Vexing The Viscount (33 page)

“You, sir, are neither my husband nor my keeper. You have no right to tell me what to do.”

“Spare us your lovers’spat and get going,” Sir Alistair said. “I grow weary of holding back my trigger finger.”

Daisy pulled free of Lucian and kept moving.

“He’s bluffing,” Lucian whispered as he followed close behind.

“Stand still, Rutland,” Sir Alistair ordered.

“Don’t be an ass. I’m going to light her way with the torch. You don’t expect her to do it blind, do you?” Lucian said over his shoulder, not slowing his pace. His voice dropped again. “Besides, he’s only got one shot. I’ll draw his fire. When he shoots, I want you to run toward the light.”

Daisy looked up the long, dark incline. A hint of daylight beckoned in the distance. Then she looked back at Lucian.

“Brumley may have a pistol as well. Besides, if you think I’ll abandon you, you don’t know me at all,” she hissed, then raised her voice. “Hold the torch higher so I can see what I’m about, then.”

Facing the wall would be easiest. She could see to clutch at handholds on the rocky face. Even more important, she wouldn’t be able to look into the hypnotic pull of the darkness yawning behind her.

“Just a moment,” she said. “I have to remove my hoops.”

She reached under her voluminous skirt and untied the wire-and-wicker contraption that expanded the width of her hips by a foot on each side. Then she reached between her knees, grasped the back of her skirt and hauled it between her legs, tucking the long end into her bodice. The effect was something between a harem girl’s scandalous silk pants and a baby’s nappies. She was back to being, as Lucian once named her, a tomboy, but at least her legs were free and she wouldn’t be hampered by the underpinnings of her garments. She’d be able to hug the rock face as if it were her dearest love.

Her dearest love.

She looked up at Lucian. His face was drawn with concern. If Sir Alistair hadn’t been sporting a firearm, Lucian would have fought. Even though he’d faced down those ruffians with knives, a pistol had a much longer reach than his sword.

She flashed him a quick grin, determined to put a bold face on things. “If ever I express the need to have an adventure again, you have my permission to paddle me.”

He snorted. “I’ll hold you to that.”

She edged her way onto the narrow space, clinging to a jutting rock with one hand and a stout root with the other. “But you have to swear not to enjoy it.”

“I make no promises.” He lifted the torch higher. “There’s a fissure about a foot from your right hand. You should be able to shove your fingers into it and use it to steady yourself.”

“I see it,” she said through clenched teeth. She shuffled her feet sideways on the narrow lip of rock, trying not to think about the sheer drop inches behind her. “And what about you? When may I paddle you with impunity?”

“If ever I forget our anniversary, you may paddle my arse till it bleeds,” he said.

Her foot slipped and she felt nothing but empty space beneath her sole for a moment. Then her toes found the ledge once again. She stood still, glancing right and then back to her left. Lucian drew a relieved breath and cast her a lopsided grin.

“If that was a proposal of marriage, it was singularly lacking in elegance,” she said, moving along the ledge once again. She knew he didn’t mean anything by it, but their ridiculous talk of paddling and matrimony kept her fear at bay.

“Lacking in elegance, was it? I find that observation difficult to take seriously from a woman whose skirt is tucked between her legs,” he said. “But if elegance comes at the
expense of covering those ankles of yours, it is a highly overrated commodity. There, you made it.”

Daisy heaved a sigh. She was across the chasm.

“Now, if you’re finished treating us all to your unmaidenly banter,” Sir Alistair said, “see what you can discover about that rock face.”

The ledge widened to only about a foot, but it seemed luxurious after the narrow lip she’d just traversed. Daisy looked down the ledge and was surprised to find that there was an opening. From across the chasm, it appeared as a long crack in a single wall of rock, but now she could see it was two rocks of identical color and texture. One of them was behind the other, leaving a gap of eight or ten inches. If she turned sideways, she might squeeze through.

“There’s a way through,” she called over her shoulder. “Very narrow and dark. I can’t go without a light.”

“Now’s your opportunity, Rutland.” Sir Alistair leveled his pistol on his forearm and aimed the barrel squarely at Lucian. “Take the lady a torch.”

“He’s going to do it one-handed?” Brumley asked, contributing to the conversation for the first time.

