How To Vex A Viscount

by Marlowe Mia

  Lucian stood transfixed. Only his torch moved, lighting the chamber from one end to the other. The entire space was crammed with crates.

  “Oh, Lucian,” Daisy said, clasping his free hand. “We’ve found it.”

  “Now let’s see if we can discover a way to keep it,” he said grimly.

  Daisy dropped to her knees before the first chest, so giddy with excitement she’d almost forgotten Sir Alistair and his pistol. “One thing at a time. Don’t you want to see it?”

  He chuckled. “I’ve seen it in my mind so often, I almost don’t need to, but since you insist.”

  He knelt beside her and used his knife to pry open the crate. The wood was so rotted with age, it fairly crumbled under the pressure. He lifted the lid and the contents glinted whitely in the torchlight.

  “What’s this?” He reached in and grabbed a handful, crushing it in his grip. The tiny grains trickled between his fingers and drained back into the crate, like sand in an hourglass.

  “Oh.” A downward spiral in Daisy’s belly made her feel sick. “I’d forgotten. But it makes perfect sense. Of course.”

  Lucian tried another crate. The same crystalline whiteness leered up at him. By the time they’d opened a sixth chest with the same result, tears trembled on Daisy’s lashes. She felt Lucian’s despair, sharp as a blade to her heart.

  He drew a deep breath and picked up one of the open chests. “Let’s show Sir Alistair his treasure. By God, he can have it, and welcome.”

  Daisy led the way again, carrying the torch this time, while Lucian lifted the open crate over his head to squeeze through the crevice.

  “You found it?” Alistair called across to them.

  “Here it is,” Lucian said. “Choke on it.”

  He dumped the entire contents into the abyss.

  “Are you mad?” Sir Alistair exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s salt,” Daisy explained, her tone laced with misery. “In our excitement over a treasure, we all forgot that in ancient times, the Roman legionnaires, especially those at the far reaches of the empire, were sometimes paid in salt.”

  “Salarium,” Sir Alistair said woodenly.

  “Exactly. Hence the expression ‘worth his salt,’” she babbled, taking comfort in academia. “Difficult to come by. Easy to trade with the locals. I’m surprised that, as head of the Society of Antiquaries, you neglected to consider this possibility.”

  “No!” Sir Alistair shouted. “There must be something else. Go back and search again.”

  A clatter and scuffle erupted behind him, and Sir Alistair turned to see who was making his way down the passage. Whoever it was had taken a tumble in the dark and ruined any hope of stealth.

  Daisy peered into the blackness, trying to make out the identity of the man silhouetted against the distant opening. He was picking himself up from a rather nasty fall, dusting off his clothing and mumbling curses.

  “It’s my father,” Lucian said softly. Then he raised his voice. “Take care, sir. Fitzhugh is armed.”

  “I know.” Lucian’s father stepped into the torchlight. His frock coat was torn and covered in dirt. A bloody brown patch was spreading on one knee of his breeches. “I armed him myself.” He nodded to Fitzhugh. “I couldn’t wait outside a moment longer. There’s no one following, so I had to come in and see how things are progressing here.” Then he turned back to Lucian. “Now be a good lad and do as Sir Alistair asks. Go look again or I might just have to shoot your lovely assistant. Miss Clavenhook, is it?”

  “Bah! She’s no Clavenhook,” Sir Alistair said. “Remember, I told you—she’s Daisy Drake. But if there’s any shooting to be done, it’s Rutland who deserves a dose of lead for dragging us all on this wild-goose chase.”

  Fitzhugh raised his pistol to menace them once more.

  “That’s my son!” Lord Montford shouted, and lunged at Sir Alistair, who dropped his torch, but not his weapon.

  The sharp report of a pistol echoed, beating a furious tattoo throughout the cave. The ball ricocheted off the rock face next to Daisy’s head. She would have crouched, but there was so little room. The acrid stench of powder filled the cavern.

  “I didn’t mean to fire. I wasn’t going to—Stop, I say! No!” The earl and the knight wrestled with each other near the edge of the pit. Another long wail pierced the dark as Sir Alistair Fitzhugh fell headlong into the chasm.

