Romancing the Earl

by Darcy Burke

  His gray brows pitched low over his eyes, which held a sheen of regret. “I’m afraid I can’t say, but I’ll keep everything you told me inviolate.”

  Septon seemed to harbor a wealth of secrets. She thought about what Andy had said, that she’d long suspected Septon of something more than antiquity collection and research. But what more could it be? “Since you’re privy to all things antiquarian-related, can you tell me who else might have wanted to purchase the flaming sword tapestry from Lord Norris’s brother? They were younger men, no one that made me think of anyone in the antiquarian community. Have you any idea who they could be?”

  “None.” His answer came more quickly than she would’ve liked. “Cate, I have to ask about your association with Norris. You aren’t courting and yet you seem to share at least some level of intimacy.”

  Intimacy? The word sparked a fire deep in her belly. She couldn’t deny they’d shared a . . . friendship, but it was nothing more than that and it was temporary. “When he learned that I am an antiquary, he sought my assistance in trying to identify these men,” she said.

  “He told me someone tried to steal the tapestry. Did you know that?” Septon asked.

  Though it would only underscore their close relationship, Cate answered in the affirmative. “I did.”

  “And it truly can’t be found?” He sounded a trifle alarmed, likely because he understood the true value of the tapestry and what its loss would mean. His reaction, though subtle, perhaps indicated that the tapestry was the sole link in finding Dyrnwyn.

  Cate kept her response deliberately mysterious—if he could be secretive, so could she. She offered a slight shrug. “I really can’t say. And since you don’t know who these men could be, I suppose it’s safe to assume you don’t know quite everything that happens in the antiquarian world.”

  His lips pursed briefly. “I misspoke. I’m aware of most things.” His eyes narrowed and he lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “Do you have any idea why these men would want that tapestry?”

  It was quite obviously a coded question: Did she know the tapestry was a map? And yet, he didn’t ask her outright, and that told her that if she didn’t know, he preferred to keep it that way. Yes, Septon was a man of many secrets.

  She blinked at him, suppressing the surge of triumph rising in her chest that came from knowing the secret he didn’t think she knew. “Of course. It’s an incredibly valuable piece of Arthurian art.”

  The lines around his eyes and mouth faded a little—something she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been paying very close attention. “Just so.”

  The crowd in the corridor had completely dissipated as everyone had made their way into the hall for Septon’s lecture. “My goodness,” Septon said, “I must attend to my guests. Please forgive me, dear.” He flashed her a smile and ducked inside.

  As Cate watched him go, she tried not to tap her foot in irritation. She’d always trusted Septon as much as she trusted her own parents, but it certainly seemed that Andy was correct, that there was more to Septon than met the eye. And speaking of her parents, what of her father’s keeping that poem from her? Was all of this secrecy due to the fact that she was a woman? Was her mother also kept in the dark? She wished Mother wasn’t so far away—at home in Wales.

  Cate stepped away from the door as Septon began to speak at the front of the room. She had no desire to hear a presentation when she had other objectives, especially not when the speech was to be delivered by someone who sought to keep her misinformed. Now more than ever she wanted to find that sword. She’d show all of them that she was as good an antiquary as any of them—better, even. Who else would be able to claim the discovery of something so history-changing?

  Time to find the library and hope that Grey was waiting there with the key.

  Making her way from the hall, she rounded a corner and stopped short as she came face-to-face with her cousin, Lord Gideon Kersey. “Kersey, good evening.”

  “Cate, what a delight to see you. It’s been too long.” He took her hand and dropped a kiss on her glove.

  Again, she thought of their childhood summers together and how abruptly the visits had stopped when his mother had left his father, much to Cate’s father’s chagrin. Rhys Bowen had worked hard to have Penn, Kersey, and Cate together for at least a few weeks each year. Family was very important to her father, which she understood because he didn’t have very much of it.

  “I’m surprised to see you here. Isn’t one of Septon’s house parties a little tame for you?”

  His stone-gray eyes flickered with exasperation. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

  “My apologies.” And she was suddenly sorry. It wasn’t fair to assume the rumors about him were true, even if they had been at one point. “It just seems as though you’ve picked up where you left off when you wed Rose.”

  “Yes, well, I haven’t.” He sounded beleaguered, as if he’d mounted a defense on many occasions. “But I don’t really care what anyone thinks. You, however, are a different story.”

  “Because we’re family.”

  He inclined his head slightly.

  Cate wasn’t sure what to say. Kersey had never been particularly . . . familial. In fact, she was most surprised to see him here because as far as she knew, he avoided his mother and Septon at all costs, despite their repeated attempts to include him in everything they did. He was angry with her for leaving him all those years ago, and with Septon for luring her away. At least, that’s what Cate surmised.

  “Have you decided to become more involved in antiquities?” It was the only reason she could think of for him being here.

  “Yes.” He sounded surprised. “Septon’s been trying to persuade me to come for years. I thought it was about time.”

  “I’m sure your mother is very happy.”

  “I believe so.” If there was a lack of warmth to his tone, Cate didn’t remark upon it. She needed to extricate herself from this conversation.

