dress. It was inventive, and no one would ever guess that my drab black gown contained the clothes that I wore when working the job that my father created.

Mariah helped me wrap my chest to make it as flat as a man's; then I dressed as Mariah opened my trunk and removed the fake backing to reveal three pistols, two daggers, and our masks. After pulling on my black breeches and black shirt, I handed her my wig which she placed inside the trunk. I pulled on my boots and tucked two pistols into holsters on my belt and a knife in each of my boots.

Something occurred to me that I had been remiss upon, so while Mariah locked my trunk, I asked, "Have you and Jericho set a date?"

Mariah's hand stalled on the lock, then she slowly rose, and there was a faint blush on her smooth cheeks. A lock of her dark hair fell across her face, so she tucked it timidly behind her ear. "Yes."

I threw my arms around her. She laughed as she returned my embrace.

"I am taking you shopping this week. You must be married in a new gown."

"That is not necessary, Bess," she said softly, and that was why I adored her. She was possibly the loveliest girl I had ever laid eyes on, but her beauty did not affect her. She used it to her advantage on certain missions, but in our everyday life, she was sweet and soft spoken.

"I know, but two of my dearest friends—my family—are to wed. It is the least that I can do." I turned away to tie my short hair back with a black ribbon and tucked it neatly under my hat. I picked up my mask and walked to the door, but paused before going out. "Do cover for me, should Jack return before I do."

Mariah sighed in a long-suffering manner, but her light blue eyes agreed.

***

George had two houses, one on Pine Street and one in the country. As he only used his country house in the summer months, I went to his two story house on Pine Street. It was Sunday, which meant that it was his servants' half day. His butler, cook, and manservant knew about our work, but like our own servants, they owed a debt of gratitude to George for one thing or another, and would never speak a word against us.

My cheeks and forehead were covered in soot to disguise the softness of my skin since I had not wanted to take the time to paste on facial hair.

As I stepped up to George's front door, I turned the door knob; it was unlocked. First obstacle completed.

Inside the house, all was quiet, and though the curtains had been thrown open to allow in light, there were no fires lit, nor did it seem that there had been since George disappeared for the house was unusually cold. I put on my mask as I tread over to his study. I had been in his house many times, so there was no nervousness in my step.

The study was a square room with bookshelves on one wall and a desk near the other. First, I checked where he kept important documents behind some of the books on one of his two bookshelves. They were still there. His desk was locked, but I knew where he kept the key. Fetching it from behind a portrait of George Washington, I unlocked the first drawer. I was uncertain why, but I pulled out his account book. When I reached the most recent entries, I could only stare, dumbfounded.

George had made some staggering deposit entries the day before he was taken. Closing the book, I found a stack of correspondence; all opened—letters from clients, letters from his agents both here and in Charleston. There were also reports from his nephew that required a mask to reveal the true message.

Communications exchanged between agents were a critical part of the Phantoms, but sending the information in a letter was not safe, so we had ways to relay the secret messages by many different techniques. Masking was one way—a cutout paper that could be any shape. Every leader wrote to fill a certain mask. The leader of the Charleston Phantoms always wrote messages that fit into an hourglass shaped paper.

I looked for the mask to put over the letters, but it was not in the book where George usually hid it. Placing the letters back in the desk, I searched the remaining drawers, but found nothing to help me discover why he had been taken or who had given him the money.

A crash sounded on the floor above me, and I nearly knocked over George's desk chair in my surprise.

The room directly above the study was George's bedchamber. I told myself that it was one of the servants, but that did not stop the rapid beating of my heart. What if it wasn't? I pulled one of my pistols from the holster as I left the study. Gripping my pistol, I started up the stairs. Halfway up, one of the stairs creaked under me, and I winced, but no one charged out to attack me. When I reached the bed chamber door which was closed, no noise came from inside the room. Something deep within my mind told me not to open that door, but I had learned to ignore that voice. If I listened to every inner warning, I would never achieve anything.

With my pistol steady, I turned the knob and pushed open the door. Immediately, I saw what had caused the crash. A vase had fallen from the desk where George's orange cat was sitting. My breath whooshed out in a small relieved laugh as I leaned against the door knob.

A strong hand suddenly wrapped around my wrist, and I was unceremoniously thrown toward the bed. I hit it hard, tumbled across the surface, and landed on the other side as the door shut with an ominous click. I scrambled to my knees and found myself looking at a masked man.

Thick, curly, brown hair tumbled around his head falling to the nape of his neck, but it was the plain black mask over his eyes that sent a mixture of alarm and disbelief skipping through me like a pebble thrown across water. Was he trying to imitate the Phantoms? He was doing a mighty poor job of it.

His head tilted to the side as his eyes slid over my face. Then to my astonishment, he opened his mouth and laughed. I did not like the sound, though there was nothing wrong with it. It was strong and pleasant. But my nerves were near to frayed, and I did not have time to deal with an imitator who had broken into George's house. Then there was the question of why he was in George's house. My gun was lying on the bed, and my eyes flicked to it.

"No," he said, but I was all ready going for it.

He leapt across the bed as my hand touched the handle. His weight landed on my arm, and I cried out. He wrenched the gun from my grasp and tucked it into the back of his breeches as he stood. I whipped out my second pistol. He dropped instantly to the floor on the other side of the bed, completely out of view. I jumped to my feet and started to climb over the bed, when my ankle was captured. He was under the bed!

He pulled hard, and I flew backward, my backside smacking on the hard wood floor. Pain vibrated through me, but I only had a second to think about it before my other ankle was caught, and I was pulled under the bed. I dropped my pistol in an attempt to catch hold of the bed frame, but he was stronger. He pulled me all the way under and through the other side and sat on my stomach. I groaned as a puff of air left me under his weight. What he failed to do was capture my arms, so I threw one good punch against his jaw. His jaw was covered with a short beard running from over his top lip down along his narrow jaw. He was a handsome man, curse him.

"That's not polite," he said through clenched but perfect teeth as he caught my wrists.

He stood and pulled me up with him. Once I was on my feet, all that separated us were my hands that he held between us. I had to tilt my head a little to look into his eyes, which were a light bluish gray. Everything within me stilled as I stared into their depths that looked as if they knew no bounds. His eyes were like two perfect thunderclouds with gray strikes of lightning dancing around the iris.

Even with the mask covering his nose and half of his forehead, I could tell that he was more than handsome. There was an intensity to him, and when he smiled, I felt it in every nerve of my body. I took a step back. He still had my hands clasped between us as he took a step forward. I took another step back, and my legs bumped against the bed.

In a skilled movement, he knocked my foot out from beneath me with his own and I tumbled backward, landing on George's soft mattress. I struggled to get up, but his arm came across my chest, holding me pinned in place.

My breaths came in short, fast intakes, but as I looked into his eyes my panic melted away. He did not have the look of an attacker, neither was he doing more than staring at me. I could defeat him.

Our gazes remained locked as his free hand fished in his pocket, and he brought a white handkerchief up and rubbed it against first one of my cheeks and then the other.

"Just so," he murmured, and his warm mouth was upon mine in a breath-halting embrace.

It was the kiss of an expert, of that I was left with no doubts. His mouth moved over mine until my lips parted. Warm, firm, possessive; he was the master of the situation. It took me a few heartbeats to react, but react I did. I threw my fist against his side.

He groaned against my mouth and pulled back, smiling. He had an alluring smile, another thing I found annoying. His finger came up and stroked my cheek. He pushed off the bed and moved to the door. I sat up, leaning against my elbows on the bed and watched him open the door. He cast me a quizzical look then went out, slamming the door behind him.

By the time I grabbed my pistol—he had stolen the other one,—and went to the door, he was gone. I did not know where he went or how he moved so swiftly or what he was doing in George's house, but I knew that I did not want to be there any longer. I ran down the stairs, pulled off my mask, and slipped out the front door.

When I finally reached my house and went up the back stairs, I was fuming. Why had I not done more? I could have bested him.

No, I could not. I knew the truth, and it only added to my anger.

We were to attend a party that evening, so when I reached my chamber, I pulled the bell for Mariah and threw off my hat and boots in angry, jerky movements. I ordered a hot bath, and when it was ready, I stepped in and sank down until the water was to my chin. I remained in the tub for some time thinking about a pair of stormy eyes and a foe that deserved to be beat.

***

When we arrived at the Harvey's house for a dinner party, Andrew greeted me warmly, bringing relief to my troubled mind. I had not been able to put the startling and unfortunate events of the day out of my thoughts until I was standing beside him. Edith had said it would be a small party, but the table was set for twenty persons; not as small as I had thought.

A few minutes later, Guinevere entered with Richard, and as soon as they separated, I watched Jack go to her. Even from across the room, I could see her shake her head and turn her back to him, speaking instead with Thomas and Dudley.

Jack looked so hurt that I wanted to claw Guinevere's eyes out for treating him like that. But, when Jack moved away, Guinevere turned, and her eyes followed him with so much hurt and longing that I knew it had all been Richard's doing. She loved Jack as much as he loved her.

At dinner, they were seated beside each other, much to Richard's chagrin, but from my place across the table between Dudley and Thomas, I noted that they did not exchange above twenty words throughout the meal. Jack would try to speak to her. Her eyes would move immediately to Richard, and she would say something or shake her head and turn to the man to her left.

The entire day had been almost too much for me, with the run-in I had had at George's, and then seeing my brother's anguish and knowing there was nothing I could do, I needed a reprieve. When they women left the dining parlor, I did not join them in the drawing room but walked up the stairs to the large, elegant landing. I sat upon a red settee in the small alcove with my thoughts moving a thousand miles a minute.

"Elizabeth," a smooth, deep voice said, and I started, nearly leaping off the settee.

Andrew smiled. "I do apologize for startling you. May one hope to have been the cause of such deep contemplation?" It was meant as a light jest, but it carried the needed jolt. I stood reaching out and took Andrew's hand. Without thinking of anything but needing some air and a moment of quiet, I lead him up the stairs to the third floor. Andrew followed without a word until we were passing the maid's bedchambers. He asked where I was taking him.

"You shall see," was all I replied as I lead the way into the attic.

"My dear Elizabeth, should I be worried?"

I laughed though it sounded rather overwrought to my ears. In the attic, there was a ladder that led up a few steps to a door. I pushed open the door and climbed through.

Edith and I had spent many evenings on the roof stargazing when we were younger, but it was not for that that I taken Andrew up there. I truly did not have a reason other than needing air and not being able to get it by standing on the front steps of the house. The air was cleaner on the roof, and the view was magnificent. The roof was flat, so it was easy to walk, and when we were both standing at the edge breathing in the crisp night air, I spoke.

"Edith and I used to come up here before she left for the seminary, before the war," I told Andrew as I stared at the lights that could be seen of the city from illuminated houses or street lamps. Even the Delaware River could be seen in the distance.

"Yes, the seminary." He turned to look at me. "The place where we first met."

"Twice you have rescued me from intended capture," I replied, thoughtfully. I still was not sure about the second attack on me. We had captured the men of the black carriage, but that did not mean that Richard would not send out more. But, if that were so, I would have to consider the possibility that Richard knew my identity. It was unfathomable. Surely he would have struck against me if he did know. He had had ample opportunities.

"I would do so again though I pray that the need will never arise," Andrew assured me.

With Andrew staring at me and the world feeling miles away, I could envision my life with him. Comfort and protection. The security that I had desired for years. To be loved and valued. To be a wife and one day a mother. I would give up everything else for it to come true. Jack could carry on the Phantoms, or if not him, one of the others. Married to Andrew, freedom would be mine.

Andrew's head lowered a fraction, but paused, hovering over my lips. "May I?" he asked huskily.

Slowly, intimately, I nodded. As Andrew eliminated the distance between us and our lips met, anticipation danced in my belly. His arm wrapped around my waist, and my hands moved to his shoulders. His mouth was roving over mine, his hands moving along my waist, when a horrible comparison sprang to mind.

No!

I did not want to think about that, but it was too late. The comparison had come, and what I discovered I did not like. Andrew went on kissing me, but I was doing nothing but standing there. He broke the kiss for a moment before capturing my mouth again in a heated, hard, wet kiss. I shoved everything else from my mind and wrapped my arms around his neck. There.

Ten minutes later, when Andrew and I were making our way down the stairs, he stopped me with a hand on my arm. "Elizabeth, I want you to know that I do not take what has transpired between us lightly. I await only a reply from my family before I approach your brother for his blessing."

He had said it. It was out there, and I knew I could ask for no better man. He left me in the hall so I could go down the main stairs alone with all propriety intact, while he went down the back stairs.

When Mother, Jack, and I left the Harvey's, I was sure of my feelings. I wanted to marry Andrew.

We arrived home, and Arnaud was there to greet us. "Miss Elizabeth, there was a gentleman here to see you." I looked around, but Arnaud told me that the visitor had left an hour earlier. "He asked that I give you this. He would not give his name; insisted that you would know."

"Of course. Thank you, Arnaud." I took the heavy brown paper parcel that he held out to me, bid my mother and Jack a good night, and ran up the stairs to my bedchamber.

Seated before my desk, I tore away brown paper to reveal a box. As I lifted the lid, my heart jumped, and all my happy feelings fell away. There was a sealed letter lying atop a pistol. My pistol! Grabbing my letter opener, I tore through the wax seal.

My dear Raven, the letter began, and my heart started to beat an untimely rhythm.

My apologies for not introducing myself earlier, but as you were trying to put a period to my existence, introductions seemed the least of my worries. If I had known that you have such spirit, I would have come to Philadelphia much sooner. I regret, and oh, how I do regret it, that we shall not be able to meet again, for, by the time you receive this message, I will be on my way home. Know that I enjoyed our little interlude, and I look forward to when our paths should cross again.

Ever your faithful chevalier,

Joutaine

As I lowered the letter, my face was aflame in indignation and remembrance. That dog! I crushed the letter into a ball. That roguish dog was none other than a Phantom leader; George's nephew Samuel Mason.

Instead of throwing the letter across the room as I longed to do, I unlocked my desk and placed the letter in a book. I would keep it, and when the time came, if it ever did that I met with Samuel Mason again, I would give him the letter along with a resounding slap for his audacity. He knew that I was Raven, and yet he still behaved atrociously. Not at all as a leader should.

I did not know why Samuel Mason had been searching George's house, but at the moment, it did not matter. I had more important thoughts to occupy my mind, and I would not waste another moment upon an up-to-no-good rogue––no matter how well he could kiss.

# Chapter 22

Jack

The morning of the fourth day of July dawned frosty and chilly, but the gray overcast could not stop the excitement of the day. After breakfast, Andrew arrived. He had said he would only be staying for a few weeks, but my sister had changed that. Something happened to them at the Harvey's party; I did not know what, but their formality ceased, and they were behaving more like a betrothed couple. Since I had not been approached with an offer for her hand, I had questioned Bess. As she blushed, which she never did before Andrew, she told me that Andrew was only awaiting a letter from his family before he approached me.

Andrew was to escort my mother and sister to Centre Square to hear the celebratory speeches; then later he would join me as the festivities livened.

Andrew and I were standing in the foyer while I was putting on my hat, when Bess appeared at the top of the stairs. She was dressed festively in a long, blue coat with military style fastenings, and her hat had a white ribbon with some small red flowers. Her brown eyes were fastened on Andrew as she made her descent, and I swear, I heard his breath come out in a low whistle. Seeing them, the way they stared at each other, General Harvey had to be mistaken. Andrew was in love with my sister and she, well, she was on her way. Bess may have been taller than the average woman, but next to Andrew she was perfect. When my mother joined us, we set out.

When we reached Centre Square, the place was alive with activity. Tents were thrown open with displays inside, and the more affluent citizens had tables spread with an array of food and drink for their friends. The captain of the horse guards was lining up his men, and in the background rose the white marble pump house. It was a square building with a large, round, water tank on top. Until last year, water was drawn from the Schuylkill River at the Chestnut Street pump house, and then pumped to a sufficient height so that it could flow by gravity through a tunnel to Centre Square. Those who paid water rent and constructed a connecting pipe could have water delivered directly into their homes as we had. There were too many issues with the steam engine that pumped the water, so last year; this pump house was shut down, and the new Fairmount water works now distributed the water.

It was my first year attending this celebration in Philadelphia, but Dudley assured me it was not to be missed. I needed some sort of amusement that would help to take my mind from Guinevere.

After she gave me the cut direct at the Harvey's party, I set out to show her that whatever Richard had told her was a lie, but she would have none of me. I was turned away from her house every day without a glimpse of her. I did not know how much more of the separation I could take. It felt as if my heart had been torn from my chest, cut in two and then only half returned. Guinevere held the other half, and I was afraid that until I made her my wife, I would not feel whole.

I stood beside my mother as the speeches were given, my eyes always searching the crowd for a fiery head and a pair of purple eyes. After the band played, my mother and Bess bid me goodbye, and I set off in search of friends, food, and fire water; not necessarily in that order.

As I walked through the crowd, there were men and women at tables with petitions, people selling goods, men dressed in military uniforms telling stories about the war, and some men already boisterous from generously flowing ale. I stopped beneath a picture of George Washington that was hung from the top of a tent. The nation's flag swayed in the wind above the portrait, reminding me of why we celebrated and why I was a Phantom.

The last year had been spent trying to recover from the war to rise above the losses, the destruction, and become a better united nation.

The strange behavior of the weather was making recovery difficult. Some called it a purging of the nation after so much blood had been shed, and so much anger had been exchanged. On this day, a day that should have been hot and the dangers of disease rife, the weather was like what would be expected in April.

"John!"

I turned to find a group of my friends advancing upon me with Dudley at the center. We spent a few hours laughing as we watched some of our friends participate in the strong man games that were offered by the owners of a traveling carnival. It was dusk when we sat down to dinner. Andrew still had not returned, not that I blamed him.

Most of the men were well and truly drunk, as they started toasting the reigning beauties. I could hold my wine better than most, my father having schooled me at a young age how to hold my liquor.

Every night for a week, my father, forced me to partake of strong spirits until my tolerance was high. I was only twelve at the time, but my father was adamant, saying that to hold one's liquor was important to a spy, for one would never know when that skill would come in useful. I looked around me and examined my friends' actions. There were chucklers, thinking everything was humorous; swearers, damning everything and everyone; high-lows, one minute being jolly and the next ready to fight; and then there were mopers. Dudley was a moper.

One chap by the name of Philip, who was a chuckler, raised his glass, saying, "To Dudley's lament." Laughter rolled down the table, but they were not finished. Philip started to sing, and after a moment, the others joined in.

"When first a babe upon the knee, My mother us'd to sing to me.

I caught the accents from her tongue, And e'er I talk'd I lisp'd in song.

I'm little Bess the Ballad singer

I'm little Bess

I'm little Bess

I'm little Bess the Ballad singer."

They broke off in shouts of laughter, and I could not help but laugh along. I was thankful Andrew was not there.

Dudley jumped up; red faced, shouting, "You will not be-smirch my ff-air ff-lower's nn-ame! Nn-ame your ss-seconds."

I pushed Dudley down to a chair, laughing. "My sister will never marry you if you are to create scandal by fighting over her fair name."

"Sh-ee will not marry me, regardless-ss, and it is-ss all the fault of that damn Madis-son," grumbled Dudley as he slouched in the chair. "He prom-issed. He ss-said I sh-should have her if I would ss-urrender her fortune." Dudley leaned on the arm of the chair, sinking his chin onto his hand."

Philip directed a question to me, "Why not give your consent and allow the man to marry?"

Another fellow shouted from down the table, "Because, I would not be able to marry her."

Ignoring the others, I sat beside Dudley, asking quietly, "Who said you should have her?"

"That pp-uffed up pp-eacock," replied Dudley, his brows knit together in a scowl.

Of all that is holy! "What is the name of the peacock?" I asked, needing to hear it from Dud.

Dudley's eyes moved toward me, and then his body shifted to lean on the other arm of the chair near me. "Your ff-uture ff-ather."

Murderous rage was racing through me, but I kept my voice level as I asked, "When was this?"

Dudley stared at the men down the table laughing and drinking and did not reply.

"When did Richard promise that you should marry Bess?"

Dudley sighed and closed his eyes. "It does not matter. My hope is dashed; my dream is gone. My dove has found a new man to love," Dudley whispered in perfect clarity.

My anger grew rampant. There was no end to Richard's vice. I blamed Dudley not at all. All blame lay at Richard's feet. To make Dudley such an offer, knowing that Dudley would never refuse as his love for Bess outweighed everything else was, to me, a crime that could never be forgiven. My thoughts turned to Guinevere, causing my hands to ball into fists. The thought of Richard threatening her made my blood boil to a nearly uncontrollable degree. Well, things would change tomorrow. I was going to find her in the morning, and I would not leave until she promised to marry me. I would see her well away from Richard if I had to destroy the man.

Thomas called to me, "Who is the fair beauty you mean to toast, John?"

"Would that I could but look upon her face, know her thoughts and her dreams," I replied reverently.

The men laughed and demanded to know who the fair maiden was, but I would not utter her name.

"Should I hazard a guess as to the fair name?" Thomas asked with raised brows.

I spread out my hands but said nothing.

Thomas looked at me for a moment. "I take it to mean that you have given up the church?"

Raising my glass to my lips I paused but a moment, smiling, then took a long drink. That was reply enough.

"You have succeeded where most of us here have failed," Thomas told me.

Another man quipped in, "She never asked me to go riding with her, and I am a much better horseman."

Philip looked at me. "Whoever she is, she must prefer little men."

I was too sober to allow the comment to rankle me. Instead, I lifted my glass toward Philip and took another sip.

"You will not rile him this night. Well, gentlemen, raise your glasses. To John's not-so-secret love," said Thomas, raising his glass. "May he soon look upon her face."

I raised my glass to that, hoping beyond anything that tomorrow would be my fortunate day.

Thomas thumped his glass on the table and stood, pushing his chair back. "I'm ready for more entertainment. Who's with me?"

Dud's anger abated; he went along with the others. I stood on the corner of Chestnut Street and watched as they piled into a carriage and drove away singing loud and slightly out of tune.

"How does my Lady's garden grow?

How does my Lady's garden grow

in silver bells and cockle shells

and pretty maids all in a row."

Not in the mood for more 'fun,' I decided to walk home. I could have hired a carriage, but much was on my mind, and a walk in the moonlight suited my mood.

It was a half hour walk from Centre Square to my house, and I could not let down my guard, especially on this day. The town had its share of thieves, and they came out in force on holidays.

When I made it to the corner of 4th and Spruce Street, I was chilled all over. It was so cold that I could see my breath as I exhaled. I was about to turn down Spruce, when I saw a figure hooded and cloaked in black several paces in front of me on 4th Street. The way the person was hurrying caused my curiosity to get the best of me. I followed.

The figure turned onto Cypress Street, and a flash of skirt protruded from under the cloak. That was no man ahead of me. I picked up my pace, determined to see that the woman came to no harm. What any woman was doing out alone was no business of mine, though it did not keep me from wondering. She was three houses away from 3rd Street, when she suddenly stopped. I expected her to turn and look toward me, but she did not. She was looking to her right, as if something had captured her attention. She stepped closer to a small alley between two houses.

What is the fool woman doing?

A large shadow moved out of the alley, grabbed the woman, then they both disappeared.

My stomach dropped. I pulled my pocket pistol out as I ran to the alley. I slowed as I neared, being sure not to let the sounds from my shoes touching the cobblestones make a loud noise. I was in front of the house beside the alley when a woman's voice floated out.

"You do not want to do that."

It washed over me like someone throwing cold water on me in the middle of winter.

"Ah, Guinevere, we's only playing," a man's scratchy voice replied.

Guinevere. Everything in me reeled. I pressed my back against the house to keep myself upright.

It could not be her; it must be some other Guinevere. Even as I thought the words I knew that there was no other Guinevere, it was she. Something inside of me snapped when I heard her voice again.

"If you touch me, I will be forced to take action, and you do not want that to happen." It was definitely her voice.

Rage boiled inside of me, anger at her for risking her life in being out alone, but full rage at whoever the ruffian was who was accosting her. I started to move into the alley, when the man's voice froze me mid-step.

"Them Phantoms aptly named ye when they called ye the white phantom."

I grasped hold of the brick house for support. There was a street lantern at the other end of the alley that illuminated them enough for me to see what was happening, but not enough to make out faces. I watched the man lean one hand against the brick of one of the houses that made up the alley. There was hardly enough room for one person, so when he leaned against her, there was no space between them. Two other shadows appeared on the other side of him. They had not noticed my presence.

This cannot be. It is a lie! My mind screamed the words, but my mouth remained clamped shut in a hard line.

"Ye won't be gettin' away from us this time. We will take our payment from ye an' when we're through, ye can run to that pig an' tell him we ain't workin' for him no more." The large man took her arm and yanked her away from the wall.

My wrath overcame my shock, and I raised my pistol, but I could not fire for fear of hitting Guinevere. With the recovery from my shock, clear thinking started to return. If she truly was the white phantom, I could not let her see me. I stepped to the front of the house and watched, keeping my pistol aimed at the shadows in the alley.

"I likes me a feisty wench. Let's see yer mettle."

