Temptation and Surrender (39 page)

L
eaving Hadley in the dark, they ushered the twins back up the passage all of them had come down.

“The other passage must lead to the mausoleum, too.” Jonas followed Em along the tunnel. They’d relit his lantern, which had gone out, from Hadley’s, so he and Em each had one to hold the dark at bay; they’d left the lantern she’d used to knock Hadley over the head—it was out of fuel. “Hadley raced away from the mausoleum to escape Thompson, Oscar, and me—we thought he’d just run blindly into the caves.”

“Instead, he ran back to find me,” Em said.

Tight-lipped, Jonas nodded; his head was all right, but his shoulder was throbbing. “He wanted you, or one of the twins, to use as a hostage, so he could demand the treasure back again, along with a chance to escape.” He frowned at the twins’ shining heads. “Gert, Bea—how did he persuade you to go with him? I would have thought you would have learned your lesson after Harold.”

With great dignity, the twins explained, informing him that Hadley was their mama’s “especial gentleman friend from York.”

“But he was Mr. Jervis, then.”

“
And
he had a big beard.”

Facing forward, the girls marched on; they seemed not a whit the worse for their adventure. Indeed, from the whispers they were exchanging, it seemed they were honing and polishing their tale for the villagers’ consumption.

Jonas exchanged a look with Em. “I suspect he’s Mr. Jervis still.”

She nodded. “Susan—the twin’s mama—knew about the treasure. I’m not sure if she knew the rhyme, but the twins have heard it from their earliest years, from me, and Issy and Henry.”

Bouncing along ahead of them, Bea swung around to say, “Mr. Jervis was the one who, after Mama went to live with the angels, told the constable we should be sent to live with Em at her uncle Harold’s house.”

“Did he?” From her expression, that was news to Em. “Well, that was one kind thing he did.”

Gert snorted. “He didn’t do it to be kind. I overheard him saying he hoped it would put more pressure on you.” She glanced back at Em. “But we’re not ‘pressure,’ are we?”

“Mr. Jervis is clearly a bad man,” Em said. “You should never believe anything bad men say.”

When, reassured, Gert and Bea faced forward again, she exchanged an even more meaningful look with Jonas.

He slowed his stride; she did, too. As, whispering, the twins drew ahead, he murmured, “It sounds like Hadley—or Jervis, if that’s his real name—wanted the treasure, but he never intended to look for it himself. He appeared weeks after you arrived; it wouldn’t have been hard to set up some arrangement so someone sent him word when you left your uncle’s house. I take it Susan knew that was your plan—to leave as soon as you turned twenty-five?”

Em nodded. “Issy and I wrote frequently—it was an open secret between us and Susan.”

“So Jervis knew all that, and guessed that sending the twins to you would increase the pressure on you to leave the instant your birthday came around.”

“He was right in that,” Em admitted. “Harold’s attitude to them was the last straw.”

They reached the mausoleum to find Thompson and Oscar perched on tombs, legs swinging as they waited. They slid back onto their large feet as the girls raced up to them, chattering about bad men and lanterns and knives.

Thompson cocked a brow at Jonas.

He tipped his head back down the passage. “Hadley’s unconscious in a cavern further down. Both tunnels lead to the same place.”

“Right then.” Thompson lifted the lantern he’d left on a nearby tomb. “Me and Oscar’d best fetch him.”

“Here.” Jonas handed his lantern to Oscar. “One of you will need to go down each tunnel, or he could come up one while you’re going down the other.”

Thompson nodded, grinning with poorly concealed anticipation. “He won’t get past us.” Turning to Em, Thompson offered the canvas bag. “Think this is rightfully yours, miss.”

“Thank you.” Em took the sack, a smile softening what until then had been a serious expression.

“We’ll go and fetch the villain, then.” With a nod and a salute, Oscar headed for the further tunnel, leaving his older brother to lumber down the nearer one.

As the light from their lanterns faded, Jonas took the one Em still held. Ignoring the pain radiating from his shoulder, he raised the lantern high and ushered his charges up the winding steps to the crypt, and thence to the church.

