by Maya Banks
“Moreland!” he shouted.
Chapter Two
To his credit, the butler appeared within seconds of Ridge’s shout. His eyes widened upon seeing the disarray spread out before him. “My lord, are you all right?”
Ridge stared at him and arched an eyebrow. “Surely you don’t think I did this. Have someone clean this mess immediately. And be careful to preserve as much as possible. I’ll be in my room.”
He turned to go, but Moreland cleared his throat. “My lord, have you forgotten that Lord and Lady Drysedale are having dinner with you this evening? They await your presence in the sitting room.”
Ridge pinched his nose between two fingers and let out an oath his mother wouldn’t approve of. “Why didn’t you inform me of their arrival before now?”
“They arrived but a moment before you summoned me, my lord.”
“Very well,” he grumbled. “Tell my parents I’ll be down shortly. I must change into more suitable attire.
He strode to his chambers and quickly shed his travel worn clothing. His valet evidently hadn’t forgotten his dinner engagement, for he had laid out a set of clothing for Ridge to change into. Something decidedly more appropriate for the earl’s visit than what Ridge was accustomed to wearing.
Sparing only a quick glance into the mirror to make sure his hair had some semblance of order, he turned to leave his room. He paused and turned back to his dressing table, his hand reaching out to pick up his spectacles. After a brief moment of hesitation, he picked them up and put them on. His father hated them. Considered them the mark of a weaker man. But Ridge would rather be considered weak than be blind just to please the old man.
With a resigned sigh, he left his chambers and descended the stairs to the sitting room. As he entered, his mother rose from her perch on the settee, and his father looked up from where he stood by the window.
“Thomas, how wonderful to see you,” his mother said as she walked toward him, hands outstretched.
“Mother,” he said, gathering her hands in his and dropping a dutiful kiss on her cheek. She was beautiful, a fact that never escaped him. She didn’t look a day of her fifty something odd years, and not a wisp of gray marred her blond hair.
“You look tired.” She frowned. “Have you been resting sufficiently?”
He gritted his teeth and donned a charming smile. The same charming smile that had failed so miserably to sway Miss Ashton. As a child he’d had the misfortune to suffer a “sickly constitution,” and as such, the stigma had followed him into adulthood.
“I am quite well, Mother. You are looking radiant if I may say so.”
She flushed in pleasure and beamed back at him. “You may.”
“It’s about time you received us,” his father said gruffly. “Not polite to keep your parents waiting.”
Ridge tensed then coughed, a nasty habit he had around his father, but he usually couldn’t conjure much in the way of words. At least not any he could repeat. “My apologies, sir. I was most unavoidably detained. If you will come this way, dinner is being served in the dining room.”
He turned stiffly and offered his arm to his mother. Once in the dining room, he seated her and relinquished his spot at the head of the table to his father. He slid into a chair across from his mother and to the left of his father then motioned for the footmen to begin bringing in the courses.
“You don’t visit as often as you should, Thomas,” his mother said reproachfully. “Robert and Lucinda manage to come at least once a month to Drysedale Keep.”
Ridge flinched at the mention of Lucinda, his appetite suddenly gone. “I’ve been rather busy as of late.”
“Burying yourself in those useless studies,” the earl muttered.
“I’ve stumbled upon a remarkable find,” Ridge said, ignoring his father’s remarks. “Sir Roderick Castelton’s personal journal.” Excitement crept into his voice as he leaned forward. Never mind that his parents probably hadn’t any idea who Sir Roderick was. It didn’t dim his enthusiasm in the least.
“Yes, well, that’s marvelous, dear,” the countess said with a forced smile. “What do you intend to do with it, exactly?”
“I plan to mount an expedition to find the lost city of Pagoria,” he answered calmly.
“The devil you say!” his father exclaimed, dropping his fork on his plate with a loud clatter. “When are you going to drop all these silly notions of lost cities and ancient civilizations that no one cares a wit about?”
Ridge studied his father. He and his brother Robby bore a marked resemblance to the earl. Though his father’s hair had turned silver at his temples, the rest was still dark brown and showed no sign of thinning. But that was where the similarities ended. He shook his head. How had he sprung from the earl’s loins? They shared nothing in common. His father would never understand Ridge. The earl would never try.
“I care about them,” Ridge said quietly. “And should I be successful, it would constitute one of the greatest, perhaps the greatest discovery of our times.”
The earl shook his head in disgust. “As the future Earl of Dryesdale, you have a responsibility to uphold. An image to maintain. How do you propose to do any of those things when you’re gadding about in the dirt?”
Ridge’s lips tightened and he grasped his wine glass until his knuckles whitened. For a brief moment, and with great satisfaction, he imagined the glass was his father’s neck. This wasn’t a new argument. Indeed, his passion had been a bone of contention between him and his father ever since Ridge left Cambridge to pursue his interest.
“Dreadful shame, Robert couldn’t be the heir,” his father muttered under his breath. “He at least has married and gives thought to providing an heir since you show no inkling to do so.”
