Vote Then Read: Volume II

by Lauren Blakely

  “It’s so much like ours,” she whispered.

  Rhys leaned forward, bringing his head alongside hers. “You can see that it’s de Valery by the slope of the letters.”

  “And the weight of the pen.” She lightly touched one of the words and traced a letter. “You can tell by its width.”

  He tipped his gaze toward her briefly in admiration. She’d not only studied de Valery’s manuscript, she’d been an excellent student. “Very observant, Miss Derrington.”

  They turned through the pages, scrutinizing each one as Lord Nash did the same with Miss Derrington’s book. When they got to the last page, Miss Derrington’s finger immediately went to de Valery’s mark. “It’s here.”

  They all sat back, satisfaction gleaming in their eyes as if they’d just partaken of a spectacular meal.

  “Now, the hard part,” Lord Nash said, steepling his hands beneath his chin. “How do we solve the code?”

  “You don’t know?” Miss Derrington asked, sounding slightly alarmed.

  Nash shot her a bemused glance. “I’ve only just seen the second book. And as you can tell, they both appear to be illuminated texts and nothing more.” He looked back down at Miss Derrington’s volume. “It could be any number of things—something in the illustrations, a numbered cipher—”

  “But there are no numbers,” she blurted.

  “The key, whatever it is, could correspond to numbers,” Rhys explained. “We’d just have to figure out how.”

  She turned to face Rhys. “How will you do that? And what’s the key?”

  “I’m afraid we have no more answers than when you arrived, but at least we have both books.” Nash set his hands down on the arms of his chair and seemed content.

  Rhys, on the other hand, wanted to jump up and pace as he contemplated how to solve this mystery. “Because there are two books, I assumed there would be a key and a code. You’d need one to decipher the other.”

  Nash watched Rhys walk along the carpet. “That makes sense. But there’s no way to discern what those might be, I’m afraid.”

  “Why go to the trouble of developing a code if it wasn’t meant to be solved?” Miss Derrington asked. “My lord, you said your family commissioned these volumes. Did they also commission the code or was it de Valery’s invention?”

  She posed an excellent question. Rhys only hoped Nash knew the answer.

  Again, Lord Nash’s brow wrinkled in dismay. “We don’t know. It’s a question my father and his father before him asked many times. We’d hoped there would be something more to the other book—your book.”

  Just as Rhys had hoped there’d be more to Nash’s. “You say you don’t know the source of the material, but you never answered why they commissioned the work in the first place. Is that because this is another answer that’s been lost to history?”

  His gaze dimmed with regret. “I’m afraid so, and it pains me to say it.”

  Miss Derrington’s shoulders drooped and her lips turned down, mirroring Rhys’s own disappointment and frustration. There had to be more. It couldn’t end here.

  Rhys couldn’t stand it any longer—he stood and walked to the window, which looked over the front drive. “Can you think of anything that might help us solve this mystery?”

  “There’s de Valery’s house.”

  “His house?” Rhys spun from the window just as Miss Derrington echoed his question.

  “The house where he completed the work is still in my family,” Nash said.

  Rhys moved back toward the desk, his blood thrumming. “Where is this?”

  “About three miles from here, a little cottage near the Severn. Do you want to see it? There’s a tenant, but if you think it could help, I’ll arrange for you to have access.”

  “Yes, I want to see it.” He glanced at the clock perched on one of the bookshelves. It was half-two. “Can we go now?”

  Nash frowned. “I wouldn’t want to put him out.”

  Miss Derrington smiled prettily and Rhys wanted to kiss her for thinking to employ her considerable charms. “We shan’t trouble him. Perhaps we could take some baked goods from your kitchen?”

  Nash’s frown remained. “No, no, I must insist we wait until the morning. He’ll want to ensure the place is tidy. Wouldn’t do to arrive unannounced and risk embarrassing him. I’ll send a message over right now.”

  Rhys wanted to argue, but he also appreciated the baron’s thoughtfulness regarding his tenants. Miss Derrington sent Rhys a pleading glance, but he gave his head a little shake in denial. They had to follow Nash’s lead.