All went quiet then the sound of ripping fabric echoed through the alley, and my heart stuttered in complete fear. I no longer cared if she saw me. I would not allow those villains to assault her. I moved forward, but Guinevere's hand came up holding something, and she struck the man across his forehead. He released her, swaying before falling forward against the brick wall. Guinevere turned to face the other two, her back to me.

One of the men growled as he moved toward her with his fists up. He tried to strike her, but she used her weapon to strike his fist, causing a cracking sound; then she used her weapon and hit the man in the throat cutting off his agonized scream. The choking and gurgling sounds meant that the man had but seconds to live. I lowered my pistol and stepped out of the alley again while Guinevere confronted the third man. I kept my pistol in hand, as a precaution, but I was too intrigued and confused to do anything more than watch and wait.

The third man grabbed her weapon from her hand, threw it down the alley, and shoved her against the wall as her weapon landed near my feet. His large hand went around her throat. "I should kill ya. All it would take is a little pressure." I was ready to interfere, but the man's voice halted me. "A child's toy." Between them she was holding a long dagger, the blade pressed against his heart.

I sensed more than saw that she was smiling. As fireworks burst in the sky and bells rung from the streets, a gunshot reverberated off the walls of the alley knocking chips of brick to the ground.

The large man stepped back with his hand moving to his chest before he fell like a chopped tree. What she carried was no mere dagger. Attached to the blade was a small pistol. I had heard of such devices, but never until that moment had I seen one used.

I stayed completely still in the shadows, waiting, but she did not move toward me. Instead, she moved toward the far end without a backward glance. When she was out of view, I bent and picked up her weapon; an iron rod, thick and sturdy. I followed her out of the alley up 3rd Street and onto Spruce Street. She stopped on the street right before my house; her gaze fixed upon a light illuminating one of the windows—my bedchamber window. Leo was waiting up for me to return as he usually did.

Guinevere took two steps toward the house as if she was going to go up to the door and knock or let herself in. She paused and turned away. I was about to step out of the shadows to follow her, when she stopped again and looked back at my house. She pressed her fingers to her lips and released them toward the house. Everything within me stumbled into a land where dreams and nightmares collided.

She loves me. She had to. It was the only explanation for such an action. The truth of it made my stomach churn; it was as if a jagged knife ripped up the center of my heart. The woman that I loved, loved me in return.

Longing engulfed me. I wanted to run to her, give her a good shake, then hold her in my arms, kissing away my own confusion and hurt. The realization that she would probably try to shoot me if she knew that I was following her and had witnessed her actions caused a physical ache. I had to see her to safety though, and then I would have time to sort out my feelings.

Thankfully that was where she went. I waited until the door closed behind her before walking home in a numb state of mind. Guinevere. The white phantom. The words echoed through my mind. When I finally reached home, Leo was there to let me in.

I motioned for him to follow me into the library, and I enclosed us in the room. "Wake Jericho and take the wagon to the alley three houses down at Cypress and 3rd. There you will find the bodies of three deceased men. Dispose of them without anyone seeing you. At once!"

Leo stared at me for a moment, but said nothing as he left the room. I walked to the window and laid my forehead against the cold glass closing my eyes. It was as if my mind would not comprehend all that I had seen and heard. What should I be feeling? I did not know. I was too stunned to feel anything. Replaying in my head what she had done, caused an appreciation of her self defense to rise within me, and to think that I was going to offer her the protection of my name. I scoffed bitterly. Clearly she did not need my protection.

With the realization dawned, an unconquerable gulf formed in my chest. If she were truly the white phantom, I could not marry her. Of all the women in the world, I fell for the one that I could never have.

Sleep evaded me, and I sat up in my chair until after the sun rose. My mind was full of Guinevere, of the men she killed, how I could have been so close to her, kissed her, and not known that she was the white phantom. My mind tortured me, replaying all the times I had fought the white phantom, placing Guinevere's face where there had been only a mask. My God, the woman lit a fire within me!

When I heard boots on the foyer floor, I did not turn from watching the window.

"Is all right, Jack?" Jericho asked from the door.

"Come in and close the door." I heard it click shut as I stood and turned toward Jericho. "What news have you?"

"We have dealt with," he paused, lowering his voice, "the deceased."

"Very good." I was too exhausted to inquire more, so I dismissed him.

Once seated upon the sofa, I sank my head into my hands and stayed that way. For the past seven hours I had tried to sort through my feelings but I had no more clarity than I did when I saw Guinevere kill those men. I was near to bursting in my need to figure out what I should do when a hand touched my shoulder.

"Are you feeling well, Jack? You look positively morose."

"What need you, Bess?" I asked without looking up.

"I am unsure if I should speak if you are unwell..."

I raised my head to look at her. "I assure you I am well."

Bess smiled almost shyly. "I wanted to inform you that Andrew wants to call upon you this day. When he visited yesterday, he mentioned that he would seek an interview with you."

I could not ignore the pink tingeing her cheeks or her look of utter joy. Bess deserved happiness, but Harvey's words were fresh in my mind, and I had yet to receive a report from Levi about Andrew's doings.

"So then you know your own heart?" I asked, watching her face closely.

She nodded, holding my gaze with her own. "Yes, I opened my heart as you instructed, and I am content."

"Then I shall hear the man out that I promise." I offered a smile, but it had the effect of bringing Bess to my side and laying her hand against my brow.

"Are you sure you are well, Jack?"

I wished people would stop asking me if I was well. How could I possibly be? I blurted out, "No, I am not well. The woman I love is nothing but a selfish murderer."

# Chapter 23

Bess

What do you mean?" I asked. I had suspected he was in love with Guinevere, but I had not heard him confess as much. How could she possibly be a selfish murderer? Unless it was some kind of poetic nonsense where she was a murderer of his heart or emotions.

"Last night I saw the real white phantom at work," Jack said, his watchful gaze on me.

"I do not understand. Wait, did Guinevere murder Hannah?" I could not see that, but the look on Jack's face told me he was in earnest. Perhaps, it was self defense. It had to be. I knew Guinevere a little; she may be passionate, but I was sure she was neither selfish nor a murderer.

"Hannah is alive as far as I know, and she is no more the white phantom than you."

If she's not—that means—"Oh, Jack, no!" I lowered myself into the closest chair, horrified.

Jack told me about following Guinevere, at first, because he thought she was some woman who might need protection, and then, hearing the ruffians call her the white phantom—the name Jack had given her. That begged the question, how did they know of that name? Jack was still retelling the events from the previous night, so I tried to listen. Guinevere killed those three men in the alley, and then Jack picked up her iron.

I could not begin to fathom how he must have been feeling. "What will you do?"

"That is the question I have been asking myself, but I have yet to strike a conclusion."

Resting my chin on my hand, I wanted to tell him that everything would work out, but I was not sure of that myself. The first time he fell in love, it had to be with a female assassin. Why could she not have been some needy damsel who only sought adventure through books? A dangerous wrath rose inside me.

Guinevere had shot my brother. He was on point when he called her a selfish murderer. As his elder sister and his leader, he needed me to show him how true his words were, but how?

A knock fell upon the front door, and Jack and I both turned. Arnaud opened the door, and Andrew entered. Joy fluttered in my chest as I sat up straight.

"Good morning, Mr. and Miss Martin." Andrew smiled dimples, and all. He was certainly in a cheery mood.

I had not expected him to call so early, but that was something that I admired about him for he was not one to let an opportunity pass him by. He asked Jack to take a drive with him, and I could tell that Jack wanted to refuse, but I begged him with my look. He nodded acceptance and asked Andrew to allow him time to change his raiment.

After Jack had gone upstairs, Andrew and I had a few minutes alone, but he said nothing as he stood near the door and watched me. We often sat in silence, his eyes always watchful, until one of us could think of something to say, but I did not mind the silence, usually. We had not kissed again since the Harvey's party, but he was always watching me.

"How is the weather today," I asked inanely.

Andrew stepped closer. "I heard that there was ice as thick as a windowpane in the country this morning. It was certainly cold enough last night to make it so." That was the extent of our conversation.

After I had seen Jack and Andrew out of the house, I sat alone in the library. Jack's problem came rushing back like an abundant rain. I contemplated all the ways I could do Guinevere a mischief for the first five minutes, but that accomplished nothing but a momentary satisfaction. I wanted to put fear into her conniving heart; to let her know that her time was limited. Then an idea, something above and beyond, struck me. The language of flowers. I would send her a warning in a bouquet of flowers. I would wrap the bouquet around the iron and include a black feather, the mark of the Phantoms. When she picked up the bouquet, she would know that the Phantoms saw her at work. I ran up the stairs, nearly colliding with Leo.

"Forgive me, Leo. But, I am glad you are here. Jack brought home an iron that I need you to find. It will be either in the library or his chamber. Thank you." I did not wait for a reply as I went into my chamber where Mariah helped me to dress in my work clothes. I removed my wig and handed it to her and tied my shoulder-length hair back, tucking it under a black cap.

Mariah brought out a tray of hair. She mixed some paste and dabbed it along my upper and lower lips. She strategically placed hair, combing it until it was how she liked. Looking in the mirror, I nodded. After I was dressed in all black, I stepped out of my chamber as Leo was coming down the hall with the black iron held out before him.

"Perfect!" I snatched the iron from between his fingers. It was ten inches in length and solid. I took it down to the drawing room and locked it in the secretaire and left the house through the back door. Half an hour later, I was in the middle of the city flower market that had vendors selling different assortments of stems. There was even a hothouse for more rare blooms. I moved from vendor to vendor choosing stems.

The language of flowers was a way to send a hidden message, for every flower had a meaning. My mother had been taught about the language of flowers when my parents had lived in England before we immigrated to America. She started instructing me when I was twelve, and for years we worked to understand the different meanings. I was determined to weave a message that, if Guinevere understood the hidden meanings of flowers, would put dread in her heart. The thought of it made my step lighter.

Plucking stems from the flower carts; I mentally examined each one. Begonia to beware, anemones meant forsaken, nettle for cruelty, marigold for grief, snapdragon for presumption, a yellow carnation was for disappointment, and fern for secrecy. After paying for the flowers, I walked home. I went in to the kitchen, receiving stares of astonishment. Our cook and housekeeper were not happy to see me in my work clothes, but I ignored the women.

Mariah went to fetch the iron and something else that I required while I went to work arranging the flowers so the message would be clear. When Mariah brought me the iron, I wrapped the flowers around it. When I had them positioned, the meaning was: Guinevere should beware; her cruelty and presumption in disappointing will lead only to grief, for she was now forsaken because of her secrecy. I signed it with the black feather of the Phantoms. I wrapped the stems with a black ribbon and stepped back, pleased with my work. Even if Guinevere could not read the message, seeing the feather and the iron would be message enough.

A voice in the servants' hall made me look up, and a familiar face appeared.

"Levi! Just the person I need," I said, unable to keep the delight from my voice.

I grabbed Levi's hand and pulled him to Mrs. Beaumont's writing desk that was in the corner of the servants' dining room. Pushing him down on the desk chair, and instructing him to write Miss Clark's name on one side of the card and white phantom on the other side, my excitement grew. Levi did as he was instructed, and I tucked the card snugly into the bouquet where it would be visible.

Examining the bouquet, I exclaimed, "Perfection! Now I must go."

Levi's hand shot out grabbing my own as I was turning to leave. "Where are you off to, Raven?"

"I have a message to deliver. Jack is out with Mr. Madison, so if you have a message for him, you must wait or return later."

Mariah was in the hall with the mask that I had sent her to fetch. After putting it on and ignoring Mariah's laughter, I left the house.

Walking toward Guinevere's house, I had some time to reflect. Guinevere deserved the message, but I could not tell Jack what I had done; at least not yet. As fresh as his feelings were, he would be angry.

I approached Guinevere's house by the back door that was down a small alley. The door opened to a square kitchen that was empty. I moved through the kitchen to the door that led into a small foyer. I heard Martha in the little dining parlor, but her back was to me. On the second floor, I found Guinevere's bedchamber, which was not difficult for the white cloak thrown over a small chair. Restraining the urge to toss the cloak into a fire—if there had been one lit, I would have done so—I looked around.

Her chamber surprised me. It was decorated with flower paper, embroidered bed covering, and two vases of roses all in shades of yellow and pink. I do not know what I was expecting; daggers and poisons perhaps. At the side of her bed, I laid the bouquet on her pillow where she could not fail to notice it.

Once again on the ground floor, Martha was no longer in the dining parlor. The door to the kitchen was open, and I heard her singing.

Drat!

I stepped off the stairs, my eyes trained on the kitchen door. I did not want to hurt Martha, but allowing her to see me leaving the house was impossible. Taking her unaware and knocking her out was the only way. Stepping toward the kitchen, the front door knob jiggled, and Martha's singing ceased. My heart staggered. I panicked, ran into the parlor and hid behind the open door.

"Martha," Guinevere called out, "I have returned."

"Did you accomplish what you wanted?" Martha asked, also in the foyer.

"Alas, no, but I will. I am going to my chamber to change, and then I will help you with the bread."

Martha went back to her singing, and I heard Guinevere's light tread on the stairs. Finding the foyer empty, I ran to the front door and quickly departed; fear and joy mingled together.

The white phantom is Guinevere. Guinevere resurrected Pierre. Guinevere had money, not the poor orphan we thought she was, and was connected to the Holy Order, whatever they were, and she probably was not Richard's ward at all. I would put nothing beyond those two.

Once across the street, and pausing to look at her window, she stood with the bouquet in hand. She must have found the card or feather, or both, for suddenly her head jerked toward the window, and her eyes met mine. She was enraged. Good! Instead of clapping or dancing a jig I put my gloved fingers to my lips and released them toward her. I was wearing Jack's mask, so she would think it was Loutaire sending her that message.

***

The next morning, it was nearing eight when I went down the stairs and heard Jack speaking to someone in his library. "Who is the female? Do you know her?"

Levi's eyes met mine over Jack's shoulder, and he clamped his mouth shut as I walked in to the library.

"Was your mission successful?" Levi asked, making me want to choke him.

"What mission?" Jack asked.

"It was not a mission so much as a task," I replied, but both of them were staring at me, so I sighed and told Jack what I had done.

There was complete silence for a few moments as Jack's jaw worked back and forth. Levi took a step back. "Why would you do that?" Jack asked with deadly calm. Jack shouting was something I could handle, but Jack's low voice meant danger.

"It needed to be done," I said, squaring my shoulders and meeting his gaze without wincing at the ice in his stare.

"That was not your call, sister."

"I will just..." Levi's sentence hung as he nearly ran from the room.

"Coward," I hissed at him as he passed by me, receiving a boyish grin in return before he disappeared around the corner.

Jack dug his fingers into his black hair as he lowered himself to the sofa. "I take it that you are the one who stole the iron?"

"I did not steal it. I returned it to its rightful owner." With a cunning message that she would not be able to ignore.

Before he could reply, the front knocker sounded three times. It was too early for callers, but when Andrew stepped into the foyer, everything within me twisted and turned until I was one large knot of nerves and anticipation.

He is here to propose.

Was I ready? Looking at his fine form and kind manners as he greeted my mother in the foyer, yes, I was ready. He turned his head, and his eyes met mine.

He did not smile. He pulled his gaze away as my mother led him into the library. I stepped to the side but watched his every move. His shoulders were stiff, and he balanced on the balls of his feet like he was about to run.

Mother directed him to a chair, but he shook his head. "Thank you, but I am afraid that I cannot remain long. I have come to bid your family adieu. Even now my carriage waits to take me to my uncle."

Everything within me stumbled, and cold slithered from my stomach up to my chest taking a pick axe and chipping away at my heart. He was leaving—without proposing.

"Surely you will not travel in this bitter weather," mother said, as she cast me a pitying look.

"I have put off my departure for too long, but I could not leave without bidding your family farewell, for you each have been so kind to me during my sojourn in the metropolis."

Kind? For each spoken word, there were a hundred unspoken ones. With each moment that he would not look at me, I saw my future slipping away.

"Do you mean to stay away long, Mr. Madison?" Jack asked, doing nothing to hide the anger in his voice.

"My plans are, as yet, unsure. I never know how long my uncle will require my company. It may be many months before I am at liberty to return to this fair city."

A sob threatened to burst from my throat, but I held on. I would not break down. I could not. Andrew moved to my mother and bowed over her hand and then turned to me. I extended my hand mechanically, and when his fingers touched mine, I willed with everything inside of me. Look at me. Look at me! But he would not meet my eyes. He released my hand almost as soon as he had touched it. My eyes burned as the moisture built.

"I do hope that we shall meet again one day," he said to the room, then smiled, but there was no warmth. He walked from the room with Jack on his heels.

Mother sank to a chair moaning audibly. "That is it then."

Saying nothing, I moved to the door. Giving up was not me; I had to do something, say something. When I reached the door, Jack was speaking.

"Surely you will stay long enough to speak with my sister. You gave me reason to believe..." Jack let the rest trail and something inside me broke, shattering into tiny slivers that cut me all over.

Andrew shook his head as he picked up his hat from the side table. "I regret...truly. I had hoped—" he broke off, shaking his head again. "I must go." Andrew held out his hand, but Jack crossed his arms scowling up at him. Andrew lowered his hand, smiled sadly, turned and stepped out of the door, taking my dreams for a future away from the Phantoms with him.

I looked down at the floor, noticing that my hands were shaking. I will be strong. I will be strong. I will be strong. I could not be strong. A sob caught in my throat.

"Please, excuse me," I whispered to no one in particular before running up the stairs.

In my chamber, sobs wrenched my chest, but no tears came. Heat and pain swirled all around me, forcing me to my knees. I covered my head with my hands, pushing as hard as I could, and screamed into my hands. My heart ached so much that I screamed deeper.

What have I done? What could I have possibly done?

A voice in my head sounding like my father said, 'You have failed again. Always failing.'

My forehead dropped to the floor as I sobbed. It was not fair. Three times. Three times had I opened my heart and lost. First, with my father, then Ben, and now Andrew. Rocking on my knees, I kept my eyes closed, my cold hands covering my face, willing the pain away.

When my knees hurt, I laid on the floor curling into a ball. My body felt like a hollow cavern with a cold wind surging through all the emptiness.

Someone came to my door, but I ignored them until they went away, and I was left alone. Always alone. I lay on my floor for an hour before finally shoving my hair away from my face and pushing to my feet. How I gained the will to rise I do not know. Numbness was covering me, but grief had ruled me for too long. I was a Phantom; a fighter. I would not spend years pining for Andrew as I had Ben. Having suffered enough disappointment for three lifetimes, my heart said no more. As I had been determined as a child, I was determined once more never to give anyone the power to disappoint me again.

# Chapter 24

Bess

Six days passed in the same routine. I was trying to remain untouched, detached, but it was increasingly harder as Jack watched me with a look of deep hurt in his eyes; as if my pain was in some way his fault. With each member of my team, it was the same. They had heard of my disappointment, and they hurt for me. When one hurt, we all hurt, but I did not want them to take on my pain. I wanted them to help me destroy Levitas, so that I could leave the Phantoms behind for good.

There had been no more Levitas meetings, and I was close to deciding to spend time with Nicholas Mansfield so that I could know when the meetings were to be held. That, or capture Guinevere and force her, by whatever means that I could create—and I was an exceptionally creative person—to tell me all.

One pitfall to my plan to leave the Phantoms was money. Being that I was not to be married, my fortune was tied up until I was twenty-five. Six years. My mother could not marry Richard, so unless Jack or I married, we would be destitute, forced to sell the house, move some place smaller, and possibly remain Phantoms so we could continue to receive our small stipend. The answer arrived six days after Andrew had abandoned me.

A deep voice came from the open front door, and I looked up to see Mr. Hobbs, my mother's man of business, enter the house.

He was a short, plump man with a balding head and his brown suit too small. He shook hands with Jack, and they congenially came into the library. I tried to smile at him, but failed horribly, having not smiled in six days.

As Mr. Hobbs greeted Mother, Jack stood next to me, but did not touch me, and for that I was grateful.

"Mrs. Martin, I come with good news." Mr. Hobbs opened his leather case that he was clutching in his hands and withdrew a stack of papers. Those he handed to her.

Mother looked from Mr. Hobbs' smiling face to the papers and started to read. When she reached the second page, she suddenly looked up, and Mr. Hobbs chuckled with glee.

"Is this God's honest truth?" Mother asked, in a whispered voice.

"Indeed it is Mrs. Martin. I am pleased to be able to inform you that you are again an excessively wealthy woman."

The room was completely silent as we stared at Mr. Hobbs.

"How is this possible?" Mother demanded after a full minute.

"If you will turn to the next page, you will see where Captain Carter and Captain Townsend wish to buy your ships from you."

Ships? I looked at Jack, who was equally confused. Mother cast us an uneasy look, then turned her attention back to Mr. Hobbs.

"I thought the ships were lost," Mother murmured, almost reverently.

Mr. Hobbs smiled, his fat cheeks puffing out even more. "So too did I until last week. You will remember that I had to go to Baltimore, and while I was there, who should I chance to meet but Captain Carter. His story is intriguing."

"One moment," Jack said. "What are these ships you speak of? My mother does not own any ships."

Mr. Hobbs shifted uncomfortably while Mother straightened the papers in her hands without looking at us.

"It is true that I own two ships. They were a wedding gift to your father and I from a family friend."

A wedding gift? If she had two ships, why then were we so poor when we first arrived in America?

"You may remember the Lutania. It is the ship that we came to this country aboard."

Jack took a step back. Neither of our parents ever once spoke to us about owning ships. "Where are these ships now?" Jack asked.

"On their way to Charleston in the Carolinas. The ships are merchant ships, and your mother had the fortitude to secure captains to become privateers during the war. We had thought that the British had captured them, as we had heard nothing from the captains in three years."

"Where were these captains in the last three years?" I asked.

"After the captains made it through the blockade successfully, other merchants heard of it and commissioned the captains to sail their goods for them. The captains, being men of honor, have finally returned from a successful time at the helm.

"Together, we went over the account books of how the goods sold and the list of how shares were divvied. The captains split their shares with Mrs. Martin. You shall see the total sum, if you will look upon the last page. With the selling of the ships, which I have acted for Mrs. Martin in agreeing, knowing her financial situation, the total is rather substantial."

Jack and I both moved to stand behind Mother's chair as she shuffled through the stack of papers. She pulled out the last paper, and we all read until we reached the total. I let out a gasp in astonishment. Mother opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came forth.

As if he could see our doubt, Mr. Hobbs said, "The profit comes roughly to eighty thousand—"

A cry escaped me, from where I knew not. All of our financial issues were at an end. My mother need never marry; I need never marry if I did not wish to, and Jack could do whatever he wanted. Jack started to chuckle which turned into a loud laugh springing from deep within. He leaned over the chair and planted a kiss on my mother's cheek.

"I did not think that you would be averse, so Captain Carter has bought the Queen's Reward and Captain Townsend the Lutania."

My mother nodded and stood, taking the papers to Jack's desk. She pulled the quill toward her and signed the deeds.

"There is one final matter. I have heard from Mr. Hamilton's man, and the settlement that he is prepared to make is most generous. He will settle upon your children, on the terms that they remain living in this house with your current servants."

My joy melted like butter in a hot pan over a large fire. Not only were Richard's terms highly improper, but degrading, as well. That he would put such a stipulation upon my mother did not surprise me, but that my mother would appear so calm was what angered me more than Richard's debase actions.

"Surely all this talk of settlements is premature as they have not set a date," I said, with more calm than I felt.

Mr. Hobbs said nothing as he tucked the signed papers into his satchel and stood, looking uncomfortable. Mother walked with him into the foyer.

I faced Jack, who was pacing before the fireplace. "Do you believe this will alter mama's decision about Richard?"

"You may be sure of it," Jack said with grim assurance.

Mother reentered the room at that moment, exclaiming, "What a day this is."

My eyes dropped to my clasped hands as the pain that had been pushed away during Mr. Hobbs' visit was again claiming the center of my thoughts.

"I have informed Hobbs that I want the entire sum received to be settled on my children."

My eyes shot up. "Why? With that sum of money, you could live comfortably for the rest of your life. You need never marry anyone."

Mother shook her head. "I am marrying Richard; he will provide for me." Without another word, she left the room.

"What say you now?" I demanded of Jack.

"I believe that she has some deeper motive that she is concealing from us."

He could be right, but I was not so convinced. There was something to be said about companionship. I felt it as I was sure that my mother did, as well.

"You do understand what this means, do you not?" I asked. "As soon as word spreads that we have gained an even larger sum than people believe us to have, they will circle like vultures. The light will shine even brighter upon our family, and our every move will be noted," I explained as I paced the room. It was not good. Eventually, someone was bound to discover who we truly were.

"Bess, not all men are vultures and out to hurt you. Madison is a scoundrel, but the man for you is out there."

"Indeed, Jack? And would you say the same about Guinevere?" I snapped at him. Jack looked down at his boots, and I was instantly contrite. "Forgive me, Jack. I did not mean to snap. It has been a trying week."

"It is about to become more so," said Arnaud from the door. "There is trouble afoot and no mistake."

"What is it?" I asked, moving forward.

"There are some riots on the lower end. The markets are turning people away, saying they do not have the stores to meet the demands."

