A Rake's Midnight Kiss (Sons of Sin)

by Anna Campbell

  Sirius leaped from several feet away, crashing Richard onto the terracotta tiles.

  “You’re a deuced troublesome fellow, you hairy rogue.” Richard laughed under the uproarious welcome, although his arm protested the boisterous greeting. Then abruptly all desire to laugh fled. “Good God.”

  “What is it, Richard?” The candle lit Genevieve’s face from below, lending her a haunted look.

  He sat up with new energy. “Sirius’s coat. It’s wet.”

  Richard’s joyful reunion with Sirius melted Genevieve’s heart. No wonder she loved this man. She bent to pat Sirius’s shaggy head. The stink of wet dog overpowered the pervasive dust. “Found a puddle, have you?”

  Richard’s eyes held a strange light. “Darling, you’re not thinking this through. If he’s wet, he’s found water.”

  Interesting but hardly cause for celebration. “I doubt it’s drinkable.”

  Richard sprang to his feet and caught her hand. His smile was brilliant as he leaned forward to kiss her. “Perhaps not, but it must have fallen since the sixteenth century.”

  The kiss, however brief, distracted her. His kisses always did. As her head cleared, realization struck and with it, a flare of hope. Could Sirius have saved them? Then grim reality tempered excitement. “It’s probably underground seepage. This doesn’t mean there’s a way out.”

  “It doesn’t mean there isn’t. Haven’t you noticed how fresh the air is? This part of the crypt isn’t nearly as musty. There must be an opening.”

  “We have to find out where he’s been.” She tugged the string from her unruly hair and passed it to Richard.

  “If you lead us out, Sirius, you’ll dine on foie gras and pheasant for the rest of your life.” Richard tied the makeshift leash to Sirius’s collar. His tone became a command. “Home, Sirius. Take us home.”

  The dog hesitated and Genevieve wondered whether they asked too much. Then with a yip, Sirius trotted down the corridor.

  Richard wasn’t generally a praying man. His prayers at Eton had gone unanswered too often for him to retain much faith in the Almighty’s benevolence. But in Sirius’s wake, his head filled with half-coherent pleas for Genevieve’s safety.

  The dog followed one long corridor, then another, then another. Richard soon lost track. They could travel in a circle. Who knew? At his side Genevieve remained quiet, the candle unwavering in her hand.

  After what felt like forever, Genevieve tugged his arm. “Look at the candle, Richard.”

  Peering ahead, working out the dog’s direction, he hadn’t noticed the light. The flame flickered wildly. To confirm what he saw, a breeze teased his bare chest. “Go on, Sirius.”

  The dog broke into a lope, Richard chasing. Genevieve jogged after them. Soon dank and decay tainted the air. Even this bolstered optimism. If the crypt was sealed, nothing should grow.

  His heart pounding, Richard extinguished the candle and realized that Genevieve stood in green-tinged shadow. Sirius barked and jerked the leash free. The dog bounded into a low tunnel and disappeared.

  Shock held Richard motionless. The lure of escape was so sweet he hardly dared test it and prove himself mistaken.

  “Richard—”

  He gestured her to silence, superstitiously afraid of voicing his hopes. “Wait here.”

  He dropped to his knees and crawled into the tiny space, more dog-than man-sized. The ground was sludgy with rotted vegetation. Gradually the tunnel narrowed, the walls cold and wet like clammy flesh. Fear constricting his gut, he closed his eyes and told himself he wasn’t trapped.

  The tunnel compressed almost to impassibility. Damn it. Had he come so far only to fail? He faltered, panting. This was impossible.

  Then the dread of Genevieve’s death overcame his instinctive aversion to such restricted space. Drawing a breath fetid with dead plants, he dug his hands deep into the mud. Ignoring his wound, he hauled himself forward in awkward lurches, forcing his way through the crumbling soil.

  More prayers. That the tunnel didn’t collapse and smother him. That freedom waited at the end. Sirius barked ahead and the sound goaded him on, despite the slicing pain in his arm and the crushing pressure around him.

  “Are you all right?” Genevieve called from the crypt, her voice echoing strangely.

