To her shock, she saw that the ‘murderer’ had now divested himself of his clothes and was undertaking an act with which she was more familiar, although she’d never imagined anyone might perform it in such a strange position.
She bit her lip.
“Who is it, do you suppose? Not Mr. Bongorge?” To her knowledge, the snow hadn’t permitted anyone else to arrive.
Ethan raised an eyebrow. “I doubt very much that’s her husband, Nellie.”
“Who then?”
“From the little I know of her, it could be anyone. The vicar even! The only way to know for sure would be to keep watching.” He gave a grin. “You’re welcome to do so but I was hoping you’d like to see something else instead. Something far more impressive.”
Cornelia gave his chest a swift punch. “You’re utterly dissolute! As if I could contemplate doing that here!”
He smothered his laughter. “My, you’re full of surprises. The thought would never have crossed my mind. Much as I’d like to attempt some variation of what’s going on beyond that wall, I’ll happily save that pleasure for somewhere a mite more comfortable. In the meantime, I think I’ve found Minnie.”
“You have?” Cornelia grasped his arm. “Then let’s go quickly.”
“Yes, ma’am—only, I found a lot more besides, and it’s pretty extraordinary. To be frank, I don’t know what to make of it—but perhaps you will. There’s only one way in that I can see, so it means a long walk through the dark, and a whole lot of stairs."
A long walk, enclosed in the dark, with just one lantern between them.
Cornelia set her chin. “If I lean on you, I’m sure I can.”
Burnell hadn’t been exaggerating.
Holding the crook of his arm, she followed close as he led them along the passageway to a spiral staircase.
“Take your time, Nellie. I counted fifty-seven steps, and they’re far from even. Much as I’d enjoy you landing on top of me, it probably won’t do your ankle much good.” Burnell went ahead, waiting patiently as she ventured downward.
“Fifty-seven? But, that’s impossible; it would take us beneath even the cellars!”
“Exactly.” Burnell held the lamp low, so that she might more easily see the edge of each stair. “And if you think it’s cold here, wait until you’re underground.”
Haltingly, they made progress. At last, she conquered the final step and the ground levelled off. Brushing against the stone wall, Cornelia found it damp. She pulled the shawl tighter about her shoulders.
Subterranean, without doubt.
Taking her hand, Burnell directed her onward, until the lantern brought a doorway into view.
“There’s neither handle nor hinges.” He indicated where pieces of wood had been secured over the frame. “Someone didn’t want any trespassers, but they mustn’t have banked on rising moisture rotting the lower planks, nor the determination of the rats.”
He rested the lamp on the stone flags and Cornelia saw just what he meant.
Something had chewed through the softened wood, creating a jagged hole almost a foot wide; a gap through which Minnie would have easily gained entry.
Dropping to her knees, Cornelia peered through. With the lantern on their side, she could see nothing on the other, but the little dog must be there.
“Minnie, it’s me. I’m not cross.”
Like hell she wasn’t.
“I’m here.” She paused to listen.
At first, she heard only the drip of water but then a feeble yap, and a faint whine.
“I already tried calling. Either she’s cowering somewhere, too scared to come out, or she’s gotten stuck, somehow.” Burnell crouched beside her. “I pushed the lamp through to get a better look and that’s when I saw—”
He took a deep breath. “Easier for you to look yourself.”
Grasping the lantern, he extended his arm through the hole, then withdrew.
She thought, at first, it was a storage room but the large boxes within weren’t the sort in which wine travelled, nor were they the right shape. There was no old furniture, nor trunks, as one might expect in a disused place of that kind.
The containers were sited at regular intervals between curving pillars which supported the ceiling, and there were markings on the side. It was hard to make out, but the closest seemed to bear a letter S.
“It took me a while to figure out.” Burnell rested his hand upon her back, his voice close to her ear. “Think back to that night in the museum, Nellie. You were admiring something similar.”
Cornelia frowned. She was tired and cold, and worried about how they’d retrieve Minnie, but Burnell was clearly eager about what was on the other side. “I was looking at the sarcophagus—”
“Exactly.” Burnell reached through to pull back the lantern. “That’s what those are, Nellie. It’s a crypt, and my guess is that it dates to when the abbey was founded.”
Cornelia sat on her heels. “That’s all very interesting Ethan but, if you don’t mind, it’s the sort of thing I’d rather discuss some other time. Right now, all I want is to find Minnie, then make my way back, climb under the covers and not think about anything at all until there’s a breakfast tray to deal with.”
“If my hunch is right, you may change your mind. At the very least, I hope you’ll be inviting me to keep you warm under those covers.” Ethan squeezed her hand. “Stand well clear. I was on my way to find something to help with this, but chances are, I can manage without.”
Before Cornelia had the chance to ask what he was talking about, Burnell raised one booted foot and struck the planks directly beside the rotten section. There was the sound of splintering.
Six more kicks and he’d created a large enough space that they might crawl through.
“Minnie!” Taking the lantern, Cornelia moved between the stone tombs, pausing at each to listen for the source of the muffled yapping.