Dear Lord. That was what I had feared would happen if the weather did not change. Every day we awoke to frost, and the sun had lost its luster. In the mornings, ice covered the ground. He had told me that the ice was as thick as a windowpane on the morning after the fourth. Snows in the northern states, as well as the destruction of most crops from the cold and ice, there was not enough food to meet the demands. The change in our fortune came at the most opportune moment, or else we would have been in some serious difficulty.

"Keep your eyes and ears open, and should it become worse or spread toward us, alert us at once." Arnaud agreed and left us alone.

We spent some time talking about what we should do to help the less fortunate, and nearly an hour passed before we were interrupted by my mother entering the room followed by Richard.

"My children, I have a mixture of news. Richard says that the city is positively in decline. Riots of all things have broken out over coal, which is becoming short in supply, and people are coming loose at the seams. It is no longer safe for us to remain in the city, so Richard has procured a house in the country for us to live in until September when he and I shall marry."

For a full moment, I could not speak. I looked from one to the other, each smiling, happily oblivious to what those words had done to me. It was early July, and my mother was planning to marry Richard in September, two short months away. My mother was still speaking, but her voice sounded like the chirping of a bird.

"Richard is such a dear. Do you know that he commissioned Mrs. Lamont to help him find a house that I would like? She has seen to all the decor, choosing what Richard assures me that I will love."

Jack and I looked at one another. So that was why Hannah was meeting with Richard. I did not want to delve too deep into why Hannah was doing favors for Richard. Instead, my mind moved to Guinevere. Why was she imitating Hannah's voice? Did she want the other members to believe that she was Hannah? Did her duplicity know no bounds? The more I thought about her, the more I realized she was like Richard.

"Richard and I will live in Baltimore after the wedding, until he can turn over the running of his company to his assistants." I felt sick. Completely. When she said she wanted me to have my trunks packed and ready to depart on the morrow, I wanted to throw something, but there was nothing to be done.

By evening, Mother was in over anxious, having her trunks packed to move to the country house, afraid that important articles would be left behind, seeing to the covering of the furniture in the drawing room.

I was not at all pleased about leaving, and I even told Jack so. "I want to remain in town with you, Jack."

"You know that is impossible," Jack said. I did know it, and it made me furious. "I do not trust Richard or that house," Jack went on, "and if you were to stay with me, whatever suspicions Richard may have would be confirmed. Allow me to handle the situation here until his suspicions prove ungrounded."

Slowly, I agreed, though it was not what I wanted.

The following day Jack escorted us into the country. The house that Richard had secured lay but a mile from Stark Manor. Coincidence? I did not believe in coincidence.

The house was a lovely, two-story brick dwelling with a double, door entrance that lead into a spacious foyer. A staircase rose to the right which my mother and Mrs. Beaumont went up to inspect the rest of the house. I had a moment alone with Jack.

"Did you see how close we are to the manor?"

"Do you want me to move out here with you? All you need do is ask," Jack replied, as if he thought I was worried.

"That is not necessary, but thank you for the offer." I did not want Jack to know that I was worried. The truth of the matter was that I felt like I was dangling over the edge of a precipice with Richard sawing away my only support.

# Chapter 25

Jack

The last two weeks had been harder than I could have ever imagined. Not only had I lost Guinevere, but Bess lost Andrew. What a pair we were. If I ever saw Andrew again, I would have been tempted to do some permanent damage. Bess deserved so much more, but I did not entirely blame Andrew. I was as much to blame, and if Bess ever discovered the part I played; I would be as unforgiven as Andrew.

Seated in Hannah's small salon, I was waiting for her to return from a party. I had let myself in. The only light in the excessively hot room was from the fire burning in the fireplace.

Earlier in the day, Levi had come back with the rest of his report. He and Jericho had been trading off watching Hannah's house and a few days ago, I had Levi trail Andrew. In his report, I discovered whom I had to thank for Andrew rejecting Bess. General Harvey. Andrew had met with him and drove to his hotel and immediately packed his bags. He called at our house on his way out of the city. I would learn the truth if I had to blow my cover and choke it out of the old man, a family friend, or no.

My reasons for being at Hannah's house had nothing to do with Andrew, but with Richard. Hannah's voice speaking to her butler carried through the wall, and then, as expected, the door to the parlor opened and Hannah walked in. She shut the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment.

When she pushed away from the door, moving to her writing desk, I spoke. "Good evening, Mrs. Lamont."

Hannah spun around, her hand flying to her chest. After a moment of gawking at me, she lowered her hand. "How did you get in my house?"

"Do have a seat, Mrs. Lamont. You and I have much to say to one another."

Hannah eyed me warily but moved to a chair beside her writing desk across the room from me. By the way her eyes shifted to her desk, I would say she had a weapon in there.

Seated in the shadows and using my deep Loutaire voice, there was no flash of recognition in her eyes.

"What would you like to know," she asked, "or have my charms drawn you here?" Even though her words were meant to entice, her eyes told another story. She was bone weary. From the circles under her eyes and the slight sag to her shoulders, I would hazard a guess that she had not had a good night's rest in some time.

"As lovely as your charms are, it is not for that I have come."

Hannah sighed. "I thought not. Well, you are in luck. I am an open book tonight, ask what you will."

"What is your involvement with Levitas and more specifically, Richard Hamilton and Nicholas Mansfield?"

She winced at their names and looked away to stare at the fire. "I could play the fool, but it would serve no purpose. I have been tracking Levitas for months."

Her story spilled from her as if she were relieved to have someone to take the burden from her. Her half sister had been one of the first to people to disappear. Her mother's husband owed Richard money, and when he could not pay, their daughter was taken. They had not known it was Richard, but when more people disappeared, Hannah started putting the pieces together. She had hired a group of men of little morals to watch for any more disappearances, and then follow the carriage to where it went. Her sister had been taken in March, but it was May before she learned of Levitas's existence. She stumbled upon Richard and Nicholas by pure luck, and she had been ingratiating herself with them for the last two months until she could discover the location of where they were keeping her sister.

"What things did they have you do for them?"

"It was simple in the beginning, passing along a note to certain men in society, to allow them to use my house for meetings in the guise of them attending one of my parties, but then Richard started sending me tasks."

"Such as?"

"Richard wanted me to find a house in the country for his affianced bride, then he sent me out to all the best warehouses to choose furnishings. He plans to move her there within the week."

So she was not Richard's pet of fancy. I was disappointed. I could have used that against Richard. "What of Ma belle?"

Hannah stared across at me, her brow puckering. "I do not understand?"

"He called you Ma belle. Do not feign ignorance, it does not become you." I said harshly.

Hannah's spine stiffened, and she sat poker straight in her chair. "Richard called me Ma belle as an annoying term of endearment."

"What do you know of the woman who works for Levitas?"

"The one who dresses in white? Only that she is Richard's ward, but I expect you know that as well." A moment passed then her eyes widened. "Wait, you did not think—"

She broke off as I rose. "Thank you for your cooperation. I shall leave you."

She shot out of her chair, across the room, grabbing my arm. "Please, promise you will find my sister." I was facing the door and did not turn to look at her.

"I shall do my utmost, of that you may be sure." I disengaged my arm from her, and my hand reached out for the doorknob.

"I suppose this means you will no longer be watching my house. Pity, that. I had come to enjoy looking out and seeing you keeping watch over me."

I said nothing, but opened the door and went out. At times, my similarities to Levi were a blessing. She thought I was he, and that suited me fine. I went out of her house and down the front steps. When I rounded the corner, I ran directly into Levi.

He stepped back and smiled. "Evening, Loutaire."

"Hades," I replied with a nod. "I have a new assignment for you. There is no longer a need to shadow Mrs. Lamont."

"Pity, that," he said, and I smiled at the words that were the same as Hannah's. "She was a real gem."

"You will be pleased to know she thought the same about you."

Levi's face lit up like a lantern.

"May the knowledge alone keep you warm at night."

"Understood," Levi replied with a laugh.

After giving Levi his new post, I returned home. Leo was in my bedchamber putting my clothes away. After closing the door, I blurted out who the real white phantom was and waited to hear what, if anything, Leo would say.

"She will need to be watched by someone she will not recognize."

It was not what I expected. He showed no signs of surprise. "I have Levi on it. He is as slippery as she so she will not escape him."

Leo watched me a moment, then spoke. "What do you mean to do?" He knew about my feelings for Guinevere; after Bess he was my closest confidante.

Sighing and toying with the strings of my mask, I replied, "I have yet to decide. My heart wants me to discover how she came to work for Levitas, but my head says that it does not matter, that she is the white phantom."

"You will do what you know is right, of that I am certain."

His words were a balm. To know that he had faith in me was enough for the moment. Leo helped me out of my coat and boots, and presently I sent him away, feeling better than I had in the last two weeks.

***

I tried convincing myself that I hated Guinevere, that I wanted nothing to do with her. She had lied; she had deceived, she had murdered, and she had shot me, though she could have hit me if she had wanted to, but instead she aimed so that the ball would graze me. How could I hate someone and love them at the same time? I used to mock the poets who wrote of love and hate like the two went together, but here I was, stuck in the middle of an emotional shipwreck. I considered taking myself off the mission and allowing someone else to capture her, for a moment. Thoughts of Bess calling in Frederick for help, of Frederick being near Guinevere, touching her at all, even in capture, made me want to ride to Washington and throttle him. No, I had to keep on, but I did not know if I would be strong enough to capture her when the time came.

Leo was clearing the dishes from breakfast when a knock echoed through the foyer. I walked into the foyer as Leo opened the door. When Richard entered, I had no notion what he could possibly want with me. We had hardly spoken three sentences to each other since he had warned me away from Guinevere.

When we were alone in the library, Richard spoke. "As a guardian, I have only ever wanted what was best for my ward. I did not believe that you could provide for her in the way in which she is accustomed."

Indeed? I had seen her humble dwellings. My house was a castle compared to where she lived, which was another strike against Richard. I had been inside Richard's two story mansion. While he lived in elegance, his ward lived in a shabby house surrounded by ungenteel folk.

"My Nell informs me that you have nearly gone mad with grief over my decision to keep you and Guinevere apart. So with much consideration, I have decided to retract my judgment, and you may marry my ward. You must wait until after September of course, but October is a fine month to be wed."

My nose started to burn, and my eyes watered, clouding my vision. My gut clenched and the pain that was washing over me was nearly unbearable. I still loved Guinevere to the depths of my soul. Two weeks ago, Richard's words would have made me the happiest man alive, but now I could no more marry Guinevere than I could allow my mother to marry Richard.

"I expected, at the least, some show of joy," Richard said when I did not respond. "If you are thinking that Guinevere may reject you, you are far off. She assures me that there is an understanding between you."

"She said that?" I asked, keeping all emotion from my voice, but the emotions in my mind and heart were plenty.

"That and much more. She is a volatile, headstrong girl who requires a man with a strong guiding hand, but alas, her heart is set on you. We must make the best of the situation."

The best of the situation. The best of the situation. In that moment, as the words echoed through my thoughts, I realized what I must do, what my father would demand that I do. I must marry Guinevere, or at least act as if I would do so. I could almost hear my father's voice.

Ingratiate yourself into her affections. Make her yours in every sense, and she will tell you anything that you want to know. This is your job, Jack, now do it.

"Why now?" my voice came out harsh.

Richard leaned back surveying me through drooping lids as if he were tired of my presence. "Your newly acquired fortune and the fact that by marrying my ward you will be providing your sister with a place to reside." When I looked askance he sighed. "As your sister is not to marry, she will need someplace to live." Richard chuckled, and my brows snapped together. I did not see any humor in that. "It is a fine joke, that only days after Andrew Madison deserts your sister, thinking her a fortune hunter, she acquires a fortune making her the wealthiest heiress in town."

"Where did you hear that Andrew left for that reason?" I asked sharply, feeling as if the room were spinning.

"Why, I had it from Harvey last evening. Seems someone filled Madison's head with rubbish, and he believed it, more fool him." Richard chuckled again, then leaned forward. "Once you marry my ward, she may play the role of chaperone until Elizabeth finds a man who will marry her."

Shooting him would be too easy a death. He deserved to suffer. To be thrown into a cell with mice attacking him when the sun went down and putrid smells imbedding in his nose.

***

Two days later, I was standing before Guinevere's house. I had taken the last two days to get my thoughts together and to form a plan of attack against Guinevere's heart and mind, along with my own. When I rapt upon the door, only a moment passed before I was facing Martha. She looked me over as her smile bloomed.

"I am so glad to see you again, Mr. Martin," she said as she took my hat and gloves. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she held a finger to her lips, silencing me. She led me to the parlor door, pointed in, and left me. I inhaled and slowly exhaled before looking into the room.

Guinevere was upon the sofa, fast asleep. The longing that churned in my body caught me off guard. Her slender hands were tucked under her head as a pillow, and her light blue dress was slightly pulled up revealing a pair of stocking-clad, small feet and ankles. I smiled at the appearance that she presented. The love within me urged me to forgive, to rescue her from Richard's clutches. Richard's clutches. Her words came back to me. The words spoken that first night in Stark Manor. The words that I now knew were uttered by the woman that I was watching.

My life may not be my own.

Was that the truth? Was her life not her own? Did Richard force her to act for him? My teeth clenched, and I balled my hands into tight fists. I had to discover the truth. Hope sprang within me, but I could not allow it to develop roots, not until I knew the truth. I gave myself a little shake. It was not the time to get lost in my emotions. I advanced into the room and knelt beside the sofa.

Strands of her hair had broken away from the tight knot at the back of her head. I brushed away the strands from her forehead as a poem sprang to my mind. "So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, so long lives this, and this gives life to me."

Her eyelids fluttered before her beautiful eyes narrowed in on my face. She stared at me as if she were trying to determine if I was real or a dream. She slowly, hesitantly brought her hand up and laid it against my cheek.

Her eyes widened. "You are here. I was afraid I was dreaming again."

Unable to trust my voice not to betray my shaky emotions, I only smiled. Tears formed in her eyes, and my heart and my plans fell to pieces. I laid my hand over hers; soaking in her warmth that I had thought would never be mine.

"Please, Jack, take me away from here, just the two of us. Let us go and never return."

She looked into my eyes clear to my soul, as she waited for me to reply. She was in earnest; her every look, every movement told me that she truly wanted me. All reason, all thought fled in her plea. It was possible. With my new fortune, we could go anywhere, do whatever we wanted. She would be mine. Without thinking of anything else, I took her hand and helped her to stand.

Fear and love burst into my heart like someone taking a branch of candles into a dark room and making all things visible. Love was expected, but the fear was that she would suddenly change her mind. It caused me to speak with determination.

"Let's go, right now." I looked around the room and found her bonnet lying on the chair. I retrieved it, but as I turned back to her and looked into her eyes the spell had worn off.

She shook her head. "We cannot."

I dropped her bonnet, clasping her shoulders. "No, do not do that. Do not think. I love you, and I want to marry you, today if you will have me. I even know of a minister who could marry us, but we must go, now."

"I wish it were that simple," she whispered.

I released her and stepped back, again the poet. "You are right of course, forgive me, I do not know what came over me."

Something dawned in her eyes causing them to widen. "Did you just propose?"

Heat crept up my neck, and I felt like a fool, but I was determined to continue. "It did not come out as I had planned." I took her hand. We sat on the sofa together, and I angled my body to look into her eyes. "I must ask. Why me?"

She looked surprised, but there was no surprise in her voice as she replied. "You allow me to be my true self. I do not have to pretend to be what I am not when I am with you."

Her words caused a deep ache to form within my chest, for her words exactly matched my feelings. It was part of the reason that I fell for her. Being with her felt right, like finally finding where I truly belonged.

Bess had been looking to Andrew as her way out of the Phantoms. Was Guinevere looking to me for the same? If she was a victim of Levitas, then I would extract her from their grasp, and I would marry her, but until then I had to look upon her as the white phantom.

That did not mean that I could not give her a proposal that she would remember.

"Some say that when you meet the person that you want for life, you know. It could be a feeling or a moment, but for me there were several moments. The first was when we met. Do you remember?" She was smiling as she nodded. "I held my hand down to you, but your eyes halted me, so pure, so perfect. You had to recall my attention. That was the first moment."

I pulled a ribbon from my pocket. It was the exact deep purple blue shade as her eyes. I turned her arm over and placed it across her wrist. She stared down at it as I went on. "I had forgotten to ask your name, and I felt like a fool. I did not know how to find you, but you found me.

"When you walked into my mother's drawing room, you were wearing an ivory gown threaded with gold and I knew before me stood a vision of my future." I pulled another ribbon from my pocket, ivory and gold. I laid it across the other. "The day that I showed you why I was called Saint John, you were wearing dark green, and I wondered not for the first time, why you would choose to spend time with me.

"You were wonderful with the children, and when we were in the carriage, I knew you understood me." I laid a dark green ribbon over the other two, then started to braid them together. "At the lake I knew that our hearts beat as one." Her cheeks turned pink, and I knew she was remembering our first kiss, but her eyes widened when I pulled a small gold heart from my pocket. I slipped the braid through the loop on the heart then tied the ends.

"As a braid, these ribbons, that were once alone, now become a cord, unable to be pulled apart. That is my promise to you. If you will marry me, Guinevere, I promise to be as constant and strong for you as this cord."

Tears sparkled in her eyes, but they did not fall as she said, "Yes, I will marry you."

I picked up her hand and kissed her palm then kissed the heart on the braid. "You will never know the full depth of my feelings for you." That was true enough.

She held my hand and looked into my eyes, her own looking serious. "There is one small matter. I would appreciate it if we could keep this between the two of us for the time being." She smiled persuasively, "I have no desire to either take the attention away from your mother and Richard or to be the subject of so much talk, for people will talk when they learn of this."

"I assure you, I will not speak of this to anyone. For now, I shall leave you and call again on the morrow."

She waylaid me, grabbing my hand. "I am afraid that I have plans with Edith Harvey that I cannot cancel, but we shall see one another again at the Knowlton's ball in four days time."

Edith? I said nothing, because I did not want to give offense, but I was surprised. Instead of speaking, I smiled, drawing her closer until my nose brushed hers. "It shall be the longest four days of my life."

Guinevere smiled, and I was undone. My hand went around her waist, pulling her against my chest as I kissed her like I had done at the lake, but this time I did not pull away. Her arms wrapped around my neck, holding me so tight that there was no space between our chests. I kissed her until we were both gasping for air.

When she walked me to the front door, she raised her beaming face up and placed her soft lips against my cheek. "Goodbye, John."

"Goodbye, Guinevere." I bowed low over her hand, kissed it, and left her standing there as I let myself out of the house.

Whistling as I walked home, my plans were falling together perfectly.

# Chapter 26

Jack

Three days passed without seeing Guinevere. After being away from her for two weeks, I had thought I could handle the separation, but I found myself thinking about her constantly. The day before the Knowlton's ball, I had received some interesting letters in the post, so I decided to visit Bess at my mother's new residence. Bess and I took a stroll in the small garden behind the house. It was bare, since the flowers had all been killed by the numerous frosts, but neither of us was there for the splendor of the garden.

Bess was unusually quiet, but she had been that way since Andrew left. We sat upon a stone bench, and Bess angled herself to look at me. "Knowing what you now know about Guinevere," I looked at her curiously, "do you still love her?"

"Yes."

Bess nodded. "I thought as much. If it comes out that she is only acting for Levitas because Richard is forcing her, what will you do?"

"Marry her," I said without hesitation. "From where do these questions stem?"

Bess stared straight ahead as she answered. "I wanted to know if what I feel is wrong. It is not like it was with Ben when I knew he could never return. Andrew could still see his mistake, and should he return I will welcome him. I thought you should know."

"Did you care for him so deeply?" I asked in a soft voice. I had been so involved in my own pain that I had not taken the time to examine how Bess was feeling.

"I did not think so, but over the past week, I have come to realize the depth of my feelings. I truly cared for him; was on my way to loving him." She leaned her head against my arm and closed her eyes.

Andrew was a fool for believing such ridiculous lies, but if Bess wanted him back, I would do all within my power to see that he returned to her. I decided to turn the topic away from Andrew. "I thought you would like to know that I have received five offers for your hand in the post."

Her mouth dropped open as her eyes widened. "Who could possibly wish to marry me?"

Anger surged within me. I did not understand what had caused her to have such a low opinion of herself, but it filled me with rage to hear her speak of herself in such a way. "Any man who wants an intelligent, beautiful, strong, talented wife. Do not allow your disappointment in Andrew to blind you to your true worth."

Bess snapped her mouth shut and turned her eyes back toward the sad garden. "I do not believe that I shall ever marry." She cast me a look that dared me to retort then looked away.

"Philip and Thomas have both sent missives asking for your hand."

Bess gaped at me, and I bit my cheek to keep from laughing.

"Thomas?"

I did laugh then. "He believes that he has much to offer. If you join your fortunes, you could be comfortably frivolous for the rest of your days. Philip was straightforward, but I will not bore you with the details. I have refused both offers as I knew you would wish." I plucked a stem and started pulling it apart. "Ephraim Knowlton was the third."

"Who were the fourth and fifth?"

I inhaled then exhaled slowly. "Dudley."

Bess was gaping again. "Both?" She shook her head. "I would never have thought Dudley a fortune hunter but it appears that I have been mistaken."

"You know better," I told her earnestly. "You could walk around in a potato sack, and Dudley would still marry you, tomorrow were I to permit."

Bess looked contrite. I knew it was only her disappointment making her speak such untruths. "He would write some verse to my beauty."

Placing my hand over my heart, I mimicked Dudley's nasal voice. "To the sack that she doth wear, see how it matches her hair. She moves, she glides, and heaven provides, my earnest heart's despair."

Bess clutched my arm, and we both laughed. It felt wonderful to hear her laugh. When our laughter faded, I leaned my elbows on my knees while Bess fiddled with a piece of grass.

"Do you think we will ever know why Andrew left?" I did not respond to her question, and she looked at me, suspicion darkening her brow. "Jack. Tell me. You know, don't you?" She gripped my arm, hard. "Jack, I need to know."

She deserved the truth, so I told her what Levi and Richard had told me. She was crestfallen, with good reason. General Harvey was a family friend, a man our father admired, and that he would serve Bess such an ill turn was upsetting to say the least. She told me that Edith had said Andrew was coming to town to meet her. It was no wonder, then, that Harvey was so angry when he showed no interest in Edith, but made himself and Bess the talk of society.

"Even though Andrew believed Harvey, I still miss him." Her voice broke in the end, and I put my arm around her shoulders, leaning my head against hers. Her words caused a new pain to tear across my heart. I should have known how Bess felt, but I had not, and that made me feel like the worst brother alive.

***

It was mid afternoon when I arrived back in town, but instead of going home, I decided to do some shopping. There was nothing that I needed; Leo always secured what I required, but I did not want to sit idly by counting the hours until the Knowlton's ball. I had checked out the riots claim, but other than some disgruntled and starving people, there was nothing that constituted panic. Yet, most of the farms crops were destroyed, and only those who had stores saved from the last harvest were making a profit. The prices of food had increased drastically. I was not shopping for food, though. I was not sure what I was looking for, until a sign on a window drew me to it. Something prompted me to go in, and as soon as I set foot inside the store, I was approached by an eager salesman.

"What may I help you with, young sir?" He was cheerful and determined to please. I slowly walked around the cases, and when I stopped in front of the rings he smiled knowingly. He opened a door in the case and brought out a tray of rings. They were fine, but nothing fancy. He lifted a plain gold band from the tray and held it up to the light coming in through the front window. I shook my head, and he returned it.

"It is a fine ring, but I am looking for something," Guinevere's face swam before me and I added, "blue."

"Blue?" he asked cautiously, then silently regarded me. I held his gaze without wavering.

"I believe I may have what you are searching for," he said after a long moment. He must have come to the conclusion that I was in earnest about purchasing something. He replaced the tray of rings and turned his back to me as he unlocked a strong box. When he came back, he was covering his hand like he was concealing something rare. He looked around before leaning toward me. He slowly opened his hand. Lying on his palm was a gold band with a mounted sapphire stone. It was lovely. Elegant, yet surprisingly subtle, much like Guinevere.

"The price?" I asked.

He quoted me a sum that staggered me, then added another blow saying, "But what is money compared to the happiness in the eyes of your love when she looks upon such beauty?"

That sealed the deal. It cost all the money that I had, and I did not know when I would be able to bank on the money that my mother received as payment for her ships, but in that moment, none of that mattered. The man placed the ring in a small, velvet bag, and I tucked it into my inner coat pocket. As I stepped outside the store, I wondered what possessed me to buy Guinevere a ring. She particularly told me that she did not want our engagement made known. Lost in thought, I turned the corner and ran straight into a broad chest. I stepped back hastily, apologizing.

"Martin? John Martin?"

My eyes slid shut for a moment. It could not be. I slowly looked up, and there standing before me was Andrew Madison.

Choking down my laughter at providence and my desire to throttle him, I smiled. "Madison. I had thought you ensconced in Virginia. How long have you been in town?"

Andrew motioned to his carriage that was on the busy street. "I have only this instant arrived."