“Unless you’d like to go in his stead,” Sir Alistair snapped, then turned back to scowl at Lucian. “Get moving.”

Daisy shuffled back to the narrow ledge she’d just traveled. “Don’t look down, Lucian. Just a few steps and you can hand me the torch.”

She leaned out as far as she dared and extended her arm to him.

“Stay back,” he ordered sharply; then he softened his tone. “I can’t concentrate if you’re hanging of the edge like that.”

She nodded and straightened, sidestepping to make room for him once he made it across. She had to remind herself to breathe as he eased his large frame over the limited space, holding the torch in his left hand and leading with his right.

He made sure his feet were solidly planted before he advanced his hand, skimming the surface of the rock, seeking a fingerhold. He swung at one point, hanging on to a root and lifting both his feet in the center.

Daisy thought she’d aged a decade by the time he joined her on the far ledge. He pulled her close and gave her a quick kiss.

“You haven’t answered my inelegant proposal yet.”

“And I won’t until we’re clear of this and in daylight again,” she said.

“Tease.”

“‘pleasure deferred is pleasure enhanced,’” she said, quoting Blanche.

“Then let’s see about that treasure,” he said, his dark eyes glinting with excitement. A pistol was trained on them, but Lucian was still on the trail of a dream.

“Wait,” Sir Alistair called across to them. “Brumley, get over there with them.”

“Me? Why?”

“If there’s a way through the rock, there may also be a way out, you idiot. They could collect the treasure and slip out the back door while we’re standing around in the dark holding our own cocks.” He strode over and took Brumley’s torch from him. “Get going.”

Lord Brumley looked as if he’d just swallowed a bite of herring that had turned, but he did as he was bidden.

“All right, Fitzhugh,” he said. “But when this is all over, King James is going to hear about your high-handedness. That’s all I’ve got to say.”

“Squawk all ye like then. At least we’ll have a sovereign who speaks our language. Now move.”

Brumley scuttled to the ledge with a whimper.

Lucian held his torch higher, so Lord Brumley could see the space he was about to travel.

“Take it slowly,” Lucian said. “There’s a soft spot about
halfway across. You’ll feel it give a bit, but keep a good hold on that root and bear your weight up.”

Now Daisy could see why her foot had slipped. The dirt beneath her had given way. Lucian had avoided the spot by swinging himself over it.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Brumley said.

“I didn’t sign ye on to do any thinking,” Alistair said. “Get on wi’ye!”

Lord Brumley started along the ledge, his breathing noisy and labored. When he reached the center of the span, the dirt beneath his feet crumbled. He screamed like a woman, clinging one-handed to the root, feet scrabbling to gain purchase on the sheer face of the remaining rock.

“Swing your legs up, man,” Lucian said as he handed the torch to Daisy and took a step back out onto the narrow lip. He curled the fingers of his right hand over a protruding rock and extended his left to the flailing Lord Brumley. “Give me your other hand.”

Brumley tried, twisting and wailing, his legs bucking wildly. Then, with a sickening crunch, the root cracked and ripped from the rock. Lord Brumley plummeted downward, his screams reverberating. Then the horrible sound stopped suddenly, his long wail a thread snipped of by a giant’s scissors.

Daisy bit her lip to keep from crying out. Lord Brumley may have wished them ill, but he was obviously a coward at heart. She shoved aside the image of his horror-stricken face. In the years to come, it would probably haunt her nightmares, but she couldn’t dwell on it now.

The tiniest candle of sympathy glowed in her heart. No one deserved to die so horribly, alone in the dark.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Sir Alistair barked at them. “See what’s beyond yon rock.”

“Let me go first,” Lucian said.

“No, it’s too narrow here to switch places. Just raise the torch a bit so I can see.”

Daisy turned and eased herself through the stone crevice as Lucian followed close behind. After a couple feet, the space opened into a large chamber.

When Daisy had found the pirate’s gold, she’d stumbled upon a partially submerged sea cave. A smuggler’s hole, Mr. Meriwether named it. There, she’d discovered several large chests deposited haphazardly, with golden doubloons spilling onto the dirt, winking like fallen stars.

Now Lucian’s torchlight illuminated dozens and dozens of small crates stacked in ranks, all very methodical and organized.

