Double Deception (12 page)

Athena was never sure afterwards whether it was her daughter's eagerness to explore the stairs or her own reluctance to witness her betrothed fawning over the swooning Beauty that drove her to push onwards when common sense urged caution. Her only concession to prudence was to attach her handkerchief to an iron stave protruding from the wall at the head of the stairs. At least Perry would know where they were, she reasoned, stepping gingerly down the stone steps after Penny, who had danced ahead fearlessly.

Athena was not even sure how long they spent wandering along the dim passageways, or arguing about which turns to take as the tunnels branched out every few feet along the way. It was a veritable rabbit warren of stone corridors, none of them straight, all of them dim, and cold, and foreboding.

She reckoned that it was pure chance rather than Penny's guidance that brought them ultimately to the central chamber, a vaulted cavern of a place with hand-hewn stone walls crouching around the huge open fireplace, large enough—Athena thought irrationally—to roast two oxen at once.

"So much for your torture chamber, Penny," she remarked, sinking down on a worn wooden bench beside a trestle table that seemed to have withstood the passage of time. The rough, uneven surface of the tunnel had left her feet aching, in spite of her sturdy half-boots, and Athena wondered how the Beauty was faring with her fragile slippers of pale blue leather.

"This must have been the monastery kitchen," she remarked, her eyes following the towering stone chimney that disappeared into the center of the ceiling. "That chimney must have been used to warm the upper rooms. And no doubt the monks gathered here to take their meals."

"Oh, no, Mama," Penny said patiently, as though talking to a child. "Perry says that the table here was used to chop off the monk's limbs when they refused to give up the Abbey's treasure. Cannot you see the dark stains in the wood?"

"Rubbish!" Athena exclaimed, annoyed that her sweet Penelope had revealed such bloodthirsty knowledge. "You are making this up, which is very naughty of you, dear." Nevertheless, she instinctively snatched her arm away from the table, noticing upon closer examination that the ancient refractory table did indeed have rather large dark stains embedded into the wood.

Athena shuddered and cast her eyes over to the far wall where several heavy crates were stacked. Her imagination, fired by Penelope's vivid explanation of the dark stains, immediately visualized the crates stuffed with tangled masses of pale limbs. Pulling herself together with a supreme effort, Athena was about to remind her daughter that ladies did not indulge in such hoydenish starts, when a movement between two of the crates caught her eye and froze her blood.

"Rats!" she exclaimed, her voice unnaturally high. She leapt to her feet and clutched her gown around her knees, quite as though she feared the rodents might take it into their heads to invade her petticoats.

Penelope giggled. "Never say you are going to swoon, Mama," she chortled. "And never mind the rats. They cannot be very hungry," she added cheerfully. "Perry said they only attack when they are starving, remember?"

Unconvinced by these brave words, Athena picked up her lantern. "I say we go back upstairs immediately," she said firmly, glancing around to find the entrance to the central chamber. It was then that she made an alarming discovery. There were six black passageways leading into the room, all exactly alike. Which was the one that would lead to the staircase up to the main floor?

"Are we not going to wait for Perry, Mama?" Penny sounded disappointed at their abrupt departure, but Athena was adamant. "I suspect that Perry has been detained," she said flatly, a circumstance that had become more apparent as the minutes dragged by. They must have been wandering around in these tunnels for almost an hour, she thought. If Perry had not come, then he himself must also be lost. Lost in the company of that coy lady in blue. The notion made Athena feel suddenly quite sick.

A considerable time later, after exploring three of the tunnels leading off the central room and finding no staircase with a white handkerchief tied to a hook in the wall, Athena was feeling exhausted. Her feet were painfully sore, she was chilled to the bone, and it was all she could do to control the panic that fluttered around in her breast.

She sank down once more on the wooden bench, keeping her eyes averted from the mysterious dark stains on the table.

She felt an overwhelming desire to cry. She would never,
never
forgive Perry for this, she thought, fury at her betrothed's thoughtlessness momentarily obscuring her panic. He would pay dearly for abandoning her in this miserable place. Oh, yes, she mused wrathfully, Viscount Fairmont would be sorry he had ever suggested exploring the dungeons when she was finished with him. He deserved to have his ears boxed.

