Only time would tell, and the best way was to remain by his side, once more playing the part of his assistant.
“Where shall we begin research, professor?” She wandered along the main avenue that ran central through the library’s ground level while peering through the glass lenses of her spectacles.
“Knowing Lord Basselton’s quest, we need a section regarding ancient relics or perhaps Arthurian legends or treasures of the Catholic church.” He shoved a hand through his hair as he accompanied her, his limp slightly more pronounced than before. But then, he had been cramped and contained in a coach for a handful of days. What sort of injury had he sustained at some point in his life that it still bothered him? Never in all the days of travel with him had she seen him massage any part of his leg. Nor had he complained about it.
Was he a martyr with the pain, or did it truly not wear on him? The mystery surrounding the viscount deepened.
“Surely it cannot be that simple.”
He shrugged. “He has a half day’s head start, unless he found an ample supply of fast horses. With luck we might find him ensconced behind a shelf somewhere.”
“And what then? Will you beat the knowledge out of him with your fists? Jab him with your cane?” She slid a sideways glance at him. The viscount was a powerful man, and she wouldn’t mind seeing him in all his glory with sweat glistening over his skin and molding his shirt to rippling muscles.
Control yourself, Sophia. You are not a lust-crazed harlot.
He grunted. “If need be.” With a brief nudge to her elbow, he guided them toward a bored-looking clerk. “Let’s begin the hunt.”
February 25, 1822
Their luck didn’t hold, and it wasn’t as simple as Sophia had hoped.
After breakfast on the fourth day, they once more set out for the library from the rooms they’d rented in a boarding house close to the university. Not as elegant or cozy as the home they’d shared with his agent friend, it was warm, provided a soft bed in which to collapse after long days of frustrating research, and the landlady was too happy to cook meals for them.
The one drawback had been not sharing a room with the viscount. He’d made a decided point to rent two rooms, and didn’t offer an explanation as to why. Sophia had hidden her disappointment, for she’d grown accustomed to being near him both day and night. She missed sharing the mornings with him when they used to jostle around each other as they performed their ablutions, missed the delicious scent of his spicy lime cologne that he splashed on after shaving, missed glimpsing his naked chest or catching him staring at various portions of her anatomy. Retiring for the night wasn’t nearly as heady when he didn’t occupy a pallet on the floor next to her bed and she couldn’t hear the steadiness of his breathing as he slept. Of course, it wasn’t fair to deny him a real bed of his own, so there was that.
Silly widget. The admonishment did nothing to stop the queer ache in her heart. You can find that with any man, not just him, if companionship is what you’re after. Especially since he’s done nothing to return the regard.
The longer they didn’t turn up a lead at the library, the more grouchy and surly he became, but since he wouldn’t share with her what bothered him, she had no idea how to help. And due to separate sleeping quarters, there was no opportunity for pillow talk. The one promising bit they’d managed to uncover came two days into their visits with the discovery of an emerald on a fine gold chain. An oval shape at least an inch tall and half an inch wide, the depths of the gem were mostly clear. A tiny golden crucifix was glued to the front of the stone. In annoyance he’d thrust the bauble at her after he’d pulled it from its hiding place shoved behind a grouping of unrelated books and wadded in a scrap of dirty linen.
“Put this on and do not lose it. No doubt this is part of the Spanish crown jewels,” he’d said, his vexation evident with each word he’d bit out.
Easily the most expensive piece she’d ever worn, Sophia gladly and with much reverence had slipped the chain about her neck. The gold filigree mounting was cool against her skin as the stone nestled between her breasts. It jangled against the watch she wore on a chain. “What am I to do with it?” Something so valuable should not grace her person, but it was better there than in a reticule that could be misplaced.
“Keep it safe until we can ascertain exactly where it belongs, for it is certainly not here where anyone could come across it.” A snarl accompanied the directive.
She’d rolled her eyes. “No need for a temper, though it seems contrived somehow, that both this treasure and the cross were carelessly left behind by unknown people for unknown reasons.”
“Indeed, and that is my fear as well. None of it makes sense, and it’s too sloppy besides.”
“And what of the remainder of the crown jewels? Where the devil are they?” she’d asked.
“Again, something I’d like to know too, but since I do not, I cannot answer you.” He’d said nothing more for hours.
Now, two days following that incident, his temperament hadn’t improved, and he went about with his face wreathed in thunderclouds. No doubt his thoughts were as black as night. Disturbing to be sure, but he was also quite arresting and dangerous… in a way that poking an injured circus bear with a broom would be.
“Perhaps we should try a different way of approaching our research,” she said with a conversational tone as they walked along the pavement toward the massive building. “Why not look at it from an archaeological standpoint? Mayhap what we seek isn’t in a book at all.”
“Meaning?”
“Mayhap your answer is in the stonework, the flooring or something else.”
He grunted. “That damn chalice has to be somewhere. Why else would Basselton come?”
Why indeed. She lifted her eyebrows. “Perhaps he only wanted you to tarry at the library in the hopes your time would be given over to an impossible quest while he makes good his own escape.”
