What the Stubborn Viscount Desires Read online

  Yes, focus on the ruins, not on her. Jonathan moved the lantern over the area. Large pots or vases. “I doubt that.” He scrambled over the wall, stifling a groan when muscles protested from the fall down the stairs. “Look here.” He pointed at the containers. Lifting off the cracked lid of one of them, he peeked inside. Dried fruit—grapes—lay shriveled and petrified inside. “This was a winemaker’s shop. They probably crushed the fruit with that contraption.” He replaced the lid and then explored the cluttered shop. “And here.” He swung the lantern close to a crate containing cloudy and dusty bottles with corks still attached. “Wine bottles. No doubt the liquid inside has fermented to vinegar or dried up.”

  “Pity, that. Adventuring is rather thirsty work.” Sophia trailed her fingers through the dirt along another wall. Some of the shops were more buried in earth than others, impossible to tell what they were. “What are we searching for? We cannot amble through these ruins forever. Our oil will expire and…” Her words died with a hard swallow. “I refuse to be trapped in the dark again.”

  “You were not trapped before,” he reminded her as he strained to see what awaited them. Looming in the distance perhaps a quarter mile away, were four massive Roman columns, perhaps from a temple of some sort, and keeping in the same style as the ones that decorated the ruins throughout Italy, a stark reminder people had once walked this place, learned here, worshipped here.

  She paused and turned to face him. Shadows filled her eyes. “I was alone in the complete darkness for several minutes before you arrived. It was enough.”

  “What difference does it make now? I came.”

  A shiver wracked her shoulders. “I felt so… alone, forgotten even, as if I was visiting my own grave.” A strangled sort of whimper escaped her. “It’s a horrible feeling.” She paused and spoke again in a small voice. “When I was young, my grandmother once locked me in a cupboard for speaking out of turn. She left me there for hours before someone came to let me out.” She shook her head. “I do not like being alone the dark, wondering. What if no one remembered I was there?”

  Poor thing. No one should have had to suffer like that. And, this was her first time out in the field or on any sort of adventure. Far cry from the English countryside. “You have my promise that while you’re with me, you are never alone and most certainly not forgotten.” He closed the distance between them and slipped an arm about her shoulders. For one second, she sagged against him. “We’re in this together.”

  She huffed out a breath and straightened. “I’m your assistant. I remember.”

  “No. As my partner.” Jonathan took her hand and pulled her along the path. “I should have given you that designation from the start.” He’d treated her horribly. Now he would make up for it. He wanted her to remember this trip with fondness and perhaps tell her children about the days she helped a king’s man on a convoluted mission.

  Another man’s children while she became another man’s wife. Bloody hell. Confusion throbbed through his chest to center around his heart. The reality of their situation smacked into him. The mission would end soon, and once it did, they would return to England and part ways.

  He would have to give her up, as he’d promised.

  Jonathan scowled into the darkness. Because it had to happen. She didn’t deserve a man like him, a man too broken for love, romance or happy endings. It was better for everyone if he formed no attachments. A man dedicated to the Crown, perhaps addicted to the danger inherent in such an occupation, didn’t have the option of leading a staid life.

  Yet, her hand in his was a lifeline, a rather novel experience, and he vowed he would enjoy her companionship while he had it.

  “Wait! Jonathan, stop.” Her cry froze him.

  On alert, he swept his gaze about the area but didn’t see a threat. “What’s wrong?”

  “Shine your light to the left side of the path.” She darted out before him. “Here. I thought I saw something in the dirt.” When he followed her directive, she knelt and brushed her fingers through the accumulated silt. “Yes, here!” Sophia held a gold trinket aloft. Another cross, this one just three inches high but no less jewel encrusted as the other, gleamed from her palm with flashes of sapphire and ruby. “It’s Spanish in origin, not Roman.”

  “Another trail marker to make certain we keep moving.” He swung the lantern in a circle as he examined the ground. “There are no footprints, yet the jewel had to arrive somehow.”

