He rolled from the bed and reached for his breeches. “There is no map of the abbey, that I know,” he muttered.
“Drat,” Prudence said, apparently oblivious of his swift change of mood. “Well, you shall just have to draw one out for me, and, of course, we must explore all the secret passageways.”
“There are only two, and I will gladly indulge your curiosity,” he said, a bit more gruffly than he intended. What he was thinking of was ridiculous, impossible…within reach.
He heard her dressing, although he still did not glance at her. “We shall need plenty of light, of course,” she noted. “I do not want to miss anything in the dark. I am determined to clear your good name, Sebastian.”
That made him turn around—and swiftly. Whirling, Sebastian stared at the lovely young woman who was now facing him. Unlike all her predecessors, she wore a simple, modest gown and was pinning up her hair without the slightest guile. She seemed totally unconcerned about the loss of her innocence, her reputation and her good name, yet she was worried about his.
Sebastian felt as if he had been struck in the chest, and the decision that had seemed so difficult only a moment ago settled into place effortlessly. Now, he had but to put it into action. He cleared his throat.
“Hurry, will you? I just know we shall find something!” she said, smiling at him brightly.
“Pru, I-” He faltered.
“How does this thing work?” she asked, poking at the cupboard that hid the passage. “Fetch two lanterns, will you? I would like one for myself,” she called over her shoulder.
“Damn it, Pru!” Sebastian snapped. “I fail to see what these secret stairs have to do with James. You cannot expect me to believe he lost his way in his own house?”
She turned toward him with a look that questioned his wits. “You can ask that after what happened to us? What if the window in the tower room had been barred and we could not have gotten out? Wolfinger is larger than I ever imagined, with wings and galleries that are rarely visited. Can you account for each door?”
Sebastian’s gut clenched at her suggestion. Despite his jaded manner, he had enough imagination to envision such a fate. “But James was outside when he disappeared,” he protested.
“Still, we must explore all avenues,” Prudence said matter-of-factly.
“By God, Prudence, you are talking about my brother! I have no desire to find his bones in some abandoned shaft.”
Stepping toward him, she put a comforting hand upon his arm. “I still believe that James has run away to sea, but a good investigator must be thorough,” she said. She looked up at him expectantly, and, grudgingly, Sebastian nodded his agreement, for he knew damn well the Bow Street Runner had never even entered the abbey.
They had examined both passages so minutely that Sebastian wearied of the task, and now they were down in the wine cellar, studying it just as thoroughly. Although it was ever his habit to indulge Prudence’s taste for the bizarre, Sebastian found his mood growing surly. It did not help that, even though outside the air held the balmy warmth of an early seaside summer, everywhere they went was cold and damp, and so dirty that they were both covered in dust and grime.
His companion felt nothing so mundane as low temperatures, however, and kept wanting to see more, though what she expected to find in the bowels of the abbey, Sebastian had no idea. Once, he, too, would have enjoyed poking about his ancestral home, but his thoughts had long since drifted to a cozy fire, a hot supper and a soft bed, preferably with Prudence in it.
“I fail to see how James could have gone from the cliffs outside into the very depths of Wolfinger without being noticed,” he commented dryly.
Prudence, standing in the middle of the room staring at an old tapestry, appeared not to have heard him. She had brought along some paper upon which to make notes, and was chewing upon the end of her pen, apparently in deep contemplation.
Although Sebastian found the picture charming, nonetheless, he had no desire to linger in the unwholesome place. If he had the money, he would modernize some of the less romantic portions of his ancestral home, he decided, before tearing his mind away from his financial woes.
“Pru—” he began.
But she ignored him to pluck at the tapestry, which looked as if it might crumble at her touch. “What an odd place for such decoration,” she mused, lifting a corner. “It has been ruined by mold and mildew.”
Sebastian let loose a low sigh, his hopes for escape dashed by the knowledge that Prudence would leave no stone unturned, no area unexplored. “Its purpose is not to be seen, but, rather, to hide the door to the other cellar,” he admitted.
