A Rake's Midnight Kiss (41 page)

“At Eton, my inferiority became blatantly clear.”

He’d suffered his share of beatings, until learning that sharp-tongued indifference discouraged violence. If bullying provoked no visible effect, his peers transferred their attentions to more responsive prey. Richard Harmsworth, arbiter of style, was born from blood and pain and mockery. But he never forgot that his elegance shielded a man inadequate to the role he was born to.

Genevieve’s eyes softened with compassion, although her tone remained implacable. “You’re no longer that schoolboy. Do you see your mother?”

This inquisition was beyond enough. He slid off the tomb and strode into the darkness. He wanted Genevieve to understand his resentment of his mother, but he had a nasty feeling that explanations would make him sound like that sulky schoolboy she decried. “Not if I can help it.”

She rushed after him and caught his arm. “I’m sorry.”

However he tried, he couldn’t keep Genevieve at a distance. He slumped where he stood, his weariness stemming
from childhood. “I’d do something about my bastardy if I could. But it’s a wound that never heals.”

She stiffened, although he couldn’t see her expression. “I don’t care about your birth.”

“Really?” Sarcasm drenched the word. “Then why are you angry?”

He found himself cradled in warm, soft Genevieve. Her arms curled around his back, her face lay against his bare throat. “I can’t stand that the world doesn’t recognize how remarkable you are. I can’t stand that you’re estranged from those closest to you.”

Groaning, he pulled her into him. To his astonishment, the wound that never healed didn’t feel nearly so agonizing with Genevieve in his arms. “I’m a damned self-pitying fool. I never wanted for anything.”

“You never wanted for anything but kindness and love. I had no right to criticize. But I can’t imagine your mother doesn’t love you.”

“That’s because you’re a paragon and an angel.”

Her laugh was choked and he felt hot moisture against his skin. He’d made her cry. He really was a bastard in all senses of the word.

She drew away. In the darkness, he saw only the glint of her eyes and the pale oval of her face. “I love you. Whoever you are. Whatever you call yourself. Whoever your father was.” She sounded as decisive as she had when she’d reproached him for misjudging his mother. “You’re a wonderful man, Richard. Kind. Perceptive. Clever. Resourceful. Brave. Handsome enough to turn any girl’s head. That’s what matters. Not what your parents did.”

With an unsteady hand, he brushed the tears from her cheeks. A lifetime of self-doubt melted under the blaze of Genevieve’s love. With a few words, she’d made him anew.
He tried to sound insouciant, but his voice cracked. “If the paragon and angel Genevieve Barrett rates me so highly, how can I argue?”

Her smile was shaky. “Now come back into the light.”

He wanted to tell her that she’d already drawn him from stygian darkness into light. Instead, he kissed her as he’d never kissed her before. She was the most precious thing in the world. He cherished her. He honored her. He loved her more than he ever thought he’d love anyone in his heedless, selfish life. Passion burned. He couldn’t touch her without passion. But deeper than passion at this moment ran tenderness, care, his delight in her existence.

They returned to the stone tomb and the guttering candle. Genevieve fumbled in her pocket for the second candle, lighting it from the dying flame.

She smiled at Richard as if she believed he was a hero. Silently he promised her that he’d never let her down. “I now understand why you love Sirius so much.”

Confused, he stared at her. “He’s a fine dog.”

“He’s a fine dog of unspecified breeding with a stalwart heart. You’re kindred spirits.”

“My darling, that’s hardly flattering to my noble hound,” he said thickly, then frowned and glanced around. “Speaking of Sirius, where is he?”

Concern replaced her smile. “He’s been away a long time.”

The thought of Sirius coming to grief in this labyrinth was unendurable. Raising the candle, Richard set out ahead of Genevieve into the looming darkness.

Richard’s calls summoned only echoes, no bark of recognition. The crypt was huge, a vaulted maze of pillars and tombs and gargoyles fit to give the most prosaic man nightmares.

At last they reached the chamber’s end. Genevieve turned to him in frustration. “He can’t disappear into thin air. If he hears you calling, he’ll come.”

