by Maya Banks
Her father had died in his quest to uncover the city, and the least she could do was carry out his greatest wish. He had been scorned and ridiculed in life, but she’d be damned if he was afforded the same treatment in death.
She closed her eyes, despair filling her. She wasn’t sure she had it in her to embark on another quest. Her fingers crept to her forehead, and she massaged the tightness above her eyes. She only wanted a place to call home. But she couldn’t keep her home unless she found a way to procure funds.
She stopped pacing and glanced down at the copy of the Historical Society News on her desk still opened to the article on her father. Her hand curled angrily around the newspaper and crumpled it in her palm.
There were more important things than her desires. She had waited this long for the security of a home. She would just have to wait a bit longer. She owed it to her father to prove his detractors wrong. Even if it meant walking back into the life she had sworn to give up. Even if it meant confronting her worst fears.
Yes, she would do this. But first she would have to find a way to do it without Lord Ridgewood.
Chapter Three
For the second time in as many days, Ridge’s carriage rolled up the drive to the Ashton house. He descended the steps, feeling particularly fatalistic as he approached the front door.
He wasn’t used to being disappointed. Except by his family, but he had no control over them. The things he could control, he made sure his desires were met. But now his fate was in the hands of a mere slip of a woman, and he didn’t like it a damned bit. Wretched woman.
He blew impatiently when the Indian man opened the door and glared ominously at him.
“May I be of service, Sahib?”
“I am here to see Miss Ashton. Kindly tell her of my presence.”
“Mem-Sahib is not receiving callers.” His voice carried a hint of a threat, almost daring Ridge to repeat his actions of yesterday.
He wasn’t foolish. He knew the Indian was waiting for him to try and push by again.
“Just tell her I am here,” he bit out. “It is very important that I see her.”
“It is more important that you leave,” the Indian murmured softly. “Mem-Sahib is resting after a very stressful night. I will not disturb her.”
“What the deuce happened?” he demanded.
The Indian’s gaze narrowed. “An intruder stole into her room and attacked her. I suspect your visit yesterday had much to do with that. Take my advice, Sahib. Stay away from India Ashton. I do not take kindly to any threat against her.”
Ridge bristled at the butler’s insolence. To stand there and make veiled threats was beyond daring.
Devil take it. He bit his lip in order to staunch the tide of questions. “Was she hurt?” he finally asked, voicing the question upper most in his mind.
“She is well. She was merely frightened. Now if you don’t mind.” The butler stared pointedly at Ridge’s parked carriage, a clear hint for him to leave.
Realizing he wasn’t going to get any further today, he swallowed his curse of exasperation and turned crisply away. He stalked back to his carriage, his jaw twitching with annoyance. He was so close, and yet he had no hope of ever finding the city if Miss Ashton refused to help him. And he had no idea how to go about convincing her to do so.
He settled into his carriage, his mind whirling with the man’s revelation. Two break-ins in less than a day could not be mere coincidence. Someone must know the enormity of what he possessed. But how, when he didn’t fully know himself? Unless he could persuade Miss Ashton to translate the script, he might never know.
Someone wanted the journal, and if they realized Miss Ashton was the only person able to decipher the writing, she could be in enormous danger. But perhaps the intruder already knew that. Why else would be have threatened her?
More strenuous means were called for. He’d allow Miss Ashton a day to recover from her ordeal, and then he was offering her no alternative but to give him what he wanted. If he had to resort to drastic measures, so be it. He could be as stubborn as she. He wasn’t about to stand by and have an innocent woman harmed because of him. And because of her refusal to help.
###
From the study window, India watched the viscount’s carriage roll away in a cloud of dust. She let the drapery fall from her fingers, and she turned away. As she had expected, he was extremely persistent.
She frowned as she sat down at her father’s desk. How could she possibly wrest the journal from his hands? She had no money to offer to purchase it from the viscount, and from the look of him he had no need for more money.
“Beti, this came for you,” Udaya said as she swept into the study. “While Mary was down in the village, Mrs. Grundel at the tavern said she’d received it a few days ago.”
India glanced up to see Udaya holding out a letter to her. “Thank you, Udaya.” She took the letter, ignoring the woman’s frown.
“You need rest, Beti,” she said disapprovingly. She stood in front of the desk, her hands on her hips.
“Udaya, please,” India pleaded softly. “Not now. There is much I have to do. To think about.” Her temples throbbed, but she resisted the urge to rub them. It would only make Udaya more determined to put her to bed.
With a disgruntled harrumph, Udaya retreated from the room, leaving India alone. She looked down at the sealed missive in her hand. It was wrinkled, dusty, the ink faded.
She broke the seal and pulled out the letter, unfolding it. As her eyes lighted on the script, she froze, her heart leaping into her throat. It was her father’s handwriting!
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she gripped the letter tighter. How had she managed to receive this so long after his death? Then her gaze flitted across the opening words and her mouth fell open.