“The other cellar?” She whirled around, her eyes wide without the glass that usually covered them, and Sebastian had to smile at her obvious delight.
“Where all the finer French bottles were stored,” he explained.
“Free-traded goods, you mean?” she asked, her voice fairly crackling with excitement.
With a resigned nod, Sebastian walked toward the wall covering and pushed it aside to reveal a stout door. “It is expected along the coast, is it not?” he asked.
“Yes. Cornwall has a history of smuggling, and worse, but, hopefully, those days are behind us,” Prudence said, stepping forward eagerly.
“Wait, Pru,” Sebastian warned. Setting down his lamp, he picked up one of the smaller casks that littered the floor and propped the entry open with it. “Although I found our tower room tryst most enjoyable, I have no intention of being locked in here by the Devil Earl, his wife, or an errant draft,” he explained, smiling grimly, before he led her into the other chamber.
Prudence had a habit of focusing so intently upon her goal that she ignored all else, but Sebastian was not oblivious of the dangers inherit in wandering about the old house. He was acutely conscious of how alone they were, and Mrs. Worth, though more sensible than most, would never think to look for them down here, if she could be induced to enter the cellar at all.
Sebastian held up the light, but there was little of interest in the small room. A few casks and some old crates were scattered about, the dust that lay thick upon them making it apparent that no one had been here in years—probably not since old Otho had gleefully showed Sebastian the place. That did not, however, deter Prudence, who was circling the room, kicking up dust.
“Now where is the passageway?” she muttered.
“What?” Sebastian asked, coughing in her wake.
“If illicit goods were being delivered to the abbey, they would hardly be carted in through the usual routes,” Prudence explained. “It is only logical that alternate means would be used.”
“I know of no more secret tunnels,” Sebastian said, heartily glad that he did not. He had no desire to explore any further, but he dutifully held the lamp aloft while Prudence ran her hands along the walls, tapping here and there and kneeling down in the dirt to peek behind barrels. Watching her poke through cobwebs without the slightest qualm, Sebastian smiled. Whatever else might happen, he was assured that this woman would never bore him.
“Here!” she said suddenly, and when Sebastian started forward, she took his hand and thrust it between two old barrels.
“A draft!” he exclaimed, with some surprise.
“Just so, Sebastian,” she said firmly.
As much as he disliked going any farther, he could not help but be proud of her. “Very impressive, Miss Lancaster.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, dipping her head in acknowledgment.
Although he suspected nothing lay behind the cask except an old refuse shaft, Sebastian’s interest was piqued. He managed to move the items that covered the spot, and when they lifted their lanterns, he saw that it was, indeed, a tunnel, sloping downward into blackness.
Sebastian knew a moment’s pause, for this was not like the abbey’s other passageways. He had never traversed it, and therefore knew nothing of its possible hazards. Rotting timbers, crumbling steps or plunges into bottomless pits all leapt to
mind. And it was not just the possibility of decay that worried Sebastian. The real Devil Earl might well have used this as an escape route, rigging traps for those who did not know its secrets. He was famous for such tricks, and Wolfinger had a rather unsavory reputation that led all the way back to monks who, by all accounts, had been less than holy.
“Prudence,” Sebastian began, but she was already stepping past him, bubbling with excitement. “Pru, wait!” he cried, more forcefully. He would have reached out to stop her, but he had a lantern in one hand and was holding the door open with the other. With an angry oath, he braced the entrance securely before following her. Damn it, where had her famous practicality gone? Had it disappeared entirely?
Sebastian hurried after her, only to find that she was lost around a bend ahead. His heart started pounding so frantically that he felt light-headed, and he rushed forward, giving in to panic for the first time in years beyond counting. Suddenly, Prudence’s place in his life took on a significance he had never imagined, as he pictured himself without her. He took the curve at a run, practically slamming into her when he turned the corner.