  “Nearly there,” he grunted. He hissed a curse as his hip slammed into a rock.

  Dizzying relief flooded him when the tunnel started to widen. He took his first full breath in what felt like hours, although logic insisted it must only be minutes.

  A thick wall of vegetation blocked his way. Roughly he shoved it aside, breaking and wrenching with shaking, filthy hands. Then without warning, the sinking sun blinded him.

  He slumped over the lip of the tunnel, gasping with exhaustion. “I’m out.”

  “Thank God,” she said from far away. “Shall I follow?”

  He lay in a dip of land. All he could see was the blue bowl of sky, framed by greenery.

  “Wait, I’ll come back. It’s a tight fit.” An understatement as his bruises, grazes and throbbing arm affirmed. Every cell revolted at returning, but he couldn’t let Genevieve struggle alone through that hellish passage.

  He snatched one last look at the outside world. Then he gritted his teeth against the pain and crawled into the dark.

  After his moments outside, the tunnel seemed grimmer than ever. He heaved himself through the mud for what felt like an eon until he saw Genevieve ahead as a dark shadow. “I’ll pull you.”

  When she gripped his hand with immediate trust, his heart leaped. She was such a gallant woman. He barely credited that she loved him.

  They squeezed along the tunnel. This third time, the way seemed even longer. Perhaps because he went backward. At least his prior journeys had smoothed the passage a little.

  As they approached the mouth, muted light revealed Genevieve. Dirt matted her hair. A bleeding scratch and the older bruise on her cheek made Richard want to shred Fairbrother’s liver.

  Only now did he accept that they’d make it. For hours, dread had thrummed a bass note in his soul. Finally he admitted his terror at rotting in that forgotten catacomb. And his greater terror when he contemplated Genevieve suffering the same fate.

  He tightened his grip and with her scrambling help, dragged her through the vines. Blessing the sky overhead, he collapsed onto the rough grass.

  Eventually Richard turned his head toward Genevieve, sprawled beside him. By Jove, he was in a bad way. The stickler who had scorned a hundred diamonds of the first water was head over heels with a woman who looked like she’d wrestled a mule through a landslide.

  Closing his eyes, he let the late sun melt the crypt’s chill from his skin. His arm hurt like the very devil, but even that seemed a minor consideration now that he was above ground. A few feet away, he heard Sirius nosing at some leaves as if he hadn’t just saved their lives.

  Dear God, that had been a close-run thing. Richard basked in the warmth, relishing the birds chirping from the bushes, the rustling leaves, the gentle lap of water.

  The gentle lap of water?

  Summoning his last strength, he staggered upright to see beyond the sheltered hollow. He started to laugh, descending to the ground and leaning his head on one filthy knee. “Do you know where we are?”

  Genevieve didn’t shift. “Heaven?”

  “I have no doubt that’s your destination, my love. I’m not sure it’s mine.”

  She closed her eyes. “If you’re not going there, neither am I.”

  Yet again you rip the ground from beneath my feet with mere words.

  Caught on the raw, he bent and kissed her, cradling her dirty face in one hand. She was more fragile than Dresden china, more precious than any jewel, ancient or new. She smelled of rotting vegetation, mud, and sweat. And flowers and female musk. The mixture was astonishingly alluring.

  Once she’d struggled to her feet, she released a broken laugh. “Everything comes back to Sedgemoor’s pond.”

&
nbsp; “It does indeed.” They were just behind the bank where they’d first kissed. Across the water, trees hid the summerhouse. “I wonder if Cam would sell me this corner of the estate.”

  “I’d like that.” Her smile indicated that she too remembered.

  “I’ll only pay top price if the naked nymph comes with the deal.”

  “I’m not sure naked nymphs are the duke’s to supply,” she said drily. She brushed her skirts in a futile attempt to dislodge the caked muck. “I hate to be prosaic, but I’m starving and I’d love a bath.”

  He rose groaning—that tunnel was a deuced torture chamber; he felt like he’d gone ten rounds with Tom Cribb. “We could swim here.”

  Her gaze sharpened. “I’d rather plot Lord Neville’s downfall.”