Andrew looked at the store behind me; then his eyebrows lifted.

"Were you on your way to the jewelers?" I asked since that was where he had looked.

Andrew's face reddened as he looked anywhere but at me. "Might I have a moment of your time? There is something that I would like to discuss with you." We walked together down the sidewalk. "You must have many questions about why I left the city in such a hurry."

"No."

That word drew Andrew to a halt. He had the grace to look shamefaced. "I regret the way I left Elizabeth. I should have gone to her and asked her about the rumors, but instead I ran. She deserves someone better than I." Andrew looked at me like he was waiting for me to deny his words, but I would not. The man hurt my sister, and I would not make his way simple for him. I clasped my hands behind my back and continued walking down the street. "I behaved abominably."

"You should have come to me. When we arranged for you to come to Philadelphia to meet Bess, you knew that she had a sizable fortune. How could you ever believe that she was after your fortune?"

Andrew hung his head. "When you approached me in Washington and told me about your sister, I thought her too good to be true, but then I met her and found the one woman who could complete my happiness."

Why then did he believe Harvey? It was true that I had set up their meeting, not the abduction, but I had known Andrew for a few years and thought him the sort of man to capture Bess's fancy. So in May, I had met with him and set their meeting in motion. Bess had to get away from the Phantoms. I thought I was providing her the perfect opportunity in Andrew.

"What do you mean to do?" I asked.

"If you will allow me, I would like to see your sister. To apologize."

"You have heard of the new fortune." It was an accusation.

Andrew looked away, his color reddening again. "Yes, but it makes no difference to me. I adore Elizabeth. I was only a day's journey when I had to turn back. I knew I was leaving my heart behind. With your permission, I mean to marry her."

I barely repressed my smile.

Andrew grinned, his green eyes shining with hope. "You can instruct me on how to proceed. If you believe your sister to be indifferent or if you know of another..."

"As far as I know there is no other. If she will have you, then I will welcome you into our family."

Andrew stuck out his hand, and I shook it firmly. We turned and walked back toward the jewelers. We were about to reach Andrew's carriage when a thought, too good to pass, slipped into my mind.

Keeping a normal tone to my voice, I asked, "May I give you a piece of advice about approaching my sister?"

Andrew eagerly agreed, and I felt a twinge of guilt for what I was about to do, but remembering Bess's words to me about laughing in the face of a man who proposed with poetry, I could not help but prove her wrong. Furthermore, Andrew deserved it for hurting her.

"Study Shakespeare. A particulate sonnet. Sigh no more. It is her favorite."

Andrew grinned as if I had handed him a treasure. "Thank you, John. You have given me a gift that I can never repay."

I returned his smile. Oh, it was a gift all right, but not for Andrew. To see the confusion on Bess's face when Andrew spouted poetry to her, and a particular poem that she despised, it was a gift to myself. But, more than that, Bess would have to know that to love a man, you must love all of him, including the eccentricities he does not even know he has.

"When shall you see Bess?" I asked as we stopped before the jeweler.

"Not immediately. I am awaiting a gift that I hope will relay to her how deeply I regret my actions. It should arrive within the week."

As we parted ways, I was floating on a cloud of joy. I had Guinevere and Bess would have Andrew. Now, to find George, finish this mission, and leave the Phantoms behind for good.

# Chapter 27

Bess

My mind was focused on the mission ahead as Jericho drove us to the Knowlton's mansion.

Jack and I were both armed as were Leo, Jericho, and Mariah. Levi was to meet us at the Knowlton's house. We had captured the men meant to attack Mr. Monroe, but that did not mean that Richard would not try something else equally sinister.

As we made our way into the house, Mariah and Leo accompanied us, Mariah in the guise of lady's maid who would await my mother and I in a ladies' retiring room, while Leo, having come in the guise to assist Jack, would roam the servants' part of the house, watching for a sign of trouble. Jericho and Levi would guard the exterior of the house. I hoped the night would not prove dangerous, but we were prepared for whatever occurred.

Mother, Jack, and I reached the wide, inner foyer, and after handing our cloaks to Mariah and Leo, we moved forward in a line of people to greet our hosts. The elegantly attired couple was standing beside a large, oak staircase that rose up to a landing and then split in two directions. The large chandelier overhead sparkled like only a recent polishing could make it, but the shine was nothing to the jewels that adorned Mrs. Knowlton's slender neck. That grand lady greeted us warmly, and Jack returned her greeting with a sincere smile that transformed into a formal civility when he turned toward Mr. Knowlton. As Mr. Knowlton had little in common with us, he moved on to the next guest. Mrs. Knowlton, however, was not so simple to get past.

"Ephraim is in the ballroom and most eager to claim you for the first two dances." She added with a sly smile, "If you are not otherwise engaged."

Forcing myself to remain calm, I fixed a smile on my lips, but said nothing to commit myself. Jack whisked me away toward the double doors that led into a long ballroom.

Mr. Knowlton had built the room for his wife during the war. Many people were outraged at the expense while our nation was at war, but they have retracted their indignation since the war ended, and Mrs. Knowlton has put the room to good use.

As we stepped onto the polished floor, eyes from every direction moved toward us. I inhaled deeply. News had spread about our new fortunes. If only they knew that when my father started to climb the social ladder, carrying his family with him, he had little wealth and was far from a gentleman. I never learned where my father attained his wealth. All I knew was that we were wealthy overnight, or so it seemed to me. Asking my mother about it did no good for she refused to speak of it. Another secret.

Jack smiled broadly; the cleft in his chin more pronounced. He was enjoying the attention.

Edith Harvey was among the young ladies where Jack was leading me. When I joined them, they bombarded me with excited or envious questions about my mother's new fortune.

A lovely blonde smiled knowingly. "You will not long remain unmarried if Ephraim Knowlton has his way."

Following her gaze, I turned to see Ephraim making his way toward me. Jack had moved away to join Dudley, but he was closer to me than the door out of the ball room. I mumbled something and moved as quickly as I could toward Jack. When Jack noticed who was pursuing me, his lips thinned. I tucked my hand into the crook of his arm, and he patted it reassuringly, but Dudley was the one to come to my rescue.

"Miss Martin, heaven must have fought a great battle with earth and lost, for heaven would never give up its greatest angel without a fight."

Jack chuckled, and I bit my lip to refrain from laughing. The potato sack came to mind. "You flatter me, Mr. Stanton."

"Nay, it is the truth, I assure you." Dudley kissed the back of my hand and raised his hopeful gaze to me. "If you are not otherwise engaged, may I hope to claim the first two dances?"

I had accepted a moment before Ephraim appeared at my side. Ephraim was not pleased to learn that I was going to dance with Dudley, but he requested the dance after, and I had no choice but to comply. The entrance of Mr. and Mrs. Knowlton signaled the dance to begin. As I moved along the dance with Dudley, he was more animated than usual. When he pointed out that Jack was dancing with Edith, I was relieved. I hoped that she could take his mind off someone else.

After the first three dances had ended, I detached myself and went through the foyer to the little hall that led to the ladies' room, but also to the back stairs. Lifting my pink skirt, I moved up the small staircase to the second floor and from there to the fourth door.

Looking to my right then left, no one was upstairs, so I slowly turned the door handle. If anyone was in the room, I was ready to claim to be looking for the retiring room, but to my relief, the room was empty.

A branch of candles on a writing desk were letting off enough light to see. Silently closing the door behind me, I scanned Mr. Knowlton's bedchamber, which included a four poster bed with red silk hangings, the writing desk, a tall wardrobe, and a dressing table. Bottles and boxes were scattered over the dressing table, as if Mr. Knowlton's manservant did not have time to clean up after his master was attired for the ball. What it meant for me, was that I must hurry in my search for the man would return to clean up the mess.

Somewhere in the room was the fourth artifact, a book of incantations. Leo had told me to search the left wall. How he knew such a thing, I did not ask. Leo was a man of many mysteries and his knowledge knew no bounds.

Tapestries hung in sections, but midway along the wall was a decorative wood border of lions between scrollwork. I started in the corner, running my fingers along that scrollwork, pushing and pulling each lion. When I was about to reach the other corner, one moved. My lips curved up as my fingers pressed the lion into the wall. A grinding noise sounded before a part of the wall moved. Grabbing the branch of candles from the desk, the light illuminated the secret room. Closet would be a better description. Covering the three walls was a mural of angels arranged on clouds. The only furniture was a table that held a golden goblet, a golden candlestick, and a small carved bowl. My breath fluttered out in anxious excitement. A small leather book was between the bowl and candlestick. My finger ran over a golden stamp in the center of the book. I hated that emblem of the pyramid with a lightning bolt through the center and vines of ivy forming half circles around the pyramid. Underneath were Greek letters forming four words.

My Greek was rough, but I knew what it meant. Through lightning we strike.

Taking the book, I let myself out of the secret room. Turning a scroll on the border slid the wall back into place. Once the candles were returned to the desk, and a final look was taken of the room, I walked to the door. My hand was but inches from the handle when it turned. My heart leapt, then I followed, jumping toward the wall as the door pushed open.

Let it go. Let it go. My mind begged the hand that was opening the door not to push it all the way. My breath held until the door was released, then it silently leaked out. My hands were shaking. If I were to be caught in Mr. Knowlton's bedchamber, it would be beyond scandalous; it would be deadly. Mr. Knowlton would not hesitate to give me over to Richard. The knowledge of that sent fear jolting through me.

Mr. Knowlton walked over to his writing desk. The door blocked him, but his shadow on the carpet told me where he was standing.

A drawer pulled open, and Mr. Knowlton spoke, "Why tonight of all nights? This night is too important, and my presence is required downstairs."

Whoever he was speaking to was on the other side of the door and said nothing.

"My ring of power," Mr. Knowlton said as a drawer slammed shut. He turned, but not toward the door. He moved to the branch of candles. He stared for a moment.

I'm discovered. It's over. I started inching my skirt up so I could reach the dagger strapped to my leg.

Mr. Knowlton shook his head. Walking to the door, he demanded of his companion, "Who is the cur that has voiced his doubts of me?"

The door slammed shut before I could hear the reply. My shoulders sagged forward. Beads of perspiration were racing down my neck and under my dress. That was too close. While waiting a few minutes for my heart to settle, I tucked the book against my leg where my garter was holding my dagger. Once I felt that it was secured, I slowly opened the door to a crack. No one was in the hall, so I hurried from the room and walked down the hall toward the main landing. My mind was going over the guests present and who Mr. Knowlton could have been speaking to when I rounded the corner. Voices from the landing forced me to retreat back into the hall. The landing split in two leading to two separate halls, the family quarters and the guests'. It would not do to be seen coming from the family hall. I could not see the people, but immediately recognized Jack's voice.

"I have missed you," he said, soulfully.

"Indeed? How much?" My heart sank. It was Guinevere.

"So much that I could not help but pick up this small trinket for you."

Trinket? Why was Jack giving the wicked girl anything? I peeped around the corner as Jack raised a ring for Guinevere's inspection. I was unsure if it was she or I who inhaled sharply. Pressing myself against the wall again, my eyes closed as pain assaulted every part of me, beginning in my heart.

"It will never compare to your beauty, but I hope that when you look upon it, you will always remember me." Jack sounded so sincere, so in love, that tears sprang to my eyes, and I had to dab at the corners of my eyes with my gloved fingers.

He had not told me. He and Guinevere were obviously more to each other than he had let on, even though he knew who and what she was.

"I do remember that you wanted to keep our betrothal between us, but I thought that you could wear this on your right hand until the time comes that you allow me to inform the world that you belong to me."

Sweet Saints! Betrothed! I inhaled a shallow breath and peeped around the corner again. They were paying no heed to their surroundings as Guinevere pulled a ring from her right hand and moved it to her left. It was a dark gold, almost bronze, color and the face looked like an ornately carved star with six points. Raised above the star was a circular shape with a peridot and diamond studs.

"I have never before seen such a ring," Jack said.

She smiled. "It is a family heirloom." She held out her right hand, and Jack slid his ring onto her finger. It was such an intimate moment that I felt almost regretful for witnessing. Almost.

"Will you dance with me?" Jack asked.

"It will give rise to some talk."

Laying a hand over his heart, he said, "I listen, not to the tongues of men, but to my heart which speaks in the truest form."

She smiled, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. "Yes, John, let us dance."

They disappeared down the stairs, and I suddenly felt cold. My own brother, my closest ally, my most trusted confidant, was keeping the greatest secret from me. A part of me wanted to believe that he was doing it as a stratagem, a deep game that would in the end bring her to the justice that she deserved, but it was not so. I heard him. He was a man in love, which meant that he was a danger to the Phantoms and to our mission. He would never be able to surrender her.

Leaving the hall, I went down the stairs in a fog of pain and confusion. Jack and Guinevere were dancing together in the ballroom. Seeing them, smiling with love unmistakably in their eyes, made my heart cramp and my head ache. Dudley was coming toward me, but I could not speak with him, or with anyone. I needed space—and time.

Moving along the side of the ballroom, I reached one of the doors that led outside. Pushing the large drapery aside, I slipped through the door, unnoticed and undisturbed.

The night air was cool, much cooler than ever I remembered in the middle of July. Sitting upon one of the stone benches built into the terrace, I sucked in the cool air until my lungs burned.

Not two minutes passed, before I sensed that I was not alone. Looking toward the door, there was a man there, watching me. When he stepped forward, my back stiffened.

"This is a fortunate chance," he said.

"What do you want, Mr. Knowlton?"

Ephraim was an annoyance, but he presented no threat.

"Why, Elizabeth, I do declare that you are not happy to see me, when you were the one who asked me to meet you here."

"I did no such thing!" The man was surely daft.

"Not with words, dearest, but with your eyes."

He was daft. I had not seen him since our dance an hour past.

As calmly as I could, I informed him, "You are mistaken in whatever you thought you saw. I would no more send you messages than I would hold a viper against my face."

He laughed boisterously, giving me the distinct impression that he was drunk. A lanky, daft drunk. He dropped to his knees before me and took my hands. For a drunkard, he had an alarmingly strong grip. "My dearest heart, you must marry me. I will not allow you to deny me."

"I am not your dearest anything." I tried to pull my hands away, but he gripped them tighter, causing me to wince. "You are hurting my hands."

"Unhand my sister, you fiend!" Jack was standing at the door with his hands clenched at his sides. Ephraim grunted, but released me. He and I stood at the same time, and I brushed past him, moving to stand beside Jack.

"This does not concern you, Martin," Ephraim said as he swayed.

"You are in the wrong. What concerns my sister concerns me." Jack took a step forward, his intent clear, but I grabbed his arm. "Let me recite the poet..." Jack said instead.

Ephraim held up a hand. "Please, none of your poetry, John." He looked toward the window. "I see Mr. Monroe has arrived. I must greet him." Ephraim moved toward the door, and we stepped aside.

After Ephraim was gone, Jack led me back into the ballroom, briefly pressing my hand before moving away. James Monroe was across the room speaking with Mrs. Knowlton. When I reached them, I listened while he spoke, remaining at his side, watching everything, while Jack was keeping Guinevere occupied.

Guinevere's eyes were watching Mr. Monroe rather intently until Thomas swept her away from Jack and into the line of dancers. Jack stood against the wall and watched Guinevere's every move. After Thomas, she passed on to Dudley. Halfway through the dance, Richard nodded toward Guinevere. It was only a brief inclination of his head, but it perturbed me. My eyes sprang to Guinevere, but she was laughing at something Dudley said and did not look like she noticed. Hope that she had not filled my head, but my heart told me that, of course she saw Richard's sign, for she was, after all, the white phantom. They must have set up a second plan, should the assassins not accomplish their task. Richard whisked Mr. Monroe off to the dining parlor, and I followed.

In the dining parlor, Richard and Monroe were speaking with Mr. Knowlton when Guinevere entered on Dudley's arm. Mrs. Knowlton appeared at my side, chatting about her son, and I pulled my eyes away from Dudley and Guinevere. It was only a moment, but when I looked back, disbelief then panic shook me.

Guinevere was standing in such a way that the men could not see what she was doing, but I could. The round part on her gold ring was lifted up, and she was tilting her left hand over a champagne glass and her right, index finger tapped on the ring three times. She snapped the ring closed, picked up a different glass, and stepped over to Dudley.

A poison ring. She was trying to poison James Monroe.

What do I do? My mind raced for a plan that would not make a scene or give me away. Jack came in and moved toward Dudley and Guinevere. Her back was to me, but Jack's eyes met mine. I took my finger and drew a straight line across my lips. It was another one of the codes that we had worked out. It meant danger. I took my fingers and made a P against my side as I said something to Mrs. Knowlton. My gaze moved to Jack, then the champagne glasses. I rested three fingers against my cheek as Mrs. Knowlton was speaking to me.

Jack walked straight to the champagne. He picked up two glasses, one of them the poisoned one. He moved to Guinevere's side. Guinevere turned to him and smiled, but when she looked at the two glasses in his hands and then to the other glasses, her face paled. She knew what he held. I knew which glass he held out to her and all my doubts about his intentions flew away.

Guinevere showed him the glass that she had in her hand. She watched his every move as he replaced one of the glasses, then raised his glass to his lips and took a sip.

Richard turned toward the sideboard where the champagne glasses were at the same moment Guinevere grabbed Jack's hand and pulled him from the room through the door that led into a small hall.

Richard watched them go, and that distraction gave me a chance to approach. I picked up two glasses and switched them. What I was about to do was a risk, but necessary.

"Good evening, Richard."

"Good evening, Elizabeth." I hated my name when he said it. "Are you having an agreeable time?"

"Oh, yes! But it is dreadfully warm." I fanned myself slowly, and he caught on quickly. He picked up a glass, handing it to me. Relief washed over me as I accepted the glass and took a sip.

Mr. Monroe came to stand beside me, and Richard handed a glass to Monroe then picked up one for himself and offered a toast. I held my breath, and it was as if time slowed as I watched Richard raise the glass to his lips and drink deeply.

One moment he was standing there listening to Mr. Monroe and smiling, and the next he was falling backward.

Shrieks came from the ladies in the crowded dining parlor, and Mr. Knowlton cursed as he rushed forward. Mr. Monroe had my arm and pulled me back out of the way of the men who came to crowd round. Jack came through the door, his eyes wide and his brows raised.

"No, he breathes," Mr. Knowlton was saying as his fingers were feeling around Richard's neck.

I did not have time to feel disappointed. When Richard had fallen, the glass had dropped from his hand but not shattered.

Within a moment, my mother was in the room and had pushed her way through the crowd to kneel beside Richard. I was able to play the concerned daughter. Where I knelt beside her my dress covered the spilt glass.

"Richard! Richard, my dearest. Can you hear me?" Mother was frantic as she gazed down at Richard. She turned to me. "We must get him home. Where is John? Have him call for the carriage at once."

My foot pushed the glass until it was against my lowered hand. Holding it in the folds of my skirt, I went out of the room to the front door.

Levi was the person to ask about what was in the glass. It took me a few minutes to find him, as he and Jericho were patrolling the grounds, but he appeared around the corner of the house. After instructing Jericho to bring around our carriage and have Richard's brought to the door as well, I gave Levi the glass. Giving him a brief summary of what had transpired; he promised to have a report for me by the morning. My thanks were earnest, for that was one less thing for me to do. We parted ways, and I turned toward the house, but halted. There were two people standing in the front parlor window, watching me. I only looked at them a moment before walking to the front door, but I felt sick.

Nicholas and Guinevere saw me. I wanted to hope that they had not seen me give the glass to Levi, but something deep within told me that hope was futile.

# Chapter 28

Jack

At ten in the morning, Bess and I were meeting with James Monroe in my library. Bess was explaining about the carriage at the seminary, the assassins that we had captured, and the drink that was meant for him. Turned out it was a sleeping draught and not poison, but that was not reassuring.

"What is your next course of action?" James demanded; his blue eyes the closest to shooting sparks as I had ever seen.

"We have guards in place to escort you from the city, sir, and they will stay with you until this threat is eliminated," Bess assured him.

James sat in deep contemplation for many minutes, his chin resting on his hand. There were three creased lines on his forehead as he scowled at my rug. His face cleared, and a small smile tilted up the corners of his lips. "I do believe that I have a strategy that might work."

James relayed his idea, and all Bess or I could do was gawk. It was outrageous enough to be both brilliant and simple to make work.

"One outburst, one step out of line, and not only will your names be known, but many people could lose their lives. You must proceed with caution," James said to me, and then looked purposefully toward Bess. "I believe it is time to call upon the Washington Phantoms. You shall require much help in the coming task."

"I agree," Bess said, without looking at me.

A few minutes later, I escorted James to his carriage and said my farewells. He was leaving the city immediately. There were two burly men seated on the box as the carriage pulled away, and I knew James would be safe with them.

When I reentered the house, Bess was pulling on her gloves while Leo held her bonnet.

"I will be moving out to the country house tonight," I assured Bess. Before James had arrived, she told me about Nicholas and Guinevere watching her from the window. I did not suspect that they would strike against Bess, but I wanted to be near her all the same.

Jericho came in to tell Bess her horse was at the door. Leo and I watched them ride away. Once they were out of sight, I informed Leo that I wanted him to accompany me as I had some purchases to make before leaving for the country house.

As we rode, my thoughts went to Guinevere, and thinking about her made me smile. One acquainted with my situation would think it would be Richard's drinking his own potion that caused my smile, but it was not. Guinevere's reaction when I gave her the ring, her worried brow as she watched me sip the champagne, and I will never forget her actions when Richard partook of the tampered glass. Pulling me away as she did, I saw a new side—a different side—a side that I could like very much. She was firm but with the right amount of sweetness.

No other woman of my acquaintance would ever consider taking a man, their intended or not, into a dimly lit hall and pressing him against the wall to kiss him nearly senseless. What a woman she was. There was still the question lurking in the back of my mind of why she did it. There was some ulterior motive behind her actions.

Leo and I were riding down Walnut when he said, "Is that not your lady?"

Startled, I looked down the street, and sure enough, there was Guinevere. She was walking alone and did not see us as she stepped up to Richard's house and disappeared inside. With all possible haste, I needed to get in there. We rode past, to the end of the street where we stopped. After pulling my mask from my pocket, I gave the reins of my horse to Leo.

"See to my purchases for me. I will meet you at the house later."

At the back of Richard's house, I looked around the alley before stepping up to the only door. Few houses in this city had the luxury of not being built right against another house. Even ours, though large and elegant, had a house on either side. Richard's had an empty lot with grass on one side and a house that was separated by a narrow passage on the other.

There were two windows raised high beyond the back door, and that was to be my way in. I could not go through the door, for one of the servants would surely see me.

Jumping up and reaching the ledge of the window, I pulled myself up enough to see into the room. It was the dining parlor. Good fortune was mine, for the door into the foyer was closed. I put one foot on the door knob of the back door but held most of my weight in my arms on the ledge.

Sending up a silent prayer, my fingers tried to open the window. It budged, so I opened it slowly and pushed my foot off the door knob, grabbing inside the window to pull myself up. My coat ripped in the shoulder, but I did not give it a second thought. Once in the room, I gently closed the window, paused to put on my mask, then eased open the door enough to see into the foyer. It was empty in all directions, so I stepped out. Thankfully, Richard had the floor covered with a rug, so my shoes made no sound.

Voices were coming from behind the closed parlor door. Looking around the wide foyer, I saw a key sticking from the lock to the servants' hall. It would not do for someone to come into the foyer and see me, so I locked the door and pocketed the key. Turning, ready to listen at the parlor door, the stairs to my left creaked.

Darting behind the staircase, and leaning against the wall of the stairs, I looked around the corner. It was not a servant.

A man with a gun in hand was heading for the parlor, and by the way he was slinking, he was not there by invitation. I looked around quickly, but found nothing to use as a weapon other than my pocket pistol. Unfortunately, it would make too much commotion. I had a decision to make; I could charge him, and risk Richard coming into the foyer, or I could get him to follow me.

Stepping out from behind the stairs, I cleared my throat softly. The man jerked up from his crouched position, and I ran into the dining parlor. There was a sideboard with two silver candlesticks. I grabbed one and turned the heavy side up as I hid behind the door. He followed me in without check.

Fool. I attacked, hitting him on the back of the head with the candlestick. He tried to turn. I hit him again. He dropped his gun, but thanking the heavens it did not go off. He fell toward the end of the dining table, but I caught him around the waist before he could make any noise. I lowered him to the floor and watched for a sign of life. He was breathing, but his head was bleeding. I reached in my pocket, pulled out a black feather, tucked it into the front of the man's stained shirt, picked up the man's pistol, and went to the parlor door to listen at the keyhole.

"What were you thinking, putting a sleeping draught where poison should be?" Richard's voice was terse.

"It was an honest mistake. I must have grabbed the wrong vial. But it no longer matters." Guinevere sounded smug.

"Are you certain that John had nothing to do with this?"

"We have been through this. John had nothing to do with it. You should have been paying closer attention," Guinevere snapped.

"Be careful in choosing your next words, my dear," Richard warned; a clear threat in his dropped tone.

"Let us not argue about this any longer. Let us instead discuss what next to do."

Yes, do discuss your next course of action.

"You need not worry about that. I have someone working on the coup de grâce."