There they found a gaggle of concerned supporters about to head down to help, Filing, Issy, and Henry in the lead. At the sounds of the twins’ pattering footsteps everyone had fallen silent, waiting; erupting into an expectant quiet, the twins immediately set about occupying center stage. They happily told their tale, and Em’s and Jonas’s as well; exchanging a wry look with Jonas, Em left them to it—aside from all else, they were distracting everyone.

The same held true when, leaving Thompson and Oscar to their mission, the large group repaired to the inn. There an even greater number of village folk were waiting on tenterhooks to hear the outcome of the kidnapping and ransom demand. After Edgar had found Thompson, he’d returned to hold the bar; Em noted the inn was doing a roaring trade for what should have been a quiet Thursday evening.

Everyone was well primed, waiting to see Jervis-cum-Hadley when Thompson and Oscar brought him in, but all were disappointed.

“He’d gone,” Thompson reported. “I reached the cavern first, but Oscar was only moments later. He didn’t get past either of us, but he wasn’t in the cavern—leastways not that we could see. We didn’t hunt too far—figured he wouldn’t try anything without even a lantern to guide him. So we came back up and locked the mausoleum door, and the crypt door, too.” Thompson handed the big key to Filing. “Thought as you might want to keep this, Mr. Filing. Just in case anyone got any ideas about later going down to see whether he was waiting to be fetched.”

“Best leave it ’til morning,” Oscar put in. “After a whole night in the Colyton mausoleum, he should be ready to come peaceably.”

All concurred, although some, Em noted, were more reluctant than others to leave Jervis stewing until morning. His attempts to gain the treasure—his attack on Jonas, then on the twins, and ultimately on her and then Jonas again—had stirred all the locals to anger, as if he’d attacked the village itself.

It felt both reassuring and uplifting to know she and her family were now included without thought among the “us” of village life.

One of the first people she sought out in the crowd was Gladys. Once Jonas’s injury was pointed out, the housekeeper primmed her lips, then departed. Immediately the first furor had died, ignoring the constraint of their unfinished discussion and the consequent tension that hovered between them, Em gripped Jonas’s arm. “Come into the kitchen so your shoulder can be cleaned.”

He humphed, but allowed her to steer him through the door into the warm kitchen. She poked and prodded until he sat in a chair by the huge hearth, presently banked for the night. Hilda placed a basin of warm water and cloths on the table; Em wrung one out and set to work dampening his coat and shirt around the wound so he could remove both.

Eventually shirtless, Jonas sank back into the chair, squinting along the line of his shoulder at the torn flesh. Em peered, humphed, then started to gently wash the wound; despite all, he couldn’t help feeling smug at her solicitousness, at the simple evidence of her caring.

He felt every gentle touch, every soothing press of her fingers against his abused flesh—felt the moment, and all it meant, all its connotations, softening his resolve, the determination he fully intended to bring to their postponed discussion.

Regardless of all else, she loved him. He knew it, could literally feel it in her touch as she patted his shoulder dry.

“Here.” Hilda offered a pot of salve. “This’ll help it heal.”

Em dipped her fingers into the pot, then dabbed and smoothed the herbal salve over the angry flesh. Finally she set a gauze pad over the wound and bound it in place with strips of soft linen.

Just as he realized he no longer had a wearable shirt or coat, Gladys came through the back door carrying replacements for his ruined garments. Em had even thought of that.

He accepted the fresh clothes gratefully, stood and quickly donned them. Hilda and Gladys returned to the common room. He glanced at Em, caught her eye. “Thank you.”

Clearing the cloths and basin, she shrugged. “It’s the least I can do seeing you were wounded in my defense.” She glanced at his shoulder. “Is it better?”

He shifted it, tested it. “Yes. Much less painful.”

The tension of their unfinished discussion was like a wire stretched between them, taut and quivering. But now, and there, was neither the time nor the place to pursue it. He waited until she returned from the scullery, then followed her back into the fray.

Em remained supremely conscious of him; she could sense him in the same way one could sense an impending storm—a dark, forceful energy in the air, hovering close, waiting to sweep in. He was never far away as she played her role of innkeeper and circulated among the assembled crowd.

