Lord of Fire (26 page)

“Lucien, I would really rather not admire the view just now—”

“Hush. Be still.”

The rain needled her as it blew across the face of the hill. She knew the wet limestone was surely slick beneath his feet as he stalked out onto the outcropping. Before she could ask what he was doing, he started down a precarious little track that wrapped around the lookout rock. She had not noticed it before. The grade was almost vertical. Her eyes widened and she clung around his neck, for below them was the dropoff into the valley. She glanced over the edge in dizzying fear, able now to see the landing nestled beneath the lookout rock, which was apparently their destination.
Shelter, yes,
she thought,
but dear God, if he slipped, if he made one false move, they would both be dead
. Alone, perhaps he could have stopped his fall, but with her in his arms, they would both be lost over the precipice.

Lucien seemed unconcerned. She held her breath for two or three more hair-raising moments, until he had braced his foot on a rock and eased down onto the landing.

When he set her down gently on her feet in the safety of the landing,
Alice glared up at him, too scared after their brush with death even to scold him.

“Look,” he said, gesturing to a spot behind her, his silvery eyes shining, his face flecked with mud.

She turned around and saw that the landing gave way to the drafty mouth of a cave. The lookout rock formed its overhanging roof.

“It connects with

Revell Court

by way of the Grotto,” Lucien explained, breathing heavily. “It’s dark as the grave, God knows, but at least it will keep us out of the elements. How’s the shoulder feeling?”

“Sore.”

He frowned at her, then ducked into the mouth of the cave and lit a waiting lantern while she stood shivering, soaked through to the skin. He lifted the lantern in one hand and held out his other hand to her.

“Do you think you can walk, or shall I carry you?”

“I can walk. My knee doesn’t hurt too badly.”

“Lean on me if you need me. It’ll be about twenty minutes more.”

“It’s so dark,”
Alice murmured, slipping her arm through his as she peered into the hollow limestone corridor. The dim glow of his lantern barely provided a foot’s visibility ahead.

“Don’t be frightened,” he whispered. As an afterthought, he took off his greatcoat and wrapped it around her.

“Lucien, you need your coat,” she protested. “You’ll catch your death—”

“Hush. Your teeth are chattering. Let’s go. Stay close.”

She obeyed, savoring his body heat that still clung to the heavy woolen coat.

“Watch your step,” he said, lifting the lantern higher.

They disappeared into the hole in the earth as though the mountain had swallowed them. They forged on, laboring along through the damp, slimy recesses of the cave.
Alice cringed against him when she heard creatures fluttering aloft. She did not need to ask what they were.

“What is your favorite song?” Lucien asked cheerfully, sensing her uneasiness.

“Er, I don’t know. Why?”

“Well, to the best of my knowledge, every young lady of breeding must have at least one good song in her repertoire for showing off her musical talents at dinner parties. I’m sure you’ve been put through that ordeal at some point, Miss Montague.”

Alice
managed a smile. “I assure you, when there is a call for such drawing room entertainments, I flee.”

“You can’t be worse than me. I’m tone-deaf.”

“I don’t believe that!”

“Very well—I’m lying,” he admitted with a roguish half smile. “Truly, you dislike singing?”

“I have nothing against singing or music of any kind. All I object to is public humiliation.”

He laughed, and she smiled at the sound. It bounced off the pressing walls of the cave and rolled down the lightless corridor ahead of them with a jolly echo.

“Or private humiliation,” she added in chagrin, glancing up at his face, warm gold in the lantern light. “Such as tumbling down the hill like Jack and Jill.”

He chuckled and put his arm around her shoulders. “There, there, poor dear,” he murmured, giving her a gentle caress. “I’m just thankful you weren’t seriously hurt. Sing me a song to pass the time.”

“Absolutely not. One humiliation in front of you is quite galling enough. Lucien, how many bats do you think live in this cave? Hundreds?” She swallowed hard as something black and screeching swooped just over their heads. “Thousands?”

Instead of answering, he began to sing softly to her. His voice was low and as rich as a warm mug of chocolate. It was the sweetest song she had ever heard, with a wistful melody and lyrics about a troubadour-knight returning from the Crusades to his ladylove. She listened, enchanted, soon forgetting all about the darkness and bats, the bone-chilling cold, and even her throbbing shoulder. He sang the last verse and came to the end, the tender strains echoing down the tunnel in a whisper.

Alice
gazed at him by the light of the lantern. After a moment, he stole a sideward glance at her full of an almost boyish uncertainty, but when he read the adoring look in her smile, his eyes danced.

She clasped his hand between hers. “Sing me another.”

“I would, my dear, but we’re here.”

She tore her gaze from his handsome face to the darkness ahead. As he raised the lantern, she saw that their way was barred by a large wooden door, fitted snugly into the rock. Lucien freed his hand gently from her grasp and walked over to it. He reached up into a small natural chink in the cave wall, feeling around until he produced a key. He unlocked the door and let her inside.