"Indeed?" Guinevere asked, and I could hear the curiosity in her voice.

"Yes, and I do believe it will be my crowning achievement. Something the Holy Order wants more than the artifacts."

According to the letter from Pierre, the artifacts belonged to the Holy Order. It was only natural that they would want them returned, but Richard had other plans.

"You know what they want. You have been given your orders, though they will not be happy when they learn of this turn of events."

"Do not threaten me! You are equally to blame. I have a mind to deliver you to the Holy Order and let them deal with you as you deserve," Richard retorted loudly.

"I have done everything that you have demanded of me, so if you do not mind, ring for the butler. I wish to leave."

Richard laughed, and I felt something sinister creep up my neck. "Rather high, are we? I will have you know that we are alone in the house. I sent my servants off. I could not have them listening at the keyhole, now could I."

Rat!

"I suggest that you stay where you are," Guinevere said, calmly.

"Put that toy away. You will not harm me. We need each other."

"No," Guinevere retorted with a definite sneer, "the only thing I need is to rid the world of vermin such as you. I have known that since the moment I met you." Her voice paused, and I waited for what I hoped was coming. "I will not do so today, however, but hear me well, Richard Hamilton, the day is coming when you will have no say whatsoever in my actions."

There was a swish to her skirts, so I bolted away from the door and back into the dining parlor. I closed the door until there was only a crack, and I watched her leave the house. Closing the door the rest of the way, I set the servants' door key on the table, and left through the same window that I had entered through.

On my walk home, I worked through what I had heard. Richard was after the artifacts for the Holy Order, Guinevere, it seemed, knew the Holy Order personally, Richard sent all of his servants away from his house, but a man with a gun was there. Was he after Richard or Guinevere? Knowing Richard, there could only be one answer, and that knowledge sealed my fate. I would extricate Guinevere from Richard and Levitas, and then I would have her tell me all about the Holy Order.

When I arrived home Leo, was busily packing my trunks.

"Richard Hamilton is the lowest form of vermin," I said, using Guinevere's apt word for him. "He had the audacity to try to murder his own ward." Leo's face drained of all color. Odd that, but I was too angry to dwell on it. "Did you get the parcel that I ordered?" Leo went out without a word. When he returned, he was holding a narrow box. "I must go to see Guinevere, and when I return, I have some letters to write, but then, we will set out."

***

When Martha let me into Guinevere's house, I heard voices coming from the parlor. A man's laughter made my shoulders stiffen.

In all the times I had visited Guinevere, there had never been another man present. I did not like the idea of her entertaining gentlemen when she was betrothed to me. Not that I was jealous. Not at all.

After handing my hat and gloves to Martha, I walked to the parlor door. Guinevere and Edith were seated upon the sofa, and General Harvey sat across from them. Guinevere smiled when she saw me, but the smile did not reach her eyes as it usually did.

General Harvey turned to look at me, and waved vigorously for me to enter the room. "Ah, John, fancy meeting you here." He gave me a sly wink. "Come bearing gifts I see." He pointed a finger at the box I was holding under my arm.

"It is merely a trifle, sir." I turned to greet Edith and Guinevere, but the latter I did without my usual flourish. As I sat in a chair by the general, Guinevere engaged Edith in conversation, but Edith appeared pale and unhappy.

The general leaned toward me speaking softly. "My girl there wanted to pay a call upon Miss Clark and begged me to escort her. Never like her to go out unattended, you understand." He did not give me a moment to reply before he changed subjects. "I hear that Mr. Madison has left town for good; a sad affair indeed. So unfortunate for your dear sister, but, so I expected it. He was not the man for her. No, indeed."

My fury roared to life. It was the general's fault that Bess had been so unhappy, and I could not resist the opportunity to put the general in his place. "On the contrary, we expect his return within a week." I leaned in my chair toward him. "If you will not spread it about, I can tell you that he has requested to pay his addresses to her."

"Indeed," replied the general in a hollow voice. He turned from me to look at the two ladies on the sofa. "Come, Edith. I believe it is time that we were leaving. We have trespassed too long upon Miss Clark's valuable time." Harvey rose, and Edith followed suit. She bid farewell to Guinevere and moved to my side as the general spoke to Guinevere.

"I do so miss your sister's company and our rides together." Edith looked close to tears, but I did not understand why.

"You should have Harvey drive you out to the house one day. Bess would love to see you. As it is, I am heading there myself today. Perhaps I shall see you within the next few days."

Edith's brown eyes were weary. "Perhaps. Good day, Mr. Martin." She dipped a small curtsey and followed the general to the door.

I bid her farewell, and once the Harvey's were gone, Guinevere reseated herself, sighing deeply. "I am glad they have departed. How tiresome his conversation is, and she, was there ever such a meek little mouse."

Leaning back in my chair, I smiled. "I have heard it said that the meek shall inherit the earth. What say you to that?"

Guinevere gave her first real smile since I arrived, "Then I am a lost soul, for I would never be considered meek."

She was the delight of my life.

Guinevere folded her hands in her lap. "What is this I hear of you removing to the country? Are you so averse to my company?"

"Perish the thought! My mother has need of me, and I have a desire to be with my sister for what time we have left together."

She smiled knowingly. "Ah yes, Andrew Madison is to propose. I heard you telling the general. I am happy for her, but please do not propose a double wedding." I cast her an innocent look, making her laugh. "I know that your poetical nature would find that romantic, but when I marry," she sighed, "I want it to be a small affair, on a hillside somewhere."

"I shall commit that to memory," I promised.

After a moment, she asked, "Is that for me?"

I picked up the box and took it to her. "It is a trifle."

Guinevere accepted the box casting me a curious look before lifting the lid. She stared down at the long dagger. The sheath was ivory with a sunset painted on it, and engraved within the gold handle was a heart with the initials J and G in the center. She slowly lifted her eyes to mine.

I grinned as I sat beside her and removed the dagger from the box. I ordered it the day after the picnic, before I ever proposed, before I knew that she was the white phantom and could protect herself. I held it gently in my hand.

"I know that it may appear an unsuitable gift to give a lady, but as there have been so many disappearances, and you insist upon going out unchaperoned," I took her hand in mine when she started to speak, "it would do my mind good to know that you have some weapon with which to defend yourself. That is all." I kissed the back of her hand. "Do you know how to use such a weapon?"

Guinevere leaned across the space between us and pressed her lips against mine. It was a fleeting, soft brush of the lips, but had the power to ignite a flame within me. I wanted to let that flame expand into a forest fire, but she broke away. It took all of my restraint not to pull her into my arms.

"Thank you, Jack. Have no fear about me, I shall do well."

I cleared my throat, but it was my passion that I was trying to clear. "You relieve my mind. Now, my love, I must be going. There is much for me to do before I set out for the country." And I must get out of here before my passion for you causes me to lose control. "I hope to return in a week, but should you have need of me at any time, do send word."

She walked with me to the front door, but hesitated to open it. She turned to me and placed one hand against my cheek, staring intently into my eyes. Dangling from her wrist was the bracelet I had made for her when I proposed. My arm instinctively found its way around her waist like it had the previous night, and I drew her to me.

Our lips met softly, but holding her, safe, alive, knowing that she was a victim of Levitas, my feelings came to the fore. I placed a hand at the back of her neck, my fingers brushing the tendrils at her nape, and I was lost. My mouthed moved over hers with the urgency of a man who has been deprived of drink for too long. Hot, demanding need was increasing in me. I wanted her closer, every part of her against all of me. Her hands moved to my hair as she leaned closer. The room faded away, and all thoughts of Phantoms, plots, plans and warnings left my mind in that sweet moment. There was nothing but us, and I knew that I loved her with my whole being. I would do all within my power to keep her. She moaned softly against my mouth. I thought I would come out of my skin for all the desire filling me. I wanted her, craved her in every pore, every joint.

A voice cleared from behind us, forcing me to back to the room and reality. I pulled my head back but did not release her. I brushed my thumb across her lips as I stared into her eyes filled with love and longing.

Fiend seize her errant chaperone! I stepped away, turning to see Martha standing on the stairs with her hands akimbo on her plump hips.

"Young man, where I come from, when a man gives kisses like those, he had better be prepared to marry the girl."

"Ma'am, I genuinely concur." I bowed, placed my hat on my head and turned back to Guinevere. She held out her hand, and I kissed the back, then kissed the small heart on her bracelet. "I leave my heart here, with you."

"Then return soon to reclaim it," she whispered before stepping away from the door.

My ride home was spent in thought, about Guinevere and the adventures we could have after I removed her from Richard's clutches. With my new fortune, we could go anywhere, do anything. She would never have to worry, would never be used for others gain. I would protect her; cherish her as she deserves.

When I arrived home, my mind was occupied with thoughts of Guinevere, and I did not notice Leo until after I had stripped off my gloves and laid them with my hat on the table. One look at his face and I was on my guard.

"What is amiss?"

"Here, John," a man's voice said from my library, and a cold feeling swept over me.

My hands balled into fists at my sides as I stomped into my library. "Frederick."

Frederick was lounging on the sofa with a cigar sticking out of his mouth and a book in his lap. He blew a cloud of smoke toward me. "A fine home you have, my friend. Fine indeed."

Every ounce of me wanted to grab Frederick by his throat and escort him, none too kindly, from my house, but I resisted. "You do not know how relieved I am that you approve." I cut the pleasantries. "What are you doing here?"

Frederick smirked at me. "Why, did you not know that your sister sent for me? Yes, indeed she did. Said she required my assistance in the capture of Levitas." Frederick looked pleased over that.

No wonder Bess agreed to Monroe's suggestion to send for Frederick. She had already done so. "What are you doing in my house?"

Frederick laughed and took another puff on his cigar. Leaning his head back, he blew a circle of smoke in front of him. "I understand that you have not yet located George."

The smile that touched my lips was more a sneer. "But we have. We received word from one of our informant that he was found in New York. Safe and alive."

Frederick stared at me, but there was no amusement left in his eyes. "Rowland?"

I nodded. Freddy sprang up suddenly from the sofa. "Jack, Rowland has been dead a year."

No! That would mean...

"You have been duped, my friend. George is still a captive."

# Chapter 29

Bess

When Mother and I first arrived in the country, I thought monotony would be my lot, but for the last two days, Jericho and I had been riding out to watch Stark Manor. I had a feeling that I could not shake. The only connections between all the stories of the disappearances was the carriage and the direction that it left the city. Somewhere around Stark Manor there had to be a place where they were keeping the people they snatched. Unless they were dead, but I would not believe that. It would serve no purpose. From what Leo could discover every person taken owed money, or their family did, to Richard. Surely ransom would be the course he would take.

Jericho and I had searched all over the property, but found no place where those people could be kept. We had searched Stark Manor before and found no clues, but I was sure they had to be there somewhere.

We were across the road from Stark Manor, lying on our bellies in the middle of the woods, and I had my mother's opera glasses up, patrolling the area, when a rider came into view.

As soon as I saw the auburn hair, I smiled. Guinevere did not stop at Stark; she rode past without a care in the world. Jericho and I were on our feet and mounted within seconds. We stayed hidden in the trees until she turned off the road, cutting through the woods ahead of us. She had not seen us, and she did not look around as she rode deeper into the trees until she was half a mile from my mother's house.

What she could possibly be doing was not clear until a small cottage with smoke coming from a chimney came into view. There were trees all around, but the weather had stripped many of their leaves, so seeing Guinevere stop outside the cottage was simple, even from a distance.

We left our horses and moved ahead on foot as she knocked on the door. It opened, and a large man with a pockmarked face stepped out, followed by George.

Sucking in a quick breath, relief and disbelief tumbled in me. Jericho looked as astonished. George was pushed down to a wooden bench that was against the front of the cottage and Guinevere spoke to him. She was wearing her cloak and mask, but now that I knew who she was, I could see it in the way she walked, and held herself. We were fools ever to have thought that she was Hannah.

Guinevere looked over her shoulder, straight to where we were hiding, and smiled. She knew we were there.

"You get George, I will handle her," I said to Jericho, who took out his pistol, aimed, and shot the man standing over George.

Guinevere lifted her skirt and ran, disappearing through the trees at the back of the cottage. I followed; my heart pounding as I pushed myself hard. Knocking my way through the low branches, I came upon a clearing. She was waiting for me.

"Raven, I have been awaiting this moment for some time."

"No more than I," I said in a growl.

Pushing off the balls of my feet, I ran at her, keeping my fists up to guard my face as she threw a punch. I tackled her to the ground, and she threw her foot against my stomach. My fist hit her jaw, but not hard as her hands were flying all over, pulling at my coat, my hat, whatever she could grab. She ripped off my mask before throwing her head against mine. The pain was sudden as black spots danced before my vision. I rolled off of her as we both rubbed our foreheads. The world above me spun, but I tried to ignore it as I reached over, grabbing her hood. She jerked away from my hand, and her hood came off, her hair along with it.

So that is it.

Her hair was ebony, not red. She scurried to her feet, but my hand flew out and caught her leg. I wrapped my arm around it, pulling her down. She turned and threw her fist against my left eye. Pain shot through my eye and down my cheek. I saw more black spots floating around joined by white ones, but I kept my hold on her leg even as she pulled my hat from my head. My hair was tied back, but pieces of it were loose and hung around my face. I slammed my fist into her side. She bent over me with a groan. My hand grabbed her hair, wrapping it in my fist, and pulled her head toward me, but then froze as the barrel of her pistol met my temple. I released my fingers one by one from her hair. She stumbled back. Her left hand held the pistol out before her without shaking, but her right hand wrapped around her side where I had struck her, and she winced. I pushed to my feet, facing her.

"Let us finish this. I know you, and you know me," Guinevere said as she held her side.

"What do you plan to do with your knowledge?" I asked in my own voice. What was the point in pretense now?

"What do you plan to do with yours?" she retorted, as her smug smile dawned.

"Shoot me. We waste time talking." I held my back straight, ready to take what she dealt out.

"I do not want to shoot you, Raven," there was true regret in her voice, "I want to pretend like this never happened, but alas I cannot, and neither will you."

"It appears we are at a standstill," I said, crossing my arms. The action sent aches dancing along my shoulders and down my back.

"No, indeed, for I have an offer to make you." I raised my brows, and her smile turned frightening. No one who knew her would ever suspect that her lovely purplish eyes could look so deadly. "I will keep my knowledge to myself in exchange for you doing the same."

I released a harsh laugh. "Why would I do that?"

"Because the moment you speak against me is the moment I speak against you."

She had me backed into a corner, so I did the only thing open to me. I agreed. When Jericho's voice yelled for me, Guinevere grabbed her wig and backed away before disappearing through the trees.

My pain hit me like a whip's lash, and I sagged forward as Jericho burst into the open.

"Raven, are you well?" he asked as he came up beside me. When I looked up at him and nodded, he winced. "Loutaire will not be pleased when he sees your face."

"Is it that noticeable?"

Jericho grimaced. "You look like you engaged in a battle with a horse, and the horse won."

"Nearly. Where is George?" Jericho nodded toward the trees, then gave me my mask and helped me to walk back to the cottage.

George was waiting for us, and when I reached him, he put a hand to my cheek, searching my face. "My dear Raven, are you well?"

I fought back tears. The relief in knowing he was safe brought me close to the edge of hysterics. "I should be asking you that," I whispered, as I laid my hand over his. Tears were clogging my throat.

George's bushy eyebrows lowered in a scowl. His white hair at the sides of his head, as the top was bald, was puffed out and sticking in all directions. He had a faint, greenish-yellow bruise beneath his right eye, but all else looked unharmed. "They did not harm me other than a fist to my eye when I tried to escape."

Smiling caused pain my eye to hurt.

George had always wanted to be a spy, ever since he was a lad and helped his father, a Culper spy during the Revolutionary war, to thwart a message being passed to the enemy. The way George told the story to us it was his doing that turned the tide of the war and brought down the enemy.

Jericho and I escorted George to my mother's country house where we found Jack waiting for us. He was pacing outside the front door as we rode up. Jericho, whom I was riding with, helped me down as Jack ran forward. He had not yet noticed who was riding Pegasus. He grabbed my shoulders, and I cringed as pain shot down my back. Jack released me immediately. His gaze met George's and widened in amazement.

"John, it does my eyes good to see you."

It took Jack a moment to snap out of his astonishment, but he met George's hand and clapped his other hand around George's arm. "I am so relieved to see you safe, George. Pray, come into the house."

I walked with Jack and George into the house as Jericho went to stable our horses.

When my mother saw me, she shrieked and ran to me. She reached out to touch the skin around my eye, but I jerked away. Jack gently laid his hand on my shoulder as he led me into the library. Mother and George followed, and once Jericho, Mariah, and Leo had joined us, George told us what had happened.

He was in his carriage on the way to Baltimore to take a ship to Charleston to visit his nephew, when he was captured. The mention of Joutaine brought our encounter back to my mind. I bit my lip and shoved away thoughts of that kiss that made my stomach flip in an annoying way.

George turned to my mother. "I wonder, my dear Nell, could you ask your cook to make me something decent to eat? I have been fed nothing substantial in weeks." When Mother was out of the room we questioned him more closely.

"Was it Levitas?" Jack asked.

"Yes, though, I never once saw Richard Hamilton. It was always Nicholas Mansfield and that chit."

George had nothing flattering to say about Guinevere. He did not know who she was. One look at Jack's mutinous face kept my mouth sealed shut. That and what Guinevere had said to me in the clearing. I would not be the first to break our agreement.

Jack and I told George about what had been happening since he was gone. He was outraged when he heard about my mother's betrothal. Not only because Richard was a villain, but I suspected that George had deep feelings for my mother.

When we spoke of the artifacts, George grew anxious. He wanted them turned over to him immediately. The way his brown eyes stared at us made me feel uneasy. There was wildness to his eyes, like he knew what the artifacts did, and he wanted the power. It was ridiculous to think of George in such a way, but I could not shake the feeling.

"I will be keeping the artifacts for the time being." All eyes turned to me.

"That is not your call, Raven," George barked out. My team stiffened.

"On the contrary, it is my call. As the leader of this team, I decide what is best—as my father directed."

George openly glared at me. He hated the fact that a woman was the leader of our team. He thought it should have been him or Jack, or even Levi would have been preferable to me. The subject turned to what our plans were, and when we told George about the attempts against Monroe, he was furious. He was a little relieved when Jack said that the Washington Phantoms had arrived. Jack tossed me a look that promised a discussion later. Then, we told George what we needed from him. After we had laid our plans before him, he rose.

"I will do my part and we will meet at my house in four days' time." My mother came to tell him that food had been laid in the dining parlor. When everyone else left but Jack, he looked me over.

"It is not as terrible as I first thought, but you will have a black eye."

Oh, the joy.

***

Three days had passed since rescuing George, and neither Jack nor my mother would let me leave the house due to the state of my face. I had a scratch across my right cheek, and my left eye had a black circle around it.

Jack came to me last night to tell me that he had gotten George to tell him about Guinevere. She had only come to see him after Nicholas could get nothing from him. She assured him that he would not be harmed. There was always a man there to guard him, but they never hurt him other than when he tried to escape. They provided food and books for him to read, but they would not tell him what they were going to do with him. Then, Guinevere arrived with the news that he would be moved soon, and that was when we attacked.

I had told Jack a short version of the truth, leaving out my little chat with Guinevere. Jack was displeased, and he did not want me to go anywhere out of the house without him, Leo, or Jericho. There would be no more rides through the woods where Levitas could attack, and Jack was going to stay with me until he was convinced I was safe.

As I went downstairs to partake of breakfast, I found my mother and Jack there before me. Mother cringed when she saw my face, the same as she had done every day since it happened, but there was nothing I could do, and I was not going to hide in my chamber until my eye healed.

I had only just sat down and taken a bite of food when Arnaud entered the room and announced, "Mr. Madison has called to see Miss Elizabeth. I have shown him into the parlor."

We turned to stare at Arnaud. Andrew? In the house? I could not believe it to be so. When he stared back impassively, I rose in one swift motion, my hand moving to my hair and my eye as I stared at the door. The pain assaulting me was stealing my ability to breathe.

"She will be there directly," Mother said for me.

Arnaud bowed out of the room, and once the door shut, Jack laughed. "He has come again." He sounded too triumphant, but I could not find the words to ask what he knew. I looked from Jack to the door, but could not get my legs to move. What was I going to do? I could not allow him to see me with a black eye.

Mother walked around the table to me. After securing some loose strands of my hair in place, she placed a hand on my shoulder. "We know not why he has come."

"Oh, yes we do," Jack retorted but was ignored.

"He could simply be paying a morning call. Go to him. Act yourself and all will be right."

I looked at the door again. "What of my eye? I cannot allow him to see me like this."

"Tell him a horse kicked you," Jack instructed unhelpfully.

"You must decide what you want him to know. Now, courage my daughter." She gave me a little push, and my legs finally moved.

Outside the parlor door, I gave my skirt a shake, took one deep breath, and opened the door. Andrew was standing by the window but turned smiling—until he saw my eye. The smile faded and within a few heartbeats he was before me. His hand came up to cup my cheek. My eyes closed as a dull ache that had been my constant companion since the moment he left, melted away.

"My darling, what has happened?"

Tears burned my eyes, but I would not allow them to fall. Slowly, I met his gaze. As I searched his eyes, they told me everything I needed to know.

"I had an accident, but it is nothing serious," I said though my voice was deeper than usual. I could not take my gaze from his.

He smiled intimately, and I was lost. His head lowered; then his warm lips touched mine ever so lightly, like the first stroke of a brush against a canvas.

He pulled back, clearing his throat. "I am going about this all wrong." He smiled sheepishly. "I had it all worked out. Come." He led me to the sofa. Once I was seated, he knelt down before me, and I had to bite my lip and focus on Andrew to keep the burning tears from falling. All that was going through my mind was this could not be happening to me.

"I owe you an apology, Elizabeth."

"Oh?"

"Yes, one that is long overdue. I believed a lie, which, in my blind folly, led me away from your side. The more distance separated us, the more convinced I was that by your side is where I belong. Now and always. Can you ever forgive me for being a fool? For leaving you without a word, and treating you with such disregard?"

Jack had told me about General Harvey, and in a way, I could understand why Andrew believed him. General Harvey was known to be a friend of my family. If anyone would know, it would be he.

"You have my forgiveness, Andrew." I thought he might kiss me again, but he only breathed a long sigh before kissing my hand.

"You have lifted a great burden from my heart, as your brother did when he granted his permission that I may try to win you." Andrew took both my hands in his, and then, after a few focusing breaths, said, "Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, men were deceivers ever; one foot in the sea and one on shore, to one thing constant never."

Sweet saints above.

"Then sigh not so, but let them go, and be you blithe and bonny, converting all your sounds of woe into Hey nonny, nonny."

He would not dare. Oh, but he would and he had. Wait until I get my hands around Jack's neck!

"Sing no more ditties, sing no more of dumps so dull and heavy; the fraud of men was ever so, since summer first was leavy. Then sigh not so, but let them go, and be you blithe and bonny, converting all your sounds of woe, into Hey nonny, nonny." Andrew ended and raised my hand to his lips.

A crow of laughter came from the other side of the door, and Andrew's head turned to look. He was confused, and I could not help but feel sympathy for him. Tossing a smug look at the door, I put my hand behind Andrew's head and pressed my lips to his. He did not react for a whole second, but then he leaned nearer. Once I broke the kiss, Andrew looked at me in a daze.

"I should quote poetry more often if that is what I am to receive."

I placed my hands against his cheeks. "No, my dear, I do not need flowery words, I need only you."

"Elizabeth Martin, will you marry me?"

My flutters were returned, and I sighed in my complete and utter happiness. "Yes."

Andrew kissed my hand and sat beside me. We held hands as he told me about how excited his family would be.

The parlor door opened, and my mother and Jack entered. "Let impropriety rule thy heart, and it shall rule thy ways," Jack announced.

I glared at Jack as Andrew and I rose. "It is perfectly acceptable in a betrothed couple, brother dear."

"I took your advice, John. I made my way with what haste I could," Andrew looked into my eyes, "and have found myself at last."

Mother came toward us with her hands held out. "Such glad tidings. Welcome to our family, dear Andrew."

Andrew took Mother's hands while I moved toward Jack. He took a step back. I smiled and put every ounce of sinister in it that I could. "That poem was a dog's trick." I hugged Jack, whispering against his ear, "I shall repay you one day."

"I shall make Leo stand sentry over me while I sleep," Jack retorted then laughed as he kissed my cheek.

After hugging my mother and receiving her exclamations of joy, Andrew led me to the window.

"I have a gift for you. Look out there."

Rather amused, I looked. Outside the house, a groom was walking a pure black horse around the drive.

I turned to stare at Andrew. "You have brought me a horse?"

"Not just any horse, but a lovely creature bred on my family's land." Andrew placed his hands on my shoulders as we both looked out the window. "With her spirit, she and you will suit magnificently."

We all walked outside to see the animal. She was a lovely creature as Andrew said, and I was so pleased with the gift, that I smiled like a child receiving their first pony.

"What is her name?" I asked, as I stroked her mane.

