Secrets In Savannah (Phantom Knights) Read Online Free Page A

there
was more. Pierre warned that Lucas would send men after me as we witnessed.
    The only part of the letter that truly
interested me was that Pierre was escorting Guinevere away from Charleston “to
a place of safety.”
    “Now that you know the truth, you must
let her go. I cannot and will not lose you.”
    As mother was waking, Bess said no more
about the letter, but she left me with much to consider.
    Later in the afternoon after having
visited with all of the Charleston Phantoms, Gideon, and my mother, Bess had
forbidden any more visitors and told me I needed my rest. Though I was not
tired, Bess was adamant. As she walked to the door, I halted her.
    “I want you to go ahead with the
wedding, Bess.”
    She spun around, her dress fanning out.
    “I know that you decided to put it off
for a few weeks because of me, but I refuse to allow it. I am wounded, not
dead, so there is nothing to keep you from marrying Sam.”
    Bess gaped at me before crossing her
arms over her chest in a truly ‘older sister’ pose.
    “If you do not marry him forthwith, I
will get out of this bed and march you to the church, I swear it.”
    She smiled and when she came close I saw
the tears in her eyes. She leaned down and kissed my brow. “How does tomorrow
sound?”
    “Like a drop of honey from the heavens,”
said Sam from the doorway, and I laughed as Bess whipped around. She moved to
his side and as he took her hand, holding her nearer, an ache formed in my
chest.
    Guinevere and I should have been married
and attending Bess and Sam’s wedding together.
    “Jack,” Bess said softly, but with worry
covering her face, “no matter my feelings toward her, Guinevere is safe. Pierre
said so in his letter.”
    “No, Bess,” I said with a calm that I
was far from feeling. “I am sure that I know where she has gone, and she most
assuredly is not safe.”
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER
3
    GUINEVERE
    7
May, 1817
    Washington
     
    S tanding a little straighter, I breathed in and then
out to calm myself. It would not do to face the interview with frayed nerves.
Harvey would sense my emotions within
seconds and play upon my feelings as he had always done. That thought did its
job.
    Clamping my teeth together, I
stared at the wooden door across the temple floor from where the Holy Order’s
guards had left me to wait. I did not look around, for there was no need.
Harvey had taken up residence in the place that Pierre lived for many years, protecting
one of the sacred artifacts. The dais, instead of holding a pedestal and the Sfære af lys , held a single golden throne.
    There were smaller thrones placed
around the walls of the square temple, all occupied. The colorful glass dome
above me had been repaired. Harvey had been working hard in the short time
since his escape from Charleston, but that was Harvey. He refused to hold his
court anywhere that was not as ostentatious as he was himself.
    “Standards, Guinevere, are what
we have and what we must demand from others.”
    The wooden door at the right of
the dais opened and a tall man with the haughty demeanor of a pompous king
walked into the room and deposited himself on the large throne. Wearing a
claret colored coat with gold buttons instead of his usual regimentals, he
could have almost passed as a stately gentleman ... almost.
    When he saw me, surprise showed
in his brown eyes before quickly turning into amusement, but I saw his surprise
and it sent leaps of excitement through me. For once he did not expect me.
    He held out his hand as if he
expected me to curtsey low—as he taught me to do—and to kiss his bejeweled
hand.
    When I made no movement toward
him, he spoke. “You are slipping, my dear. I expected to see you a week past.”
    He always said dear in a patronizing voice, as if he were speaking to
his favorite dog.
    “On the contrary,” I mocked, “I
would have been here a week past if you would
have told me where you were to be found instead of leaving me to the