“Please, help yourself.” His attention remained on the journal even as he took up the remainder of the cheese.
She slipped on the coat and shoved the items into the pockets. Never would she forget the scent of him and she reveled in that spicy lime smell. “I’m going to scour some of the shelves in the event we’ve missed something. Perhaps there’s a clue, another jewel, that will lead us to our next path.”
“Be careful,” was his only caveat.
“Silly man, what dire trouble can books bring me?” Sophia picked up one of the lanterns. “Should I hurry? The guard might return.”
He snorted. “When I procured your food, I caught him napping on the first floor. To be sure he remained out of our hair, I might have pulled the man into a storage closet, and from the fumes emanating from him, he’s so pickled, he won’t bother us for a while.”
“You think of everything.” Each time he opened his mouth, he revealed a new side of himself, and that made her mind reel.
“Except how to proceed on this damn quest.”
Ah, there was the man she’d become accustomed to. “We’ll find it. Do not worry.”
She drew her fingertips along the dusty spines of books that had probably not been disturbed until they’d come along. It was unlikely a man like Lord Basselton, who liked the game and the cat-and-mouse more than the knowledge, would have devoted the time to actually studying the relic in question. If that were true, why exactly was he so intent that Jonathan cool his heels in such a manner?
Unease trickled down her spine. “Your mission was to find Lord Basselton, who was assumed missing. Obviously, he is not.” Almost as if he’d hoped Jonathan or another agent would fall for the carefully planted clues. Did the trail end here or was something fantastical—or sinister—waiting for them elsewhere?
“It was. I was also ordered to find and secure the chalice.” He blew out a breath. “None of it makes sense, especially why he would have taken the Spanish crown jewels.”
“Because he needed something to drop as markers along the way.” She continued to glance up and down the endless rows and shelves of books ranging from archeology, Spanish history, travel through the country and places of interest other travelers had come upon.
“But why use such expensive—and sought after—jewels? He could have bought other gems for the same reason.” Doubt rang in the viscount’s voice. “Even paste copies.”
“Of course he could have, but would you have taken his game seriously if lesser gems had been used?” She lifted her lantern higher to peer into the heavy shadows of a recessed alcove.
“Probably not. There’d be no point.”
“Unless you had unequivocal evidence the chalice was hidden close by.”
“And if it is…” Jonathan’s voice grew muted the farther she went into the alcove, but she could still discern the excitement in his tone. “…why wouldn’t Basselton simply abscond with it and leave us be? Why go through the charade of puppet master?”
“Assuming the chalice isn’t here or doesn’t exist—which is the real possibility—he wants us delayed for whatever reason. I do not think he’s even been here. Your information was false and deliberately misleading.”
“Why?”
The books lining the curved shelves in the alcove were older and so dust-covered, she couldn’t read the titles. Even if she could, upon brushing at a few, their Latin, gilt lettering taxed her memory. But they had definitely not been disturbed. “Perhaps he assumes we will fail.”
“To what end though? That I’ll return to England with my tail between my legs in defeat?” He scoffed. “He knows me not at all. I won’t back down from a challenge.”
That was too true. “Have you considered the possibility that it is not you whom he wishes to embarrass—even harm?” But who then, and why involve the viscount at all?
A draft of chilly air brushed across her cheek. Sophia turned toward the current and frowned. Why was it so much colder here? She stood at the curved section of the shelves and held up a hand. Yes, it was cooler here by at least ten degrees.
Once more lifting the lantern, she examined the stonework that framed the shelves. Bits and pieces had crumbled from many of the stones. The mud or mortar had succumbed to age as well. Perhaps that was the reason for the chilly air. She frowned and stared harder. But why only in this quarter? Rapping her knuckles on the wall, she cocked her head. Was that a hollow echo or her imagination?
Looking upward into the shadow-wreathed ceiling, she spied a dusty, iron hook designed for a lantern. Logical, really, and more helpful than holding the thing. Sophia lifted her lamp and slipped the ring onto the hook, disturbing clinging cobwebs as she went. The golden pool of light expanded to include the whole alcove. There, much better. As she stood pondering what to do next, the deep, grating sound of stone rolling across stone echoed through the chamber.