  She stood and placed the relic into a pocket of his greatcoat. “Perhaps Lord Basselton used a brush or broom to erase his tracks.”

  “Certainly a possibility.” That would mean malice aforethought, and that chilled his blood. Again, Jonathan examined the dirt. The only signs of human passage were their own footprints. “It’s damn irritating. Stay vigilant.” Why the devil had they been drawn down here? More and more, it was beginning to look like a trap, for certainly nothing on the convoluted treasure hunt made sense.

  “Of course, but you must know that something doesn’t feel right, and that bothers me. I’ve lived a straightforward life. Nothing about our mission is as it seems.” She narrowed her eyes. “I do not enjoy being a pawn in someone’s game.”

  The fact that she’d used “our” to describe their quest sent a push of warmth through his veins. “That doesn’t make me feel any better for our cause, my dear, for I’m having the same thought.” He nudged her forward. “We need to keep moving.” The fact that she, an untrained civilian, was worried bothered him. If she picked up on that undercurrent of unease, he’d wager something was incredibly wrong. But what and why?

  They walked in silence for some time. Once they gained the temple ruins, he poked around but found nothing of import. Neither did he notice footprints—fresh or otherwise. Beneath the streets of Barcelona, here in the dark and the silence, it was as if time had forgotten this Roman village. What sort of man planned ahead to this degree that would leave no trace of his passage? The longer he and Sophia explored, the more his gut tightened. His instincts screamed to run, to leave this place, but they were essentially stuck underground. He refused to fail on this mission, refused to let Sophia see him as less than competent.

  So, he followed her as they plodded on, the golden pool of light bouncing and swaying around them.

  Not long after they quit the temple ruins, Sophia cried out in triumph. “Jonathan, look! That has to be what we are searching for.” She tugged him toward a pile of crumbling brickwork in the center of what used to be a town square or public gathering place.

  God take him for a fool and a nodcock. He couldn’t figure out what had her so excited. It was merely a dried up cistern of some sort. “What do you see?”

  “This!” She gestured at the dusty stones. “Don’t you realize what this is?” She skirted the circular area and ran her hands over it. “I’m aware that it’s not the real well where the woman in the Bible is referenced, but it is a solid clue. A Roman well. Right from the travel journal.” Sophia went so far as to peer inside—of course he discerned it was a well now—and she fairly vibrated with happiness. “The chalice could be down there.”

  He grunted. “It could, but so could a polar bear, if we are talking unlikely scenarios.”

  “Behave, Trewellain.” Sophia rolled her eyes, but her smile only widened. “This is, by far, the best holiday I’ve ever had.”

  Her enthusiasm was contagious, and he grinned. “Then by all means, let us seek a monumental discovery. I shall make certain to write in my mission notes that it was Sophia Wickham who found fortune and glory.”

  “Living forever in a dusty archive belonging to the king’s agents.” She came close to him, raised up on her toes and planted a kiss upon his cheek. “Thank you for including me.” The warmth of her breath skated across his skin.

  “I honestly couldn’t imagine doing this without you.” He touched his cheek where her kiss lingered as she pulled on an ancient rope. Part of it hung down into the well’s interior while part lay coiled in th
e dust like a snake. “What are you doing?”

  “Don’t be a goose. I’m going down there.” With efficient movements, she tied the end of the rope about her waist with a neat knot. “Lower me down.” She looked at him with expectation twinkling in her indigo eyes.

  “Absolutely not.” He shook his head as he eyeballed the rope. “Is the rope even sound?”

  Sophia tugged it with both hands. “Seems so. Stop delaying.”

  “You are aware that it will be much darker down there than it is up here, aren’t you? And I have the lantern.” The woman was truly mad.

  “Then let me carry down the lantern.”

  “What will I do?”

  She shrugged. “That is not my concern, for I will be busy exploring without you.”

  “You are too stubborn for your own good.” Jonathan stared at her and she stared back.