Anger gripped Ridge, and he set his glass down before it shattered in his hand. He breathed deeply to calm the white-hot flash of fury that so often accompanied his father’s visits. His words should no longer have the power to hurt him. But in the back of his consciousness, he wanted one fleeting moment of approval from the man who had raised him. Just one. Even if such approval no longer meant anything. He’d grown beyond the needy child desperate for acceptance from his stoic father.
“Indeed it is,” he finally replied. “It must rankle you so to know the earldom will fall to a scholar. But don’t give up hope, perhaps it will fall to Robby and his dear wife to provide the heir after all since I have no plan to marry and do so.”
“Come now, let’s talk of something more jovial,” his mother said with a nervous laugh. But her shock was obvious at his proclamation.
The two men remained silent. Ridge counted the minutes until his parents would leave, not to return until the next time they traveled to London and his mother felt the need to throw the family together. He had more important things to focus on than satisfying his father’s desire for a dutiful heir. He had gone that route with disastrous results, and he had no desire to repeat the experience.
###
India flipped frantically through her father’s notes, yanking one page after the other up and scanning rapidly over the scrawled words. Her breathing shallowed, and a light sheen of perspiration dotted her forehead.
She closed her eyes and recalled the image of the script etched in Sir Roderick’s journal. There was no mistaking what it said. But could it be true?
Dropping the handful of papers onto the desk, she rested her forehead in her palm. She rubbed her eyes wearily. She had been unable to go back to sleep after Lord Ridgewood’s departure. The odious man had barged into her home, and in a few short moments, turned her world on its end.
How had Sir Roderick been able to discover the lost city? And more importantly, why had he kept it a secret all these years? The idea that her father had indeed been correct in his theory about the city was astonishing.
What to do with the startling information? She moved her hands from her eyes and dug her fingers into her temples, willing the
tightness to disappear. Standing, she stretched and flexed her weary muscles then she bent back over the desk, resting her palms on the aging surface.
Why had Sir Roderick, a man renowned for his discoveries, kept the truth to himself? She sought to remember the circumstances of his death. Had he died before he could announce his discovery?
She had been unable to muster any true regret over the snake’s demise. At one time, he was someone her father called friend. Until he had stolen one of her father’s discoveries.
A scowl crinkled her face. That betrayal had started her father down the road to discredit among his peers. Sir Roderick had managed to make her father look like a glory seeking thief instead of the true scholar he was.
The sound of breaking glass jerked her upright. She whirled around in the direction of the distant noise. It came from her bedroom. She gulped as terror rushed through her with startling speed. Her knees shook. Her breath caught then spilled torturously from her lips. Sweat collected on her forehead, and her hands became clammy.
She stood frozen, her stomach heaving in the throes of a full blown panic. She swallowed again and clenched her damp fingers into fists. Forcing her feet forward, she inched toward the door.
Her hand closed around the knob, and for a moment, she stood there, unwilling, afraid, to open the door. Gripping the knob tighter, she slowly turned it and peeked down the long hallway.
The light from wall sconces flickered and danced as she shoved the door wider. Silence loomed over the house. Her eyes glanced upward, as if to see the upstairs through the ceiling.
On silent feet, she moved down the hall, dreading the trip up the stairs into the unknown. Had Kavi and Udaya not heard the commotion? They often remained up late to accommodate India’s odd schedule, but if they were in the kitchen, it was doubtful they had heard anything.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she looked upward, straining to see through the darkness. Unwanted, unwelcome memories forced their way forward, a reminder of what happened in the absence of the light. Light. She needed light. Her legs trembled uncontrollably as she sought to control her rising hysteria.
None of her servants were equipped to take on an intruder. She had no weapons, a fact she cursed now. The urge to run grew stronger. Away from the darkness and the paralyzing terror that consumed her.
With more strength than she imagined she possessed, she mounted the first step. Then the second. No sound betrayed her, the soft slippers she wore whispering across the stairs with ease.
Her breathing became more rapid as she reached the top and moved down the hall toward her room. She stopped outside, pressing her ear to the door. No sound came from within. Had she imagined the breaking glass? Was her mind playing tricks on her?
With shaking hands, she opened the door, the click echoing harshly down the hall. She cringed when the door creaked. As she stepped in, she looked around, searching for signs of broken glass. A lone candle flickered by her bedside, one Udaya kept lit for her at all times.
Her curtains remained drawn, and as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw nothing untoward in the room’s appearance. She expelled her breath in one long sigh and relaxed. Then out of the corner of her eye, she saw the draperies flutter. She turned her head to the window across the room. A light breeze blew in ruffling the heavy fabric. She hadn’t left her window open.
An arm stole around her neck and yanked her backwards into a hard chest. Before she could scream, a rough hand clamped over her lips. “Quiet,” a rugged voice rasped in her ear.
Her heart beat thunderously in her chest, and every muscle in her body tensed.
“I’m not here to harm you. I seek only information, but I must ask that you remain quiet. I’m going to remove my hand now.”
She nodded her head weakly. Slowly the hand slipped down, giving her a fleeting glance at an odd tattoo on his wrist. The arm around her neck loosened, though it remained as a warning, draped across her chest.