My dearest daughter,
I know this must come as a great shock, but I am not dead as you probably imagine by now. What I have to say may cause you doubt, and I pray you will not think me mad as so many others do.
The city exists. It lives still. I know because I was there with Sir Roderick. He fled Pagoria taking an invaluable relic with him. The key to the city, Gabriel’s bracelet.
In his journal, he logged explicit instructions on how to reach the city. Should this journal come to light, it will mean an end to the city as I know it.
I am held captive by a man who seeks the key to the city. He demands Sir Roderick’s journal and the Bracelet of Gabriel or he will kill me. I write to you, dear India, to beg you to find the journal and the key. Bring them to San Sebastian. There you will be met by a man named Juan Miguel. Come alone or my life will be forfeit. Tell no one, trust no one. I only pray this will not be the city’s downfall.
Your loving father,
Phillip Ashton
The letter fell from her hand, her brain fighting to comprehend what she had just read. If she hadn’t already seen Sir Roderick’s journal with her own eyes, she’d have a hard time believing a word of her father’s letter. But the accounts were eerily similar. She could not discount the possibility, no matter how fantastical, that her father was very much alive. And that the city lived as well.
Sail to San Sebastian with the items. Ask for Juan Miguel at the docks. The directions swirled a confusing myriad in her head. The only missing information was who held her father. Who knew of the city? Who wanted the journal?
Slowly, she folded the letter and placed it carefully on the desk. Her mind raced, her pulse beating rapidly at her temples.
Dear God, what was she supposed to do? She couldn’t let her father die. But how could she help him when she held neither the journal nor the bracelet in her possession?
Lord Ridgewood had Sir Roderick’s journal. Maybe he had Gabriel’s bracelet. But did he realize the significance of either?
No. He couldn’t. He was too desperate for her help to truly comprehend the magnitude of what he held. And she’d staunchly refused to aid him.
She sighed a long despairing sigh. Her only option, no matter how much she loathed the notion, was to go to Lord Ridgewood and pretend cooperation. If he didn’t already possess the bracelet, she’d need his help to find it. Then when she had both, she could steal away from Lord Ridgewood and rescue her father.
“Udaya,” she called out as she rose from her seat.
Udaya arrived in a swirl of silk, her expression questioning. “You looked troubled, Beti.”
India glanced at the large clock across the room. If they hurried, they could make the next coach. “Have Kavi purchase seats on the next coach to London, and tell Mary to prepare a meal for us to take along. Then come help me pack a few things.”
Udaya blinked in surprise. “Where are we going? And where shall we stay?”
India sucked in a deep breath. “To Lord Ridgewood’s. And we’ll have to hope he doesn’t hold a grudge for my turning him away.”
###
Ridge returned to London and directed his driver to the bookshop where he’d purchased the journal. As he entered the shop, the proprietor smiled enthusiastically in welcome.
“Good day, my lord. I trust you have found the journal satisfactory?”
“Indeed, I have,” Ridge replied. “That is why I have returned.”
“Is something amiss?” the shop owner asked in alarm, his eyes widening in apprehension.
“Why would you think so?” Ridge asked, raising a brow.
“No reason at all, my lord. I merely hope you are well satisfied with your purchase.”
“Yes, well, that remains to be seen,” he said wryly. “Tell me, good sir. Has anyone else been in to inquire about the journal? Did you happen to tell anyone that I purchased it?”
The shop owner gulped nervously. “Yes and no, my lord. Someone came in and asked about journals. Not yours specifically, but I told no one that I had sold Sir Roderick’s to you.”
Ridge leaned closer to the man in anticipation. “Who was it and what specifically did they want?”
“I’m sorry. I do not know exactly, my lord.” The proprietor squirmed uncomfortably. “’Twas a man about your age, I suppose. Not as well turned out. He wanted to know if I had any journals. He never mentioned Sir Roderick by name, but he said he was interested in journals or diaries of adventurers like that Ashton fellow who died.”
Ridge froze. “Did he mention Ashton by name?”
The shop keeper nodded vigorously. “Does that help at all, my lord?”
Ridge pressed his lips together in thought. “Surely he left a way for you to contact him should you come across any such item.”
“No, my lord. He said he’d check back in a day or two.”
Ridge ground his teeth together in frustration. “Did he have any distinguishing features? Anything at all?”
The shop owner rubbed his chin. “He was a quiet fellow. Strange accent.” His face lit up. “Oh, and he had an interesting tattoo on his left wrist.”
“What sort of tattoo?” Ridge demanded. “And what sort of accent?”
“I couldn’t place the accent. Tweren’t nothing I can recall ever hearing. The tattoo though. I can’t rightly identify what it was. It was a symbol of some kind. Looked like a sun over a mountain top.”
Ridge sighed in frustration. The fellow may well have had nothing to do with the break-ins. Had Miss Ashton gotten a good look at her intruder? He’d have to remember to ask her.
“Thank you,” he finally said, reaching into his pocket for a few pound notes. He thrust them at the shop keeper. “I would appreciate if you would contact me should anyone else ask after the journal. And it goes without saying that I do not want anyone to know I have it.”
