“I wish you peaceful rest,” Lord Neville taunted from above.
The sharp report of a pistol made her jump. Greengrass marking his triumph, she guessed. With a loud scrape, the stone shifted, narrowing the light to nothing. Thick darkness slammed down, heavy with the stink of dust and ancient misery.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Above them, warm autumn lingered. Down here in the dark, it was permanent winter. From the base of the stairs, Genevieve heard Richard murmuring reassurance to a whimpering Sirius. The mere sound of his voice rescued her plummeting spirits. Her crippling horror of suffocation receded. Panic constricted her lungs, not lack of air.
She fumbled toward the nearest tomb. The stone she sat on was cold and she shifted, seeking a more forgiving position. There wasn’t one. The blackness seemed infinite, be
yond possibility of light, like a living, malevolent entity. Something brushed her nape and she shivered. It was probably only a stray drift of air, but she felt as jumpy as a cat in a thunderstorm. She was a scholar and a skeptic, yet in this charnel house, malicious ghosts seemed to ogle her.
She shuddered. She didn’t want to die in the cold and dark.
“I sent George to the duke with a note.” Guilt stabbed her anew. She shouldn’t have come. Alone, Richard might have escaped.
“Cam will look for us, then.” His voice sounded odd. Thin. A trick of acoustics, she supposed.
But the duke didn’t know about the crypt beneath the altar. Nobody did. Fear wedged in her belly, along with bleak awareness that this underground chamber would likely become their grave. Air seemed short again.
She shook her head to banish discomfiting thoughts and fiddled in her pocket. Within moments, frail light bloomed. Choking dread receded into the endless emptiness surrounding them.
“Good God, Genevieve. You’re an enchantress indeed.”
She smiled at Richard where he kneeled on the stairs. “I always carry candles and a tinderbox in my pinafore.”
“For exploring underground passages?”
She struggled to pretend that this was a normal conversation in normal circumstances. “You’d be astonished how often I need light. I do practical research as well as read musty documents, you know.”
“I beg your pardon, Madam Adventurer.”
She rose and approached Richard, who struggled to remove Sirius’s bonds. One of Richard’s elegant hands smoothed the tangled fur, calming the shivering dog. He’d succeed, she knew. Richard Harmsworth’s touch held magic.
“Madam Adventurer has a knife. Would you like it?”
His gallant smile set her heart thumping with love and crazy hope that they’d survive. “If you’ve got a knife, I’ll ask you to marry me.”
She ignored his teasing. Odd to recall that mere minutes ago, she’d regretted the lack of a proposal. Right now, all that mattered was that they were alive. And together. She dug into a pocket. “Here.”
As he reached out, she caught his swiftly concealed wince. “Richard, what is it?”
Fear banished fragile optimism. Her gorge rose as she recalled the gunshot. Trembling, she lifted the candle. In the uncertain light, a patch shimmered wet on his black sleeve.
Nausea tightened her throat. When her lungs began to ache, she realized she’d drawn a breath and never released it. It hurt to exhale. “Dear God, you’re bleeding.”
“Greengrass holds a grudge.” His drawn face contradicted his casual tone.
“For heaven’s sake, why didn’t you say something?” Anguished concern sharpened her question. Her hand shook so violently that the candle flared wildly, sending shadows hopping over the walls.
“I was being heroic.”
His humor fell flat. “Idiotic, more like.” On legs that threatened to collapse, she stepped closer. She reined in her futile need to rage at him. “Take your coat off.”
He sawed at the rope muzzle. “Let me see to Sirius first.”
“Men!” she snarled, snatching the knife and kneeling on the steps. The twine was thick, but eventually Sirius was free. He whined again and huddled into his master. Candlelight revealed blood caked around his mouth.
“Poor boy,” she murmured, stroking his brindle back. He butted her with his head. “Poor old fellow.”