  In the meantime, Rhys wanted to make use of the afternoon. “Would you mind, if we took the books to your library and set them on the table for study?”

  “Not at all! In fact, I’d be delighted to discuss them at length, if you’re both inclined.”

  Miss Derrington’s eager expression was all the response Rhys needed. “I’m sure we are,” he said. “Perhaps our joint analyses will reveal some details that will help.”

  Nash stood. “Indeed. However, first I plan to have luncheon if you’d care to join me?”

  Miss Derrington also got to her feet. “That would be lovely, thank you.” She scooped up her book and turned to leave the office.

  “You can leave that here,” Nash said.

  “I’m afraid I wouldn’t feel safe.”

  “Because Stratton’s fake went missing.” Nash nodded. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am that I swapped the books after learning what a bounder he is. I wish I’d never agreed to allow my daughter to marry him.”

  Rhys understood the man’s remorse after the things Miss Derrington had told him about Lady Stratton’s difficult marriage. “Someone also attempted to steal Miss Derrington’s manuscript on two separate occasions.”

  Nash’s expression turned wary. “This is most concerning. I’d convinced myself that the disappearance of Stratton’s fake was due to his idiocy. I could see him misplacing the damned thing after imbibing too much.” He flashed a look at Miss Derrington. “My apologies, miss.”

  Ice crawled up Rhys’s spine. “Why is it concerning?”

  Nash picked up his book and turned to Miss Derrington. “If someone has tried to steal the book, you’re right to keep it with you at all times. The code has long been sought after by those who truly believe that Arthur and his knights lived. These people seek to obtain and conceal all evidence that proves the existence of these legendary men. Some say this group, the Order of the Round Table, will stop at nothing to achieve their aims.”

  “Why would they do such a thing?” Miss Derrington asked.

  “I’m not entirely certain, but I’ve heard they believe the artifacts to be too dangerous or valuable to be exposed.”

  The Order of the Round Table? Not a terribly unique name, but it certainly conveyed their purpose. “I’ve never heard of such a group,” Rhys said.

  Nash shrugged. “I’m not surprised, the faction is typically very small. I’m not sure when it originated or how it maintains its perpetuity. You might ask Lord Septon. He’s an antiquarian who’s studied Arthurian legend and may be aware of this group. I could provide you with an introduction.”

  “Actually, I know Septon quite well.” Though he’d never mentioned this mysterious group. “He might also be able to help us figure out the code, if necessary.”

  Miss Derrington gave Rhys a vexed look, which he didn’t understand and would have to ask her about later.

  “Very well,” Nash said. “Let us bring our books to luncheon, then we’ll repair to the library. It will be like being at Oxford again!” He grinned at them as he gestured for Miss Derrington to precede him.

  As Rhys took up the rear, his mind churned at the developments from the meeting. He only hoped the trip to de Valery’s cottage would prove fruitful and that this group of Arthurian followers wouldn’t find a way to get what they wanted.

  They might stop at nothing to achieve their goals, but Rhys would do the same to protect tha
t which he held dear. As he watched Miss Derrington enter the dining room, he realized that conviction extended beyond his beloved books.

  Though she could scarcely wait until they visited de Valery’s cottage on the morrow, Margery had thoroughly enjoyed the afternoon’s study session with Lord Nash and Mr. Bowen. She and Lord Nash had listened raptly to everything Mr. Bowen knew about Arthurian legend and medieval illuminated manuscripts, which was quite a lot. She’d like to spend some time in his library discussing his favorite texts.

  She set her brush down on the dressing table and looked at herself in the mirror. What was she doing? She wasn’t ever going to return to Mr. Bowen’s library, and she certainly wasn’t going to forge an academic relationship with him, no matter how fascinating she found his knowledge.

  Academic relationship? Was that really her primary concern, what with all the kissing going on?