  Daisy feared she might be sick, but this was no time to indulge her belly. Lucian didn’t need her to have an attack of the vapours. He needed her to be strong.

  Lord Montford stared down into the deep hole, as if puzzled by what had just happened. Then his face contorted in a mask of rage and he glared at Daisy.

  “Just look what you made me do. A curse on all Drakes,” he yelled, and raised his pistol.

  “No!” Lucian bellowed, and shoved Daisy so hard against the rock face she saw stars over his shoulder. He covered her with his body, his back to his father.

  A strange sound, like a small explosion, pierced their ears. They flinched in unison. And waited. There was a soft gurgle and a thud. Then silence reigned for the space of several heartbeats.

  Daisy shifted to peek under Lucian’s outstretched arm. Lord Montford’s form lay in a disordered heap, still as stone, on the far side of the pit. A shiny bit of metal protruded from one eye, and a dark stain spread under his head.

  “Oh, Lucian. Your father . . .”

  Lucian eased himself off her and peered across the precipice. “The barrel exploded,” he said softly. “The pistol must have become plugged with dirt when he fell on the way into the cave.”

  She wanted to say something, to tell him how she ached for him, but no words would form in her mouth. She couldn’t even touch him. Lucian’s father was dead because of her. How could he ever bear to look at her again?

  And even worse, how were they to escape their little oubliette now that the Jacobites and Lucian’s father were all dead? There was no way to scuttle around the narrow path, since Lord Brumley had taken such a large section down with him.

  But before she could find a way to express her sorrow and voice her concern, she saw another wavering torch. Two figures were creeping toward them in the dark, one tall and well-made and the other squat and tottering.

  “Who goes there?” Lucian shouted.

  “Who’s asking?” came the sharp reply.

  “It’s Mr Meriwether,” Daisy said to Lucian before raising her voice to ask, “Is Uncle Gabriel with you?”

  “Aye, lass.” The sound of the rumbling baritone of the man who’d guarded her childhood sent relief flooding her veins. The pair came into the range of her torch, and she saw them clearly. Concern, relief and anger were etched on their dear, familiar faces.

  Gabriel glared at Lucian. It was the look that had sent the fear of God into pirates and honest seamen alike when Daisy’s uncle had sailed the Spanish Main as the Cornish Dragon. To his credit, Lucian didn’t flinch. He returned Gabriel Drake’s intense gaze, and for a moment, Daisy feared they’d burn holes in each other.

  “You’ve put my niece in harm’s way,” Uncle Gabriel said.

  “She came willingly,” Lucian returned.

  Why didn’t he tell her uncle how he’d sheltered her with his own body when his father intended to put a pistol ball through her? How he’d protected her at every turn?

  How he loved her?

  “Did ye find another treasure, Miss Daisy?” Meriwether asked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

  “No, Meri. Not this time,” she said with a sigh. “And I’m sorry to say several men are dead because of this mythical treasure. Lord Brumley, Sir Alistair Fitzhugh and . . . Lord Montford.”

  “We’ll sort that out later,” Uncle Gabriel said gruffly as he slid a loop of rope from his shoulder. “For now, I’m taking you home.”

  “To love is to risk all. Yet we do it without a second’s thought because the heart knows no other course.”

  —the journal of Blanch
e La Tour

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Daisy picked up the queen’s rook and considered a sweeping move across the chessboard. Then she thought better of it and replaced the piece in the same square. Isabella was a serious chess player. No doubt the rook was what she was expecting, given Daisy’s usual reckless performance.

  No more impulsive chances for her. It was time to play it safe. Daisy moved one of her pawns instead.

  “And so,” she said, finishing up the narrative of her experience on Braellafgwen, “I’ve come to the firm belief that adventures are highly overrated.”

  “You didn’t used to think so.” Isabella knocked Daisy’s unprotected knight from the board.

  She hardly noticed. She was running the events of the last fortnight through her mind. “I didn’t know then what I know now.”

