How To Vex A Viscount

by Marlowe Mia

  “I could have sworn that Drake girl saw us,” Brumley said. “She looked this way. Several times.”

  Alistair raised a brow at Brumley. If the man could only see himself—wig gone, hair askew and filthy, cuts and welts from the predation of insects all over his grimy face, his ensemble ripped and muddied. If Daisy Drake had seen him, she’d have thought him a wild man in the woods. As it was, his miserable turnout probably concealed him better than a hunting blind.

  “Now we follow them. Right?” Brumley asked.

  “No,” Lord Montford said before Alistair could. “Now we wait to see if they find something. One does not follow a bear into its den.”

  Alistair looked sharply at Lord Montford. They weren’t stalking a wild beast. They were tracking the man’s own son and a slip of a girl who would be no trouble at all. He narrowed his eyes at the earl in uneasy speculation. Of his two confederates, now he wasn’t sure which of them troubled him more.

  Lord Montford pulled back the firing pin and checked his pistol. Apparently satisfied, he shoved it back into the waist of his breeches. “At least, not until one is sure the bear is thoroughly distracted by something else.”

  “A hint of danger, the threat of harm, makes a body so quiveringly alive it’s a wonder more folk don’t meet their fate courting death.”

  —the journal of Blanche La Tour

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Sunlight fought to enter the opening Lucian cut through the vines, but once they stepped into the cave, darkness pressed around them. He found a row of old torches jammed in a fissure in the wall and pulled out his tinderbox to set one ablaze.

  “There we are,” he said as he lifted the smoky torch. “Seems someone used this cave at one time and expected to return. Kind of them to leave us a light.”

  “Caius?”

  “Or, before him, the druids.”

  The reek of pitch stung Daisy’s nostrils, but she and Lucian were bathed in a wavering circle of light that shot through the dark, throwing macabre shadows against the uneven walls and rock-strewn floor. The cave receded past the reach of the torchlight in a long, narrow tunnel, just wide enough for them to walk abreast as it angled down. The air that feathered her cheek felt dry and cool and smelled musty enough to suggest that no one had disturbed this chamber for a very long time.

  Daisy slipped her hand into Lucian’s. She was brave enough to want an adventure, but sensible enough to have a healthy fear of the unknown.

  “Don’t worry,” he said as he helped her over a small outcropping of rock. “I’ve a feeling the worst we might encounter here is a bat or two.”

  “That gives me small comfort,” she said dryly, wishing she’d thought to wrap a fichu about her neck. She’d never much cared for rodents in the first place. Adding wings did not improve them in her estimation. She strode forward, keeping pace with Lucian, trailing her fingers along the rock wall at her side to keep her bearings. Then she brushed against something that was decidedly not mineral.

  “Jupiter!” Daisy grasped Lucian’s hand with both of hers.

  Lying in a carved niche in the wall of the tunnel was a body. Or rather, what was left of one. The flesh was long gone and the cloth shroud had rotted into tatters, exposing chalk-coloured bone. A small oval of gold glinted on the sunken ribs. Delicate. Dainty. A woman’s necklace.

  “That is not a bat,” Daisy said.

  “No, it seems to be a lady who’s been dead for a very, very long time.”

  “Do you suppose . . . Could this be . . . Deirdre?” Daisy asked.

  “‘There shall my love be pleased,’ ” Lucian quoted. “If we’re right about this place, she might be Deirdre. Perhaps Caius thought she’d rest easy here.”

  “All his treasure in one place,” Daisy said thoughtfully. Traveling up the Thames with the body of his lover would be a sad, lonely journey indeed, even if Caius bore the wealth of Rome as well.

  Carefully, they stepped past the skeleton, leaving her undisturbed. They pressed forward, feeling their way, climbing over and around the rocks that obstructed their path. Their voices echoed in retreating sibilance. The scuff of a boot on stone was amplified several times over. Occasionally Daisy imagined some of the echoes were a bit long in coming and wondered if they were being followed, but when she turned to look back up the tunnel, she saw no silhouette against the distant opening of light. After a few moments, they reached a place where they could go no farther.

