They wouldn’t know until they happened upon the chamber themselves.
A round of masculine laughter circulated about the room, but it yanked Juliana from her thoughts and sent her back to the task at hand. Had he made a joke and she missed it?
“That’s all I wanted to say to you, so it’s time for me to give the floor over to Herrick.” The earl nodded at Crispin, who gave a start. His eyebrows went into his hairline in surprise. It was more than a little adorable to see him at sixes and sevens.
“Why me?”
“Why not?” Lord Archewyne grinned, which gave him the air of a mischievous elf. An overbearing, hulking elf, but the picture was there nonetheless. “You’re funding this expedition. I assumed you’d have something you wished to say on this auspicious occasion.”
“Ah. Quite right.” The duke nodded, and without the pomade in his hair, a mop of golden curls fell over his forehead. “I just want to say how proud I am of all of you and for the work you’ve uniquely brought to this project.”
When his gaze briefly passed over her, a queer little thrill tumbled down her spine. The man was a leader, even if he didn’t realize it for himself. “Thank you for allowing me to have a small part in this expedition.”
He nodded. “No one is ever left behind, especially if they’re part of the family, which is what I consider all of you to be.” But his notice lingered a tad longer on her than convention dictated. “That being said, we’re facing the unknown today. You all know the risks.”
Everyone in the assembled party nodded.
“To that end, I’d like to ensure that you all have means to defend yourself if we happen into a tricky spot. Make sure you arrive at the tomb armed with your choice of weapon,” Crispin continued.
The low hum of conversation filled the drawing room.
Archewyne cleared his throat. “That includes the ladies, doesn’t it, Herrick?” He shot a glance at Crispin, and when the duke nodded, the earl grinned. “Do you have a weapon of your own, Miss Barrington? If not, I can provide one.”
She exchanged a look with Crispin. Heat slapped at her cheeks. “I am in possession of a lady’s pistol.”
“As I have just cause to know,” Crispin added with a chuckle. His grin loosed a horde of butterflies in her belly. “I’m told she’s quite proficient at it.”
“Good enough for me.” Obviously, he knew that she knew as an agent she would carry a weapon, so why even ask such a question? Unless he suspected one of their party as the perpetrator behind the alleged accidents?
As casually as she could, Juliana peered at the assemblage. Impossible. These were all trusted people of the earl’s inner circle. The foreman and the Egyptian workers were all at the tomb. Then she snapped her gaze back to him, but he was talking in low tones to the surgeon beside him. Had it been an implied warning to her? Did he not trust her, or did he wish her to remain vigilant?
Oh, why did men have to be such... men?
“That being said, for safety’s sake, I’d like to ask that the countess remain here, as well as the children.” When Lady Archewyne opened her mouth to no doubt protest, Crispin held up a hand. “I know it’s your custom to join us all at the tomb in the mornings. However, my gut tells me this won’t be an ordinary day, and I’d rather not put you into danger while you’re... ah...” Confusion swept through his expression and he waved a hand, presumably to refer to her pregnant state.
“I understand, Crispin. Never fear. I don’t plan to put my life into danger.” She slid a glance to her husband. “We’d discussed it last night, and though it annoys me more than it should that my condition prevents me from doing all the exciting things everyone else is, I’ll have my chance later.”
“All right, then. Beyond that, Archewyne has expressed his concerns about returning here for lunch. To that end, we will bring supplies with us.” Again, he looked at all of them in turn. “Let’s go make history and chase adventure. We meet at the tomb entrance at half past the hour.”
The party broke up. Excited murmurs swept about the room. Juliana lingered, wishing for a private word with Crispin before the company headed out. She doubted they’d find themselves alone again for quite some time.
“Herrick, a word,” Lord Archewyne said as she moved toward the door. Curious, Juliana glanced back. The earl had pulled a small leather pouch from the inside pocket of his jacket. He pressed it into Crispin’s hand.
“What’s this?” The duke frowned at it then at the other man.