That was true. Sirius’s manners belied his humble background. “Let’s follow this wall and see what we find.”

The wall proved impossibly long. Richard began to loathe the industrious monks. With every step, he called to Sirius. Genevieve progressed more slowly behind him, her hand running along the bricks. He bowed to her knowledge of medieval architecture, but a secret passage seemed too much to hope for.

Although she’d just said that she loved him. Miracles could be the order of the day.

“Sirius!” Where the devil was the mutt?

The wall took an illogical turn. Or perhaps Richard’s senses failed after all this meandering. When he raised the candle, another line of stone columns extended ahead. “Sirius!”

Silence. Richard started down the hall. A hundred yards down, he heard something in the distance. Could that be a bark? He called again. In this restricted space, sound reverberated, distorting response.

Genevieve joined him. “Is that Sirius?”

“I don’t know.” He called as loudly as he could. Echoes made it impossible to tell if Sirius answered. Richard stepped forward, then halted. The scrabble of paws was unmistakable. “Listen.”

“Is it him?”

“Either it’s Sirius or the rats are big enough to eat us.” He lifted her hand and kissed it, then passed her the candle. “Sirius!”

Sirius leaped from several feet away, crashing Richard onto the terracotta tiles.

“You’re a deuced troublesome fellow, you hairy rogue.” Richard laughed under the uproarious welcome, although his arm protested the boisterous greeting. Then abruptly all desire to laugh fled. “Good God.”

“What is it, Richard?” The candle lit Genevieve’s face from below, lending her a haunted look.

He sat up with new energy. “Sirius’s coat. It’s wet.”

Richard’s joyful reunion with Sirius melted Genevieve’s heart. No wonder she loved this man. She bent to pat Sirius’s shaggy head. The stink of wet dog overpowered the pervasive dust. “Found a puddle, have you?”

Richard’s eyes held a strange light. “Darling, you’re not thinking this through. If he’s wet, he’s found water.”

Interesting but hardly cause for celebration. “I doubt it’s drinkable.”

Richard sprang to his feet and caught her hand. His smile was brilliant as he leaned forward to kiss her. “Perhaps not, but it must have fallen since the sixteenth century.”

The kiss, however brief, distracted her. His kisses always did. As her head cleared, realization struck and with it, a flare of hope. Could Sirius have saved them? Then grim reality tempered excitement. “It’s probably underground seepage. This doesn’t mean there’s a way out.”

“It doesn’t mean there isn’t. Haven’t you noticed how fresh the air is? This part of the crypt isn’t nearly as musty. There must be an opening.”

“We have to find out where he’s been.” She tugged the string from her unruly hair and passed it to Richard.

“If you lead us out, Sirius, you’ll dine on
foie gras
and pheasant for the rest of your life.” Richard tied the makeshift leash to Sirius’s collar. His tone became a command. “Home, Sirius. Take us home.”

The dog hesitated and Genevieve wondered whether they asked too much. Then with a yip, Sirius trotted down the corridor.

Richard wasn’t generally a praying man. His prayers at Eton had gone unanswered too often for him to retain much faith in the Almighty’s benevolence. But in Sirius’s wake, his head filled with half-coherent pleas for Genevieve’s safety.

The dog followed one long corridor, then another, then another. Richard soon lost track. They could travel in a circle. Who knew? At his side Genevieve remained quiet, the candle unwavering in her hand.

After what felt like forever, Genevieve tugged his arm. “Look at the candle, Richard.”

Peering ahead, working out the dog’s direction, he hadn’t noticed the light. The flame flickered wildly. To confirm what he saw, a breeze teased his bare chest. “Go on, Sirius.”

The dog broke into a lope, Richard chasing. Genevieve jogged after them. Soon dank and decay tainted the air. Even this bolstered optimism. If the crypt was sealed, nothing should grow.

His heart pounding, Richard extinguished the candle and realized that Genevieve stood in green-tinged shadow. Sirius barked and jerked the leash free. The dog bounded into a low tunnel and disappeared.