The difference between a steward of Rome and a crew of pirates
, she thought with a smile.

Lucian stood transfixed. Only his torch moved, lighting the chamber from one end to the other. The entire space was crammed with crates.

“Oh, Lucian,” Daisy said, clasping his free hand. “We’ve found it.”

“Now let’s see if we can discover a way to keep it,” he said grimly.

Daisy dropped to her knees before the first chest, so giddy with excitement she’d almost forgotten Sir Alistair and his pistol. “One thing at a time. Don’t you want to see it?”

He chuckled. “I’ve seen it in my mind so often, I almost don’t need to, but since you insist.”

He knelt beside her and used his knife to pry open the crate. The wood was so rotted with age, it fairly crumbled under the pressure. He lifted the lid and the contents glinted whitely in the torchlight.

“What’s this?” He reached in and grabbed a handful, crushing it in his grip. The tiny grains trickled between his fingers and drained back into the crate, like sand in an hourglass.

“Oh.” A downward spiral in Daisy’s belly made her feel sick. “I’d forgotten. But it makes perfect sense. Of course.”

Lucian tried another crate. The same crystalline whiteness leered up at him. By the time they’d opened a sixth chest with the same result, tears trembled on Daisy’s lashes. She felt Lucian’s despair, sharp as a blade to her heart.

He drew a deep breath and picked up one of the open chests. “Let’s show Sir Alistair his treasure. By God, he can have it, and welcome.”

Daisy led the way again, carrying the torch this time, while Lucian lifted the open crate over his head to squeeze through the crevice.

“You found it?” Alistair called across to them.

“Here it is,” Lucian said. “Choke on it.”

He dumped the entire contents into the abyss.

“Are you mad?” Sir Alistair exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

“It’s salt,” Daisy explained. “In our excitement over a treasure, we all forgot that in ancient times, the Roman legionnaires, especially those at the far reaches of the empire, were sometimes paid in salt.”

“Salarium,”
Sir Alistair said woodenly.

“Exactly. Hence the expression ‘worth his salt,’” she babbled, taking comfort in academia. “difficult to come by. Easy to trade with the locals. I’m surprised that, as head of the Society of Antiquaries, you neglected to consider this possibility.”

“No!” Sir Alistair shouted. “There must be something else. Go back and search again.”

A clatter and scuffle erupted behind him, and Sir Alistair turned to see who was making his way down the passage. Whoever it was had taken a tumble in the dark and ruined any hope of stealth.

Daisy peered into the blackness, trying to make out the identity of the man silhouetted against the distant opening. He was picking himself up from a rather nasty fall, dusting of his clothing and mumbling curses.

“It’s my father,” Lucian said softly. Then he raised his voice. “Take care, sir. Fitzhugh is armed.”

“I know.” Lucian’s father stepped into the torchlight. His frock coat was torn and covered in dirt. A bloody brown patch was spreading on one knee of his breeches. “I armed him myself.” He nodded to Fitzhugh. “I couldn’t wait outside a moment longer. There’s no one following, so I had to come in and see how things are progressing here.” Then he turned back to Lucian. “Now be a good lad and do as Sir Alistair asks. Go look again or I might just have to shoot your lovely assistant. Miss Clavenhook, is it?”

“Bah! She’s no Clavenhook,” Sir Alistair said. “Remember, I told you—she’s Daisy Drake. But if there’s any shooting to be done, it’s Rutland who deserves a dose of lead for dragging us all on this wild-goose chase.”

Fitzhugh raised his pistol to menace them once more.

“That’s my son!” Lord Montford shouted, and lunged at Sir Alistair, who dropped his torch, but not his weapon.

The sharp report of a pistol echoed, beating a furious tattoo throughout the cave. The ball ricocheted of the rock face next to Daisy’s head. She would have crouched, but there was so little room. The acrid stench of powder filled the cavern.

“I didn’t mean to fire. I wasn’t going to—Stop, I say! No!” The earl and the knight wrestled with each other near the edge of the pit. Another long wail pierced the dark as Sir Alistair Fitzhugh fell headlong into the chasm.

Daisy feared she might be sick, but this was no time to indulge her belly. Lucian didn’t need her to have an attack of the vapors. He needed her to be strong.