“Don’t turn around,” he said, when she shifted.
She stood stock-still, afraid to breathe, afraid that this was very real and not a figment of her terror filled dreams.
“The viscount was here. What did he give you?”
She shook her head unable to form the words.
“Speak up. What did he give you?” her assailant demanded.
“N-nothing,” she croaked.
The arm tightened around her neck.
“Nothing, I swear it!”
“What did he want with you?” he asked.
India thought rapidly. Even in her state of near hysteria, warning bells clanged loudly in her head. The intruder’s accent was forced. In the beginning he sounded as though he was affecting a British accent, but now he sounded decidedly foreign. And why was she standing for this? Anger boiled over her, replacing the panic in hot waves.
She’d been the victim for far too long. Never again would she submit to the power of another. She’d spent three long months in captivity, and she’d be damned if she would give up her new found freedom. How dare this man intrude on her sanctuary.
Gathering strength from her mounting rage, she picked up her foot and kicked him in the shin. Simultaneously, she brought her elbow back and slammed it into his ribs. His grunt echoed across the room, and his hold loosened just enough for her to turn the full fury of her attack on him.
She twisted in his grasp and rammed her knee into his groin. His agonized cry brought a smile of satisfaction to her face. He let go of her completely, and she kneed him again. He fell to the floor, slithering backward in an attempt to escape her.
But she wasn’t having any of it. This bastard had attacked her in her own home, and he was going to pay dearly for that.
As he struggled to stand back up, she closed the distance between them and hit him squarely in the nose with her fist. Rage consumed her. Months of anger spilled from her like water from a broken dam.
After a third fist to his face, the intruder evidently decided he had no wish to continue their conversation because he scrambled up and ran for the window. In a swift motion, he shoved aside the draperies and dove through the open window.
India ran to the window in time to see the man limp off into the night. How had he escaped serious injury with such a fall? What had the viscount unleashed on her by his visit? And why hadn’t the intruder fought back?
The door flew open behind her and Kavi ran in followed closely by Udaya. “Mem-sahib, are you well?” The urgency in his voice erased some of the raw anger, and she smiled shakily at them.
“I am fine. Someone broke in.”
Udaya rushed forward, her small arms wrapping around India and hugging her close. “Thank the gods you are unharmed.”
“Where is this intruder?” Kavi demanded, his face darkening.
She pointed at the window, her fingers trembling, betraying her fear. “He escaped.”
“What did he want?”
“Enough!” Udaya scolded. “She has been through an ordeal. She should rest.” She released India and began shooing Kavi from the room. “Go see that the intruder is gone from the premises, then see to this window. She cannot sleep in here.”
Kavi retreated and India reached out a hand to Udaya. “I am all right, Udaya. There is no need to fuss over me so.”
In truth, she wanted only to be left alone so she could regain her composure and sort out this most unexpected development.
“Are you sure?” Udaya asked anxiously, worry etched on her features.
“I daresay our intruder won’t return any time soon,” India said with a half smile.
“Come downstairs, while Kavi sees to your window. I’ll prepare you a cup of hot tea.”
India allowed herself to be led out of her room. As they descended the stairs, she said to Udaya, “Bring the tea into Papa’s study. There are things I need to work on.”
Udaya frowned but nodded. India turned at the bottom of the stairs to go in
to the study leaving Udaya to go on to the kitchen.
India sat down at her father’s desk and picked up the stack of the papers she had been reading over. She let them fall from her fingers, trailing to a rest on the desktop.
Already there was a sinister element to the momentous discovery only she knew about. Or did she? Clearly someone was very interested in the journal the viscount held.
She closed her eyes, weariness assailing her again as her bravado faded. The viscount was undoubtedly a glory seeker. Someone who had no more interest in ancient civilizations than the notoriety uncovering one would bring. She had seen his eagerness, knew of his interests from the articles he had written on Pagoria. The same articles that disparaged her father.
As soon as he knew what was transcribed on those pages, he’d mount an expedition. Regardless of whether the etchings were correct or not. Lord Ridgewood would not rest until he uncovered the city. She’d seen the determination in his eyes.
But her father would be proved right if the city could be found.
She sat back and closed her eyes. How she’d love to see the faces of the snooty historical society when they realized her father had been right all along.
Her natural curiosity for all matters Pagorian burned in her mind. She’d love nothing better than to see firsthand if the writings told a true story. And prove her father right.
Excitement curled within her at the thought. Then she frowned. Viscount Ridgewood was a persistent sort. Very used to having his way.
She stood and began to pace restlessly around the study. Much like the caged tiger she had once seen in the streets of Bombay. She had never spared much sympathy for the creature until her own experience in captivity. The very thought of enclosed spaces was enough to fill her with panic.
Somehow she had to make sure the viscount never left England. There was no way she would aid him in his endeavor, and when hell experienced a cold spell would she share such a momentous find with him. She and her father had spent years, countless years, searching for some sign of the city’s existence. Months spent in some of the worst conditions with only the hope of uncovering an artifact to sustain them.