  Uncle Gabriel and Meriwether had freed her and Lucian from their little prison. They offered to help Lucian remove his father’s body from the cave, but he declined. Gabriel Drake was taking care of his family. Lucian would care for his. Mr Tinklingham would return at sundown. Lucian planned to hire him to help bear Lord Montford’s body off the island, and then Lucian would wait for Mr Crossly and his sons to return with their tilt boat the next day.

  Besides, it might look better for all concerned if Lucian didn’t return to London in their company.

  Daisy had been relieved to see her uncle and Meri, but couldn’t imagine how they’d trailed her to the island. She learned they’d paid a quick visit to her residence on Singletary Street after gleaning her whereabouts from the usually closemouthed Nanette. Mr Witherspoon might be an efficient butler with connections on the wharf, but she evidently hadn’t paid him enough to ensure his silence when faced with the likes of Gabriel Drake and his first mate.

  After they knew their destination, Gabriel and Meri hadn’t bothered with a tilt boat. Being master mariners, they sailed up the Thames in a little skiff, using the tide and bending the wind to their will. That meant there were no rowers for whose ears they must have a care on the little craft. Daisy was grilled like a goose on a spit all the way back to London.

  She told her uncle everything about Lucian’s excavation and following the clues to the location of the Roman payroll. She told of the Jacobite plot and Lord Montford’s unfortunate involvement, while touting Lucian’s innocence in that part of the scheme. She even admitted to masquerading as Blanche La Tour.

  “Did that bastard take your maidenhead?” her uncle demanded.

  “Lucian is no bastard,” she returned smoothly. “And the answer is no.”

  It was even the truth. He hadn’t taken her maidenhead. She’d given it to him freely.

  Along with her heart.

  When she saw Lucian last, he was standing alone on the island at the foot of the hidden stone steps. As the skiff pulled away from Braellafgwen, he was swallowed in mist as completely as if the fairies had stolen him away to their hollow hills.

  And she hadn’t seen him since.

  Daisy convinced her uncle to allow her to remain with Isabella instead of being dragged back to Cornwall. Of course, she had to promise she’d have no more adventures disguised as a courtesan. Isabella and her husband vowed to hold Daisy to it.

  They needn’t have worried. She had no desire to play Blanche with anyone but Lucian, and he was nowhere to be found.

  He said he loved me.

  Evidently love wasn’t enough to erase the pain of his father’s ugly death.

  A voice told Daisy it was her turn to play. She moved one of her chess pieces mechanically, not caring one way or another what befell it.

  “Checkmate!” Isabella sang out. “Oh, my dear heart, I fear you are not attending to the game.”

  “I’m weary of games,” Daisy said, not meaning chess.

  Nanette appeared at the parlour door. “Pardonez-moi, there is a gentleman caller who wishes to see Mlle La Tour.”

  “Who is it?” Daisy asked, hope making her body thrum like a plucked string.

  Nanette squinted at his calling card before handing it over. “Do you know the Marquess of Chadwycke?”

  Isabella raised a silver brow at Daisy.

  She frowned in disappointment. “I have no idea who he is. Tell Lord Chadwycke that Blanche has gone to France and never intends to set foot on the British isle again.”

  “If that is the case, then he instructed me to request a moment with Miss Drake,” Nanette said.

  “Persistent, I’ll give him that.” Isabella leaned back from the playing table. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

  Daisy snorted. “He’s just someone who either wants to tumble a French courtesan or court a fortune, and doesn’t much care which,” Daisy said. “I don’t know any Marquess of Chadwycke, Nanette. I have a new rule on adventures, you know. The answer is still no.”

  “My dear,” Isabella said after Nanette scurried to do her bidding. “I wish you wouldn’t shun all adventures. It’s not your nature. Take this new lord, for example. You haven’t even given him a chance.”

  “And why should I when all I really want is—Lucian, what are you doing here?”

  He filled the doorway, resplendent in dark blue velvet. The frogs and epaulettes on his frock coat sparkled in silver, and his tricorne sported a jaunty white plume.

  “Lady Wexford, Miss Drake.” Lucian made an elegant leg to them. “I hope you’ll forgive my intrusion, but sometimes a man can’t hear ‘no’ unless it comes from the lady’s own lips.”