  Margery shook her head at herself. “Silly girl,” she muttered. “You’ve no business dawdling with Mr. Bowen. You are not Aunt Agnes.” Not that she judged her aunt for her choices. She just couldn’t see herself following the same path. However, a fortnight ago, she never would’ve seen herself chasing some treasure that might or might not exist.

  What was she doing?

  Turning from the mirror, she got up and strode from the dressing closet into her chamber. She didn’t want to think about Mr. Bowen or his kisses.

  At dinner they’d discussed the Order of the Round Table. Mr. Bowen was surprised he hadn’t heard of it, and unfortunately Lord Nash had already shared the depth of his knowledge. Still, they theorized about its purpose and the true lengths to which they might go to obtain the de Valery texts.

  The one thing they hadn’t discussed was what they would do if they were able to successfully decipher the code tomorrow. Margery hoped for that, but she was skeptical about finding anything at de Valery’s cottage. If they did . . . Would she and Mr. Bowen continue on their quest? Would she have to masquerade as his wife for propriety’s sake? She choked on a laugh, for there was absolutely nothing proper about it.

  Aunt Agnes would tell her to keep going, to pursue this adventure because it might be the only one she ever had. Margery had never imagined she’d have such an opportunity, but was she willing to risk the ruin that had befallen her aunt? If she hadn’t already. Were anyone to learn that she’d traveled alone with Mr. Bowen, she’d be as ruined as Aunt Agnes, especially if they learned of their kissing.

  She had to stop thinking of that.

  A knock on her door made her jump. The maid had already helped her prepare for bed. It could only be one person.

  She opened the door. “Mr. Bowen.”

  “Pardon my intrusion, but may we speak for a few minutes?”

  She should decline and send him right back to his chamber, but she said, “Yes,” instead. So much for putting him out of her head. And keeping him out of her room.

  She closed the door after he entered and tried not to look at the way his banyan fell over his posterior as he walked further into the chamber. Things would be so much easier if he were ugly or at least unattractive to her, like a Lord Stratton or a Mr. Digby. But no, she had to suffer a pompous scholar who looked like the knights of old they’d discussed earlier that afternoon.

  He stood in front of the fireplace, which hadn’t been lit due to the warmth of the day, and leaned against the mantel. His demeanor and stance made him look as though he belonged here.

  Margery drew her dressing gown more tightly around herself. “What did you want to discuss?”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “The treasure, assuming we decipher the code and that it actually exists.”

  She’d begun to feel unsettled about it after making Lord Nash’s acquaintance. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about that. I wonder if this treasure wouldn’t actually belong to Lord Nash, certainly half of it, but perhaps the entirety. At the very least, I should return the book to his family.”

  Mr. Bowen dropped his arms to his sides and blinked at her. “You’d do that?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “It seems like the right thing to do. It did belong to his family originally.”

  “But it may have been purchased fairly by yours.” He smiled. “Don’t misunderstand me, I think it’s an admirable thought. I'm just not sure it’s necessary. He didn’t ask for its return.”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  He pushed away from the mantel and took a few steps toward her, his eyes narrowed with concern. “Besides, don’t you need the money? Either from selling the book or the treasure itself?”

  Yes, but she still wasn’t comfortable disclosing just how desperately they needed it. “My aunts were interested in selling, but that was before I learned its true value. Treasure or no, I think they’d change their mind about selling such a dear artifact.” Margery wasn’t certain of that, but acknowledged she’d have trouble parting with it—even to return it to Lord Nash.

  Mr. Bowen studied her for a long moment as if he didn’t believe her. She turned and took several steps to increase the distance between them.

  “Is that all you wanted?” she asked, facing him once more, wondering if he felt the heat swirling in the air, or if it was just her fancy.

  “Not quite. I also wanted to, ah, apologize for last night. For kissing you again. Particularly after I said I wouldn’t.” His complexion darkened.

  She fought to cloak her smile. His discomfiture was surprisingly attractive. Like his arrogance. Mr. Bowen was more complicated than she’d initially thought. “I wasn’t exactly blameless. However, we can’t let it happen again.”