“Prudence, do not go charging off again, damn it,” he warned, grasping one of her arms in a tight grip. He refused to acknowledge that his fingers were shaking, or that his insides were twisted into a painful knot.
Oblivious of his distress, Prudence did not respond, but stared straight ahead. “Sebastian, look,” she said softly. With a frown of annoyance, he did, and to his astonishment, he realized they were in a natural cave that was obviously part of the cliffs on which Wolfinger was situated. And more startling was the fact that the place was not empty.
Stacked about were several large crates and casks that looked newer than those in the wine cellar. These were not covered with dust, and although some obviously held brandy, others, just as obviously, did not. Holding the lantern aloft, Sebastian nudged the edge of one lid, and out spilled fine lace that looked suspiciously French.
“Free-traders’ goods!” Prudence exclaimed.
“Smugglers, you mean,” Sebastian said. He turned on his heel, swinging the light around the cavern, alert for those who had stored the booty here. He was abruptly aware of something he rarely noticed—his own vulnerability, for he had no weapon with which to protect Prudence should the ruffians come upon them.
As if divinmg his thoughts, Prudence stepped forward. “I do not think the owners will be back for some time,” she said calmly.
“Why?” Sebastian snapped.
“Because the moon is full bright, and they like the cover of darkness.”
She was right, of course, and yet Sebastian felt a nagging sensation that he finally identified as worry. He nearly laughed aloud at the discovery, for he was unable to recall the last time he had known such concern for anyone—even James. Then he felt a familiar stab of regret. He should have worried about James.
“Nevertheless, I do not want to linger,” he said roughly. He had made mistakes with his brother; he did not care to repeat himself.
But his companion ignored him to walk around the cave, peering into boxes and poking about. She possessed, he realized, a sense of hearing that functioned only when she cared to listen. And just now, Prudence did not want to leave the cave, for she was on the scent, studying everything and storing away details to be used later in her writing, no doubt.
Helpless against that indomitable will, Sebastian followed her in wary resignation as she continued on. He noted that the cavern narrowed to an opening perfectly suited to its use, for a large outcropping of rock shadowed the entrance and sharp rocks jutted alongside, making it difficult to reach by shore. With some surprise, Sebastian noticed that the sun had already set and, as Prudence had noted, a full moon was on the rise.
Wading into the water that lapped against the opening, Sebastian peered curiously at the calm surface ahead. If he was not mistaken, it would not be too deep, and he moved forward, the sea spraying around him and crashing on the rocks on either side of his path.
“Be careful!” Prudence shouted behind him, and he smiled. Apparently, she was not totally oblivious of his presence. He walked on until the water rose halfway up his boots and then turned back toward her.
“It is shallow, a perfect berth for small craft,” he announced. “Probably a natural cove that has been used for centuries. Were you aware of it?”
Prudence shook her head. “There were always stories of lights along the cliffs, but they were supposed to be ghosts.”
Sebastian pictured a young Prudence, eagerly seeking inspiration, and frowned. “Are you disappointed, Pru, to find that your specters were nothing more than the signals of smugglers?”
She lifted her face, and the moonlight caught her gentle smile, caressing her lush mouth and pure skin. Standing there in the shadows, with only a few of her features visible to him, she was a vision more haunting than any that might inhabit Wolfinger. Sebastian’s chest ached, as if his feelings for her were growing so rapidly he could not contain them. He blinked.
“No. I have found there are things far more interesting in life than clanking chains and rattling tombs,” she said.
Her smile changed subtly, teasing him, and Sebastian easily caught her mood. “Have you now?” he drawled. He did not care for the cave floor, but his eyes flicked to a large, flat rock near the entrance. If she did not mind a few splashes on her clothes…His groin tightened in anticipation, but lingering concerns about smugglers dampened his ardor. He glanced back at Pru, who was eyeing him expectantly. How quickly she had become as eager for him as he was for her!
“We should be getting back,” he muttered, deciding against a seaside tryst. Since Pru had obviously lost all common sense, he was the one who had to be practical and cautious. By God, he nearly laughed out loud at that absurdity.