Burnell was searching on the other side, stopping periodically to run his hands over the engravings.
When Cornelia reached the end of the row, the barking became louder.
I know you’re here, Minnie. Hold on. I promise I’ll find you.
Turning the corner, she saw what she’d been looking for.
One of the tomb lids had been pushed aside and Minnie’s nose was visible through the gap.
Cornelia’s heart leapt with relief. “How on earth did you—oh, Minnie!”
Burnell hurried over and, together, they pushed the stone further over, allowing Cornelia to reach in and pull out the terrier.
Minnie licked Cornelia’s neck and cheek, and accepted the tightest of hugs in return.
Cornelia picked up the lantern, making ready to go, but Burnell was tracing his fingers over the coiled design around the edge of the lid.
“It’s the same on them all, have you noticed?” He blew off the dust, revealing more of the engraving.
She leaned closer and saw that the interconnecting S shapes were curving serpents. “How strange. In Christian tradition, the serpent is an evil thing, associated with temptation, deceit and destruction. It hardly seems the most fitting motif for a crypt.”
Burnell’s eyebrows knitted. “These aren’t just ordinary snakes.” He moved his thumb over one of the designs. “See the head. I swear, it’s a likeness to the vision serpent carved on the temple at Palekmul.”
“But that’s impossible!” Cornelia shook her head.
“The sacred creature joining the realms of living and dead, serving as a gateway to the spirit realm." Burnell spoke softly, as if to himself, trying to fathom the significance of what they were seeing.
“Ethan, I don’t want to be here anymore,” Cornelia pleaded. “We can ask the duke what he knows tomorrow. We can bring twenty lamps down here to see what we’re doing—when I’m wearing proper clothing!”
Burnell brought his arm around her, leaning his cheek against the top of her head. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Taking the lamp, he held it ov
er the sarcophagus. “I suppose we ought to close this up. If we just—” He paused, peering into the dark space.
Cornelia wrinkled her nose. This was what she got for hanging about with an archaeologist. Burnell thought nothing of poking about where the dead were taking their rest.
The next she knew, he was reaching deep inside.
“Really, Burnell! That’s going too far!” Cornelia hefted Minnie higher on her shoulder.
However, what he held up to the light made her catch her breath. Dangling from his fingers by a golden chain was the largest ruby Cornelia had ever seen. Burnell turned it over in his palm, studying it intently.
“It is beautiful, but oughtn’t you to put it back?” Cornelia didn’t want to look at the remains of whatever was inside the funerary vault but she could read the script upon the lid easily enough:
Lady Violetta Studborne, beloved wife of Algernon
1851-1882
“It doesn’t belong here.” Burnell closed his fist around the jewel. “I don’t know how it found its way into the coffin, but it wasn’t owned by this Studborne duchess.”
Cornelia searched his face. “What are you saying Burnell? How can you possibly know?”
His face was suddenly weary. “The last time I saw this pendant my mother was wearing it.”
“Your mother?”
He nodded grimly. “On the day my father sent for me, twenty years ago.”
Chapter 15
Burnell laid the necklace carefully on Cornelia’s dressing table, then propped the chair from the small writing desk against the panelled wall.
“No more adventures tonight, huh, Minnie.”
The fire was nearly out.
Resting the lantern on the mantel, he set to laying some extra kindling, fanning until it caught, then balanced three smaller logs on top.
All the while, Cornelia watched him, though her gaze wandered to the chaise.
Such a short while ago, she’d lain under him and they’d almost…
Now, she felt awkward. What did one say?
I know you don’t love me, don’t want to marry me—don’t want to marry anyone—but I’m offering you this anyway, because everything I said about not being willing to compromise was a lie. I’m exactly the sort of hussy everyone believes I am, and I’m putting myself forward for whatever lovemaking you’d like to bestow upon me.
Lovemaking.
It wasn’t the right word.
What did one call it when there was no genuine ‘love’ involved?
Copulating? Fornication? Coitus?
Fucking.
There was a word; one ladies weren’t supposed to know, let alone use.
A wicked word for all the wicked things she wanted him to do.
She knew it wouldn’t be like the times Mortmain had exercised his husbandly prerogative.
Even without love, she had a feeling there would be more tenderness with Ethan than she’d ever experienced in her marriage.
His kisses told her that.
There would never be another night like this.
There would never be another Ethan.
She’d been gazing at the chaise, imagining herself there, right where they’d left off—imagining how it would begin.
She knew exactly what would happen, if she let it.
Skin to skin.
Not just his arms around her, but his whole body; and that stubbled jaw grazing every soft and sensitive part God had given her.
Even if she never lay with another man again, she’d have this memory.
She wanted to let him strip her bare and thrust inside her, so that she wasn’t herself any more but part of him.
Wiping his hands on his trousers, Burnell stood. He looked at her with concern. “Nellie, you’re pale. Here, let me take the dog.”
Cornelia realized she was still clutching Minnie, asleep in her arms. Lifting the terrier, he deposited her gently on the chaise.