The floor beneath her feet rumbled and she clutched at the shelves to remain upright. “Damn and blast. What have I done?”
“Sophia, what’s going on?” The concern in Jonathan’s voice was unmistakable, even if muffled.
“I’m not certain. Could be an earthquake?” Of course it wasn’t.
The curved section of the alcove began to rotate, and since she stood within that round center stone, she went along with it. As the revolution continued, a dark tunnel beyond opened, beckoned into a black maw filled with cold, stale air.
So intrigued was she that she didn’t move fast enough to abort the cycle. Into the gloom she went. Unfortunately, her lantern, mounted to the wall, didn’t come with her. Once the shelf concluded its 180 degree turn, the wall closed with an ominous click and left her on the other side, plunged into complete and total blackness.
It took her by surprise. All she could do was stare at the spot she’d been, yet she couldn’t see anything. Her heartbeat accelerated and the air pressed in on her. When something ghostly and fleeting brushed her cheek, she lost her composure. A high-pitched scream left her throat. Followed by a string of sneezes. Would this place entomb her? And what was that on her cheek?
Possessed of an unnatural fear of spiders and other crawling things, Sophia thrust out a hand. When her fingers met cold stone and a trace of wetness, she screamed again.
Seconds later, Jonathan pounded on the other side of the wall in the alcove. “Sophia? Sophia! Answer me right now.” His voice was muffled. Sounds of books falling to the floor followed.
She took a deep breath and attempted to calm the fear circling about her mind like a feral beast. He was there, just on the other side. She wasn’t quite as alone as she’d thought. But he wasn’t here with her and available for her to touch, to ground herself. Fear climbed through her chest and twined with panic. Another scream built in her throat.
“Sophia, please talk to me. Tell me what you did before the ground trembled.” Though he kept his voice even, the same current of panic she felt underscored his tone. “Above all, do not give in to hysteria. It will hinder rescue.”
She sneezed. Her breath came in fast pants. “Jonathan, please help me.” She pulled his greatcoat more tightly about her body, but still shivers wracked her shoulders. Fear was a horrible thing, more potent than any other emotion, more numbing.
“I would love nothing more than to do that, but without instruction from you, I am helpless.” His tone had turned snappish. “Allow me a moment to gather my cane since you have our other belongings in my greatcoat.” Time was an agony while the silence stretched. A sharp rap on the wall indicated his return to the alcove. “Tell me exactly what you did.” His temper hadn’t improved.
The order sliced through some of the fear that froze her. She nodded even though he couldn’t see the gesture. “I thought that perhaps one of the old books would reveal a passageway.”
“I’ve removed every damn book from the shelves. What else?”
Of course he had. Her mind refused to turn over in this horrible place of darkness. Think, Sophia! She touched her palm to
the wall once more. Cold stone chilled her skin. “I saw an iron hook above my head to the left, just outside the curved shelf.” With a hard swallow she forced down the ball of fear in her throat. “I put my lantern on the hook. After that, the floor rumbled and the wall moved.”
“Damn it all to hell.” More inventive curses flowed from him seconds before the floor shook once more and the wall began to move.
With a squeal, she stepped away, backward from the rotating platform. Once the movement was complete, Jonathan came into view, his lantern at his feet, his cane in his hand. When he saw her, he bolted forward, his eyes wild in the dim light, and when he engulfed her into his arms, his forward momentum shifted them both backward. She lost her footing, uttered yet another scream and clutched at Jonathan’s shoulders as a feeling of weightlessness assailed her.
They tumbled and rolled down a set of stone steps and finally came to rest on a dust-covered floor. His cane fell with a muffled thud beside them. The fall knocked the wind temporarily from her as she stared down at him. He’d shielded her from the worst of the bumps but he scowled up at her as she lay haphazardly over his body and chest.