"That I leave to you, my dear." Andrew took his leave a few minutes later, but informed me that he was returning for dinner per Mother's invitation.

After Andrew had gone, Jack and I took the horse to the stables. "The poetry was a dark trick," I informed my brother, before laughing. I was in a complete state of bliss, unable to be upset.

Jack chuckled, looking positively gleeful. "So it was, but no less than he deserved for leaving you like he did."

"Jack, you must forgive Andrew. I have." Jack remained silent, so I nudged him.

He did not look at me as he replied. "Now that Andrew has come forward it would be best if you left the Phantoms now, before any danger can come to you."

I halted, turning to stare at him. "Jack, you are not serious."

Grabbing my hand, Jack moved us forward. "I am, dear sister. Andrew needs never to know about our work, but if you choose to tell him, I would rather you were not still working when you break the news to him."

He wanted me safe. He had always wanted me safe and protected, but I could not give up because I now had the future I craved; I owed more to my father, to my team. "Once we have Levitas, then I shall leave the leading of the Phantoms to you," I said with decision, and this time Jack was the one to stop. He began to protest, but I halted him. "This is what our father would want," I started to walk on, but paused, looking over my shoulder at him, "and it is not open for discussion."

# Chapter 30

Bess

We met George at his house on the expected day, and for the first half hour, he did nothing but rant. He wanted Richard in irons. He wanted a noose around Nicholas's neck. Most of all, he wanted the white phantom. Jack looked harassed, but never spoke. None of my team spoke. Freddy and his five men along with me and my five team members filled nearly every available corner of the dining parlor, and what we did not fill, George did with his pacing.

When George completed his tirade, we were able to form a plan. George had let himself be seen at a party that Richard was attending. He did not speak to Richard, but he did tell us about Richard's astonished face when he watched George walk into the room. George dropped a word in a friend's ear that Monroe was to stay with him on the night of the tenth before Monroe journeyed to Virginia. As it was the last time James would be in the city until after the election, it was the only time that Levitas could strike. George knew that Richard had overheard, and our plans were set in motion.

After the meeting Jack, Leo, and I stopped at the Inn that Jack bought his brandy from. He said that with Frederick staying in our town house, there would be none left.

Since I was dressed in my work clothes, I was able to sit in the taproom with Leo and Jack. We were seated at a table, my back to the door, when Leo's brows rose, and his eyes followed someone across the room. Jack and I turned. Dudley Stanton was standing at the bottom of the stairs that led to the bedchambers.

A feminine voice called out to Dudley, and my surprised gaze shot to Jack. His brows were lowered over his blue eyes. When Dudley went up the stairs, we jumped up, moving swiftly to follow. Dudley was at the top of the stairs passionately embracing Hannah Lamont. I gripped Jack's arm for support, nearly falling over from astonishment. Without taking their eyes from each other, they disappeared through a door to a bedchamber, and it closed behind them.

Surely it was the apocalypse, the heavens were going to open, and the stars would burst into thousands of pieces raining sparks upon the earth. For no other reason could I credit Dudley, doing things I would not even think about, with Hannah Lamont.

"As I live and breathe, nothing will ever have the power to surprise me again," I murmured.

Leo laughed then mumbled, "Just you wait."

Jack went up the stairs to the door. He was listening at the keyhole. Four minutes later when Jack ran down the stairs, his brows were still pinched, but he told us we must depart immediately. We were riding away from the Inn when he told us what he had heard.

Hannah had been spending time with Nicholas, and in his cups, he had told her about Levitas and their plans to capture James and replace him, but he would not say with whom. He said that his men would ride up to the house in a borrowed carriage, capture James, and none would be the wiser. Why Hannah was sharing her information with Dudley astounded me, but what rankled me more, was Dudley's apparent relationship with Hannah after spending years chasing after me; unless my betrothal to Andrew drove him to her. That I could almost believe. I shoved thoughts of them away, for it was least important. We had a date, we had the plans, and I was sure we could not fail. We were finally going to capture Levitas.

10 August 1816

George's country house was a comfortable, brick, two story structure built in the Federal style. Windows overlooked the front lawn and the woods that surrounded the house. Freddy and his five deputies were outside the house hidden among the trees and outbuildings, while Mariah and I were hiding in the two bedchambers that had windows overlooking the front drive. The drive was a long one that split the forest in two.

Mariah's accomplished weapon was the bow, and as I was skilled in archery, as well, we were to open the windows at the first sign of trouble and shoot down anyone who tried to enter the house. Jack was keeping guard over Monroe in the parlor, while Jericho and Levi were outside with Freddy's team.

Great black clouds were rolling through the sky, and there were a few flashes of lightning as thunder rumbled the earth. We were in store for another rain storm. The last week, we had seen nothing but rain and cold. The sun had been absent, and nothing but gloom surrounded the city and the countryside.

The clock in the foyer below started to chime the hours, and I could feel each ding in my nerves. I was stretched tighter than the string on my bow. We had gone over the plan many, many times, but I had been a Phantom a long time, so I knew missions rarely went according to plan. After seven chimes, all went silent. I was seated before the window, when I caught sight of a flash of light down the drive.

A black carriage moved up the drive with lanterns illuminating it until it stopped before the door. One of Freddy's men was there to meet the carriage in the guise of footman. The two men on the box seat stared down at Anthony but said nothing. The light from the parlor windows illuminated their black eyes. Fear skittered down my spine as I saw our mistake. They knew we were here. I threw open the window to yell a warning, but Anthony had opened the carriage door. The first gunshot exploded from within the carriage, hitting Anthony in the chest. A cry caught in my throat as I gripped the windowsill.

Phantoms ran forward from their places, and the driver whipped the horses. The carriage lurched forward moving straight for the trees. Freddy and the Phantoms fired upon the carriage. They hit the driver and the man beside him. The bolting horses ran the carriage straight into a tree.

From the front woods, six horses charged onto the lawn, their riders armed and firing upon my team below. I grabbed for my first arrow, and when I looked out, Mariah had shot two. I took aim at one of the riders as he pulled to a halt, unsheathing his sword and raising it in the air. He, like the rest, was masked. My arrow pierced him in the chest, knocking him off his horse.

Mariah and I let arrows fly, as Freddy and Jericho charged with swords drawn to fight the horsemen. Six more men came running from the trees, and I turned my aim toward them, hitting one, missing one, Mariah hit one and then another. The men mixed together in their fighting; all of them masked. In the dark, I could no longer make out one from the other, so I set to guard the front door. If anyone approached I shot at them.

An arrow of fire flew down from Mariah's window, and then another. She shot her fire arrows, until she had formed a line before the front door. A man ran toward the arrows but stopped short. He raised a pistol toward Mariah's window. I dropped my bow, reaching for my revolving triple barrel pistol. Before I could aim, he fired at her window.

With the swift jerk of my finger, a ball flew from my pistol and the man fell back. I jumped to my feet and flew out of the bedchamber, sliding on a hall rug before running into the chamber Mariah was using.

She was lying on the floor, but she was unharmed. I helped her up, and she crawled to the window. She peeked out from the side and jerked back as another ball flew through the open window. She picked up her own triple barrel pistol that was identical to mine and inched closer to the window. She fired three shots and tossed the pistol away, picking up another arrow. She continued shooting arrows into the darkness, and I left her to go back to my own window.

Levi was guarding the door on the back of the house, but I felt a sudden, strong urge to check on him. Grabbing my sheath of arrows and my bow, I ran across the hall to the back bedchamber. When I reached the window, he was not at his post. Searching the grounds, something flew from within the trees. Levi? I bumped my head against the glass as I leaned into the window. A man's form was on the ground unmoving, but from the length of his body, he was too tall to be Levi. Then, three more figures appeared. Levi was wildly struggling against two men who were trying to pull him back into the woods.

A strangled cry came from my throat while my heart beat too fast, hard. I would not let them take him! Unlatching the window and throwing it open, I pulled out an arrow and took aim. Breathing in and out, I watched and waited. If I took the shot too early I could hit Levi, who was fighting valiantly. He thrashed against them, threw his head around like a wild animal and finally got an arm free. They were at the edge of the trees. Levi kicked one of the men into the clearing, and I let my arrow fly. The arrow went through his stomach.

Levi and the other man stopped fighting to look toward me. The man beside Levi raised something that looked like a thick tree branch and hit Levi over the head. Levi pitched forward onto the lawn.

Terror washed over me like the waves of the ocean during a hurricane. As I unleashed a flow of arrows, the man ran back into the trees. I shot until my quiver was empty. The man appeared through the trees and wasted no time in picking Levi up, tossing him over his shoulder, and disappearing again. I ran to the bedchamber door, about to run down the stairs and chase after the man, when I heard a gun fire. It did not come from outside. It came from the parlor. I had been afraid many times in my life, but I never knew true fear until that night.

Chills were imprinted all along my arms and weak legs, but I ran to the banister. Another shot fired in the parlor, and I sank to my knees, my legs unwilling to carry me further. My head ached fiercely with all the terror pouring into every part of me.

Gripping two balusters, I looked to the foyer below. Two men carried a body from the parlor with a gunshot wound in the chest. It was Monroe.

"No!" I screamed. My pistol was out, and I was running down the stairs, but it did not feel real. I was moving, but it was as if I was moving through a fog, unable to feel, unable to see clearly. The men carrying Monroe paid no heed to me, exiting through a door at the back of the house. My feet hit the foyer floor, about to run after them, but I glanced toward the parlor and everything else blurred.

Lowering my pistol to my side, I whispered, "Jack."

Jack was lying on the floor, red staining the shoulder of his coat. The walls were closing in on me from every direction, but I had to reach him. I had to help him. My little brother. I ran forward. The parlor door flew at me, slamming against my face.

Stumbling back, I took a moment to shake the pain from my head. A growl forced its way up my throat and across my lips. I shoved the door against the wall, ready to commit murder.

Jack had told me that the only times he had killed men was because he was trying to save someone else. He said that when you are in the situation, you don't have time to think; you can only act. That is why it is vital to know your limitations before you ever commit to something. I knew my limitations, but I lived my capabilities. A man stood between me and my brother, and he had to be eliminated.

The man with more fat than muscle had a pistol pointed at Jack's head. I took a step into the room. He cocked his pistol. "Take her," he demanded, of who I was not sure, until four strong hands clamped around my arms from behind.

I swung wild. I jerked and lashed out with my boots. They had my arms, but I still had my pistol. I pulled the trigger. The ball grazed the side of the fat man's face. His scream was nothing to my own. I screamed for my team. A large hand smacked against my mouth and stayed there.

Guinevere walked into the room and knelt down beside Jack, and then my vision exploded with black.

***

When I awoke my head was pounding with pain that quickly transformed into fear. All I could see was black wherever I looked.

Am I blind? I prayed that it was not so, but one of my eyes did hurt something fierce. I could not get my hands up to touch it. Scratchy material rubbed against my forehead. I realized with a little cry of relief that I was not blind, but blindfolded.

The seat against my bound hands jerked. I was in a carriage. The door opened, and when a hand grabbed my arm, I thrashed myself side to side, trying to kick where I thought the person to be. My feet struck the inside of the carriage, never once hitting the person whose strong clasp was relentless. I was pulled harshly from the carriage and set on my feet. A hand clamped onto my shoulder, and started guiding me forward. To force me to stop, the hand on my shoulder tightened. I could see nothing and I had no notion where we were. Until I heard them.

"You cannot do this!" A woman's voice declared, and I instantly recognized it as Guinevere's. "She is not without family. I have given you Loutaire," dear God, no, "and if you do not uphold your end of the bargain I will go to the Holy Order and have you eliminated." Her voice was cool, but I had heard the crack in it when she said Loutaire.

"My dear girl, is this emotion I hear? Do you care for these traitors?" Richard asked.

I cringed, but took a step forward, not caring if I was blindfolded. Fingers dug into my shoulder, and I jerked it down trying to get away from the pain that those fingers were causing.

"Of course not," Guinevere sneered, "but all the same you shall not kill her."

Boots sounded before me, and the blindfold was ripped off. For some reason, I could not see out of my left eye.

Richard was before me, smirking down at me. "Take them to the cellar."

The guard with the touchy fingers shoved me ahead of him and on down to the same cellar where I had last seen Pierre. I was shoved to the far wall where he chained my hands above my head before leaving me alone.

Pulling on the length of chain, I was able to sit on the cold stone floor. My hands shook, but I ignored them as best as I could.

A stone hearth was to my right and beyond that was a table with iron tools all across it. I shuddered before forcing my gaze to move on. There were two chairs in the room, but nothing else. To my surprise I was not afraid, at least not for myself. There was plenty of time for me to think about what had happened, for they left me alone for what felt like hours, before I received my first visitor.

Richard came in, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he walked. He stopped before me, and I had to lean my head against the wall to look up to his face. "My dear Elizabeth. I regret to see you thus."

"Release me and you will not see me at all," I retorted.

Richard laughed though it was as fake as the man himself. "Imagine my surprise when I heard that one of the illusive Phantoms is none other than my future daughter." Richard paced before me with his hands clasped before him. "At first, I could not believe it, but when I considered, it made a certain amount of sense."

"What do you want, Richard?" I asked in a long-suffering voice.

Richard knelt down before me. "Names, Elizabeth. I want the names of all of the Phantoms," he paused, scowling at me, his eyes hard and wicked, "or I will kill Loutaire." Richard rose and walked over to the table in the corner. He picked up a tool that looked like iron scissors. "But his death will not come without pain. The longer you withhold the information that I want, the more suffering he will endure." Richard snapped his fingers, and the door opened. Carried between two men was a body.

# Chapter 31

Jack

Guinevere. "Guinevere," I said, though I was sure that no one was listening to me. I was not even certain of where I was. I felt a haze around my head, and everything was white. My shoulder burned and ached, my head throbbed, and I had to fight to get my eyes to open and remain open. Moving my head to the side and glancing over the room, relief washed over me. I was in Gideon's library.

Perhaps it was only a dream after all—that horrendous battle.

Trying to sit up only brought excruciating pain to my chest. A large white bandage was wrapped around my bare chest. So it was not a dream. I groaned as I shut my eyes.

"I was beginning to believe you meant to sleep all the day long," said Gideon's voice. I opened my eyes to see him entering the room with a tray which he set down before coming over to place a pillow under my head. There was so much that I felt like I needed to remember, but at the moment, it was all as blurry as my vision had been but moments before.

Grabbing Gideon's arm I rasped out, "How am I here?"

"What do you remember, John?"

My mind tried to push through the fog surrounding it. Pieces slowly came into view. "I was on a mission. Guinevere was there." I looked at Gideon. "Where is my team? I must get up. I must go to George."

Gideon laid a hand on my good shoulder and held me down, though it was unnecessary. I could not get up, and my eyelids slipped closed as darkness took me prisoner again.

When my eyes again opened, the pain had lessened into aches. My mind was not nearly as clouded, and more pieces were coming together. The assassins, the battle, Guinevere, Monroe. Monroe.

"Monroe?"

Gideon came over to me, smiling. "You are awake, the Lord be praised." He picked up a glass and lifted my head so I could take a sip. I raised my hand when I had drunk half the contents. He removed it and lowered me back down.

"How long have I been here?"

"Two days so far. You were unconscious for the first whole day and awoke only once this morning. It is now nine in the evening." He pulled a chair beside me. "Can you tell me what you remember?"

Closing my eyes, I recounted the battle outside the house. I had called out to tell Monroe, who was in the library, that the battle had begun. Monroe came into the room. I was telling him to go back into the library, when Guinevere arrived and shot Monroe, then me.

"Monroe is fine, John. Even now he is with George. From Jericho's account, he entered the house to find you shot and unconscious on the floor. He went in search of Monroe and found him locked in the library. He did not know who shot you."

"She shot him. I saw her do it." I remembered her eyes, her beautiful, sorrowful eyes as she squeezed the trigger.

"Why would she keep you alive after you watched her shoot Monroe?" There was only curiosity in Gideon's voice.

Why would she do that? She would not. Not unless...

Gideon spoke again, drawing me out of my thoughts. "You were wearing your mask?"

"Yes."

"You were not wearing it when you were brought here. Perhaps Jericho removed it, but, I am afraid that my thoughts lead me down a path of concern."

A knot formed in my stomach and my shoulders tensed causing pain to surround my wound. "You believe she removed my mask; even now knows who I am?" Gideon did not have to reply, I could see it in his eyes. Panic, fear, alarm all tumbled inside me, filling every part of me. "If it is so, I must go. My mother and Bess will not be safe." I tried to rise again, but Gideon gently pushed me back down by my good shoulder.

"We must await word from George. In your current state, you could be of little help. You must allow others to protect your mother and sister."

"If Guinevere should tell Richard, all will be lost," I whispered with my eyes closed.

"Have faith, my friend. What you must do now is rest. Regain your strength and leave the fighting to others."

Though I tried to do as instructed, I could not rest. As it was late, Gideon could not send a message to George, but he promised to do so in the morning.

Gideon gave me a sleeping draught, since I could not fall asleep on my own. When I awoke, the room was bright with morning sunshine. After seeing to my needs, Gideon helped me to a chair and gave me food. When I had consumed three eggs, four slices of bread, and an apple, I sat back in the chair and closed my eyes. The battle played in my head. I had watched it all from the parlor window, until Monroe entered. He never said a word, did not have the chance before Guinevere entered and shot him. A stunned moment had passed between us, and I reached for my pistol. She raised a second pistol and shot me. I stumbled back, tripping over a low stool and struck the back of my head on the table. After that, I awoke in Gideon's library.

Horse's hooves beating hard against the ground outside came to our ears.

"That will be the boy with news from George. I will return shortly."

Gideon left me alone, but I could not stop the worry from coursing through me. If anything happened to Bess or my mother, I did not know what I would do. They were all the family I had. If Richard harmed them, injury or no, I would retaliate.

Without me there to protect them, I feared for them. There had been injuries in the past, but never had such a feeling of helplessness surrounded me. Guinevere loved me, I knew that. Would she turn me over to Richard, whom she despised? How deep did her loyalty lie? I had to do something. I pushed myself up, but exerted all of my energy in doing so. I sat again, taking deep breaths.

Gideon came back into the house, handed me a letter, and moved to sit across from me. I opened the letter, consuming the words.

My Dear John,

I was both saddened and grieved to hear of your wound, but I trust that you will find it healed before many days. I will see to it that your mother is made aware of your prolonged visit with G. Be at ease; there is nothing to worry you as M. is as he ever was. Rest and I will be to see you in a few days. G.C.

There had to be more to it than I was reading. "Will you see what you can do?"

Gideon took the letter from me and moved over to the fireplace. Holding the letter before the flames, words appeared, written in invisible ink between the lines.

"George was ever the one to use tricks of old." Gideon shook his head. "George writes as follows: Man took by white phantom, not eagle. Eagle flies free. Guards with mother." Gideon lowered the letter, looking at me. "What is this business about the eagle? He means Monroe?"

"If what George writes is correct, Monroe is safe but who was the man that the white phantom shot, and why did he look like Monroe?" And why had George said nothing about Bess?

"All shall be revealed in time," Gideon said as he tossed the letter into the flames. "For now, you must rest and regain your strength, so that you may piece together this most intriguing puzzle."

I stayed with him for two days, regaining my strength, but also because Gideon would not relinquish my company. He refused to let me use either carriage or horse, saying my wound was not healed enough for me to make the hour long journey to my mother's home. What I believed was that, even though he was worried about my wound, he was lonely living by himself, and he was enjoying my company.

My wound was healing nicely, and the pain in both my shoulder and where my head struck the table were growing less noticeable with each passing day. I had ample time to think over the happenings of the battle, but there were too many unanswered questions. Bess had not written me or come to see me, and that was distressing.

Gideon was out visiting a sick parishioner, so I moved around the shelves of his library, searching for something I had not read. My eyes roamed over the titles until they landed on one that made me laugh. The Mysteries of Udolpho. The novel was not at all the sort that Gideon read. It was a different side to my mentor that I had not seen before. I plucked the novel from the shelf and an envelope slipped from within the pages of the book, dropping to the floor. I bent to retrieve it. Turning it over the words WA Phantoms leapt at me.

Could Gideon be a traitor?

Not liking where my thoughts threatened to take me, I glanced toward the open door. After checking the empty foyer, I opened the envelope. Taking out two folded letters, they were blank sheets of paper. Or were they? I took them to the fireplace and knelt. As the paper heated the words appeared. And there Gideon was scoffing at George for using invisible ink all the time having this hiding in his bookshelf. I felt my lip curl as I devoured the words. One was a report about Pierre's capture. The other was startling. After reading the papers twice I refolded them and set both the letter and book on the table.

I closed my eyes and tightened my hands into fists. I squeezed as hard as I could to keep from hitting something. How did I not see it? How did I not know? My jaw was so tight it hurt, but I did not unclench my teeth.

Gideon entered the house a few minutes later and came in, apologizing for leaving me alone. Even though my back was to him, I knew the instant that he saw the book and letter. Tenseness covered the room.

"That is why you befriended me; why you never appeared surprised with any news that I shared with you about the Phantoms." I turned toward Gideon, not reining in my anger. "How long did you hope to keep this a secret?"

Gideon lowered himself onto the sofa, his face pale. "Allow me to explain."

"Yes, pray do explain how you managed to hide the fact that you are the fourth founder of the Phantoms, how you were once a Culper spy, and how you are the leader of the Washington Phantoms." I ran a hand through my hair, wanting to pull it out. "How did I not see it?"

"My dear fellow, only a few people know. After I had been wounded during the war, I returned home to find my house burned and my wife dead.

"As I was a wounded soldier, I decided to enter the church and spent years studying and learning until I was ready to take holy orders. That was when I met your father."

Never having heard Gideon's story, I sat across from him, interested, despite my anger.

Gideon told my father his story. My father persuaded him to join his cause, but silently and secretly. My father thought it best that he be was only active leader. He made plans for the Phantoms from the beginning; plans to turn them into a branch of authority. That was why he needed a politician as a founder; someone who could make a way for the Phantoms to gain notoriety.

That was all new to me. My father never spoke of those plans for the Phantoms. I knew that George always sought notoriety but that my own father did as well was hard to accept.

"Why did you never tell me?" I inquired.

"Your father did not want it known, and your father could be most persuasive," Gideon said, wearily.

"My father is dead," I snapped. "You could have come forward at any time. What are you hiding?"

"I can answer that," George said from the door. Gideon rose, and I stared at George as he came into the room. He sat upon the sofa, crossing one boot over the other and looking entirely at his ease. "I discovered who Gideon was from my father's book of codes. Gideon was my father's accomplice in the Culper spy ring. Gideon is the mastermind behind all the codes that we use now."

It seemed to me that everyone was keeping secrets from me. Gideon, George, my mother, Guinevere, probably even Bess. But then, I had secrets of my own that I had not shared with my mother or sister.

"It is time for him to learn the truth, George," Gideon said from beside the door.

George's expression never changed. He stroked his chin with his hand. "When I told you that your father died on a mission, it was true, but I neglected to tell you what mission. Your father was disguised as a member of Levitas."

My pulse started pounding in my ears.

"Jack, Levitas discovered who your father was, and they murdered him."

My eyes slid shut. When I thought that there was nothing left that could surprise me George threw a life-altering secret at me. My head was spinning. "How did he die? I want to know everything." My eyes flipped open.

"When William found Levitas, he had no way to connect them to the murders other than the pyramid brand. Your father wanted in, so he masqueraded as one of the twelve.

"You know that your father was the master of disguise, and for weeks his disguise went unnoticed. He uncovered a plot and he set a meeting with the rest of us to discuss what to do."

"What was this plot?" I demanded.

George shook his head which sank my heart. "He never arrived. For two weeks, we could find no trace of him. A man named Lewis was the leader of Levitas at the time. From what we could discover, someone unmasked William's disguise and brought him before the court of Levitas."

"So that Lewis is the man who killed my father?" I asked, barely keeping my calm.

"No. It is true that Lewis gave the order, but the head of the Levitas guards was the one to carry out the execution."

"And his name?" I asked.

"Richard Hamilton."

I looked down to my hands that were gripping the edge of the chair. I started to count, but it did not help. I had never wanted to destroy someone more. Inhaling sharply, I tried to keep from lashing out, but my entire body shook as I rose to my feet.

"Jack, I did not tell you so that you could act rashly. You have the chance to make your father proud. Take the path of a Phantom and outwit, and out fight the enemy."

George was right. I would do as my father would have, but first I needed to see Guinevere, even if she knew who I was.

I nodded my agreement. "I must go."

"There is one more thing that you should know." I looked at George, for what was one more thing to add to the ever growing list. "Levitas has Bess and Levi."

***

Gideon's antiquated carriage drove me into the city. What I was about to do was reckless, but I did not care. The carriage reached its destination, and I pushed the door open. Stepping down, I raised my eyes to look upon Guinevere's house.

At the door, I knocked twice and waited. A moment had passed before the door opened, and an older woman who was not Martha was on the other side.

"I have called to see Miss Clark. Would you be so kind as to tell her she has a visitor?"

"Miss Clark?" The woman shook her head. "There is no one here by that name."

My smile was not at all pleasant, of that I was certain. "So she means to play games does she? Do be good enough to inform her that her betrothed has called."