  A gaping abyss yawned at their feet. It was a little more than ten feet across. The lip on the other side was narrow, no more than a foot or so, before rising in a solid wall marred by one long, sloping crack. Even with a running jump, a body couldn’t be sure of being able to leap across. Lucian raised the torch higher. The ledge that ran along the left wall provided a precarious way to cross over, but it was even narrower.

  “It looks like we’ve reached the end,” she whispered.

  “No,” Lucian said, waving the torch before him as if he could will the light to reach farther. “We haven’t found the treasure yet, and it has to be here. I know it looks like the cave ends, but remember the hidden staircase. Would you have ever guessed there was a way up that steep slope that didn’t involve a rough scramble and a stout rope? This island takes pains to keep its secrets. There must be a way through that wall as well. It’s just not evident from this vantage point.”

  “I don’t know,” Daisy said. “There doesn’t seem to be a way across. I mean, if Caius Meritus were hauling in the treasure, he certainly couldn’t have crept around on that narrow ledge with a load in his arms.”

  “Perhaps the chasm wasn’t here back then. Or if it was, he might have built a little bridge of sorts. It wouldn’t have taken much, and there’s plenty of wood here on Braellafgwen. Then when he was done, he could have pushed it off down there.” He squatted to peer into the void. The light of the torch didn’t reveal the bottom. Lucian picked up a small rock and dropped it over the edge.

  Daisy counted silently to ten and still didn’t hear the rock hit.

  “I have to cross it,” Lucian said.

  “No, don’t,” she pleaded. “It’s not worth it, Lucian. Honestly, it’s not. If you were to slip—”

  “Miss Drake,” a voice came from the darkness, “I wouldn’t try so hard to dissuade him if I were you.”

  Daisy nearly jumped out of her skin. She turned to see two faces rise from behind a large boulder.

  “Sir Alistair Fitzhugh and Lord Brumley, fancy meeting you here.” She lowered her voice and hissed to Lucian, “So much for only encountering bats.”

  “Well, gentlemen,” Lucian said. “As you can see, we have reached an impasse. The trail has gone cold, and Miss Drake and I are leaving.”

  “I think not.” Sir Alistair raised a pistol and brandished it toward them as Brumley fumbled with his tinderbox to light a second torch. “As you rightly pointed out, this island has ways of keeping its secrets. I believe you are correct, Rutland. There may indeed be a false wall on the other side of yon abyss, and you, Miss Drake, are going to investigate that notion for us.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, indeed,” he said. “You’re the smallest here. You’ll fit most easily along that ledge.”

  “Leave her out of this, Fitzhugh.” A muscle ticked along Lucian’s jaw. “I’ll go.”

  “Oh, you’ll get your chance,” Sir Alistair said. “If something unfortunate happens to Miss Drake, you’ll try next. Now go, girl, before I decide it’s necessary to put a shot through the viscount’s knee in order to properly motivate you.”

  “No, don’t. I’m going,” Daisy said as she started toward the ledge.

  “Oh, no, you’re not.” Lucian grabbed her forearm to stop her.

  “You, milord, are neither my husband nor my keeper. You have no right to tell me what to do.”

  “Spare us your lovers’ spat and get going,” Sir Alistair said. “I grow weary of holding back my trigger finger.”

  Daisy pulled free of Lucia
n and kept moving.

  “He’s bluffing,” Lucian whispered as he followed close behind.

  “Stand still, Rutland,” Sir Alistair ordered.

  “Don’t be an ass. I’m going to light her way with the torch. You don’t expect her to do it blind, do you?” Lucian said over his shoulder, not slowing his pace. His voice dropped again. “Besides, he’s only got one shot. I’ll draw his fire. When he shoots, I want you to run toward the light.”

  Daisy looked up the long, dark incline. A hint of daylight beckoned in the distance. Then she looked back at Lucian.

