I Thee Wed by Amanda Quick Page A

bedchamber close. There was no ring of shoes on stone, but after a very long time Emma became convinced that the second intruder had retreated back down the corridor. She waited several more minutes, however, before she took the risk of letting herself out of her hiding place.
    There were no cries of alarm. No sound of footsteps on the main staircase. She was not surprised that no one had heard the pistol shot. The thick stone walls had soaked up most of the noise. The music from the ballroom had no doubt taken care of the rest.
    Emma paused outside her bedchamber door. Shecould not stay here in the hall forever, she told herself. She had to take some action.
    She steeled herself to open the unlocked door. It swung inward very slowly.
    The smell of death greeted her.
    She looked into the moonlit room and saw the body sprawled on the floor. The blood that stained Chilton Crane’s ruffled white shirt looked black in the silver light.
    This time The Bastard really was dead.

C HAPTER E IGHT
    E dison raised the flickering taper so that it cast light on the array of small, opaque bottles he had discovered in the bottom of Miranda’s traveling trunk.
    He selected one at random and removed the stopper. A vaguely familiar scent, at once crisp and intriguing, wafted out of the container. He could not name the crushed herb inside, but it brought back memories.
    He had smelled that curious fragrance years ago in the temple gardens of Vanzagara. It was forever linked to that time in his life when he had worn the gray robes of an initiate in the art of Vanza. It brought back memories. He saw himself as a young man studying philosophy under the guidance of purple-robed monks with shorn heads. He recalled dawn vigils at the place where the lush gardens gave way to the jungle; remembered endless hours of vigorous practice in the ancient fighting arts that were the heart of Vanza.
    He pushed the old images aside and put the darkbottle back into the trunk and tried the next one in line. The oddly sweet scent given off by the dried fragments inside it was also reminiscent of Vanzagara.
    Ingredients for an occult elixir, no doubt.
    There was no sign of the
Book of Secrets
.
    He was about to close the lid when his questing fingers touched a leather case. He lifted it out and opened it quickly. The candlelight glinted on a row of bullets. There was also a box of powder. The space where the small pistol should have been stored was empty.
    He wondered if Miranda had had the gun in her reticule earlier that night when she had attempted to coax him out onto the terrace. It would be interesting to see the reactions of some of her conquests to the notion that she went about her seductions with a pistol at the ready. The realization would no doubt have a dampening effect on the desire of the average gentleman of the ton. Women and pistols were not a common combination in Polite Circles.
    He closed the trunk and rose to cast one more glance around the bedchamber.
    “You surprise me, Miranda,” he said softly into the shadows. “I would have thought you too clever to put any credence in magical nonsense. Now, I must discover if you can lead me to the
Book of Secrets.”
    Muffled laughter sounded in the hall outside Miranda’s bedchamber. A woman’s low murmur rose and fell. The trysting had begun early this evening, Edison thought.
    So much for making his exit in a comfortable fashion. He could not risk having anyone see him leaving this room.
    He blew out the taper and went quickly toward the window.
    At least he had resolved one question, he thought as he opened the window and vaulted up onto the casement. The evidence was clear. Miranda had somehow come into possession of the recipe from the
Book of Secrets
, which Farrell Blue had deciphered before his death.
    How she had got hold of it and whether or not she knew the whereabouts of the
Book of Secrets
were still open to conjecture. Until he knew the answers to those questions, he would not give