“But I have not finished yet,” Prudence protested. Before he could argue, she whirled away, lifting her lantern up to further inspect the cave, and Sebastian sighed in amused defeat. He bided his time, looking out over the ocean, watching the waves and taking a simple delight in the moonlit view. Breathing deeply, he drew in air as fresh and invigorating as the woman behind him.
There had been a time when he would not have turned his back on a woman, Sebastian realized with a bitter smile, but he felt no such qualms with Prudence. He was at ease with her. He did not have to be what others expected him to be, or play at the role of the Devil Earl. He did not even have to be an earl. He could be himself, whatever that was. Hell, he ought to ask Pru; she seemed to have a clearer idea of what he was than he did.
“Sebastian.” Prudence’s call from the depths of the cave interrupted his musings.
“Hmm?”
“Was there a moon on the night James disappeared?”
Startled by the question, Sebastian turned to see her standing stock-still, with an odd look upon her face. “Why?” he asked.
In answer, she stepped forward into the pool of light made by one of the lanterns and held out her arm toward him. As he stared at her outstretched hand, Sebastian felt as though the world had fallen away beneath his feet, leaving him without ground or balance. He blinked and looked again, unable to believe what he saw. But there it was, glittering coldly, mocking him with its bright presence.
In her palm rested James’s ring.
Chapter Sixteen
Prudence trudged up from the cellar, surprised at just how tired she had become. It must be late by now, for they had searched the cave many times. Her heart had nearly broken to see Sebastian, his face taut, looking for something— anything—that might tell them more about his brother.
The ring suggested that James had washed up into the cove or met with the smugglers. Either way, Sebastian was convinced that his brother was dead, no matter how she might argue to the contrary. As Prudence had discovered, the earl was very stubborn indeed.
“Well, there you be!” A wiry man of indeterminate age met them at the head of the stairs, smiling as though he were very glad to see
them.
“Were you afraid you would have to come look for us, Worth?” Sebastian asked.
The man laughed nervously. “Well, Mrs. Worth has been prattling on about locking doors and mysterious doings ever since I got back,” he said, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. “I admit the thought crossed my mind more than once, and I cannot say as I cared for it.”
Prudence smiled at the man’s honesty. The housekeeper’s husband was short and squat, with a pleasant face that invited conversation. “Oh!” he added, as if suddenly remem bering something important. “Mrs. Worth said that Miss Lancaster is to come to the state drawing room at once.”
“Whatever for?” Prudence asked.
“As to that I cannot say, miss, only she was in quite a taking, to be sure, what with trying to put together a supper for you and wanting some help from the village,” he admitted.
“Yes, well, I am certain now that you are here she will be less aggrieved,” Sebastian said dryly.
Prudence watched Mr. Worth shoot the earl a wary glance and then nod, as if he were not quite sure how to respond. She felt a stab of sympathy, for she had seen how capricious the ton could be in their demands. She could hardly blame the Worths for wondering about their infamous employer, when they knew him only by ugly rumor.
“Thank you, Mr. Worth. You have been most helpful,” Prudence said firmly, but the housekeeper’s husband was already hurrying toward the great fireplace that took up one wall, and Sebastian was reaching for her arm. They left the kitchens as the sound of Mr. Worth’s sharp oath and a clatter of crockery echoed behind them.
“Really, Sebastian, you cannot expect two people to care for us, and this huge place besides,” Prudence said. “Now, which way am I to go?” She looked about, dazed by the number of rooms that led this way and that, one into another.
“Come, I will escort you, although I cannot imagine why we are waiting upon a housekeeper,” Sebastian grumbled.
“It is your punishment for not employing a full staff!” Prudence said. “But I am sure it will not take long, and then we shall see about a bath and some supper.” Although Prudence rarely noticed such things, she realized that she was exceedingly hungry. When had they last eaten? Without Phoebe to drag her to table, she might never be fed.
The Devil Earl Page 21