Again the woman shook her head. "Sir, there is not, nor has there ever been any person living here by that name."

The devil! After clearing my throat, I asked, "Might I know to whom I am addressing?"

"Mrs. Gunner. This is my house, and I have lived here these twenty years."

Anger slithered down my spine and melted into a tingling pool of rage in my stomach. "Might I inquire, have you only recently returned?"

"Fancy you knowing that, sir. I returned home only yesterday from an extended stay with my sister in the Carolinas."

"Ah. That clears matters," I replied, but it did nothing to clear matters. "I apologize for wasting your time." I bowed and turned away. I directed the coachman to take me to my mother's country house. Once seated in the carriage, I clenched my teeth, willing the horses on. My mother and sister were in considerable danger.

# Chapter 32

Bess

How many days had gone by? I knew not, locked in a windowless dungeon. Every part of me ached, but it was nothing to what Levi was enduring. They had started the first night, with a brand. It was a pyramid with the lightning bolt––the same that was on all of the bodies we had found when first we were searching for Levitas.

They wanted names, to know how deep our organization ran, who first created it. They had sat Levi across from me, and we exchanged a look, his eyes hard and firm demanding that I give nothing away for his sake. My jaw was still swollen, and I may have had a broken rib from where Levi and I took pleasure in taunting them, and one of my captors did not like being made a laughingstock. They had grabbed Levi then and had branded him before my eyes.

Swallowing back the lump that continued to rise to my throat, I closed my one good eye. The other I had been unable to open fully, so bruised and painful was it.

They granted us a reprieve but chained us across the room from one another instead of side by side. Then, hours later, they had come for him again, this time pulling him from our little dungeon and leaving me alone.

When the door opened, Dimitri came toward me, and I tried to back into the wall, truly afraid of what he meant to do to me. He removed my shackles, grabbed my arms and lifted me off the ground. My legs dangled in the air until Dimitri dropped me down onto a chair. I cried out against the pain in my side as I landed on the wood.

Dimitri bound my tingling hands and feet to the chair, then opened the door so Richard could enter. It was the second time Richard had come to visit. He was a fool if he thought that a few days in his dungeon would break me.

Richard sat in a chair that Dimitri placed across from me, leisurely crossing one leg over the other. He folded his hands in his lap and smiled. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more in life than to get my hands free, just one, and I could permanently remove that smile.

"Your game as Raven has been impressive, I must admit. It is a pity that your talents are wasted with the group that you work for. Now, I have you, and I have the great Loutaire, but I want the names of the rest of your little team."

Yawning, I moved my head to look around the room, anywhere but at Richard. I knew how to get under my opponent's skin, and Richard hated to be ignored.

Richard uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, his brown eyes narrowing. "I would hate, absolutely hate, for your mother to take the punishment for your actions, but if you refuse to cooperate, what other course is open to me?" He stood.

"Stop! My mother knows nothing about my actions," I said in a pained voice and cast my eyes down. "Come closer, and I will tell you what you want to know."

"Now we get somewhere." Richard moved the chair closer and sat, our legs nearly touching. "Who are the others in your organization?"

I leaned my head forward, trying to look distraught. Richard also leaned forward, to listen to my secret. I hacked up spittle in my throat and sent it flying onto Richard's face. Richard growled as he jumped to his feet, knocking the chair to the ground. I exploded with laughter at the sight of Richard wiping his face with his lavender scented handkerchief.

"Shut your mouth!" he shouted, before striking my cheek with the back of his hand.

My head snapped back and heat shot through my cheek, but I choked down my pain as I forced a smile to my lips and laughed again.

"The whip! Bring me the whip," Richard shouted as he glared at me.

Dimitri moved to the table of horrors, and I knew that I pushed too far. What do I do? My gaze ran around the room, searching for some means of escape. My salvation came with the opening of the door.

Guinevere walked in, took one look at me, and winced. My laughter died, but I quickly recovered, smiling at her. There was grief in her bluish purple eyes as she pulled Richard aside, speaking in low tones.

Dimitri stood near the table, running the whip between his large fingers. What would make someone that sinister? I silently prayed that Richard would be the one to use that weapon and not Dimitri, as I looked away from the giant.

Seeing the guardian and his ward together only hardened my resolve to make them each pay, slowly, painfully, for what they had done to Levi, to George, to Jack.

Richard's eyes moved back to me as he listened to her, pure hatred written in those brown orbs. Richard nodded at whatever Guinevere was saying and motioned to Dimitri. Dimitri set the whip on the table and moved to open the door for Richard.

"Very well, we shall allow the court to issue the final judgment against her sins. Dimitri, come, there is work to do."

"Farewell, Richard," I said sweetly, then erupted into mocking laughter. Dimitri left with Richard.

Guinevere picked up the chair from the floor, set it in front of me and laid a scented handkerchief over the seat before sitting down. She wore her white dress and cloak, but the hood was not covering her hair, and her hair was auburn again.

"I was hoping you would come to see me," I said, even though it was a lie. I had not expected to see her at all.

When I had first heard that she was the white phantom, I had hoped, like Jack, that she was being forced to work for Richard because he was her guardian. Then, she led us to George, and all my hope dissipated. Hearing that she had given Levi to Richard ignited a whole new grievance against her. And, she used Jack, for what reason I knew not, neither did I care. All that mattered was making sure she knew she would never have the chance to do so again.

"Indeed, and why is that?"

I watched her every move, which were not many. The Guinevere seated before me was unlike the one that I had met in society. This side of Guinevere was cold and formal, and knew how to keep her emotions from showing.

"You never meant to kill James Monroe. That is why you used a sleeping draught instead of poison," Guinevere sighed and removed her white lace mask, "but I do not understand why," I said, hoping for some emotion.

"You see; Richard instructed me to kill him, but I try always not to do whatever it is Richard wants. It is a game I play." Guinevere suddenly laughed. "The iron in the bouquet was a stroke of genius, but, did you honestly think that I would believe you to be Loutaire?" When I did not speak, she went on. "I know every contour of your brother's face."

Biting my cheek, I stared at her, keeping my expression as blank as her own.

"How did you discover that I was the, what do you call me, white phantom?"

I started to wonder what Guinevere did not know. "It was not I who discovered you."

Guinevere's smile faded, and she looked down to where her fingers were playing with the lace on her mask. "What gave me away?"

"You were seen murdering three ruffians in an alley."

She nodded, understanding exactly to when I referred. "What a coincidence." Her eyes met mine. Her voice went cold, "Jack unmasked me, and I unmasked him."

Before me sat our greatest threat. Guinevere was not some pawn. Richard was the pawn, being moved here and there at the whim of this skillful player. "Why did you mimic Hannah's voice?"

Guinevere's grin was genuine. "I detested her from the moment I met her, but when I required an alias, she came to mind."

I nearly smiled, but I would not give her the satisfaction. "Did you––" my voice faltered, and I cleared it, "did you shoot James?"

"Of that I am guilty, but I am not a murderer, and I am not an assassin," she told me, and I saw the honesty in her eyes. "I kill only when there is no other way."

Anger, fear, and dread crept into my veins. "Where do I play into your game?"

Guinevere scowled. "You were never part of my plan. I took pains to protect you. I led you to George with the hope that you would then remove yourself from this mission. I even turned all blame on Levi, who had been watching my house."

Incredulity was mine. How could she do something so cruel? Levi was fifteen! She may have thought she was sparing me, but it was not so. By harming Levi, she harmed me. We were Phantoms, and Phantoms protect our own.

"Why would you do that?" God, let her have an acceptable answer.

Sadness covered Guinevere's face and eyes. "Jack loves you, and I love Jack. I did what I had to do, but it was not enough. You gave yourself away. First, by screeching in the woods when you were being chased by the guards, then the carriage meant for Monroe, and finally the glass that you gave to Levi. Richard sent some men to bring you in, but Andrew Madison foiled that."

I stared at Guinevere with a mixture of chagrin and appreciation. Everything I suspected was true. "Why are you not the leader of Levitas? You are devious enough to be."

"I have no desire to rule a group of yokels who believe they are making a difference in the world, when all they are achieving is making themselves ridiculous."

"Then why be a part at all?"

"I am not a part of Levitas. I am here to destroy them, and when that is accomplished, I will leave. It would have been done if your Phantoms had not gotten involved."

"The Holy Order," I murmured, and Guinevere winced.

She leaned forward again, her eyes holding a warning, but also a fleck of fear. "You would be wise to forget that name. Only death will come if you seek out what you can never understand."

Digesting that piece of information took a moment. Guinevere worked for the Holy Order. That explained some, but not much of what she was doing in society and why she became betrothed to Jack.

"I do not care about what or why, you are a traitor to your country and will be punished as such." Guinevere's face took on a rush of color. "I must know, why Jack? What was it about him that drew you to him?"

A look of intense longing had flashed in Guinevere's eyes before it was replaced with cold determination. "I did not intend to love your brother, but Jack gave me something that I had thought lost forever."

"What is that?" I demanded.

"Hope." Guinevere stood, picking up her handkerchief. She placed her hands on the back of the chair, and her eyes hardened for a moment, then she blinked them blank. "You are about to be tried before the Levitas court, and you will be found guilty. Have you anything to say in your defense?"

Guinevere did not wish harm upon me, and she was truly trying to protect Jack. I found myself thankful to Guinevere for that, but then the cold truth of what was before me smacked me in the face. I was about to be tried before a group who had no compunction in killing a delegate for president.

"No, but I do have two questions." Guinevere stared at me, and I took it for assent. "Do the men who wear the snake rings work for Levitas?"

Guinevere flinched as if I had slapped her. Her jaw was clenched tight for a moment before she forced her face impassive. "No." She smiled. "What is your next question?"

Relief had filled me for a moment knowing that she did not work with the people who had murdered Ben. I asked the question that had been burning in my mind since the first Levitas meeting I had witnessed. "Where is Pierre? Is he alive?"

Guinevere's head tilted to the side as she stared at me as if I had two heads or something. "Even facing great pain, you still think only of others. A trait of the Phantoms or your own?"

"What happens to me is of no consequence when my friends are hurting," I answered honestly.

"He is alive," Guinevere said before turning and walking toward the door.

"What do you intend to do about my brother?"

Guinevere leaned her back against the door. "Nothing. Jack and I lead very different lives, and there is no hope for us." Guinevere sighed. "Whatever pain that is inflicted upon you, you have no one to blame, but those you hold dear."

She looked over her shoulder, her hand on the doorknob. "For what it is worth, all those people Richard captured have been returned to their homes." She smirked. "I saw to that."

The door closed behind her, and I pulled at the ropes binding my hands, but they would not budge, and all it produced was pain in my wrists. Trepidation was trying to set in. My legs were bound to the legs of the chair, but the toes of my boots were touching the floor, so I scooted my chair back and paused, waiting to see if anyone came into the room. The door did not open, so I scooted again.

The door slammed against the wall. I looked up. Dimitri stood there, smiling at me. "The time has come."

He unbound my legs first. I could have kicked him, but with my hands still bound, it would have only ended in me getting more bruises, so I refrained. Dimitri unbound my hands, and I rubbed my wrists where the ropes had been digging into them. Dimitri allowed me to stand before binding my hands behind my back. He pushed me out of the room and up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, I was directed toward the throne room. At the door Dimitri, halted me, and then tapped two times. Someone knocked on the other side of the door five times. Dimitri knocked two times, paused, then tapped two more times. I tried to keep my laughter inside, for I was feeling seconds from losing control. The doors opened from the inside, and I was pushed into the throne room.

Richard and his associate Alexander Robb were seated upon the thrones on the platform, but Nicholas's chair was empty. All the other chairs, except Guinevere's and Mrs. Lewis's, were filled.

My eyes met those of Charles Knowlton, and his mouth dropped open. He squirmed in his seat like he wanted to speak up, but could not do it. I turned away from him, disgust rising within me for his cowardice. When I reached the center of the floor, I was shoved down to my knees.

"Brothers," Richard said, walking to the edge of the platform, "I give you Raven, one of the Phantoms, who has plagued us for so long."

Looking to my right, all the men were staring at me in disgust, like I was some kind of rodent they wanted to squash with their polished boots.

Richard announced a list of my 'sins against the order of Levitas.' Murder, though I had murdered none of them, yet. Spying, true, stealing the sacred artifacts, that was mostly Jack. Trickery, are we not all guilty of that? The list went on and on. Finally, the critical point came. Richard asked the members of Levitas what their verdict was.

"Guilty!" The word was shouted from all corners. Sickness rose in my stomach.

"It is by the judgment and will of this court that you, Elizabeth Martin, also known as Raven, spy and murderer, be branded as a traitor. You chose to be a shadow, now you may live your life in the shadows, shamed by the scars you bear. Forsaken and forgotten." Richard clapped twice. The doors behind me opened. A new guard entered; his pock marked face sneering and his watery mouth hanging open, but it was what he carried that caused bile to rise in my throat. Held out before him was a long, brown branding iron that's end was the Levitas crest of the pyramid and lightning bolt.

Fear was not a strong enough word for the emotions surging through me. I stood and tried to run for the door to the right of the platform, but as Richard shouted Dimitri grabbed me. I shouted at the members to stop this, I called upon their humanity, their honor as I thrashed against Dimitri. He picked me up, careless of how I threw my body around. When my screamed plea aimed directly at Mr. Knowlton, he looked away.

Dimitri dropped me on the floor and held me there with his huge hand against my head. From that angle, I could see the walkway above where Guinevere stood.

"Are you pleased with yourself?" I screamed at her, but inside I was begging her to rescue me. As she turned away and left the throne room, my eyes slid shut in utter defeat. My shirt was pulled up, and that brought on a fresh hysteria.

There were shouts from the men around the room, but not to spare me. They did not want to witness what was about to happen. Richard thundered for them to be still, before he sneered down at me. I fought against Dimitri's hand and got free, but he struck my head, and I fell flat on my stomach. Both of Dimitri's hands came down on my shoulders, and my shirt was tossed up again.

With my cheek flat against the stone floor, hot tears fell from my eyes, making a small puddle beneath my head. I inhaled a deep breath then felt the hot iron against my lower back.

The pain was intense, though bearable, for a full second. It burst into excruciating agony. I writhed. My back arched. My screams filled the room. Each breath I took only increased the pain, until it felt like my whole back was on fire. Searing pain increased with each passing second. I could smell my burning flesh, and my stomach roiled and lost the meager fare that I had been fed. The brand was removed and my will to fight went with it.

# Chapter 33

Jack

It was nearly dark when Jericho and I arrived at Stark Manor.

Earlier, when I had arrived at my mother's country house to learn that George had given orders not to go after Bess and Levi. Jericho and Mariah ignored his order and had tried three times to get into Stark Manor, but the house had at least ten guards on the outside alone. I sent Mariah to fetch Frederick and his team. They would meet us at Stark Manor.

My shoulder was screaming at me, but I ignored the pain as we rode through the woods and halted behind the house. We scouted out the area, but other than seven carriages that were parked outside the stables, no one was around. That did not sit well with me.

"I am going in. Wait here for Frederick." I started to move away, but Jericho's hand shot out and caught my wrist.

"There are many orders I will follow, but allowing you to go alone into that house is not one of them," Jericho informed me. With his wolf mask pushed up on his head, I could see the determination in his eyes.

"Very well. Frederick will no doubt follow us into the house when he and his team arrive." We ran across the lawn and the side of the house. We paused and looked around the corner, but no one was in the front yard, so we went to the door.

Jericho had two pistols out and aimed at the door as I reached for the knob.

Glass shattered to our left as something large crashed through the window. Jericho and I stood gawking at the broken chair and a hand that had appeared on the window frame. A pair of stocking-clad legs and a skirt held up above the knees stepped over the sill and broken glass. My mother's head appeared through the window.

"Mother? What are you doing here?"

She jumped, raising her fists, at the sound of my voice. When she saw me, she screeched. I lifted her through the window and away from the glass on the ground.

As I set her feet on the grass, she clutched violently my coat. "Jack, you must do something! Richard brought me here today. Oh, Jack, he has your sister." She was terrified. I had to get to Bess.

"Mother, take this pistol and run to the back of the house down behind the stables. Frederick and the others will be there soon. Tell them where we have gone, and they will follow us." I kissed her forehead and gave her a little push toward the side of the house. She disappeared in a run, and I opened the door, ready to kill Richard if he so much as frowned at my sister.

We entered the foyer, and I was motioning for Jericho to go upstairs, when a guard appeared and charged at us. Jericho jumped in front of me, and the two engaged in a bout of fisticuffs.

"Go, Loutaire!" Jericho shouted as he dodged a blow to his nose.

I ran toward the throne room, the pain in my shoulder fading as a woman's shrill scream, wrought in pure agony, shot through the closed door and struck my heart like a knife's blade piercing me.

Bess!

Throwing open the door; I raised my pistol and shot the man standing over Bess, who was on the floor. I took a step into the room, ready to kill anyone who stood between me and Richard, when an ominous click sounded behind me as cold steel touched my neck. I stilled in place, raising my hands, but my eyes remained on Richard.

Richard's face was positively triumphant. I was surprised that he did not clap his hands like a child receiving a new toy. "Mr. Monroe, do come in and join us."

James? My body stiffened. What is he doing here? Why does he have a gun against my neck?

His hand pushed against my back, forcing me to walk toward Bess, who was now seated on the floor. She was staring up at James. Her face was tear-streaked, and there was a small pool of liquid near her which brought on a fresh wave of grief and anger, but, at the moment, I could do nothing to avenge her pain. Dimitri, who had moved to Bess when I entered, stepped away as the door shut behind us.

"What have we here? Another agent of the Phantoms?" Richard placed his fingertips together. "Brothers of the court, I give you the greatest actor of our time, the man who will lead us to the presidency, Brother Nicholas."

Mine and Bess's gaze flew to James.

Levitas's plan had not been an assassination only; they planned to kill James and replace him with Nicholas, who had been a great actor in England, before debt drove him to flee to America. His one passion had been disguise. He loved the impersonation.

"Come forth, Brother, and take your place. We have dealt with the spy, and now you have captured us another. Your greatness knows no bounds. First, the Phantoms, and next, the Presidency!"

"You overestimate, Richard." The man impersonating Monroe stepped toward Richard. His deep voice did not belong to Nicholas or to James Monroe. "I believe it is time to tell the Brothers all. Let us begin with your plots that won you the position of high lord of Levitas." He looked at the men. "You have all heard about the disappearances, which some of you have witnessed in your own homes. All of those disappearances were victims in Richard's ploy to make himself appear all powerful."

"A wit as well as a spy. How...amusing." Richard interrupted, smiling rather grimly.

"Oh, I am not through. Tell them what transpired in your attempt to assassinate James Monroe."

The look on Richard's face I would never forget, it sent chills up and down my spine. He looked as if the devil himself were standing there. The members were all watching and listening, some intent, some merely curious.

"Correct me if I am wrong, but your orders were to have the assassins distract the guards in the front, while your real assassin entered through the back. She was to shoot Monroe; his body was to be removed and Nicholas, a talented master of disguise posing as Monroe, would step in."

Guinevere had entered the house, but so too did Nicholas. He entered the room only moments before Guinevere came in, and thinking he was the real James Monroe, she had shot and killed Nicholas Mansfield.

"If you are not Nicholas, then who are you?" demanded one of the men.

The man who looked remarkably like James Monroe smiled before pulling at his face. Pieces of painted plaster fell from his forehead. He rubbed away paint from his cheeks, pulled off the white wig, and there stood Leo.

He and James Monroe had the same face shapes, height, and build. With the clefts in their chins and their blue eyes, they could have been related. With Leo dressed in a suit with knee breeches, stockings and a powdered wig upon his head, he was a near perfect replica. We had seen Leo wear many disguises, a master of paint and plaster, able to change his every look, but this was his greatest achievement.

"What is this?" demanded Richard, his face a mixture of red and purple.

It was my turn to look triumphant.

When James first suggested this, we had not been sure what Levitas' plan was. Our only thoughts had been to protect James and draw out Levitas.

When Nicholas had first entered the parlor, I had thought it was Leo, who was supposed to be locked in the library, and when Guinevere shot him, I had panicked, thinking she had killed Leo. I had drawn my gun, but she was faster.

The doors to the throne room opened, and the Phantoms entered, led by Frederick.

"The Phantoms, I presume." Richard looked at me and Bess. "You may have won this battle, but you have lost the war." Richard looked at Leo. "Right on all accounts, but one." Richard sneered. "She was never the assassin. Nicholas was."

"You are correct, Richard, for once in your life." I sucked in a sharp breath as all eyes looked to the walkway above. Guinevere stood there dressed in her cloak and mask, but the hood was pushed back away from her auburn hair. "You thought you had won, but you were wrong. By the decree of the Holy Order, I do pronounce Levitas disbanded."

Alexander Robb and a few of the others shouted against her words. Guinevere disappeared through the door into the hall.

"Loutaire!" someone shouted, and suddenly a body flew against me, knocking us both to the floor as a gun went off.

Frederick rolled off me, shouting, "Junto, follow him!"

I sat up wincing at the pain shooting through my shoulder and watched as Leo ran to the door to the left of the platform and kicked it open.

When I was up and reached Bess, I helped her to her feet, seeing the brand on her back. I pushed away all of my deadly rage, for the moment. First, I had to find Guinevere.

"I will take care of Raven, Loutaire," Frederick said, and for the second time in two minutes, I was thankful for him. I patted him on the shoulder and looked at Bess in silent entreaty. She nodded, so I waited for nothing more. I left the throne room at a run.

In the foyer, I moved to the only door that was shut, the door to the library. Twisting the knob, I pushed my way into the room. Two large hands grabbed my neck, hoisting me into the air. Dimitri's face was before me as my hands wrapped around his.

Feeling the blood draining out of my face, and hearing it pumping in my ears, spots started to dance before my eyes. I tried to swing my feet and reach for the giant, but his long arms were holding me far enough away that I could not reach him. As I tried to reach my pocket for my pistol, dark flashes blurred my vision, and I felt myself starting to slip away.

"No!" a voice screeched. A gun exploded, but it was not as loud as it should have been.

Dimitri dropped me, and I fell on my back right before his massive body fell on me. Whatever wind still in me was knocked out with the force of Dimitri's weight. I tried to cough, to gasp for air, but I could do neither.

"Jack!" Her sweet, wonderful voice had spoken from a far away place before her face appeared. Guinevere knelt beside me and grunted as she pushed against Dimitri, rolling him off of me. As the pressure left, I gasped for air.

"Forgive me," she kept repeating as I coughed and tried to stop the room from spinning.

My shoulder contracted in pain. My throat was on fire. My vision was spinning, and all I could think was that Guinevere had saved my life.

She pressed her lips against my forehead. "Forgive me, Jack," and then she was gone.

Forgive her? For what?

Slowly I pushed myself up, giving my head a shake, trying to clear the ringing and the throbbing pain. It would not be cleared. Pushing on to my knees, I crawled to the sofa, and used that to pull myself to standing. As I swayed, it struck me. She was fleeing. I had to stop her.

Ignoring as much of the pain as I could, I moved from the room and finally the house. My steps were small and stumbling, but I made it around the house. At the stables, a carriage loaded with baggage and harnessed to a team of horses was waiting by the stable door. When I reached it, I checked inside, but it was empty. Footsteps running on the gravel sounded from the side of the house, so I ducked into the stable, drawing my pistol from my pocket.

"You will not get away so easily," a man's voice shouted. Guinevere and Alexander Robb came into view. His hands were on her, and I wanted to destroy him. She accomplished that first. Her gun went off. She dropped it before running toward the carriage, without sparing a glance for the man she had supposedly once been betrothed to.

"See to the horses, quickly!" Guinevere demanded of a plump man who was running behind her. She moved around the carriage, pulled open the door, and I charged out of the stable.

Grabbing her around the waist, I hauled her back and tossed her lightly against the stable wall. She threw a punch, but I caught her fist.

When she realized it was me, all fight drained from her. My bracelet hung from her wrist, bringing a fresh wave of pain to my chest that had nothing to do with my shoulder. I held her against the wall with one hand and raised the other to point my pistol at the coachman who was coming to Guinevere's aid. He stopped, raising his hands in the air.

"No, please," Guinevere said, looking at the coachman. He nodded and backed to the horses' heads.

"Stay right there," I demanded of the driver. He nodded, so I turned my eyes to Guinevere. "Where are you going?"

"Jack, please," she said, her voice breaking in the middle.

"Where are you going?" I repeated. Beneath my hand, I could feel the rise and fall of her chest with each breath she took. Her face was pale, and her whole body was shaking.

Horses' hooves thundered from the front of the house. We both turned to look. Richard was astride a brown horse galloping toward an open field. Another rider came into view, and I quickly sucked in a painful breath.

My mother was riding astride, galloping after Richard. I knew she could ride for she was the one who taught Bess and me, but seeing her chasing Richard gave me a fright. She closed the distance between them. Leaning forward on her horse, she drew something from the saddlebag. When she started swinging a long cord, I knew what she meant to do, for she had done it before.