"Mama, I think this tunnel here might be the right one." Penelope's voice was still full of optimism, but Athena's had run out long ago.

"How can you be sure, dear?"

"I think I recall the table being on that side when we arrived." She waved to the right. "Let us try this one, Mama. I have a feeling we will be right this time."

Athena sighed. She was too tired to budge. The thought of trudging down yet another dark tunnel depressed her. "Let me rest a few moments longer, love," she begged, reluctant to subject her poor feet to the rough stones again.

"I shall go a little way by myself, then," Penny suggested. "I just know this is the one."

Athena immediately objected. "I do not want you wandering off by yourself, Penny. We should stay here until someone comes for us. As Perry soon will, I am convinced of it."

"Only a little way, Mama.
Please."

Too tired to argue, Athena at last consented, with the admonition not to go far.

Fifteen minutes later, when Penelope had not returned, Athena regretted sending her daughter off alone. She would follow her immediately, she thought, forcing herself to stand. A distinct rustling behind the crates made her turn towards them, thoroughly alarmed at the possibility of having to fight off hungry rodents. A sob broke from her as she clearly saw two small eyes reflected in the light of the lantern.

Blindly, Athena turned to escape the presence of the rats. There must be more than one of them, she realized in sudden panic, for she could clearly hear their high-pitched twittering. To make matters worse, the chamber seemed to be getting dimmer. Athena held the lantern aloft to adjust the wick, but noticed—her blood running cold in her veins—that it was almost out of oil.

She would be alone in the dark with the rats.

Athena was not normally squeamish about such things, considering herself a sensible female. But the events of the afternoon had undermined her reserves, and without conscious thought, she let out a piercing scream, which echoed through the tunnels in waves of sound. The echoes rattled her with their eerie reverberations, sounding to her fevered imagination like a host of ghostly monks—limbs mutilated, eyes blankly staring from beneath black cowls.

Paralyzed with terror, Athena watched the lantern flicker feebly and go out. She was about the scream again, when she thought she heard a shout. Could it be that Penny was coming back? Or that Perry had finally found her? She glanced anxiously in the direction Penelope had taken, but that tunnel yawned dark and forbidding. Then a light flickered in another passage, and as it approached, Athena saw that it was indeed the figure of a man. 

Perry!

Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. Without a moment's hesitation, Athena picked up her skirts and ran towards the tall figure. She had never been so glad to see anyone in her life. With a sob of relief, she threw herself into his arms and buried her face in his cravat.

"Oh, Perry," she sobbed, quite unable to control her tears, "I was so afraid here in the dark. How could you do this to me?" An arm encircled her waist and held her firmly in place against the broad chest. It felt so wonderful that Athena nestled more closely against Perry's tall frame. They had never been this intimate before, and Athena wondered if perhaps she had misjudged her betrothed. Could it be that Perry was more mature than she had given him credit for?

She heard his breath expel close to her ear; then warm lips touched her cheek, trailing down to her neck. She knew she should draw away, but there was an hypnotic quality to the lingering kiss he placed in the curve of her neck, and to the warm fingers splayed against her back, holding her expertly in place. 

"Perry," she murmured huskily, straining to see his expression in the flickering lamplight. But when a warm mouth caught her lips in the tenderest of kisses, Athena closed her eyes and gave herself up to the delight of being kissed by an expert. Where had Perry learned to kiss like this? she wondered fuzzily, opening her lips to the insistent probing of a hot tongue against her teeth. Why had she never allowed him to do so before? The few boyish pecks he had pressed upon her in London had given her no warning whatsoever that it could be like this. 

The kiss deepened, until Athena's arms slipped up around his neck and pulled him even closer. Tentatively she touched him with her own tongue, and was enraptured by the fierce response. The lantern had been placed on the floor, and two strong arms now held her, caressed her, explored her as she had longed for years—ever since John had been taken from her—to be held, and touched, and kissed again. Athena opened her mouth more invitingly and was rewarded with a throaty male groan of desire that thrilled her beyond words. 

This was so unlike Perry, her dizzy brain kept repeating. 