  “A warrior queen to the end.” His voice hardened. “Let’s head for Cam’s and decide how to bring down a lord.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  An expressionless footman showed Genevieve to Leighton Court’s splendid library, where the Duke of Sedgemoor and Richard waited. Lady Hillbrook had helped her dress, but neither she nor her husband were present now. Which was a pity. She felt comfortable with Lady Hillbrook, whereas His Grace overawed her. He wasn’t exactly supercilious, but she felt like a complete peasant compared to his aristocratic perfection.

  Night had fallen and the room glowed with candlelight. Upon her entrance, Sirius raised his head from the hearth rug before resuming his snooze.

  “Darling, how are you feeling?” Richard strode forward to take her hand. As always, his touch restored failing courage.

  He looked much better, and not just because he’d washed and changed. After they’d run across Sedgemoor looking for them in the woods, the duke had brought them here and summoned a doctor. Following the examination, Richard sent a footman upstairs to the bedroom with a note informing her that the bullet had done no lasting damage. Thank heaven.

  The endearment made her glance nervously toward where Sedgemoor stood beside the carved marble mantelpiece. She mustered a smile. “Better, thank you.”

  Richard was dressed for society. The only sign of their travails was the sling supporting his arm. “My valet would despair. Cam’s clothes are too big.” He addressed the duke. “Lay off the puddings, old man, or you’ll soon be as fat as His Majesty.”

  Sedgemoor raised his claret in an ironic toast to Richard. “I can’t help being a fine figure of a fellow, instead of skinny as a blade of grass.”

  “Well, at least you’ve been kind enough to feed a starving man.” Richard drew Genevieve toward a chair. “Can I fetch you something?”

  Chafing dishes crowded one of the library tables. “Yes, please.”

  She settled upon a brocade chair, the rich silk gown flowing around her like crimson water. She’d never worn such a garment. The bodice was tight. Lydia, the duke’s sister, was built on less Amazonian lines.

  She turned toward Sedgemoor. “Your Grace, I appreciate your kindness.”

  “You’re most welcome, Miss Barrett.” He waved a nonchalant hand. “I’m sorry that our acquaintance begins under adverse circumstances.”

  Richard passed Genevieve a plate and a glass of wine before returning to select his meal. With difficulty, she stopped herself falling on the food like Sirius on his bowl. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  “Fairbrother can’t get away with this,” Richard said to the duke. She’d already sensed that her arrival interrupted an intense discussion.

  Sedgemoor frowned. “Mr. Evans—”

  Richard looked up sharply. “She knows my real name.”

  Sedgemoor’s lips twitched. “Glad to hear it, if you’ve progressed to calling Miss Barrett ‘darling.’ ” He must see that she blushed like a tomato. “Miss Barrett, please accept my apologies for abetting this tomfoolery.”

  “Genevieve knows I’m to blame.” Richard dropped to the carpet before Genevieve’s chair and leaned against her knees. She stifled the urge to run her fingers through his thick hair. After the day’s intimacies, it felt artificial not to touch him.

  “Richard had good reasons for what he did,” Genevieve said softly.

  He straightened with astonishment and turned to stare at her. “I did?”

  She wanted to kiss him and tell him that once he’d described his childhood—and the things she’d surmised from what he left unsaid—she’d forgiven his scheming. The duke’s presence forestalled such openness.

  Her heart ached for the proud, lonely boy. She kicked herself, she who took such unjustified pride in her understanding, that she’d once believed Richard impervious to the doubts and insecurities that afflicted lesser men. His courage in facing down a world that had never welcomed him left her wanting to stand up and cheer. Viewed from that perspective, his pursuit of the Harmsworth Jewel became almost valiant.

  Again, the duke’s presence made her self-conscious about declarations. “I should have told you the jewel is a copy.”

  Sedgemoor assumed his full impressive height and regarded her down his long nose. “It is?”

  “Didn’t you tell him?” Genevieve asked.

  Richard shrugged. “We haven’t had a chance to share ancillary details.”

  “That’s hardly ancillary.” Sedgemoor stepped forward, his face alight with a mixture of humor and irritation. “This entire idiotic masquerade has been a wild goose chase?”

