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interested in his work and heard of your plans. You didn’t honestly believe you could keep it secret, did you?”
    “No. I suppose not.” Her gaze followed a rabbit diving into a bush, only its white tail discernible in the murky night. “Although I find it hard to believe the church would give so much credence to my search when they haven’t involved themselves in others’.”
    His gaze was dark as it met hers. “Perhaps they believe your search will actually uncover something.”
    Oddly enough, his words gave her some comfort.
    They continued their walk in silence. The breeze was warm and gentle as it lifted her hair and caused her nightgown to whisper against her legs. Next to her, Chapel’s thin lawn shirt clung to his chest and arms. The white fabric was an eerie blue in the icy light, the muscles beneath defined and heavier than Pru would have first suspected for a man of his scholarly bent. Of course, Marcus was athletically built as well.
    But Chapel appealed to her in a way Marcus did not.
    Better not to think of that, however. “What do you know of the Holy Grail?”
    The question seemed to surprise him. His steps faltered for the span of a heartbeat. “At the Crucifixion, the Roman Longinus used his lance to pierce Christ’s side. Joseph of Arimathea collected the blood in a chalice—the Holy Grail.”
    Of course, he knew the origin of the cup—didn’t everyone? “Surely your knowledge runs deeper than that?” She tried to keep her tone light, but annoyance crept in. She had agreed to share her finds with the church; could they not at least extend similar courtesy to her?
    He shot her an aggrieved glance and stopped beside her. They were in the middle of the garden, in the open but totally alone. Under the garden lamps his hair was rich gold, his eyes bright and fathomless. Lucifer just before the fall, was the fanciful notion that popped into her head. Believing this man to be a docile servant of the church was a mistake. She knew that now.
    “Joseph brought the Grail with him to England when he established the first Christian church in Glastonbury. It is thought that the Grail was lost after his death, only to be found by King Arthur almost five centuries later. That is, of course, the legend you and your partner are pursuing.”
    Pru opened her mouth to comment, but he cut her off. “There are those who believe the Grail fell into the possession of the Knights Templar, and that Pope Clement the fifth sought to claim the cup when he ordered the Templars imprisoned in 1307. King Philip of France washappy to oblige, sending soldiers to relieve the knights of their treasures. Many Templars fled to England, supposedly bringing the cup back to this country. Whichever legend you choose to believe, it seems that most scholars believe England to be the final resting place of the Grail, unless, of course, you believe that Henry Sinclair took the Grail to Nova Scotia in 1398. Shall I go on, Miss Ryland, or have I succeeded in impressing you?”
    He certainly seemed to know his Grail lore, which impressed her indeed, but his caustic tone tightened her jaw. “I meant no disrespect, Mr. Chapel.”
    He had the nerve to chuckle at her pointed use of propriety where his name was concerned. “What do you know of the Grail?”
    She frowned, hurrying to keep up with his long strides as he began walking once more. “I have done extensive research, if that is what you are asking. Marcus and I have compiled information spanning centuries.” She couldn’t keep the hauteur from her voice. Marcus might have spent more years seriously researching the Grail than she had, but she had made up for that with determination and single-mindedness.
    Chapel stopped walking. Pru hadn’t paid attention to their direction and now she found herself deep within the garden—far from the house and any sense of propriety. Every feeling she possessed was sharp and focused on the man beside her. He smelled of warmth and a sweetness