A prickle of realization ran down her spine as it occurred to her abruptly that this tunnel was a possible escape route from

Revell Court

, should she choose to use it. When the weather cleared, perhaps tomorrow, she could sneak away while Lucien was practicing his swordsmanship in his studio with his men. Her heart pounded at the thought, which suddenly seemed traitorous. She knew she could make her way down to the Grotto from the house. From there, she could unlock the door to the tunnel, just as he had, and flee out into the world beyond. She could get help in the hamlet where Mr. Whitby’s cottage lay and surely find someone who would take her to the nearest stagecoach inn, which, in turn, would convey her home to Glenwood Park and to Harry.

Sobered by the idea, she glanced furtively over her shoulder as they walked down the remainder of the tunnel toward the Grotto. Then she looked rather guiltily at him. He was studying her with a shrewd and penetrating gaze. She realized he had seen her glance back at the door. Looking into her eyes, he seemed to read her thoughts of possible escape, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, but he said not a word.

As they stepped out into the Grotto, the memory of her erotic dream about Lucien blazed at once in her mind in all its lush, wanton detail. Blushing fiercely,
Alice avoided meeting his gaze. He gave her a look of subtle reproach, then walked ahead of her, carrying the lamp toward the great carving of the dragon.

Surely he had known going into the tunnel that she would conceive of it as a possible escape route, she thought. But then she realized he had taken that risk in favor of sheltering her from the elements. With the sweet spell of his song still sliding through her veins,
Alice looked around at the Grotto. Shafts of pearl-gray daylight penetrated the soaring space from small chinks in the high, rocky dome, through which the rain also leaked in thread-thin cascades. The shafts of light played upon the swirling, mist-like steam over the
hot springs. The rhythmic trickle of the rain dripping in echoed softly through the vast cavern, a serene and lulling music. Though she had seen the Grotto before, it all looked, or rather
felt
, totally different to her.

It was as though, having stepped out of the subterranean tunnel, she had come out into a new world, seemingly the same, but entirely new—or perhaps she was seeing it through new eyes. This was not a den of evil, but a cave of sacred mysteries, she thought, her gaze traveling over the whimsical carving of the dragon and the tall Corinthian pillars.

She looked at Lucien, who had just finished lighting all the tapers in a tall, metal candle stand. He carried the flaming candelabra over and placed it by the bubbling
hot springs.

“What are you doing?”
Alice asked cautiously.

“Ahem, how shall I say this tactfully?” Turning to her, he pulled off his ruined leather gloves with a look of thought. “My dear Miss Montague, your teeth are chattering. You have been shivering for the past half hour, you hurt your shoulder, and you’re covered in mud. You, my dear, are going in the water.”

Her eyes widened. She glanced at the great pool in the center of the Grotto, then back at him. “That water?”

“The same.”

“But Lucien—”

“Expediency,
Alice. I will not argue this. These mineral waters have all the same healing properties as those at
Bath. Now, doff those wet clothes before you catch your death—and see that you clean those cuts well. I will leave you in privacy to go fetch you some soap, towels, and dry clothes. I presume you brought an extra gown? The maid should know what you’ll need from among your personal effects.” He turned and began striding away with a look of resolve.

“But, Lucien.”

When he paused and looked back at her, she could not miss the haunted look of longing in his silvery eyes. “What?” he asked impatiently.

She noticed that he, too, was shivering. “I’m not sure I should,” she said in dismay.

“Be sensible,
Alice. It’s your choice.” With that, he left her alone.

She bit her lip and glanced at the pool, battling with herself. The
hot springs did look luxuriously inviting, with a white, filmy steam swirling over them. The alternative was a tepid hip bath when she returned to her bedchamber, she supposed, but that would not get the mud out of her hair. She looked down at herself with a grimace. She was bedraggled, bruised, and freezing. Mud caked her gown and boots. It might take the servants half an hour to heat the water and fill the tub and, by then, she probably
would
have the ague.

Taking off her gloves, she walked over warily to the carved stone steps that led down into the pool. She looked behind her into the dimness of the empty Grotto, as though her mother or her strict former governess might be looking on to chastise her for even considering it. Glancing at the tiled mosaics on the floor,
Alice crouched down and splashed her fingertips in the pool in an exploratory testing of the waters. Relief and pleasure shot up her arm at the invigorating heat of the springs.

Well, I don’t want to get sick,
she reasoned. With a determined look, she undressed with furtive speed, lest Lucien should return and see more than he ought. She slipped out of his heavy black greatcoat and her fur-trimmed pelisse, then unbuttoned the bodice of her grimy carriage gown with trembling hands. Extricating her arms from her clinging, wet sleeves, she peeled her dress down over her hips and stepped out of it, rid herself of the single petticoat she had worn under it for warmth, then pulled off her much-abused kid half boots.

She examined the bloody bruise on her knee, gingerly removing her garters and stockings; then, clad only in her sleeveless white chemise, she dipped a toe in the water.
Ah, it was glorious,
she thought, giddy with creaturely comfort. Too beguiled to hesitate longer, she walked down the steps into the hot, bubbling water, slowly immersing herself in the pool’s luxurious comfort. The reflection of the flames from the nearby candelabra danced over the water around the steps, but she was still wary of the darkness beyond the candles’ glow.