So very unlike Perry.

It was gloriously seductive, promising delights beyond her wildest dreams, but so unlike Perry. Unlike Perry? A core of fear shifted within her heart. Perry was only a boy; surely he would not—could not—have kissed her like this. Suddenly she knew beyond a doubt that he had not done so. She pushed away and stared up at the man she had been kissing so recklessly.

No wonder he had felt so unlike Perry, she thought, her heart cringing in mortification and dropping down to the soles of her feet.

He was not Perry.

The Earl of St. Aubyn smiled down into her startled face, his blue-black eyes alight with the heat of desire she had undoubtedly kindled there.

***

Judging by the angry glitter in the lady's magnificent amber eyes, he was in serious trouble, Sylvester mused, watching outrage jostle with mortification in the widow's upturned face. He wondered idly if she might box his ears, and the notion amused him.

They were still standing close together, his hands on her waist, and Sylvester heard the agitation of her breath, matching his own. She was trembling again, he noticed. Not the distraught shuddering of her small body when she had flung herself into his astonished arms, but a sign of mental anguish, nevertheless.

Sylvester suddenly wanted—more than anything he had wanted in a long time—to pull her into his arms again and comfort her, but he dared not risk it. She would slap his face for him; he was sure of it. Yet would it not be well worth that slap, he wondered, to feel her sensuous body—far more voluptuous than he could ever have imagined—pressed against him again?

His eyes dropped to her lips. In the flickering light of the lantern he could see that they were soft, and full, and bruised-looking. From his kisses. The sight of them stirred him, and Sylvester tore his eyes away, knowing that if he did not take his hands off her, he would do what he was aching to do, and the devil fly away with the consequences.

Suddenly she sighed, and her head rolled back, exposing the tender column of her neck. For a delirious moment, Sylvester thought she had succumbed to the ardent yearning that had driven her to return his kiss with such unbridled passion. But as he groaned and bent to take possession of that sensuous mouth, he noticed that the widow's eyes were closed, her body a dead weight in his arms. Athena Standish had swooned.

Sylvester paused, his heart racing, his lips poised inches from hers. The temptation to steal that kiss anyway was so strong, he actually shuddered with the need of it. He could feel her heart beating against his chest, and for the longest moment he just stood there, cradling the widow Standish in his arms with a fierce gentleness that surprised him.

He had no recollection afterwards of how long he stood there, listening to her breathing. Finally he shook himself out of the trance, reached for the lantern, swung Athena up into his arms, and strode back the way he had come, his mind a riot of unanswered questions.

That kiss had changed everything.

There was no way that either of them could pretend it had not happened. It had been too intense, too intimate, far too soul-wrenching to dismiss as an idle, flirtatious caress. What madness had driven him to accept that kiss from a female who considered herself betrothed to his son? Sylvester wondered. A female who imagined herself in Peregrine's arms even as she kissed his father?

The thought of Peregrine in Athena's arms, kissing her the way he had just kissed her, caused Sylvester to grit his teeth painfully. What kind of unnatural father was he to be lusting after his son's future bride? Of course, if he had his way—an eventuality that Sylvester did not for a moment doubt—the widow would not be Peregrine's bride at all. His son would be brought to see the error of his choice, and the seductive widow would be packed off to London.

She would be free again. The notion slipped unbidden into Sylvester's mind and skipped around there gleefully. The widow would be fair game, he told himself. Might she not be persuaded to consider another kind of arrangement? The idea was both titillating and faintly distasteful, and Sylvester put it resolutely out of his mind.

They were approaching the entrance by now, and the odd notion crossed the earl's mind that he might well be a modern Orpheus, bringing his dear Eurydice up from the dark realm of Hades. It was the kind of mythological parallel that would appeal to Athena, he thought wryly, with her love of the classics. Except, of course, that Orpheus had been warned not to look at his lady until they were well past the portals of darkness. The Greek bard had done so and lost her forever, according to the legend. Sylvester was no Orpheus, which was perhaps just as well, for he could not resist gazing down at the unconscious woman in his arms. Was she lost to him forever? he wondered, half embarrassed at his own superstition.