  “Of course not.” His tone was strong, definitive. “I give you my word.”

  She considered making a jest about him already breaking the pledge, but decided not to. They shouldn’t flirt anymore. It encouraged things better left alone. “Thank you.”

  “Well then, I suppose I must say good night. Unless you want to take another trip to the library?”

  Part of her, the part that was rapidly beginning to appreciate Aunt Agnes’s way of living life, wanted to, but Aunt Eugenie’s reason and pragmatism won out. “Thank you, but no. I’m anxious for tomorrow, so I’d just as soon go to sleep and get to it as soon as possible.”

  “I can’t argue with that.” He offered a bow. “Good night.” He turned and went to the door, but paused before leaving. “I really did love that you thought of returning the book to Nash.” His tone was warm, appreciative, and it made her regret her decision not to flirt and to decline his invitation to visit the library, and most of all their mutual anti-kissing pact.

  With a slight nod, he turned, his hand on the door.

  She rushed forward, but stopped a few feet from him. “Mr. Bowen? I told you I’d consider selling you the book and returning to Gloucester.”

  He stared at her and her body hummed with the energy crackling between them.

  “Even if I gave the book and the treasure to Nash, I’d still want to find it with you. It’s not at all proper or acceptable, but I don’t care.”

  His gaze heated. “Neither do I, Miss Derrington. And that is why we make an excellent team.”

  10

  Rhys didn’t know if Miss Derrington had been able to find slumber, but he’d lain awake most of the night, his thoughts consumed with today’s excursion and Miss Derrington’s mouth. And her eyes. And that delectable dimple in her chin. Hell, every single damn thing about her.

  Except the lying. That was something he’d like to forget, but was that smart? She’d deceived him once and he had to assume she might do so again. Her words last night, I’d still want to find it with you, had lessened his doubt—and fueled his desire. Thank God he’d had the sense to get the hell out of her room before making another scandalous mistake.

  He finished his toilet, drawing his coat on, and made his way across the corridor to Miss Derrington’s room. She answered his summons immediately.

  His breath stuck in his lungs as he stared at her. Sh
e wore her wide-brimmed hat with a green ribbon that tied beneath her chin. The ribbon brought out the green in her eyes, making them look vivid and lush against her pale flesh. She wore the ivory muslin dress with the small yellow flowers again. She looked fresh and lovely, like his favorite berries of summer or the winter’s first snow.

  She stepped into the corridor, her book tucked beneath her arm. “Good morning.”

  He shook himself from his fancy and offered his arm. “Good morning.”

  She wrapped her hand around his elbow and they went downstairs.

  Godfrey met them in the foyer. He held a bag that was similar to the one Rhys had given Margery for her manuscript. “I regret to inform you that his lordship suffered an attack of gout in the night. He is unable to accompany you to Mr. Hardy’s this morning, but he’s asked that you take his book in case you require its presence. He trusts you will ensure its safety.”

  Rhys accepted the bag. “Please convey our concern and sincerest hope that he will feel better quickly. I will care for this book as if it were my own.”

  Godfrey nodded. “I’m sure he’ll be able to join you downstairs later. Your coach is waiting in the drive.”

  Rhys had arranged for Craddock to convey them to the cottage. “Thank you.”

  A footman opened the door and Rhys gestured for Miss Derrington to precede him. Once they were ensconced in the coach, she said, “How disappointing for Lord Nash.”

  The coach started forward and Rhys braced his feet on the floor. “Perhaps. Let us not convince ourselves that we’ll find anything.”

  “I didn’t take you for a pessimist,” she said wryly.

  “I prefer pragmatist.”

  “That would describe me as well. Though, I must admit this treasure hunting business is quite invigorating.” She looked out the window, but cast him a covert glance.

  He could see that she was a reasonable young woman, not moved to sentimentality or excessive emotion. He should find that attractive, given that’s how he would’ve described himself until several days ago. Until he’d met her. Now he felt passion whenever he looked at her or thought of her and a desire that was fast pushing the bounds of reason. He needed to rein himself in.