  “You mean too stubborn for you.” She sat on the jagged lip of the well and swung a leg over the side. “For far too long, you’ve claimed that title unchallenged. Now you have competition.” She arched an eyebrow. “Lower me down, if you please.”

  Lord save me from independent women. “Very well.” He handed her the lantern and then yanked the end of the rope from her, tested its strength for himself. “Yell up the second you hit the bottom. Once you do, I’ll somehow secure the rope and follow you.”

  “Understood.” She gave him a mock-salute, which had him biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. The minx. “If you see anything untoward, let me know and I’ll haul your obstinate arse right back up.”

  “I will. I promise.” She moved her other leg over the lip while her dusty skirting rose up her leg and she looked over her shoulder at him. “Ready.”

  Hell’s bells. “Sophia, wait for—”

  She pushed off the edge with a squeal, forcing him to grasp the rope in both hands.

  “Damn it!” A string of curses followed as the well swallowed the light. While the shaft glowed cheerfully golden, the darkness around him pressed in. “Progress report.” The fibers in the rope rasped against his palms and he held steady, praying it would hold.

  Agonizing seconds went by in both silence and darkness. Finally, the rope went slack after she’d been lowered possibly twenty feet.

  “I’ve reached the bottom. Standing in about four inches of water.” A faint splash accompanied the report. “Eww! It smells down here, like dirty stagnant water.”

  Despite his worry, he snickered. “Consider it the filth of countless generations. You are literally standing in history.”

  “Do shut up, Jonathan.” She sneezed. The light moved about at the bottom of the well. “It’s much cooler down here.”

  “What do you see?” He peered into the well but couldn’t see her beyond the lantern’s light.

  “Nothing of interest.” The disappointment in her voice echoed off the stone walls. “Wait. There’s recently disturbed earth down here, as if someone has dug.” She sneezed again. “And an object. It looks like gold, but that cannot be right. We’ve already discerned the chalice wasn’t made of such precious metal.”

  “I’m reeling you back.” He tugged on the rope, preparing to haul her upward.

  “The devil you are.” The rope wriggled and then went slack when he pulled on it.

  The damned chit untied herself. “Sophia?” With nothing but darkness marking time with him, he agonized when he didn’t hear a response. “Sophia, answer me.” What the deuce had she gotten herself into? I should never have let her go down there.

  A slight sound, the scrape of a pebble against the sole of a boot, alerted him that something had changed. The hairs on his nape prickled. He turned, but the darkness was so complete he saw nothing, only felt the disturbed air.

  He was not alone.

  “I don’t know if you are very stupid or very fortunate, Viscount Trewellain, but suffice it to say I have grown weary waiting for you to figure out the rudimentary clues I’ve painstakingly laid out for you.”

  “Basselton?” He thrust out a hand but connected with empty space.

  “My man did warn you. Now I’ll add my own to his.”

  Without the benefit of his sight, Jonathan didn’t know where the attack came from until too late. Pain exploded through his left temple. Hands slammed into his chest as he staggered, fought to remain upright, but the forward momentum was too much to compensate for. He plunged into the darkness of the well, falling, falling.

  As he braced for impact, the pain gripping his head blessedly claimed him before smashing into the ground could.

  Jonathan came awake to three distinct sensations: the acute ache in his head, the warm softness beneath his cheek, and the cold wetness around his back and legs.

  Where am I?

  He groaned and when he attempted to struggle into a sitting position, a gentle hand pushed him back down.

  “Rest for a bit, my lord.” It was a female’s voice. Then he remembered. Sophia! The dark specter of Lord Basselton shoving him into the well. “Hush now. You took quite a hit, and the fall didn’t help.”

  Blinking, he finally opened his eyes. The golden illumination of her lantern lit the interior of the well where they sat in the dark water at the bottom. The five-foot by five-foot circular area was made of dusty, dun-colored stones, and she’d been correct. The water smelled foul, and he shuddered to think how many baths it would take to remove the stench from his skin. Not to mention his clothes would have to be burned.