The three balls of the bolas swung swiftly in the air, and Mother released them. They flew through the air, struck the mark, and wrapped around Richard's body. He jerked back violently, and his horse reared up. Richard lost his hold and fell.

Guinevere let out a sound much like a whimper. I waited, but Richard did not get up.

Guinevere and I looked at each other. A tear slipped from her eye and moved down her cheek. It was as if she had shot me again, only this time the pain was in my heart. I raised my hand to her face and ran my thumb along her jaw, over her trembling bottom lip, and ended on a tiny mole at the corner of her lips. She jerked away from my hand, pushing past me, and moved to her carriage. I pulled back the hammer on my pistol. She halted.

"Are you going to shoot me, Jack?" she asked without turning to look at me. I cringed at the uncertainty in her voice.

"No, but I cannot let you go."

"What do you mean to do?"

"I will make you a trade. Tell me where to find the Holy Order, and you may go free."

She turned her head to look at me, her eyes wide, but her voice calm. "A life for a life?"

My heart felt like it had been ripped out, tossed on the ground and stampeded, but I made myself say, "A life for a life."

"Weston's Mercantile. Baltimore."

"How can I be sure?" I asked harshly, watching every flicker of her eyes, how she held herself rigid with determination.

Pain flashed in her eyes, and for a moment she was again the vulnerable girl that I loved. "I may have kept secrets, but I have never willingly lied to you."

Taking two steps, I jerked her against me, covering her mouth with mine. I needed her to know, without saying the words, that even though she was the white phantom, and I was Loutaire, I still loved her wholly, unashamedly. Holding her mouth hostage, my lips pressed firm against hers, until she started to respond, her rigid body going soft, compliant. I pushed her back. Her eyes were wide as she stared up at me.

"I must remain here, but when this is all over, I will find you," I smiled my most roguish, "and you had best be prepared."

The corner of her lips twitched, and I saw perfectly the excitement dawn in her hyacinth eyes. "I promise you a glorious chase."

"I would expect nothing less." I backed against the stable wall.

In a mixture of agony and longing, I watched Guinevere nod to the driver before climbing into the carriage. Her eyes met mine through the window, and she smiled, but there were tears on her soft cheeks. The carriage lurched as it pulled away, taking the most important part of my heart with it.

My mother rode toward me, passing the carriage. As she pulled up, I went to her, helping her to dismount. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. I wrapped my good arm around her, and she sobbed against my shoulder. We stood like that for five minutes, with her sobbing and my trying to whisper encouragement. When the last of her sobs abated, I led her back to the house.

In the throne room, Frederick had everything well in hand. The members of Levitas were bound, and Frederick was speaking to two constables, who had arrived with George, on what would be the best transport for the prisoners.

Bess was sitting on the edge of the platform with Leo checking her wounds. Mother ran to her. She wrapped her arms around Bess, but when Bess cried out in pain, Mother released her. I joined them, as Mother examined Bess's back. Tears fell from Mother's eyes, but she said nothing. Leo informed us that Bess had a serious burn from the brand, some bruised ribs, and a split lip.

"I should take a look at your throat," Leo said to me, but I shoved his hands away. My throat ached atrociously, but I had no intention of sitting around when there was work to be done. "You are bleeding," Leo informed me. I looked down, and sure enough, my shoulder was bleeding. I let Leo patch me up as best as he could.

George stormed into the room, his eyes upon my mother. "What were you thinking, Nell? You should never have pursued Richard on your own."

"It was my duty to right the wrong that Richard has done against our family."

George was still frowning, but he nodded. Bess asked what she meant. Mother told us that when Richard had discovered my father's masquerade, Richard poisoned him. Mother's betrothal to Richard had been a sham. She knew who he was, and she purposely went to Savannah aboard Richard's ship when she knew he would be sailing there. She charmed him until she snared him. I was unsure what to think or feel, but I knew that she had always wanted to be a Phantom.

Frederick clapped me on my good shoulder. "We have done well this day."

"Indeed, we have."

"What of the woman?"

I knew that George's eyes were upon me, so I forced the words out without a hint of emotion. "She escaped."

George showed his disappointment, but I did not pay heed as Jericho and one of Frederick's deputies appeared helping a stumbling Levi into the room.

I moved straight to them, kneeling beside Levi when they sat him on one of the thrones. "Levi, what has happened to you?"

"They thought I was you," he replied in a raspy voice. "They branded me when I would not turn over the names of our team. Then, today, they whipped me."

Emotion clogged my throat. I knew without asking why they thought he was Loutaire. Both Nicholas and Guinevere had seen Bess give Levi the glass at the Knowlton's ball.

I looked away from Levi. I felt grievously to blame for all he had suffered. My eyes fell on a body sagged over in a throne chair on the other wall. The blood on his coat told its own story. Charles Knowlton was no more.

# Chapter 34

Bess

10 January 1817

Philadelphia

The days that had followed the capture of Levitas were filled with new developments. Richard, having no other family, had left all of his holdings to my mother in his will. His affections had never been a pretense. Jack and I had announced our desire to leave the Phantoms, and sure enough, all of my team except Levi also wanted out.

Levi joined Freddy's team, while newly married Mariah and Jericho moved to our family farm in North Carolina. Andrew and I had settled upon the twentieth of May to be married. After all of the horrible occurrences that had happened on my birthday, I wanted something good to overshadow the bad.

Jack had been gone for two months. He had stayed with me through October, and then he had left. He did not tell me what he was doing, but there was no need. I knew that he was searching for her.

A week after Jack left, George, Freddy, and Levi arrived at my house demanding that I turn over to them all the artifacts that Jack had stolen. I did the only thing I could to keep them safe. I lied. I told them that Jack had taken the artifacts with him. George did not believe me, and he wanted to search the house. It was Andrew's timely arrival that kept them from carrying out that injustice. I gave orders to Arnaud not to permit them in the house again. I had to hide the artifacts in a safer place than my bedchamber.

Thankfully, I did not hear from them again, until today. Levi had come to the house with a message from George. He needed me to go on a mission. I refused until Levi told me whom I was to meet.

For that alone was why I was slinking my way through alleys and deserted roads toward the port.

The moon was masked by patches of gray clouds, and where puddles had been from the rain of the last few days was now ice. I pulled my coat closer around the maid's uniform that I wore as directed. If I did not catch my death running through the streets in freezing temperatures, it would be a miracle.

The past year of 1816 had been proclaimed as the coldest ever remembered. Even across the ocean, other countries suffered the cold. Crops had been ruined; the prices of food from the last harvest had been nearly tripled, and every month saw ice upon the ground. We had no real summer, and many people had died in the northern states due to the cold and lack of coal and food. I had heard that many people were migrating westward where it was claimed to be warmer.

A week after we had captured Levitas, we saw flurries of snow—in August. It was being hailed as the year without a summer. The cold stretched from Canada all the way to Georgia. Our housekeeper in Savannah had written that, on the Fourth of July, the temperature was a startling forty-six degrees. We wore our winter clothing all the year long, never being able to wear the lighter fabrics that surrounded the summer months.

As I moved closer to the port, I could not help but wish that Jack was with me. But no, he was off in search of the woman who was the cause of the brand that would forever be a part of my back.

Pushing Guinevere away from my thoughts, I focused on the road ahead. When I reached the docks, I pulled my black, wool hood closer to my chin and hurried past the tavern and its music and loud, drunken men. Thankfully, there were no such men outside as I passed the door.

There were three warehouses, a mercantile, and the tavern along this stretch of the Delaware River, and it was at the end of the row that I was to meet a man who had once been like a brother to me. As I reached the last warehouse, a shadow appeared before me. I threw up my fists before my face, as my feet skidded across the slippery bricks of the road. The clouds parted above, and I looked straight into Henry Shultz's face.

Henry and Ben had been with our team since the beginning; until Ben was murdered. I had not seen Henry since the funeral that our team held for Ben. We had searched for him, but he was a Phantom, and he knew how to cover his trail. He had not wanted us to find him. I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him as tight as I could. He was thinner, too thin, and his yellow hair had grown out hanging past his shoulders, but I was relieved to see him again.

He held me back. "We do not have much time. I have something that I need you to hold for me." He looked up and down the road, and then pulled a black, odd-shaped box from inside his coat.

My breath caught in my throat. It was the black box Pierre had been guarding; the same box that Dimitri turned over to Levitas. I took it from his hands and turned it over in my own inspecting it.

After placing it in the bag that Henry held open, and tying the bag around the strings of my apron, I watched Henry closely. He was fidgety, his eyes darting up and down the docks.

"Bess," he whispered, "you must protect this box with your life. There are those who will kill to get it back."

"I will guard it with my life," I promised. Now I had five of the seven artifacts. All that was left were the rings.

"Whatever you do, do not tell George that you have it." Henry kissed my forehead and turned me back the way I had come. "Go, and whatever you hear, do not look back."

"What—" I was cut off by Henry disappearing down the alley between two of the buildings.

The biting wind rolling off the water made my teeth chatter. I had reached the water road, when two, loud gun shots shattered the stillness of the night. Looking behind me, fog was covering the air. Other than the light coming from the lamp post outside the tavern, I could see nothing beyond the tavern.

Henry had told me not to look back. It was almost as if he knew. Choking back a cry, I started to run through the fog and past the tavern and warehouses.

Beyond the warehouses, there were rows of stacked crates waiting to be transported. The sound had come from this direction. I gripped my pistol in my right hand and my dagger in my left as I glanced down the first row, then the second. Light was shining through a gap between two crates. It was coming from the third row.

Gripping my weapons tighter, I eased my way around the crates, had my first look toward the light, and dropped my dagger. My hand muffled my mouth, as I let out a cry.

Henry was sprawled on the ground, staring at the night sky. Reaching him, I dropped to my knees, crying through clenched teeth. Tears fell from my eyes like silent raindrops. Henry's face was contorted in fear, and a fresh sob rose from my throat.

One half of his coat was off his shoulder, as if someone had searched him roughly, but the other half covering his chest had two ball shaped holes that were seeping crimson.

My shaking hand that was covering my mouth reached toward the bloody mess of his chest. I was desperate to feel the beating of his heart, but it was as silent as my tears.

A point of something hard touched my fingers, as I was drawing my hand away from his silent chest. I pushed his coat away, and there lying on his chest was a letter...addressed to Elizabeth Martin.

My sharp intake of breath shook my body. It was not Henry's handwriting. I saw at that moment my mistake. Whoever had murdered Henry had placed the letter on him and left a lantern on purpose, knowing I would come.

Biting my lip, I broke the seal and unfolded a single sheet. The symbol at the bottom of the page leapt at my heart as if it were a serpent there to destroy me. The pyramid with the lightning bolt. But this one was different from Levitas. This one had two letters in the center of the pyramid. H and O.

The Holy Order knew my identity. My heart rose and fell in quick, short, panicked breaths. My eyes rose to the message. Two words. That was all.

Look up.

"Elizabeth?" came an incredulous, horrified voice.

The familiar flutters danced in my body, but it was a dance of death. I did not want to look—but I did. "Andrew."

# Read on for a sneak peek at the next adventure in the Phantom Knights series

THE

Charleston

CHASE

# Chapter 1

Bess

10 February 1817

Charleston, South Carolina

Being a spy had taught me some valuable tricks, like how to pick locks. When I was fourteen, I had discovered that I had an aptitude for unlocking barriers that were meant to keep people out. I had yet to come up against a lock that I could not undo. The key was to control your breathing. If you control your breathing, you control the beating of your heart and in turn, the fumbling of your hands. If you stay emotionally controlled, you will find your way.

It also helps when people are trusting, for trust leads to unlatched windows, and the people of Charleston appeared to be very trusting.

Stepping through an open window that was nearly as tall as I was, I let myself into a large house on Fort Street. I knew the owner to be away from Charleston; I also knew the owner had information that would serve me well.

When I took a good look at the room I had entered, I paused to stare. It was a two-story book room. On three of the walls were stocked bookshelves, and in one corner was a wooden spiral staircase that led up to a second level of bookshelves. There was a narrow walkway that encompassed all three walls. The room was unlike any I had ever seen or dreamed. Jack, my little brother, would possibly kill to possess such a room.

The window I had entered through was one in a wall of windows that overlooked a garden. There was a large desk with books and papers all stacked in orderly piles. Snapping out of my stupor, I moved to the desk first. There was a map unrolled across the center, and all the books were nautical ones. There was a stack of opened letters, so I started going through them.

Bills, invoices, correspondence; there had to be twenty letters there. Finally, at the bottom of the stack, I found one that interested me. It was written in a woman's hand; the flourishing script and the slant told me as much. There was no signature, but there was a list of names—associates in league with the secret society known only as the Holy Order.

Folding the letter, I tucked it into the pocket of my black trousers. There were only two more drawers but as I pulled them open, the sound of the front door opening halted my hand. When a man's voice spoke, coming clear and loud through the wall, my heart felt like lead in my chest. I knew that voice, but I had been told that his return was not expected for another three days.

Closing the drawers quietly, I moved away from the desk to the window, slipping through without a sound.

Crouching low, to avoid being seen through any of the windows that covered the side of the house, I inched my way toward the front gate.

Everything that happened only a month ago still haunted both my waking moments and my dreams like a never ceasing nightmare. I felt as if I should have known that I was walking into a trap, but I had not, and now a friend was dead, and my dreams of a new life were shattered.

Three persons had escorted me to Charleston; Levi, who was a former Phantom under my leadership, Reverend Gideon Reid, and Mrs. Beaumont my mother's housekeeper. My mother had insisted I bring her housekeeper with me for respectability since I would not allow my mother to accompany me to Charleston.

When I walked off the Queen's Reward, there was only one plan in my mind—to find all the information on the Holy Order that I could and depart the city.

George Crawford, founder of the Phantoms, had sent me to Charleston to work for his nephew's team of spies, but when he told me that Samuel Mason had been tracking the Holy Order for months, I formed my own plans.

As we set out at the port, Levi and I were supposed to follow Mrs. Beaumont and Reverend Reid to the church he would be ministering in for a year, but Levi and I had made good our escape, directing the coachman to take us to Samuel Mason's house instead.

Levi was down the street in our hired carriage waiting for me. When I approached Samuel's house, I had to stop and stare, for it was beautiful. All the houses in this waterside city were different from those in Philadelphia; colorful and exotic. Samuel's was made of grayish white bricks with three stories of white porches and white columns flanking the front. There was a black, iron fence running the length of the front of the house with a black gate. When I looked upon the house, the face belonging to the master of the house flashed in my mind. Seven months had done nothing to diminish his image from my thoughts. I would have been intrigued by both the house and its master, if I did not detest the man so much.

The gate was ahead of me, but I paused at the edge of the house, for coming through the gate was a woman, smiling slightly and idly swinging her gloves from her hand. My breath stalled in my lead-feeling chest.

All of the pain from the past year slammed through me accumulating into one delirious conviction. She was responsible for it all.

She halted when she saw me. Her eyes that were a mixture of deep blue and purple, widened, and her mouth opened. She was small in stature and blonde, but I knew that the color of her hair was a pretense, like every word that ever fell from her lips. I rose up to my full height of five feet and nine inches, a giant in a sea of dainty women. Then again, I had fought a giant in the past, and he and I were nothing alike.

"Raven," the woman before me hissed recognizing the mask I wore that had a black leather raven on one side. She turned and ran.

I pushed off the ground with the balls of my feet, running hard as I pursued her. After six months of waiting for that moment, I would not waste it.

She ran across the cobblestone street into a wooded area of land that stood between the house and the water. She was fast, but she was also wearing a dress, and the fashionable boots women wore were ridiculously difficult to run in with their high heels. I was on her heels, so I leapt forward, knocking her to the ground from behind.

As a puff of air exploded from her at the force of landing on the ground, I took advantage of her momentary weakness by sitting up, rolling her over, and slamming my fist against her middle. She jerked up, gasping. Throwing my fist forward to hit her again; she jerked to the side, and my fist hit the ground. Pain shot up my hand and into my arm. I shook my hand trying to dispel the pain, and that distraction cost me.

She pummeled me in the side. Groaning against the pains her fists were creating, I grabbed her right wrist, but she used her left hand to grab my knit cap and pull my face down toward her. I released her wrist and grabbed her neck, trying to choke her. I did not want to choke the life from her, only scare her—repay her for all the trouble she caused me. When I thought about that, anger boiled my blood, and for a moment, I did want to kill her.

She shoved her hands beneath the sleeves of my jacket and dug her nails into my flesh. The pain was like little knives piercing me. I released her neck with a yelp, pulling my arms away from her clutches. She started to cough. Drops of blood were trickling down my arms, sliding onto my gloves. I threw my arm back to punch her again, but she jerked her head to the right, and her fist hit my side again, knocking me back. She scrambled up, but I was quicker.

Grabbing a fistful of her hair, pins went flying as I pulled her blonde wig from her head. It served her right for not wearing a hat. Netting was covering her ebony hair. She moved until a good ten feet were between us. I stood, holding up her wig in a taunt.

"What do you want, Bess?" she asked, clutching her stomach.

"The Holy Order," I replied smoothly, running strands of her wig between my fingers.

"No," she said.

So be it! Dropping her wig, ready to run at her again, she raised her hand, and the late morning sunshine glinted off a silver blade. I had but a second to react as her hand came down, sending a dagger flying at my chest. I leapt to the right, and the blade sailed past me.

Landing on the hard ground, pain shot through my ribs. As I blew out a furious puff, everything inside of me went rigid in a burning desire to cause her as much pain as she had caused me. I pushed myself to my knees, but she was beside me before I could get to my feet. She kicked my stomach, and I let out a shout as I fell back. The witch dropped to her knees on my stomach; the tip of a sharp blade placed against my temple.

"I do not want to hurt you." She shrieked as I pinched her leg. She slapped my cheek, sending pain through my face; then she pressed her blade against my neck again. "But I will if you do not leave Charleston." She kept the blade against my throat as she rose. I did not move for I knew she would cut my throat. "Today," she added before kicking my side, hard. Fiery pain covered my whole side as I rolled over gasping then coughing.

She started to walk away.

"Guinevere," I called out, she looked over her shoulder at me, "I am not leaving."

"We shall see," she replied before retrieving her wig and half running, half limping down the street.

As I rose up, she disappeared around the corner of a house. Fury was soaring through me as I held my side that felt like it had some cracked ribs.

The sunlight glinted off the steel of the dagger she had thrown at me. In her haste to retreat, she had forgotten it. I stumbled toward it, but could not bend over to retrieve it, so I lowered to my knees to pick it up. It was nine inches in length, and seeing the handle caused me to suck a sharp breath. Engraved in the center of the gold handle was a heart with the letters J and G. I knelt there for several painful heartbeats as my mind shouted what that stood for. It was for her, after all, that Jack had deserted me in November. He loved the vixen and would not stop until he found her.

Though Jack had never told me, I had known he was betrothed to her. I had overheard their stolen conversation at a ball when Jack had given her an engagement ring. It was the same night that she was supposed to murder James Monroe, who was about to be inaugurated as the President of our country. She had not done it, switching the poison with a sleeping draught, but the woman had done many other travesties, which was reason enough why I should keep her whereabouts a secret. I did not want my brother to do anything foolish, like marry the witch. Betrayal flashed in my heart, followed by bitter anger, for I knew he would do that if I did not stop him.

Gripping the dagger, I pushed myself to my feet, gritting my teeth against the pain in my side.

"Raven?" said a deep voice from behind me. My eyes slid closed as unpleasant flutters came alive inside my stomach. I knew who stood behind me.

Seven months ago, Samuel Mason and I had 'met' under mysterious circumstances when his uncle George Crawford had been captured by a corrupt secret society and I had broken into George's house, searching for clues as to his whereabouts. It was while I was there that I was set upon by a masked man. He attacked me, and when he had me restrained, he kissed me. That we were on his uncle's bed, and I was dressed as a man only added mortification to the memory. I would have been able to forget all about it if it had not been for the letter. Later that night after I returned home from a party, it was to find my pistol that he had stolen from me and a mocking, detestable, atrocious insult of a letter. Since I had been masked as well and dressed as a man, I had thought that he did not know me, for I had never met him. Then came the letter and the realization that he knew that not only was I Raven, leader of the Phantoms in Philadelphia, but that I was also Bess Martin, heiress and debutante.

I had hoped that I could break into his house, find whatever information he had on the Holy Order, and escape the city without ever having to see his lying, deceitful, rag-mannered, annoyingly handsome face again. On the ship to Charleston, I had thought too many times about that interlude and his perfect kiss.

Knowing I could not run if I tried; I slowly opened my eyes and turned. The cavity around my heart that had felt nothing but a dull ache for the past month, filled with an alarming amount of warmth. My mouth dipped open slightly as my gaze took in all of him. I was gawking, but truly it was not fair.

The man was not only handsome as I remembered. He was an intensely, poetically soul-burning Adonis. His honey brown hair was pushed back with perfect wavy curls falling to his nape. His gray eyes traveled the length of me while his lips curled up in the way I remembered all too clearly.

"Just so." He murmured the word, but I knew he was mocking me, for he had said that after he had kissed me.

My breath hitched as he advanced toward me, stopping much closer to me than was proper. He held out his large, strong hand. "Miss Martin, I presume."

My mouth snapped closed as my common sense flooded back like a wave striking a ship. With seven months of mortification backing the action, my hand flew up and struck his cheek hard enough to make his ears ring.

# Acknowledgements

Thank you, God, for granting the desires of my heart.

Much thanks to Mary and Karen for all of your encouragement and help on this story.

To the Agents of Prayer, Agents Star, Harmony, Astute, Honor, and Foresight for all of love and covering over the last four years. Thank you for taking this journey with me.

To Elizabeth and Amanda, thank you both for being awesome and helping to inspire my main character. She would not be who she is without the two of you.

To Boss, Doc, and Spy for being the reasons that I write. You are my greatest achievements.

To my parents for always being so supportive. Thank you for choosing me.

To Jen, Kristen, Marsha, Amy, Patti, Ruth, MeriBeth, Kristi, Sherry, Dorie, Cathi, Valerie, Tricia, Tracie, and Ashley for sticking with me and cheering me on over the years that it has taken me to get here. All of you ladies are beautiful inside and out.

To John, you are the best part of my heart. Thank you for reminding me that Vantanas never give up, and always keep moving forward. In one way or another, your epicness will inspire generations to come.

To every person who takes the time to read my stories, thank you for going adventuring with me.

# Author's Historical Note

Though this is a work of fiction, some pieces of the story are true. 1816 was known by many names; the year without a summer; Eighteen hundred and froze to death; the summer that never was to name a few. The unusual and disastrous weather was linked to a succession of major volcanic eruptions. The 1815 eruption of Mount Tambora claimed to be the largest known eruption in 1300 years. The weather was affected in every part of the world. In North America there was a consistent dry fog that would not disperse. Ice was indeed seen as thick as a windowpane. Many crops were destroyed and the price of many foods rose considerably. For ex. the price of oats rose from .12 a bushel in 1815 to .92 in 1816. Snow fell in June in both New York and Maine, and temperatures could go from normal to near freezing within hours. An interesting story about the year was that in 1815 when the editor of the Farmer's Almanac was sick in bed one of his printers or copy boys decided to play a prank, and changed the almanac for July 13th of 1816 to say that it would snow. The editor discovered the trick and had almost all copies destroyed and ordered a new publishing run. Some of the original copies apparently got out, and the editor took a lot of grief about it. But when snow and cold did occur throughout the summer, including July 13th, the editor tried to take credit for the error, claiming that he knew it would happen all along.

The Peale Museum did exist, owned and operated by Charles Willson Peale and his family. For fifty cents you could go see the Mammoth known as the American incognitum, and for twenty-five cents you could see the rest of the museum.

Madam Grelaud's French School did exist in Philadelphia and President Monroe's daughter, Maria Hester, as well as many other young women with famous relations. As the tuition for a year was said to be $500, only affluent families could afford to send their daughters to the school. It had many advantages as the young ladies were expected to not only learn history, philosophy, geography, and natural science, but to excel. In addition to their curriculum, instructors taught art, dance, languages, and music. The girls were also taught to speak French fluently. For a fee beyond their annual tuition they could be instructed in more extensive music or language lessons, and they could purchase concert tickets. Madam Grelaud allowed the young ladies to accept invitations to balls, parties, and the theatre with proper supervision. She wanted them to observe the manners and fashions of women of high society.

The Culper spy ring was organized under the orders of General George Washington during the Revolutionary war. The tasks of the spies was to discover the activities of the British and get the information by secret channels to George Washington Invisible ink was used by the spies as a means of sending their secrets, as was the use of masks. Secret information would be written into letters. When the receiver of the letter placed their mask over the letter, it would reveal its secrets. Women were an important part of the Culper Ring. One woman would hang clothes on her clothesline, certain colors for certain meanings. The language of flowers was not used by the Culper spies that I could discover, but flowers have always been viewed as symbolic, and in the early eighteenth century the language of flowers was studied by many.

# About the Author

Amalie Vantana wrote her first story at age seven. When many little girls were dreaming about being a princess, Amalie was dreaming about being a musketeer. When she's not writing adventures, she spends her time with her family, exploring historical locations, and searching for adventures to be had. Amalie makes her home in West Virginia with her husband.

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