Burnell brought the back of his hand to Cornelia’s cheek, then took her hands, frowning. He blew against them and rubbed her fingers between his own. “You’re like ice.”
“Warm me.” She let the shawl fall from her shoulders.
The invitation could hardly have been more explicit.
His arms came about her instantly and she saw the flame in his eyes, just for a moment, before his mouth found hers.
Raw and sensual, the kiss was everything she needed. His hands slid down her back, finding her bottom, pulling her against him. He kissed her harder and she was aware of his arousal, of the hardness against her belly.
Breathless, she tugged at the front of his shirt. “Take this off.”
Shrugging away his jacket, he pulled the shirt’s hem from the waistband of his trousers. Once lifted over his head, he shook it down his arms, then stood very still before her.
He must know what I’m thinking; what I want.
She laid her palm over his heart. Did it always beat this desperately, or was this just for her?
Brushing her fingers over his chest, she reached his nipple and teased lightly with her nail, then pinched the flat nub.
“Jesus, Nellie.” He sucked in his breath. “Don’t do this unless you mean it.” His eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them.
She was trembling as she let the shawl drop then untied her robe, letting the pale silk pool at her feet. She slipped her nightgown from her shoulders, baring one breast, then the other.
She wasn’t just surrendering; she was showing him what she wanted. This was her choice. She held her breath as she eased the gown over her hips.
Even Mortmain had never seen her like this; utterly naked, every part of her exposed.
“Make love to me, Ethan.”
In a single stride, he lifted her into his arms again. This time, there could be no doubt, and he was too aroused to go slowly.
Reaching the bed, he laid her upon it.
Her eyelids fluttered but she made no protest as he pressed his body along the length of hers.
That she had laid herself bare, vulnerable to him in every way, inflamed him beyond all reason.
There was something gloriously illicit about having her naked beneath him, her feminine curves yielding to his hands, while he remained half-clothed.
He wanted to fuck her, of course. Good, hard sex, buried to the hilt and thrusting deep.
He’d been thinking about that since the first evening they’d met. He wanted to watch as she unravelled for him; to make her cry out and writhe, and to know he was responsible.
He wanted to see that as much as he wanted his own climax, and he knew how to take her there, yet part of him also feared hurting her. She wasn’t a virgin, but how long had it been since she’d lain with a man?
He pressed kisses to her brows and lids, and to her nose; brushed his mouth to hers. “You trust me, Cornelia?”
She nodded, her eyes wide.
He trailed kisses downward, his hand firmly on her hip, pulling her pelvis to rub against his arousal. He wanted her to feel that, and know it was for her.
She sighed and whimpered as he suckled and teased, and she parted her legs to him, wrapping one knee to the back of his thigh, so that his hard ridge was drawn to the seam of her sex.
Ethan groaned.
He had only to unbutton his trousers and sink into her. He might find his release with a few urgent thrusts, but he wanted to give her more than that.
He took his kisses over her belly to her mound and, clasping her bottom, pulled her onto his mouth, penetrating her with his tongue.
“You mustn’t—” She gasped, pushing him away, but then her hands were tangling in his hair, holding him tight while he fell upon her greedily.
Twisting and clinging, she rubbed against his stroking tongue, and her breaths came ragged.
With his fingers, he parted her, wanting to see her cream spilling, and the engorged pearl of her desire; dark red and swollen ripe.
He took the bud, suckling as he had her nipple.
When she cried aloud, he entered her with two fingers and felt the shuddering pulse course through her body, her inner muscles gripping hard.
Her eyes were wild and reckless, from that other place, and he needed to be with her there, to feel those same spasms not around his fingers but his cock.
Divesting himself of his trousers, he kicked them away and knelt above her. Taking his girth in his hand, he gave three long strokes, letting his readiness prick wet at the tip, then raised her palm to circle him.
He wanted her to feel what would be hers.
When he entered her, even in her readied state, she flinched, but he pushed through her tightness. Her parted lips and hands upon his back told him she didn’t wish to stop.
He moved slowly at first, but she felt so good, her hot flesh surrounding him, and his thrusts became more urgent.
She made a sound he couldn’t interpret, of pain and need—but her nails were raking his back, and she was arching to meet him.
Her hands dropped to his buttocks and he wasn’t being gentle anymore.
Rough and possessive, he lifted her hips.
She clung fiercely, her cries growing louder. He stifled them with more kisses and then she was shuddering again, and he could no longer hold back.
His desire had driven him to this place of thundering blood, and it was all for her.
Everything he had, was hers.
Except for one thing.
For the vow he’d made on the night he walked away from his father remained: there would never be a child, and the Burnell name would die with him.
He would give Cornelia everything, but never that.
With an anguished cry, he withdrew, spilling on her belly.
Chapter 16
Early Morning, Christmas Eve
Wrapping herself in the blanket from the bottom of the bed, Cornelia walked to the window and pushed back the curtain, just a little.
Somewhere off to the east, the sun was streaking pink. The lawns were faintly luminous, reflecting back the last light of the dipping moon. No more snow had fallen and the sky was clear.
The Lady's Guide to Scandal Page 15