“I am so sorry,” she breathed and then sneezed. Her forehead cracked against his chin. “Ouch.” Regardless of how happy she was to see him, touch him, the look in his eyes unnerved her. “I should have waited for you, but I didn’t know—”
Jonathan tensed beneath her. He flipped them both over, his arms wrapped tightly about her. “Woman, don’t ever do that to me again. I nearly died from apoplexy back there.” Before she could utter a protest or answer, he slammed his mouth onto hers.
Sophia didn’t mind this rapid shifting of his moods, especially if it ended with him kissing her as if his life depended on it. She surrendered to him, twined her hands about his neck and kissed him back with everything that she was. Each stroke and thrust of his tongue made her forget about the aches and pains she’d sustained during the fall down the stairs. Each time she chased him, mimicked his movements, delicious sensations flew through her nerve endings and tiny fires licked into her blood.
By the time he wrenched away, he was as breathless as she. “From now on, you don’t go more than ten feet away from me. Understand?”
“Yes.” It was the only intelligent response she could think of while every point of his body pressed against every part of hers. That certain hardness of his manhood nudged her thigh, and she shivered with the hope she might explore such an interesting appendage later.
“Good.” He levered off her and stood with a groan. When he offered a hand and she took it, he hauled her upright with impressive strength as if she weighed nothing. “Stay here and don’t move while I retrieve my lantern.” As he climbed the stairs, his limp was more pronounced.
The light bounced and swayed while he came back down. When he hefted the light high above her head, he sucked in a breath. “We’ve fallen into a passageway of some sort. It appears to slope downward, so mind yourself as we explore. I didn’t think to bring the travel notebook with me in my haste to get to you.”
“We shouldn’t need it.” Sophia turned in a slow circle as he retrieved his cane. At the top of the stone staircase was the curved bookshelf, bared of volumes. A few lay scattered about the stones. A faint dripping of water reached her ears and beyond the circle of illumination, where the creeping darkness waited. She shivered. “Must we go forward?”
He chuckled and the sound warmed her. “Yes. I didn’t spy another iron lantern hook on this side of the wall, so it’s either explore or rot here.” His grin had a macabre flair in the mix of shadows and light. “Didn’t you say you couldn’t wait to explore?” When she eyed the darkened passageway askance, he laughed again. “Never say you are afraid to be a lady adventurer. Jane will be so disappointed.”
“I am not afraid, per say. There just might be skittering things down here.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it. Probably bats and rats.” His eyebrows sailed upward into his dusty hair as he chuckled. “I’m going forward. You are welcome to stay here.” He sent an exaggerated glance about the small space. “Though it looks as if spiders would rather choose a place like this to build a nest.” He waggled his eyebrows. “A large one.” Then the dratted man shoved off down the passageway.
How had he guessed she couldn’t stand the eight-legged terrors? “Wait!” Sophia pelted after him and when she caught him up, she clung to his arm. “Perhaps exploring won’t be so bad.”
He remained silent, much to her relief. The last thing she’d wanted was his teasing.
Instead, her mind went back to that kiss and what had motivated him to do such a thing. Not that it mattered. She remained in a state of heightened awareness beside him. The kiss they’d just shared had been different than the others. The one in the library where they’d given into passion had stemmed from frustration, desperation and guilt—and mutual need. The embrace they’d had after the ball had been everything sweet, gentle, exploratory and perhaps teasing. This one had been frantic, hard, real, and oh so full of wicked promise. For what? Nothing had changed in their situation, and now with this discovery, the mission swept toward its conclusion. Soon they would no longer be bound by the sham engagement.
A frown pulled at the corners of her mouth as cold sadness pooled in her belly. She’d learned so much about the viscount, and he was no longer the man she assumed he was upon first meeting. She glanced up at him, at his profile, but he ignored her in favor of picking his steps along the sloping, half damp path.
Was he discovering the man he truly was as well? If nothing else, she hoped he would find peace. He had been living under guilt and self-torture for far too long.