“Three of the press-key statuettes.” They exchanged a speaking glance.
What the devil did that mean?
“Why? Shouldn’t you retain possession of them? After all, this is your tomb and your treasure, handed down to you from your father.”
Lord Archewyne snorted. “We are equally responsible. And one never knows about these things. I’ve been on enough cases to realize it’s best to prepare for any possible outcome, and even then, there are ones we cannot anticipate.”
“If you’re certain?” Crispin clutched the pouch in his fingers as if it contained the most valuable largess imaginable.
“I am.”
Juliana slipped out of the room, not wishing to intrude, but she lingered in the hall where it intersected with the cross-corridor leading to the bedrooms.
Eventually, the earl left the drawing room, headed toward the front of the house. When Crispin emerged, she met him in front of his door.
“What are you up to?” Perhaps he would tell her what the pouch contained and why it was needed.
His jaunty, irrepressible grin had a devastating effect on her insides, and that alluded to terrible things like the possibility of falling in love with this man. No, no, no! Men were her downfall, and she was no good to them either. Despite the stern protest, her traitorous heart skipped a beat anyway. “I am going to change clothes to something more appropriate to mucking about in a tomb. Also, I need to retrieve my pistol. It’s bad form to tell everyone else to do so if I don’t.”
She laid a hand on his forearm. Muscles tensed beneath her fingertips. “Promise me you’ll be careful. I’ve laid this problem at your doorstep, and I’d rather not see you harmed,” she swallowed around the ball of sudden tears in her throat, “or worse because of a mission I couldn’t carry out on my own.”
“Juliana.” Crispin caught up her hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed her middle knuckle, and his brown eyes sparkled. “This is our mission. We’ll see it through together. No exceptions.” Then he released her hand. “Bring your piece of the staff. I’ll do the same.”
“Is that wise?”
“If everything will come to a head in that burial chamber, yes. And if those pieces are with us, it will keep everyone at the house safe.” His grin was as dazzling as it was confident. “I’ll meet you at the tomb entrance. Don’t dawdle.”
A reluctant grin curved her mouth. A strange little ache lodged in her heart as he slipped into his room and she continued down the hall to hers. What was she to do when their paths diverged? For they would. They always did, because he and she were never meant for a lifetime.
By the time the crew gathered at the tomb entrance, Juliana was confident they’d find something amazing by the end of the day. How could they not when all indications pointed at a wondrous conclusion to her mission and her quest for the Staff of the Gods? Once she had that jewel in her possession, she would find Lord Ramsay and demand his staff piece by gunpoint if necessary.
Then perhaps she could know peace and an end to the ever-present guilt and remorse she’d carried for a year and a half.
Crispin wore his leather satchel that contained his staff piece and the pouch the earl had given him. He had also donned a vest made of matching brown leather that molded itself to the broad plains of his chest. He appeared quite handsome with the flowing sleeves of his ivory shirt rolled up to his elbows and a cravat loosely tied about the tanned column of his neck. On this occasion, he’d left off with the sling, but she knew better than
to think he’d totally healed.
“What a vain duke you are, after all, Your Grace,” she whispered to him as the party trouped inside and down the short flight of stairs. “Don’t complain to me when your shoulder starts hurting.”
“Ah, ye of little faith,” he shot back over his shoulder with a jaunty grin. “Why do you think I’m wearing the cravat?” He waggled his eyebrows. “But I can at least look dashing while sallying forth into the unknown, can I not?”
“As if you could be anything else,” she rejoined in a soft voice, following him through the cleared passageway. The scuffing of soles against the crumbled limestone behind her confirmed that the earl and the rest of the party brought up the rear.
When they reached the spot where the slab had fallen and crushed the unfortunate thief, everyone paused. The workers had rigged up a wooden scaffolding of sorts and had wrapped lengths of rope about the edge of the slab, hoisting it upward using the wood beams as support. Now, the giant piece of fallen ceiling rested against the wall opposite the relief.