  “If you hurry, you’ll just catch Septon’s presentation. I understand he’s introducing a handful of artifacts from a site in Northumberland. Viking coins and such.” She took a step to move past him.

  He didn’t move. “You aren’t coming?”

  “I’m afraid not.” She touched her temple and winced for added effect. “Bit of a headache. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He stepped to the side at last. “I hope so. It really is good to see you.”

  “You too.” She smiled before heading for the staircase. When she risked a look back, she saw that he was still watching her. She tried not to let the curiosity in his gaze burn her spine as she continued on her mission.

  Chapter 8

  Elijah stepped out from the shadowed doorway as soon as Lord Kersey moved into the front hall. While Elijah knew there was no courtship between the two cousins, he’d still felt a stab of jealousy, which infuriated him to no end. He didn’t wish to be jealous regarding Miss Bowen. She was a means to an end, not a diversion.

  And just where was she going? He stealthily made his way to the staircase and followed her trail. At the top, he paused, wondering which way she’d gone. He stood very still and listened, something he’d grown quite skilled at doing when hunting in Australia. Detecting the faint swish of a skirt, he turned left and followed the gallery to a branch of corridors. Again, he became a rock and focused his senses. Sure that he was on the right path, he veered right.

  A few minutes later, he turned a sharp corner and had to stop himself before he overtook her. Pressing himself back against the wall, he kept as quiet as possible. With care, he peered around the corner and watched as she slipped into a room.

  What the devil was she up to? And why hadn’t she told him?

  Intent on discerning her motives, he strode around the corner without being properly alert. Which caused him to run straight into a brick wall.

  Named Grey.

  “My lord,” she whispered urgently. “Go back downstairs.”

>   “I think not.” Good God, the woman would make an excellent soldier; she was built like a warrior.

  “I won’t allow you to cause a problem.” The dark threat in her tone was unmistakable.

  He stared down at her unflinchingly—not as far down as he was used to, but it was enough to convey his point. “I understand and even appreciate your protectiveness; however, I don’t think you’ll be able to stop me from my objective.”

  She must’ve recognized the steel in his promise—he didn’t make threats—because she stepped back. “You won’t sound the alarm?”

  “Of course not. I don’t wish to cause Miss Bowen any trouble.” Particularly when it seemed she could likely do that very well on her own, given her behavior.

  Grey glanced behind her. “You must hurry. We only have a few minutes before the guard returns from making his rounds. Go behind the largest painting in the room.”

  Behind a painting? Elijah went into the room, an office. Though it was dimly lit, with just a pair of wall sconces flickering on either side of the fireplace, he quickly located the massive portrait. It depicted a gentleman from the last century surrounded by his hunters. He tried to peer behind it, but there was just a wall. A slight draft tickled his neck. Curious, he pulled at the frame, to no avail, and then pushed . . .

  He practically stumbled inside as the wall, more accurately a door, gave way, and was immediately smacked in the arm by a dark-eyed virago.

  “You scared me,” she hissed.

  The small, windowless chamber was little more than a closet lined with bookshelves and a solitary locked trunk that was tall enough to act as a table one could stand at. A lantern hung from a hook on the wall cast a swath of light around the cramped space.

  “How did you get in here?” she asked. “Why didn’t Grey stop you?” The edge of panic in her voice told him she was worried about her bodyguard.

  “She tried, but I convinced her that I could help.” It was a reasonable enough explanation. “I would’ve helped from the beginning, had I known what you were up to. Just what are you up to?”

  She had the grace to look discomfited. “This is where I found the document that states the tapestry is a map.”

  “That fails to explain what you’re doing here and why you didn’t inform me of your plan.” It occurred to him that he was perhaps being unfair, since he was also keeping information from her. The difference, however, was that he’d planned to tell her about the location of the tapestry later this evening. Perhaps he ought to rethink that plan.

  She pursed her lips, a frequent occurrence when she was frustrated, he noted. He tried not to also note that it made her mouth look utterly kissable.

  “I’d hoped to search for more clues, perhaps something that might point to the location of the sword, since the tapestry may very well be lost to us.” She went to a bookshelf and began investigating its contents.

  “I see.” And he did. He could stop this right now, but he was curious to look around. “What is this place?”

  She didn’t turn from her task. “Septon’s secret library. A retainer regularly patrols it, but he’s currently checking other areas since Septon’s valuable collection is so vast. We don’t have much time before he returns.”

  Elijah went to a different shelf and pulled out a tome. It was very old and written in a language he didn’t recognize. “Where did you find the document about the tapestry?”

  She looked over her shoulder at him and pointed to a cabinet he hadn’t noticed behind the door. “There. It’s between those two books on the top shelf.”

  Elijah wanted to see this “proof” for himself. He went to the cabinet and easily found the parchment.

  “Be careful to put everything back exactly as you found it. We can’t risk Septon knowing someone was in here.”

  The document was beautifully decorated, particularly the likeness of the tapestry in the center of the page. It was also written in an unknown language. “I can’t read this,” he said.

  “It’s medieval Welsh.”

  Elijah couldn’t even read modern Welsh. “You can read this?”