The viscount sent her an assessing gaze for long moments, and finally nodded. “Nice theory. I’ll ponder it as well as a possible motive.”
A pain-filled shout from an alleyway between two buildings rent the air, nearly swallowed by the carriage and horse traffic on the busy street.
“What the devil was that?” Jonathan’s body tensed. He sprang into action so quickly Sophia had to trot in order to keep pace.
When they arrived in the shadowed alley, she sucked in a breath. A scruffy man had cornered a youth and proceeded to beat him about the face and shoulders while demanding the boy empty his pockets. “Oh, dear Lord,” she whispered as her eyes widened. Such things as pickpocketing and beatings occurred in London and even in the country, but she’d never been subjected to such a display. “Jonathan, do something, or I will.” Already, she took a couple of steps toward the fight and delving into her reticule for her newly acquired pistol. “I cannot bear to watch.”
“You will do no such thing.” He reeled her backward by yanking on her arm. “Stay here.” Then he thrust his cane at her and proceeded to stride toward the fight. “You there. Unhand that boy.” Authority rang in his voice that made her look at him in a new light.
The man glanced at the viscount and with a sneer in heavily accented English said, “Mind your business.”
“This is now my business.” Jonathan grabbed the assailant’s shoulder. He whipped him around and punched the man in the nose. The sickening crunch of cartilage echoed in the hush of the alley. To the youth, he said, “Run.”
The young man scrambled to his feet, murmured something Sophia couldn’t quite catch but she hoped it was his thanks. He loped from the alley and as he passed her, a smear of blood marred his cheek. One of his eyes was nearly swollen closed.
“Think twice before you choose to molest anyone on this street again.” The warning in the viscount’s voice sent chills down Sophia’s spine. He was magnificent when forceful. Why didn’t he show that side in other aspects of his life? She gawked as the ruffian threw a punch, connecting with Jonathan’s
cheek, but her companion responded by returning the favor. He drilled his fist into the man’s jaw, his every move showing off the lean mass of muscles in his form before the folds of the greatcoat swung back to hide them. Down the villain went in a motionless heap.
“That was… impressive,” she said breathlessly as Jonathan came toward her. She’d known he was virile, had seen his naked chest and shoulders a few times, but she had no idea he was a fighter or held such compassion for a stranger. “You felled him quickly.”
“I was fortunate and the scum weak.”
By the time he reached her location, he’d whipped out a handkerchief and dabbed at his cheek. The punch had barely broken the skin. “Do you hurt badly?” When she lifted a hand to explore his face, he edged away.
“I am fine. Please refrain from creating a scene.” He retrieved his cane from her other hand. “Let’s be on our way before our presence is detected and an inquiry forms.”
As they quit the alley and emerged into the sunlit street again, she glanced at him. His jaw was clenched so hard a muscle twitched. When he turned his head and their gazes caught, shadows haunted the depths of his eyes. Why? What demons had suddenly awakened?
The answer remained elusive as they entered the library and climbed a stone staircase to the second level. He didn’t offer conversation while leading her through the warren of hallways and past countless wings containing shelves of books on exotic places and priceless knowledge. What she wouldn’t give to spend a month or two lost in the wonders found between all of those covers. This was the only section of the library they hadn’t explored, and as she read a few titles, she allowed a small smile to curve her lips. The theme of this collection was archeological finds in Spain and neighboring countries throughout the ages.
He took my advice, at least partly.
“Though gemstones and gold and lovely ball gowns are wonderful in their place, I think I should rather have a well-stocked library as a gift of regard from a man.”
Jonathan merely grunted. “Men do not consider such things conducive to romance.” Yet distraction kept a hold on him as he flicked his gaze back and forth, not lingering along any one shelf for long. He swept an arm to encompass the room. “Have at it, Miss Wickham. If the answer to our questions isn’t here, we are nodcocks indeed. And if it is, there is every possibility Lord Basselton has already discovered it, found the chalice and has absconded away with it.” Bitterness laced his words and he turned away. “Yet another failure to add to my collection.”
“Where are you going?” She refused to let him abandon her or the mission due to his foul mood.
“This forced inactivity is pressing on me. I need to think. To reconnoiter. To clear my head. I have a strong suspicion we are playing someone else’s game, and I do not like it.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No.” He slashed at the air with a hand. “You will remain here. It’s safer that way. For both of us.” Before she could protest, he’d slipped away.
The viscount didn’t return until the shadows of evening approached, and by that time, Sophia had cursed his name no less than twenty-five times in at least three languages. While she’d been scouring dusty books and dry-reading travel journals, he’d been exercising his freedom by gallivanting about the city. She’d continued to read, not noticing the lights on the walls hadn’t been lit. For that matter, no member of library personnel had come to check on her. How… odd. Why was that?
This is outside of enough. She popped her hands upon her hips and glared as he sauntered into the area as if he’d done nothing wrong. “Where have you been, Lord Trewellain?” Her voice sounded overly shrill in the hush of the shelves around them.
“Investigating, as I should have been doing all along.” He avoided her gaze, but in the dim light, the blow he’d received earlier in the day now showed as a purpling bruise. “What have you uncovered?”