  “Brumley may have a pistol as well. Besides, if you think I’ll abandon you, you don’t know me at all,” she hissed, then raised her voice. “Hold the torch higher so I can see what I’m about, then.”

  Facing the wall would be easiest. She could see to clutch at handholds on the rocky face. Even more important, she wouldn’t be able to look into the hypnotic pull of the darkness yawning behind her.

  “Just a moment,” she said. “I have to remove my hoops.”

  She reached under her voluminous skirt and untied the wire-and-wicker contraption that expanded the width of her hips by a foot on each side. Then she reached between her knees, grasped the back of her skirt and hauled it between her legs, tucking the long end into her bodice. The effect was something between a harem girl’s scandalous silk pants and a baby’s nappies. She was back to being, as Lucian once named her, a tomboy, but at least her legs were free and she wouldn’t be hampered by the underpinnings of her garments. She’d be able to hug the rock face as if it were her dearest love.

  Her dearest love.

  She looked up at Lucian. His face was drawn with concern. If Sir Alistair hadn’t been sporting a firearm, Lucian would have fought. Even though he’d faced down those ruffians with knives, a pistol had a much longer reach than his sword.

  She flashed him a quick grin, determined to put a bold face on things. “If ever I express the need to have an adventure again, you have my permission to paddle me.”

  He snorted. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  She edged her way onto the narrow space, clinging to a jutting rock with one hand and a stout root with the other. “But you have to swear not to enjoy it.”

  “I make no promises.” He lifted the torch higher. “There’s a fissure about a foot from your right hand. You should be able to shove your fingers into it and use it to steady yourself.”

  “I see it,” she said through clenched teeth. She shuffled her feet sideways on the narrow lip of rock, trying not to think about the sheer drop inches behind her. “And what about you? When may I paddle you with impunity?”

  “If ever I forget our anniversary, you may paddle my arse till it bleeds,” he said.

  Her foot slipped and she felt nothing but empty space beneath her sole for a moment. Then her toes found the ledge once again. She stood still, glancing right and then back to her left. Lucian drew a relieved breath and cast her a lopsided grin.

  “If that was a proposal of marriage, it was singularly lacking in elegance,” she said, moving along the ledge once again. She knew he didn’t mean anything by it, but their ridiculous talk of paddling and matrimony kept her fear at bay.

  “Lacking in elegance, was it? I find that observation difficult to take seriously from a woman whose skirt is tucked between her legs,” he said. “But if elegance comes at the expense of covering those ankles of yours, it is a highly overrated commodity. There, you made it.”

  Daisy heaved a sigh. She was across the chasm.

  “Now, if you’re finished treating us all to your unmaidenly banter,” Sir Alistair said, “see what you can discover about that rock face.”

  The ledge widened to only about a foot, but it seemed luxurious after the narrow lip she’d just traversed. Daisy looked down the ledge and was surprised to find that there was an opening. From across the chasm, it appeared as a long crack in a single wall of rock, but now she could see it was two rocks of identical colour and texture. One of them was behind the other, leaving a gap of eight or ten inches. If she turned sideways, she might squeeze through.

  “There’s a way through,” she called over her shoulder. “Very narrow and dark. I can’t go without a light.”

  “Now’s your opportunity, Rutland.” Sir Alistair levelled his pistol on his forearm and aimed the barrel squarely at Lucian. “Take the lady a torch.”

  “He’s going to do it one-handed?” Brumley asked, contributing to the conversation for the first time.

  “Unless you’d like to go in his stead,” Sir Alistair snapped, then turned back to scowl at Lucian. “Get moving.”

  Daisy shuffled back to the narrow ledge she’d just travelled. “Don’t look down, Lucian. Just a few steps and you can hand me the torch.”

  She leaned out as far as she dared and extended her arm to him.

  “Stay back,” he ordered sharply; then he softened his tone. “I can’t concentrate if you’re hanging off the edge like that.”

  She nodded and straightened, sidestepping to make room for him once he made it across. She had to remind herself to breathe as he eased his large frame over the limited space, holding the torch in his left hand and leading with his right.