Beyond, lantern flickered at intervals along the rough-hewn walls.
“How far did you proceed this morning?” Crispin asked as he skirted around the area of flooring where the mummy had lain.
“Not far.” Abdul’s grin flashed yellowed teeth. “We were told to wait for Lord Archewyne.”
Juliana stopped to admire the relief that she’d seen the day before. The air was no less stifling, which necessitated wiping away the perspiration forming on her brow, but the colors of the painting were as brilliant as if they’d been done a week ago. “This is marvelous, and I do hope we’ll be able to have a copy.”
“Of course.” Lord Archewyne gestured to Francine. “Since our little artist has no desire to poke about deeper into the tomb, she’ll stay behind and work on a rendering.”
“Very nice.” Juliana smiled at the other woman. “I think, perhaps, you’ve gotten the easier end of the work detail.”
The young lady chuckled. “I think you’re right.” She smiled when a worker set a wooden stool next to her and then set about having her easel erected.
Meanwhile, the men pushed onward into the passage with an ease Juliana couldn’t help but be envious of. Why didn’t I think to borrow a pair of breeches from Crispin? It certainly would have given her the freedom to move about as she wished. Next time an adventure happened, she’d order a pair of knee-high leather boots and rig herself out in breeches. Damn the conventions.
“Mind your steps,” the earl called back. “The passageway slopes downward at a moderately steep angle.”
He wasn’t wrong. Juliana kept a hand to the rough-hewn wall as she descended. When she stumbled, Crispin doubled back and offered her his arm as they continued. She clutched onto his sleeve as the going became more treacherous, and not for the first time was she glad she’d worn her half-boots.
“Why are there no reliefs on any of these walls?” she asked, merely to hear someone’s voice and to break the death-like silence all around them.
Lord Archewyne paused to collect a couple of the lanterns, so she and Crispin took the lead once more. “There wouldn’t be here. These are working corridors to bring people from one point to the other.”
Shadows danced and bounced in the flickering lantern flames, reaching up into the ceiling and climbing the irregular walls. Everywhere she walked, there was evidence of human occupation. “I can still see where the cut of the chisel went through the limestone.” Juliana traced her fingertips in awe over the workmanship. “The hours spent down here, doing nothing except cutting away at the rock staggers my mind.” She shook her head. “How long do you estimate it took to craft such passageways, not to mention fitting up a burial chamber for royalty?”
Crispin snorted. “Years, at the very least.”
“From what I understand, pharaohs and their priests selected the sites of burial as soon as the pharaoh took power, and sometimes when the royal was born,” Lord Archewyne added.
“It’s simply amazing, the ingenuity those ancient peoples had.”
“Keep that attitude. The word at large, despite bits of blight, is indeed quite splendid.” He pressed a second lantern into her free hand. “You cannot have enough light down here, Miss Barrington, especially when you’re in the lead.”
“I appreciate that.” Once more the company lapsed into silence, reverent or otherwise remained to be seen. Besides, walking was rigorous enough at the angle.
They continued on the same trajectory for thirty minutes then came to two branching paths.
“Should we split up the party and investigate?” Crispin asked as he glanced between the two dark, rectangular openings with slightly rounded tops.
Before anyone could get off an answer, a sharp crack sounded. It echoed over and over in the small space. Seconds later, parts of the ceiling trickled downward. Soon, dirt, sand and limestone chunks rained upon them.
“Herrick!” Lord Archewyne shoved at Crispin, who collected her and threw her backward. A small leather pouch came hurtling through the rubble and bounced off her knee.
Juliana stumbled, and unable to keep her feet beneath her, fell to the floor. Cries from the workers and members of their party punctuated the melee. She watched in horror as the earth seemed to empty its bowels. The sound was deafening; the horrible echoes crashing and falling one after the other until she felt the reverberations in her chest. Crispin tumbled to his knees in his haste to scramble away from the fall out. Billowing dust roiled through the passageway, filling it. It clogged her throat, clouded her eyes, filtered up her nose.