  “Yes. I told you, my father is a medieval manuscript scholar.”

  Impressed, he looked over at her. She stood her toes as she tried to reach something. Closing the book, he set it on the locked trunks and went to help her. “Let me.” His arm brushed against hers as he reached up. “This one?” He rested his fingers against a slender volume.

  “Yes.”

  He pulled it down and handed it to her. “Why that one?”

  “The symbol on the spine. It’s a pictograph that represents flame. And since the tapestry is known as the ‘flaming sword tapestry,’ it seemed worth investigating.”

  “It’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?”

  She tossed him an exasperated look. “Feel free to search elsewhere. And don’t leave that parchment there!” Though her voice was barely above a whisper, her irritation was plainly evident.

  He plucked up the loose page, frustrated that he couldn’t read it. Did that make it any less true? If it said what she claimed—and she’d no reason to lie . . . For the first time, anticipation swirled in his gut as he contemplated the sword actually existing.

  He wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he folded the document, coughing as he did so to cover the crinkling sound of the paper, and slid it into his coat.

  “There’s nothing here.” She closed the book he’d pulled down for her and held it out to him. “Will you put it back?”

  He did as she asked. “How much time do we have?”

  She pulled a watch from a pocket in her dress. “Damn. We’re nearly out of time.” She looked at the locked trunk. “I wish we could open that.”

  “Just what are you hoping to find?”

  “I don’t know.” She lifted her dark eyes to his, and he saw desperation in their depths. “The tapestry is all but lost. I can’t give up. I won’t. I don’t know what else to do.”

  “Well, then it’s good I do. Come on, we can go.” He turned toward the door.

  Her hand on his arm halted him and sent a vexing shock of desire rioting through him. “What do you mean?”

  His years of training brought the sound to his ears. It was faint, but it was human-made. He clasped her hand and pulled the handle on the portrait door. She resisted him, but only to quickly extinguish the flame in the lantern. He dragged her through the doorway and spun around, holding his finger to his lips as he eased the painting closed.

  She held up her free hand, but he tugged on the one he still held. “Wait,” she whispered tensely. She withdrew a key from her pocket and slid it into a keyhole hidden in the eye of one of the dogs. He wondered how in the hell she’d even found this bloody library in the first place.

  He’d ask later, because right now someone was coming into the room and they sure as hell weren’t supposed to be there. “We’re about to be caught.”

  She grabbed his other hand and pulled him into the dark corner. “Kiss me, and make sure whoever it is can’t see who I am.”

  Norris stared down at her, his pale eyes flickering with disbelief. Exhaling a whispered curse, she pulled his head down and put her lips to his.

  She’d kissed two other men—a long-ago experiment with a boy in Monmouth and the treacherous David Iscove—and suddenly she felt as though she’d never been kissed before in her life. Norris’s lips were warm and firm, but so gentle. If he was shocked, he was hiding it well. His hands clasped her waist, their warmth seeping through the layers of her clothing until she felt as though she might combust.

  When his thumb grazed the underside of her breast, she opened her mouth in an involuntary gasp without thinking that he’d consider it an invitation. But thank heavens he did. His tongue grazed past her lips and met hers. She opened further, never expecting that this necessary action would become something so delicious.

  A man’s cough drew Norris to pull back. “Turn,” he whispered, guiding her to pivot toward the wall.<
br />
  “What are you doing in here?” the retainer asked.

  “What does it look like?” Norris replied coolly. She’d heard him employ that tone before and imagined it must make his soldiers snap to attention. Hearing him use it to keep her safe was surprisingly arousing.

  “I beg your pardon,” the retainer said, sounding a bit uncertain. “This is a private area.”

  “I had hoped so, but apparently it’s not.” Norris’s tone now carried a tinge of irony and she had to fight to keep from giggling. What was wrong with her? This was not a time for laughter.

  “I’m afraid I have to ask you to leave.” Yes, he definitely sounded unsure. Cate could picture what Norris must look like, his icy gaze fixed arrogantly on the retainer.

  “Would you mind giving us a modicum of privacy? I’d prefer to obscure my companion’s identity. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Of course. I’ll just turn.”

  “Thank you.” Norris took her hand and tugged her from the corner. “Keep your head down,” he murmured.

  They moved quickly and didn’t stop once they reached the corridor. He guided her away, retracing the path he’d used earlier. After a minute, she pulled him to a stop. “Where’s Grey?”

  “I didn’t see her.” Norris let go of Cate’s hand. She glanced down at her now lonely appendage, sorry to see him go.

  “Here.” Grey came from a room across the hall looking pained. “I had to dash off when the guard came back.”

  “I thought we had a little more time. Was he early?” Cate asked.

  Grey’s expression was grim. “I think so. Did he find you?”

  “We improvised,” Norris said.

  Cate gave Grey a look that she hoped would be interpreted as “don’t ask.”

  “I need to return the key.” Grey held out her hand as Cate withdrew the key and dropped it into her upturned palm. Grey glanced between them. “Is it acceptable for me to leave you alone?”

  “We’ve been alone,” Norris noted wryly. “We shall go our separate ways.”