Chapter Fifteen
Jonathan looked about him in amazement. After moving at a slow pace downward for roughly a half mile, they had then hiked another mile before they’d come upon the ruins. “If I wasn’t seeing this with my own eyes, I would never believe such a thing existed, even if that travel journal said so.”
“It’s stunning.” She gazed at the dun-colored ruins with wide eyes. “From everything I read in that journal, it is most definitely Roman.”
“Imagine, Sophia, a whole town lying beneath Barcelona, and hardly anyone up top knows or cares if they do.” It was staggering to think that the sands of history had left this once bustling village buried and forgotten. “People called this place home, lived and loved here, worked to the best of their ability to look after their families.”
Now he finally understood why Archewyne mucked about in the dust and dirt to find the treasures of ancient civilizations. There was a certain sacredness upon discovering this place that went beyond the hush surrounding the site that had been reclaimed by time and earth.
“Do you think we can explore? Or would that be considered trespassing?” She took a step toward what looked like rectangular pits.
“I don’t see why not. The people who once lived here have been gone for centuries.”
“How very exciting,” she breathed, and while he hefted his oil lantern higher, she followed a path strewn with dust and dirt toward the pits. “Do you suppose these were baths or part of a laundry?”
“Either. Romans did include hot and cold baths.”
The hem of her skirt trailed through the grime, but Sophia took no notice as she scrambled with all the grace of a mountain goat over a low wall. She stood within one of the pits, and with a wicked glance, she sat in the middle of one of them. “Imagine taking time out of your day to come bathe in this public place. Perhaps with friends. Perhaps giggling to know that men did the same not far away, and wishing to steal a peek.”
Her voice faded, as in his mind’s eye, he imagined Sophia sans clothing, as she lounged in water where tendrils of steam rose. With her platinum hair piled atop her head, damp strands clung to her neck while rivulets of milky, clay-infused water rolled between her shoulder blades and dripped from her full breasts as she pushed up from the surface.
Bloody hell. He assumed that since
they’d indulged in carnal activity, improper thoughts would stop dancing through his brain, but that was obviously a gross understatement because there wasn’t a thought in his head that didn’t center around his unlikely companion. When she’d vanished from the library room and her screams echoed in the empty space where she’d been, he’d panicked. Hell, if she hadn’t been wearing his greatcoat, he would have drawn his weapon to defend against attack. Real fear had filtered into his being when he thought she might be lost and inaccessible to him.
“Jonathan? Are you even listening to me?”
He blinked and shook his head to clear the images. Sophia stood, planted her hands on hips he knew for himself were lush, and she sent him a mock-glare. “Uh… no. I’m afraid I went wool-gathering for a bit.”
“No doubt it would be best to retain concentration in this. Let’s continue on.” She said nothing else, but a tiny smile lingered on her kissable mouth. “How far do you believe these ruins stretch?”
“I couldn’t guess. Perhaps miles. Hard to tell.”
Once she’d climbed out of the bath, she led the way along the path until they came to a small shop. The soft sway of her hips drew his attention. What he wouldn’t give to bend her over one of the many low walls, shove up her skirts and pound into her sweet heat merely for the pleasure of embedding himself in her tightness again, of hearing her cry out in encouragement and enjoyment. For Sophia was not a quiet lover, and he adored that about her.
Yet now he didn’t have an excuse. There were no more secrets pertaining to her family to confess or guilt to alleviate, and he wouldn’t take advantage of her a second time. He had to try and be the gentleman, after all.
He nearly ran into her when she stopped, for all the attention he’d not been paying to their surroundings. “Damnation, warn a man before you do that.”
“I did.” She rolled her eyes as she peered over her shoulder. “I asked you what sort of vendor did you suppose this was. You remained oblivious.” She gestured toward the walled area at her right. “That appears to be a kiln, but I’m confused by the stone at the bottom. It had wooden spokes that have long since been rotted away. Perhaps this was a tannery? Some spokes that are barely remaining could indicate such.”
What the Stubborn Viscount Desires Page 17