  “Of course, my dear Lord . . . Chadwycke, is it?” Isabella purred as she stood and crossed to him, hand extended for his gentlemanly kiss. “From viscount to marquess. That is a tale I’d love to hear, but I believe there is only one set of ears you need to share it with just now. If you two will excuse me, I’ll see to some refreshments.” She glided past him with a wink. “And . . . it may take some time for me to return, so please make yourself at home.”

  Once Isabella left the room, Lucian set his hat on the side table. Daisy rose to her feet slowly. She’d dreamed so often of him coming for her just like this, she couldn’t be sure she wasn’t asleep.

  “Is the answer still no, Daisy?” he finally said.

  “No! I mean no, the answer is yes!” she cried, and ran to him. He caught her up in his arms and swung her around in a circle. His lips settled over hers in a warm, wet kiss, tasting, questing and then pouring his love into her.

  They finally came to a halt on the third turn.

  “Better sit down before we fall down.” Daisy led him to the settee. “Tell me, Lucian, what’s happened?”

  “Many things.” He clasped her hand between his. “I’ll start at the beginning. After you left Braellafgwen, I returned to the cave and covered my father’s body with my frock coat, since I had nothing else to do until Mr Tinklingham came later with his punt.”

  The thought of him alone in the dark with his sorrow made her heart ache.

  “Then I realized we hadn’t really done an exhaustive search of the Roman hoard, so I rigged up a little bridge of sorts, using an old log, and went back to investigate.”

  “Oh, Lucian.” He might have plunged to his death and she would never have known what happened to him.

  “You were right,” he admitted. “The Roman army was paid in salt.” A grin spread over his face. “But the proconsul was paid in silver. Lots and lots of silver.”

  He pulled a coin from his cuff and put it in her palm. The hapless Emperor Honorius glinted up at her from the coin’s face.

  “Oh, I’m so happy for you,” she said. “But now you’re Marquess of Chadwycke. How did that happen?”

  “For that, I must thank your uncle,” he said. “It seems he went to the king with word of the Jacobite plot and embellished my hand in foiling it out of all knowing. Your uncle even told His Majesty that my father had died trying to stop Sir Alistair’s plans. So, in gratitude, the king awarded my father the marquessate posthumously.” Lucian sighed. “And it devolved immediately to me
.”

  “Uncle Gabriel was never your father’s enemy, you know.”

  “He certainly proved it by protecting his memory,” Lucian said. “My father wasn’t always as you saw him last.”

  “I know. Hold on to the good in him,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze.

  He nodded. Then a smile stole over his face and he slipped off the settee to drop to one knee. “Someone told me once that my proposal of marriage was ‘singularly lacking in elegance.’ I thought I’d try to rectify matters.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she said impishly. “Now that I think on it, there was something in the previous proposal about paddling your arse, which I’ll admit does hold a certain appeal.”

  He choked out a laugh. “Daisy Drake, you are without doubt the most trying woman in the world, but I love you with all my heart. And if you think you’re done vexing a viscount, I wonder if you’d consider marrying a marquess?”

  “Hmm. Viscount Rutland, Earl of Montford and Marquess of Chadwycke,” she said as she palmed his cheek, kissing him once for each of his titles. “I’ve vexed the viscount and I’ll marry the marquess, but perhaps you’ll allow Blanche to return on occasion so she can finish the education of the earl!”

  He swallowed her laughter in a kiss that quickly lost all trace of hilarity and left them both breathless. When he finally released her, his hot gaze seared her.

  “Blanche may return whenever she likes, so long as she knows it’s Daisy I love.”

  “Then maybe she’ll stay in France,” Daisy said, “and you and I can educate each other. After all, I intend to learn you by heart. And won’t that be the grandest adventure of all?”

  EPILOGUE

  Thus I end this account. Of my life, I will say that I have known joy and sorrow, passion and loneliness, love and hate. Even though I have lived as a woman of pleasure, I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of men I have actually taken to my bed. I loved them all. In my way.

  And now in my advancing years, I am the wife of a husband who cannot love me except in his way. The irony is fitting. Is that heaven I hear laughing?