And through it all, her heart pounded, her lungs heaving as fear left her cold and shaking. The rock and debris falling ate up her tremulous whisper. Dear Lord, what would she do if the cave-in had separated her from the rest of the party? Left alone with the dead and the quiet of the centuries. Panic clawed through her chest. “Crispin?” The terror in her voice was unmistakable even to her own ears.
“I’m here,” he wheezed in response, but due to the dust, she couldn’t see him.
Eventually, the cacophony ceased and the silence left behind rang more loudly than the collapse. Every so often, dirt and small pebbles sifted down among the huge collection of fallen earth and limestone, the sound eerie after what had just occurred.
Lantern light flickered. Juliana crawled toward the splotches of illumination. It would behoove them to save any lights that were broken in the incident. She recovered three and made sure the oil wells weren’t damaged before she crawled about in search of the duke.
“Crispin?” Her eyes streamed from the fine limestone dust. She tasted it on her tongue and gagged with it when she tried to swallow. A sneeze nearby alerted her to his position. On her hands and knees, her skirts bunching and slowing her progress, Juliana crawled over to him, and when her hand encountered the warmth of his leg, she cried out in relief. “Are you hurt?” A sneeze followed the inquiry.
“No.” He sneezed twice in succession. “You?”
“I don’t think so.” She clutched his fingers when he found her hand. They sat like that in the silence for some time before she spoke again. “How bad do you think the cave-in was?”
His chuckle, though somewhat out of place for the circumstances, brought a measure of calm to the wild beating of her heart. “Bad enough to separate us from the main party.” In a lower voice he added, “Bad enough to make certain we remain down here.”
Good God, would they die, trapped beneath the ground, unable to receive help? She gave into a shiver, but then screwed her courage to the sticking point. “What should we do?”
“First of all, let’s reconnoiter.” Slowly, Crispin rose to his feet. He helped her to stand as he did so.
Something bumped against the toe of her boot. She knelt in the shadows to investigate—hoping against everything it wasn’t a rat—and when her fingers closed around the leather pouch the earl had tossed, she let out a shuddering breath.
“Why did Lord Archewyne throw
this to you?”
In the dim light and through the thin film of dust still settling, Crispin met her gaze. “He knew what that sound just before the collapse meant, and since you and I were in the lead...”
“Ah.” But she didn’t understand. “What sound?” When he didn’t answer nor did he reach for the pouch, she stuffed the leather purse into the pocket sewn into the front of her skirting where it rested alongside the small pistol.
“Archewyne!” Crispin’s yell made her start. Silence roiled, and he shouted again. “Miles, are you there?”
They looked at each other, and finally, a return shout, though muffled, echoed.
“I’m here. We all are.”
“Injured?”
“A larger piece of limestone hit my ankle, but I’ll manage.” Even separated by a huge rock fall, the annoyance in the man’s voice rang true. “We lost one of the workers beneath the rubble. Abdul has a scrape on his head but is well.”
“I’m sorry to hear about the worker, but glad the destruction wasn’t worse,” Crispin yelled back. “Juliana and I are unharmed. Bruises only, but the collapse looks to be too significant for us to conquer quickly or efficiently without causing more damage.”
“Are we trapped here?” Juliana whispered as panic renewed its quest to tear through her insides. “Our final resting place?”
There was no trace of fear in the duke’s eyes or demeanor as he shook his head. Dust filtered from his curls. “I wouldn’t say that yet.” Where had he learned how to remain calm in the face of crisis?
Please teach me that skill.
Then the earl hollered once more. “Abdul says the blockage is movable. We can dig out, but it will take some time, and we must shore up the ceiling to prevent further cave ins.”
“What now?” Crispin flashed a confident grin at her.
What the Dashing Duke Deserves (Lords of Happenstance, #3) Page 23