  Richard’s laugh was a grunt. “Fate has a sense of humor, don’t you agree?”

  Genevieve could no longer contain her curiosity. “Have you reported Lord Neville to the law?”

  With suspicious concentration, Richard scooped some fricassee onto his fork. He managed his food surprisingly well, given one arm was out of commission. “We can’t.”

  Shock made her catch her breath. “Why on earth not? Lord Neville’s dangerous. Someone must stop him.”

  Richard stood and placed his still full plate on the table before facing her. No trace now of the charming Lothario. “I intend to.”

  “So report him to a magistrate.”

  She read regret and determination in Richard’s features. “If he’s arrested, he’ll tar the reputation of anyone ranged against him.”

  She immediately understood the austere expression. Her appetite evaporating, she too set aside her plate. “You’re trying to protect me.”

  “If Lord Neville slanders your good name, life will become impossible. Not only that, it will hurt your family.”

  And her hopes for a career. It was difficult for a woman to be taken seriously in an all-male preserve like medieval scholarship. With unsullied virtue, she had a slim chance, especially if producing original and expert work. Should the world doubt her chastity, salacious laughter would howl down everything she did. Bitter disappointment clogged her throat. She could never regret giving herself to Richard, but the price of recklessness was abandoning the future she’d planned.

  “I’m sorry, Genevieve,” Richard said quietly.

  The aching sadness in his voice provided no consolation. Blinking back tears, she stared blindly into the distance. “So we do nothing?”

  “Of course not.” Richard stood beside the duke. The two men made quite a contrast, one so dark and one so fair, even with dyed hair. “I’ll challenge him.”

  Dear God…

  She should have expected this. Furiously she surged upright, hardly noticing that she spilled wine on the beautiful gown. Her chagrin about lost dreams crumbled to ash compared to Richard risking his life. “Don’t be absurd. Forget my reputation and let the law take its course.”

  “He won’t talk if I kill him first.” Richard sounded older than his years.

  She’d never loved him more and she’d never felt a stronger urge to hit him with something large and hard. She advanced, itching to shake sense into him. “He might kill you.”

  Richard shrugged and rescued her listing glass from her clenched fist. “Have some faith, darling. I’m a damned good shot.”

  “And he’s a chea
ting swine.”

  “A duel means scandal.” Sedgemoor’s coolness deflated her anger like a pin to a balloon. “He’s Leath’s uncle. If you kill him, you’ll have to flee the country.”

  Richard placed her glass safely on a table. “Unless we present our information to the law afterward.”

  Sedgemoor ran a weary hand through his hair. “How convincing will that look when he’s unable to defend himself?”

  “So I flee,” Richard said with forced casualness. Once his indolent air might have convinced her. No longer. “Fairbrother is a blight upon the landscape. Expunging him is a public service.”

  Ignoring the duke, she grabbed Richard’s good arm with frantic fingers. “Not at the cost of your life or freedom.”

  “I can’t allow him to threaten you.”

  Her grip tightened. “You needn’t act the knight in shining armor, Richard.”

  Wryness tinged his smile. “When it comes to you, I can’t help it. Apparently I’ve discovered my backbone.”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” the duke snapped, setting his glass on the mantel with a click. “You’ve always been a better man than you pretended. Nobody with any gumption believes your ineffectual fribble act. If I was in trouble, you’re the first person I’d turn to.”

  Amazement flooded Richard’s face. He stared at his friend as if awaiting some quip to undercut the tribute. “I—”

  Sedgemoor put him out of his misery. “Don’t bother answering. You’ll laugh it off anyway. I know how you react to anything that smacks of genuine feeling. But given you’re determined to fling yourself before Fairbrother’s pistol, you should know how highly I value you.”

  As so often, Richard surprised and impressed her. He crossed the room to clap the duke on the shoulder. He made no attempt to hide how the avowal moved him. “Thank you, Cam. When a man like you says such things—however unjustified—a fellow would be a cur to quibble.” He paused. “In case Fairbrother’s bullet finds its target, I couldn’t ask for a better friend either.”