“Yes, yes of course, my lord.”
Ridge nodded and strode back out to his carriage. The whole thing was growing more puzzling by the minute, and if he didn’t find some answers soon, he was going to strangle someone.
###
Ridge yawned broadly and removed his spectacles to rub his eyes. He shoved the journal away in disgust and gazed balefully at the candle that had burned down to a nub.
No matter how hard he studied the intricate symbols, he couldn’t decipher their meaning. How had Philip Ashton and his daughter managed such a feat?
After checking his timepiece, he frowned. It was well past his usual hour to retire, but thoughts of Miss Ashton and her mysterious intruder had occupied his mind until he’d poured over the journal in an attempt to dispel the images of her being hurt. Or worse.
He rubbed his chin, fingering the bristly stubble that lingered. It was high time he sought his bed. Tomorrow he would pay Miss Ashton another visit, and this time, he wasn’t taking no for an answer.
His head came up in surprise when he heard Moreland open the study door.
“My lord, you have visitors,” he said uncomfortably.
“Visitors?” he asked in astonishment. “At this hour?” He scowled. “What the devil do they want?”
Moreland cleared his throat. “I tried to turn them away, my lord, but the woman was most insistent.”
Ridge’s brow furrowed, increasing the tension in his already aching head. “Woman you say?”
“She has two Indian companions,” Moreland said in distaste. “Miss Ashton insisted you would see her despite the lateness of the hour.”
“Miss Ashton!” He rose to his feet. What the deuce was she doing here? He daren’t allow himself to hope she had changed her mind, but why else would she be here? “Show her in at once. Never mind. I’ll receive her myself,” he amended, striding out of the door.
He hurried down the stairs and paused outside the drawing room door to collect himself. He surveyed his unkempt hair in the mirror that hung on the wall and grimaced at his reflection. He looked bloody awful.
He strode through the drawing room door, his eyes taking in the scene before him. Miss Ashton rose, her hands smoothing the dated dress she wore. He arched an eyebrow at the difference in her appearance. In the dress, albeit a very plain one, she looked decidedly more feminine. Though he had to admit, he preferred the trousers. Gray eyes assessed him in kind, a flicker of worry in their depths.
“Miss Ashton,” he finally said, nodding his head in her direction. “To what do I owe the honor of your most unexpected visit?”
If he had thought she looked tired in their first meeting, today she looked utterly exhausted. Shadows rimmed her eyes. He felt a twinge of guilt. Being accosted by an intruder certainly would account for her fatigue.
“I apologize for the hour of my call, my lord.” Her husky voice sent shivers over him, and he frowned at his reaction.
“Please sit, Miss Ashton. If I may be blunt, you look unwell.”
She flushed a delicate pink, and irritation flashed in her eyes. “I’ve reconsidered my decision,” she announced as she settled in an armchair behind her. Her servants flanked her, and the man glared angrily at him.
Ridge sat down across from her and lifted a brow, wondering what prompted her sudden reversal. Before he could voice his question, she leveled a stare at him.
“I’ve decided to help you. I’ll translate the pages. However, I have a set of conditions.”
“I see.” Perhaps his earlier offer had been paramount in her change of heart. His gaze flitted over her modest apparel. “And they are?”
She eyes him calmly. “Five hundred pounds. Half now, half when we return. I have a household to support in my absence.”
He reared his head in surprise. “Absence? Just where do you p
lan on going, Miss Ashton?”
“With you.”
“The devil you say!”
He rose and stared at her in astonishment. “I don’t remember extending an invitation for you to go anywhere with me. My offer was for you to translate the journal. Nothing more.”
She also rose, her expression unreadable. “Then we have nothing further to discuss. I bid you good evening, my lord.”
He held up his hands. “Wait, please.” Was she bluffing? Could she afford to turn down five hundred pounds? He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. He walked over to the bell pull. “Allow me to ring for refreshments. Then we can discuss this.”
A look of triumph flared in her eyes. The chit thought she had won. And maybe she had. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I would appreciate your seeing to Kavi and Udaya’s needs.”
“And not your own?” he asked, amusement creeping into his voice. He rang for a tray of tea then turned his attention back to his guests. “Pardon my presumption, Miss Ashton, but you do not appear to be overly anxious to help me.”
“I’m not,” she said bluntly, meeting his gaze head on.
Frankness. A trait he admired in a person, but he was unused to it in a woman.
“Then tell me what brings you to my house in the middle of the night. Why offer your assistance if you have no desire to do so?” He stared challengingly at her. Was money her sole motivator? He found himself oddly disappointed by the notion.
India ignored his question and stared back at him. If this was a battle of wills, it was not one she intended to lose. Too much rode on her ability to sway him. “I’ll help you find the city, Lord Ridgewood. But I’m going to accompany you.” She watched him closely for his reaction.
He blinked in surprise, disbelief spreading across his face. “That’s impossible, Miss Ashton,” he began.