The rest of the evening passed swiftly. Although many questioned her about her ordeal, she turned aside all such queries with a smile and a lighthearted answer; her mind was much more deeply engaged with the discussion with Jonas yet to come.

Every instinct she possessed told her it would be, not just important, but critical if she were to accept him as her husband. Critical in exactly what way she didn’t know, but when they finally closed the inn for the night and heard Edgar’s footsteps retreating across the forecourt, she was more than ready to climb the stairs to her rooms—and have it out with the gentleman prowling at her heels.

Opening her parlor door, she led the way inside. She halted in the middle of the room, and was about to swing to face him when a large, hard palm made contact with the back of her waist and propelled her on—through the open doorway and into her bedchamber.

She stiffened, but acquiesced; the precise place in which they talked mattered very little, and she had no wish to become distracted by any physical tussle—she wanted her wits about her when they talked.

They both halted in the middle of the room. Facing him, she was grateful for the candle he’d brought in from her parlor. She waited while he set it on her dressing table; it burned brightly, casting sufficient light for them to see each other’s faces clearly.

He straightened and turned to her. “Before you say anything, I want to make it clear that I don’t dispute your actions in paying the ransom—I understand perfectly your reasons for doing what you did to save the twins. Of course I do.” He slid his hands into his pockets, fixed his dark eyes on her face. “What I do dispute is you not discussing it with me beforehand—their disappearance, the ransom demand, and what you were planning to do.”

His eyes seemed to burn as they held hers; she was sure it wasn’t her imagination that made his face seem harder, the angles starker, more hard-edged.

“You
promised
. Promised to share any troubles you had, so I could help shoulder the burden. The reason I asked for that promise was simple—because you’re important to me.” Restlessly dragging his hands from his pockets, he hauled in a tight breath, let it out on the words, “
Not
just important—you’re vital, crucial,
critical
to the rest of my life! I need you, I have to have you in my life, or it won’t be worth living.”

He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands; he clenched them into loose fists by his sides. “I love you. That’s why I asked for your promise—that’s why I needed you to honor it. But when that promise was put to the test, you broke it.” His expression couldn’t have been bleaker. “You didn’t trust me.”

“Wait!”
She held up a hand. “Stop right there.” She narrowed her eyes on his. “You think that because I didn’t tell you, and seek your help to deal with Hadley, that I didn’t trust you—that I didn’t have faith in your love?”

His expression was shuttered, but when she waited—and waited—he gave a short, sharp—reluctant—nod.

Lowering her hand, she drew in a huge breath, let it out on an explosive “Well, you’re
wrong
! The very reason I didn’t tell you of the note, of the twins’ disappearance, but instead left a note for you to find later, was because I
did
trust you.” She glared at him. “I trusted that you
loved
me—I’ve grown very accustomed to how you react to any situation in which you perceive any potential danger to me.” She jabbed a finger at herself, pleased to note the wary confusion that was seeping into his dark eyes.

“Me!”
She pointed again. “That was what I felt confident about, what I felt I could place the most complete and absolute reliance and faith in—the fact you would try, and fight, and quite possibly succeed in protecting
me
at all costs! But this time, that couldn’t be. This time, I had to risk myself to protect someone else—others whom I love and feel protective of—in precisely the same way
you
feel toward
me
.

“And
incidentally, while we’re on the subject of protecting those we love.” She dragged in another huge breath, determined now she’d started to get the whole thorny problem into the open. “If
I
can accept, and acknowledge and embrace, the fact that you love me and therefore want to protect me, there’s something you have to accept, acknowledge, and embrace in return.”

His eyes were dark, fathomless pools; his face gave nothing away. “What?”

She waved her hands in the air. “That
I
love
you
! And that means
I
feel the same way about
you
as you feel about me. It means I won’t stand meekly by, cowering like some helpless ninny, while some blackguard tries to harm you—that I’ll act to protect you, just as you would me.”

All her emotions seemed to be bubbling up and out of her. She stepped close and wagged a finger beneath his nose. “If our marriage is to work, I will not be a sleeping partner.”