Shock held Richard motionless. The lure of escape was so sweet he hardly dared test it and prove himself mistaken.

“Richard—”

He gestured her to silence, superstitiously afraid of voicing his hopes. “Wait here.”

He dropped to his knees and crawled into the tiny space, more dog-than man-sized. The ground was sludgy with rotted vegetation. Gradually the tunnel narrowed, the walls
cold and wet like clammy flesh. Fear constricting his gut, he closed his eyes and told himself he wasn’t trapped.

The tunnel compressed almost to impassibility. Damn it. Had he come so far only to fail? He faltered, panting. This was impossible.

Then the dread of Genevieve’s death overcame his instinctive aversion to such restricted space. Drawing a breath fetid with dead plants, he dug his hands deep into the mud. Ignoring his wound, he hauled himself forward in awkward lurches, forcing his way through the crumbling soil.

More prayers. That the tunnel didn’t collapse and smother him. That freedom waited at the end. Sirius barked ahead and the sound goaded him on, despite the slicing pain in his arm and the crushing pressure around him.

“Are you all right?” Genevieve called from the crypt, her voice echoing strangely.

“Nearly there,” he grunted. He hissed a curse as his hip slammed into a rock.

Dizzying relief flooded him when the tunnel started to widen. He took his first full breath in what felt like hours, although logic insisted it must only be minutes.

A thick wall of vegetation blocked his way. Roughly he shoved it aside, breaking and wrenching with shaking, filthy hands. Then without warning, the sinking sun blinded him.

He slumped over the lip of the tunnel, gasping with exhaustion. “I’m out.”

“Thank God,” she said from far away. “Shall I follow?”

He lay in a dip of land. All he could see was the blue bowl of sky, framed by greenery.

“Wait, I’ll come back. It’s a tight fit.” An understatement as his bruises, grazes and throbbing arm affirmed. Every cell revolted at returning, but he couldn’t let Genevieve struggle alone through that hellish passage.

He snatched one last look at the outside world. Then he gritted his teeth against the pain and crawled into the dark.

After his moments outside, the tunnel seemed grimmer than ever. He heaved himself through the mud for what felt like an eon until he saw Genevieve ahead as a dark shadow. “I’ll pull you.”

When she gripped his hand with immediate trust, his heart leaped. She was such a gallant woman. He barely credited that she loved him.

They squeezed along the tunnel. This third time, the way seemed even longer. Perhaps because he went backward. At least his prior journeys had smoothed the passage a little.

As they approached the mouth, muted light revealed Genevieve. Dirt matted her hair. A bleeding scratch and the older bruise on her cheek made Richard want to shred Fairbrother’s liver.

Only now did he accept that they’d make it. For hours, dread had thrummed a bass note in his soul. Finally he admitted his terror at rotting in that forgotten catacomb. And his greater terror when he contemplated Genevieve suffering the same fate.

He tightened his grip and with her scrambling help, dragged her through the vines. Blessing the sky overhead, he collapsed onto the rough grass.

Eventually Richard turned his head toward Genevieve, sprawled beside him. By Jove, he was in a bad way. The stickler who had scorned a hundred diamonds of the first water was head over heels with a woman who looked like she’d wrestled a mule through a landslide.

Closing his eyes, he let the late sun melt the crypt’s chill from his skin. His arm hurt like the very devil, but even that seemed a minor consideration now that he was above
ground. A few feet away, he heard Sirius nosing at some leaves as if he hadn’t just saved their lives.

Dear God, that had been a close-run thing. Richard basked in the warmth, relishing the birds chirping from the bushes, the rustling leaves, the gentle lap of water.

The gentle lap of water?

Summoning his last strength, he staggered upright to see beyond the sheltered hollow. He started to laugh, descending to the ground and leaning his head on one filthy knee. “Do you know where we are?”

Genevieve didn’t shift. “Heaven?”

“I have no doubt that’s your destination, my love. I’m not sure it’s mine.”