“Nothing. Well, nothing that pertains to your case. There is other information here, wonderful things I’ve learned, but it doesn’t shed any light on the chalice.” And that was another thing bothering her. It was very much his case. He knew all the details and had only shared a few with her, wouldn’t let her do anything strenuous or difficult. Why didn’t he trust her? Worse yet, why did he treat her as if she were a fragile bauble? She gestured toward a slim travel volume written in a faded, scratchy hand. “That book bears interest. It talks of a hidden Roman village beneath Barcelona, if you can imagine that, but it tells me nothing regarding how to access it. I haven’t read the bulk of it though.” If true, exploring such a thing would be life changing.
“That doesn’t help.”
The growled words quelled a bit of her enthusiasm. “Of course it doesn’t, but it won’t kill you to tell me you appreciate my efforts just the same.” Her annoyance with him rose as did her voice. “Well?”
“Well, what?” He finally met her gaze. Guilt and horror darkened the hazel depths to brown.
“What did you find during your day away?”
“Nothing. There is nothing here that ever indicated Basselton had visited the bloody city, or this library in particular.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “He might as well be a ghost for all the footprints—literal or figurative—he left behind. And I’m having the thought that all of this might have been staged for our benefit.”
“But why?” Sophia stared at him and he stared back without answering. “Have you noticed the odd lack of lighting in this section?”
“Yes. It’s but another thing that makes me ill at ease. Did someone pay off the clerks to abandon us here?”
“Dear God, but that would mean…” Footsteps coming their way echoed loud in the sudden silence. “Has the library closed for the evening?” She’d been there for a whole day, lost in reading. When her stomach growled and confirmed its neglect, she bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing.
“Yes, but we’re not finished.” When she opened her mouth to response, he darted forward, and wrapping an arm around her waist, he dragged her back into the maze of shelves, pressing her body and his into one of the shadowed alcoves that lined the walls. “Remain still until the guard passes,” he whispered into her ear. “I refuse to be thrown out and lose countless hours.”
Warmth flooded her being at his closeness and his arms around her. “Why? We could return tomorrow when we’re rested and in possession of clear thinking.” Her voice was equally low and her lips brushed the side of his throat, where the evening stubble rasped over her skin. Flutters of need filled her core. She breathed in his Caribbean lime scent and tamped down the urge to sigh. He smelled good enough to eat.
Or lick. Just a tiny series of licks to his chest or abdomen to see if he tasted as wonderful as he smelled. She’d be content enough with that.
“We’re not leaving here until I have answers… and I have given some.” He lightly pressed a hand over her mouth in a bid to silence her. “Hush, Sophia. I am under enough duress as it is.”
The feeling of his hands on her body sent another round of tingling sensation through her. She thought about licking his palm merely to see how he would react, but quelled the idea for fear he’d inadvertently give away their hidden position. Or worse, remove his hands from her person.
They remained quiet, the soft inhalations of their breathing the only sound. A man entered their section of books. The golden pool of light from his lantern illuminated the area but didn’t penetrate the shadows where they waited.
Sophia’s heart pounded as he made his rounds. He whistled a jaunty tune and soon the ring of his footsteps as well as the bouncing light faded. She pushed at Jonathan’s shoulder until he released her and removed himself from the hiding spot. Immediately, she missed the warmth he’d imparted. “What the devil is going on?” she demanded, making certain she kept her voice low. “You know something.”
Outside the high-arched window, the evening twilight gave way to navy darkness sprinkled with brilliant stars. On a different night with a diffe
rent couple, perhaps a romantic stroll would be in order. There was none of that between her and the viscount. Jonathan looked at the glass then back at her. Did he think along the same lines? Impossible to tell. He remained stoic for long moments before finally speaking. “I cannot ascertain what is coming or why.”
She snorted. “Stop trying to guess. You miss little things—important things—when you do.” With a gesture, she indicated the books around him. “Perhaps you already have.”
“Don’t you think I don’t know that?” He narrowed his eyes even as he whispered. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do in order to protect the Crown?”
“Yes, but anticipation only goes so far. Sometimes you have to rely on instinct and your own gut feeling. Sometimes there is no physical proof of aberrant behavior in your enemies.” She didn’t know if that was true, but it sounded intelligent.
Jonathan grunted. He turned away, standing there, his head bowed. “Archewyne and Rathesborne operate like that. I don’t. Never have. When I don’t find the answers I seek, I apply a bit of physical encouragement to my marks until they talk.”
“In other words, you use your fists.” Interesting, that. She frowned. “However, obviously in this case, that plan doesn’t work, for your mark eludes you, yet here you are, standing in one of the greatest libraries in Spain, and you can’t figure out your quarry’s next move because you’re trying to anticipate him.” She shook her head. “He and you aren’t alike, and that’s why such a strategy won’t work.”
“What would you do?” Slowly, he faced her, his gaze still haunted. “Since you cut my methods to ribbons. Explain your approach, for I have no bloody clue what I should do.”
What the Stubborn Viscount Desires Page 14