an agent of the Order, committed to work I value and deem necessary.”
She touched him lightly on the cheek. “The difference is, those things are within your control. You avoid things you cannot control because it scares you to think you might try your best and still lose something precious.”
“Life is cruel. Like my father, I avoid anything that might cause pain.”
“And yet what counts is not the material things we leave behind. What counts is who we loved and who loved us in return.”
His heavy sigh was a sort of exorcism—an expulsion of false beliefs.
The darkness left his body, leaving a newfound clarity.
“I encourage D’Angelo to mask his pain, to use women and drink and vengeance as a means of coping. When our task is over, I must help him find another way to banish his demons.”
Vivienne came up on her toes and kissed him gently on the mouth. “Love is the only thing capable of freeing Mr D’Angelo from his torment. Love is the key to the shackles that bind him to the past.”
“Then there’s no hope for him.”
“There is always hope.”
Evan stared at her, his heart swelling, his body infused with a warm glow, though he struggled to label the feeling. “Before we continue our quest, may I say how much I respect and admire you, Miss Hart.” He wished he’d crossed the ballroom and asked her to dance, wished he’d turned to her in Gunter’s and commented on the fact they’d both chosen pineapple mousse.
Her smile failed to reach her eyes. “I have always admired you, Mr Sloane. Even when you dumped me in a carriage in my stocking feet.”
He laughed, though he was troubled by the unspoken words hanging in the air between them, troubled by the words craving a voice, nagging at his conscience.
“Then I pray you still admire me when I make you hold the coffin lid while I examine the contents.” There, light-hearted banter banished the need to speak from the heart.
She seemed suddenly fearful. “I’ll do it, of course. As long as you do not disturb his remains.”
“The clue to our legacy may be apparent when we enter the tomb.”
“There’s only one way to know.”
The solid stone door moved with surprising ease. One would be mistaken if they expected to find the pungent smell of rot in the air, or an atmosphere permeated with damp and decay. No. Evan inhaled nothing but a cold, sterile emptiness.
“It’s freezing in here.” Vivienne snuggled into her pelisse and rubbed her arms. She scanned the rectangular stone tomb, ran her gloved hands over the carved figures of a bearded man and a young woman lying next to each other, holding hands. “Livingston and his wife are buried together?”
“Yes.” Evan stood for a moment and let the strange wave of loss pass over him—the stark realisation nothing was permanent. “I’ve never been in here, but I know my father visited often.”
He braced himself to answer her next obvious question.
“Is your mother buried here?”
Nausea roiled in his stomach. “She is in a tomb with my father, one almost identical to this.”
Vivienne did not reply, but sidled up to him and slipped her hand into his. He clutched it, taken aback by the immeasurable sense of peace.
He was in love with her.
He was certain—as certain as a man who’d never known love could be. But a mausoleum was not the place to make a declaration.
“There’s an inscription.” Keeping a firm grip of his hand, she studied the plaque. “Kindred souls in heart and deed. I rather like that.”
Perhaps the inscription was their legacy.
The knowledge that love lived beyond the grave.
“It will be impossible to move the tombstone.” He’d need Buchanan’s help, would struggle even then. “Clearly, Livingston did not intend for us to look inside. We should examine the carvings.”
“There’s little to examine. Maria is holding a fan in her left hand, and Livingston looks to be holding a compass in his right hand.”
Evan leant forward and studied the compass closely. “There are no markings on it, but it points south.” He led her outside and glanced out over his lands. “The only point of interest south of here is the lake.”
“Livingston liked the water. Let’s walk there.”
They walked through a small copse down to the lake.
“If you stand between the lake and these trees, you can see the house.” She took to mumbling then, muttering about the book, reciting parts of the poem from memory. Evan watched in awe, consumed by nothing but the intense rush of