  He glanced upward. Impenetrable darkness clung to the well outside the reach of the lantern’s light. “We need to climb up. It’s our only hope of escape.” Buggar, but his head hurt. The damn pounding reminded him of drums.

  “That is impossible,” Sophia answered with a note of resignation as if she’d had ample time to think about the situation.

  “Why?” He concentrated on keeping his world from spinning.

  “While you were out, someone in the ruins rolled a stone cover over the well, after they threw the rope down.” She pulled the end of the rope from the dark water. “It’s doubtful, even if we managed to climb up there somehow, that we could move the lid from such a precarious position.”

  Yes, she had indeed already given the notion much thought. He stirred, but her arms around him kept him stationary. “Damn.” Jonathan huffed in frustration, and finally acknowledged it felt nice to be cradled against her chest and lap. He glanced at her upside down. “How long have I been out?” His false leg ached as well but he didn’t want to move in order to check on it.

  She plucked at the time piece that hung between her breasts and then consulted it. “Two hours now.” The pendant thumped against her chest when she dropped it. “I cleaned your wound as best I could with the nasty water. I hope it doesn’t become infected, but your bleeding has stopped.” She brushed her fingertips over his forehead, and the warm sensations she invoked calmed him. “There wasn’t much, but you have a sizable lump. Can you remember your name and other pertinent information?”

  “Yes. Stop fretting.” He grasped her hand to still her nervous movements. “I know who you and I are, and why we are here. Basselton pushed me down.” At her gasp, he nodded, and then groaned. “The head wound is nothing I’m not familiar with. It happens every damn mission, but usually because people are hunting Archewyne or his wife.”

  “I am beginning to suspect the Hawkins family invites too much excitement into their lives.” Her eyes were large as she stared at him.

  He chuckled and the pain in his head pounded all the more furiously. “You have no idea, especially when there are far too many men intent on villainy instead of philanthropy.” Neatly summed up the state of the world though. “Did you find the chalice?”

  “Oh yes!” She thumped her free hand onto a small, battered, wooden chest near her elbow where her lantern sat. “It’s every bit as ordinary as we thought. Made of agate, I presume, for I’m not an expert in such things. Well, the bowl is.” Her words tumbled over themselves in her haste and e
xcitement. He smiled, his eyes drifting closed while he listened. “Threads of precious minerals catch the light throughout the piece, but without a proper laboratory, I cannot identify what the remainder is made of. However, I’m not entirely certain it is the Chalice of Christ.”

  “It doesn’t matter for the moment, Sophia, but you did well.” It was odd, this freezing in his lower half but with curious warmth invading his upper half as he lounged against her. He opened his eyes as she shifted.

  “Thank you.” She held up the chalice. “Look at the silver filigree around the cup portion. It’s magnificent. Hardly touched by tarnish.”

  “It is, that.” Jonathan took the relic from her, merely for the thrill of holding such an ancient object. “It is surprisingly heavy.”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “The chest it rested in didn’t appear disturbed, which wasn’t odd since we are the first people down here in perhaps a century. Pity, though, that the wood is rotten and waterlogged, for I found it wedged between stones at the bottom of the well.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” Jonathan rallied. “Someone knew it was here, as evidenced by the recent dig you indicated, and if it wasn’t always, they planted it, which seems much more likely. Perhaps they even altered that traveler’s journal to coincide with their motives.”

  “There is no evidence of that, Trewellain.” Doubt rode her voice as she took back the chalice and returned it to the top of the chest. “Mayhap you are jumping at shadows.”

  “Trust me on this.” The words came out more snappish than he’d intended. “I’m certain Basselton hit me and dumped me down here. It damn well wasn’t a ghost.” He groaned as he struggled from her hold and gained his feet. Damnation, but his cane didn’t make the plunge into the well with him. Just as quickly and painfully he went back down again, for his false leg was somehow damaged and no longer connected properly. One of the buckles had come undone, most likely, from his sudden fall and crash to Earth.