  He made sure his feet were solidly planted before he advanced his hand, skimming the surface of the rock, seeking a finger-hold. He swung at one point, hanging on to a root and lifting both his feet in the centre.

  Daisy felt as though she’d aged a decade by the time he joined her on the far ledge. He pulled her close and gave her a quick kiss.

  “You haven’t answered my inelegant proposal yet.”

  “And I won’t until we’re clear of this and in daylight again,” she said.

  “Tease.”

  “‘Pleasure deferred is pleasure enhanced,’” she said, quoting Blanche.

  “Then let’s see about that treasure,” he said, his dark eyes glinting with excitement. A pistol was trained on them, but Lucian was still on the trail of a dream.

  “Wait,” Sir Alistair called across to them. “Brumley, get over there with them.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “If there’s a way through the rock, there may also be a way out, you idiot. They could collect the treasure and slip out the back door while we’re standing around in the dark holding our own cocks.” He strode over and took Brumley’s torch from him. “Get going.”

  Lord Brumley looked as if he’d just swallowed a bite of herring that had turned, but he did as he was bidden.

  “All right, Fitzhugh,” he said. “But when this is all over, King James is going to hear about your high-handedness. That’s all I’ve got to say.”

  “Squawk all ye like then. At least we’ll have a sovereign who speaks our language. Now move.”

  Brumley scuttled to the ledge with a whimper.

  Lucian held his torch higher, so Lord Brumley could see the space he was about to travel.

  “Take it slowly,” Lucian said. “There’s a soft spot about halfway across. You’ll feel it give a bit, but keep a good hold on that root and bear up your weight.”

  Now Daisy could see why her foot had slipped that one time. The dirt beneath her had given way. Lucian had avoided the spot by swinging himself over it.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” Brumley said.

  “I didn’t sign ye on to do any thinking,” Alistair said. “Get on wi’ ye!”

  Lord Brumley started along the ledge, his breathing noisy and labored. When he reached the centre of the span, the dirt beneath his feet crumbled. He screamed like a woman, clinging one-handed to the root, feet scrabbling to gain purchase on the sheer face of the remaining rock.

  “Swing your legs up, man,” Lucian said as he handed the torch to Daisy and took a step back out onto the narrow lip. He curled the fingers of his right hand over a protruding rock and extended his left to the flailing Lord Brumley. “Give me your other hand.”

  Brumley tried, twisting and wailing, his legs bucking wi
ldly. Then, with a sickening crunch, the root cracked and ripped from the rock. Lord Brumley plummeted downward, his screams reverberating. Then the horrible sound stopped suddenly, his long wail a thread snipped off by a giant’s scissors.

  “Wanting is ever so much more pleasurable than having. It is the difference between fancy and cold truth. As long as I desire, I may indulge my whimsy. Having crushes all hope of imagination.”

  —the journal of Blanche La Tour

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Daisy bit her lip to keep from crying out. Lord Brumley may have wished them ill, but he was obviously a coward at heart. She shoved aside the image of his horror-stricken face. In the years to come, it would probably haunt her nightmares, but she couldn’t dwell on it now.

  The tiniest candle of sympathy glowed in her heart. No one deserved to die so horribly, alone in the dark.

  “Well, don’t just stand there,” Sir Alistair barked at them. “See what’s beyond yon rock.”

  “Let me go first,” Lucian said.

  “No, it’s too narrow here to switch places. Just raise the torch a bit so I can see.”

  Daisy turned and eased herself through the stone crevice as Lucian followed close behind. After a couple feet, the space opened into a large chamber.

  When Daisy’s family had found the pirate’s gold, they’d stumbled upon a partially submerged sea cave. A smuggler’s hole, Mr Meriwether named it. There, they’d discovered several large chests deposited haphazardly, with golden doubloons spilling onto the dirt, winking like fallen stars.

  Now Lucian’s torchlight illuminated dozens and dozens of small crates stacked in ranks, all very methodical and organized.

  The difference between a steward of Rome and a crew of pirates, she thought with a smile.