What the Stubborn Viscount Desires

by Sandra Sookoo

  Despite himself, Jonathan grunted a laugh. “Who won?”

  “Neither of us yet. He said at the well. I maintain it will be in this cavern.”

  “Then you both will be sorely disappointed.” He massaged the trigger with his finger. “I have no intentions of expiring so soon.”

  “Oh, I doubt that.” Once more Lord Basselton trained his pistol on Sophia. “This will be your final resting place, Trewellain. Yours and Miss Wickham’s. But all is not lost. Perhaps explorers will rediscover this place in a few decades and work to ponder the secret of your life and why you were left.” His laughter grated against Jonathan’s nerves.

  “Where are the rest of Spain’s crown jewels?”

  The lord snorted. “Who can say? I merely discovered some, stole them from the man who originally found them. Seemed like the best thing to do at the time.” He shrugged. “I sold a few pieces while setting up operations here. Others I scattered about for you to find.”

  Drat the man for further clouding the mystery of those jewels. “This will be the last time I ask, Basselton. Our next conversation will be in the form of a beating. Who are you working for?” He took a step toward the other man and his hand remained steady as he kept his weapon trained on his adversary.

  “So much bravado.” At the slight quirk of Basselton’s head, Mr. Hatfield propelled himself and Sophia across the cavern floor. The lord followed at a more leisurely pace, backward to keep his pistol on Jonathan. “You lacked intelligence on this mission, Trewellain. The Duke of Rathesborne will be so disappointed.” When Jonathan merely narrowed his eyes, the man continued. “You stupidly fell for the most basic of clues, but then, you are no Lord Archewyne, so I couldn’t make a concentrated effort for ingenuity.”

  He bristled and attempted to ignore the sounds of Sophia struggling with her captor. The time for action drew near. “How do you know of the earl or even Rathesborne for that matter?” The fact Basselton had thrown out the names so nonchalantly chilled his blood. Something was in the wind, and he didn’t like not knowing.

  “Now, now, now, you’re trying to rush my tale, my lord.” Basselton reached Mr. Hatfield’s location. “Put down your weapon, Trewellain. I’m growing bored, so unless you comply, I’ll be certain your lady dies, and I will do it in such a manner that it’s a painful, lingering death you will have to witness.”

  “Sadly, that scenario doesn’t work for me.” His muscles tensed, and hoping he was right about Basselton’s instincts, Jonathan sprang at Mr. Hatfield and quickly divested the man of his blade. It skittered over the stone floor. “Sophia, run,” he urged as he rammed the butt of his pistol into the side of the henchman’s head.

  She screamed and for once took his advice without argument. Except she went as far as the dying campfire, where she picked up a piece of smoldering wood and attempted to rush Basselton with the makeshift weapon. They came together in a tangle of limbs and flying sparks.

  That tiny distraction landed Jonathan on his back with the hulking Mr. Hatfield on top of him, and a ham-fisted punch drilling into his jaw. Lights danced behind his eyes. He shook his head in the attempt to clear it, tried to point his pistol at his attacker but Mr. Hatfield grabbed his wrist and slammed it down against the cave floor.

  One of the pistols discharged and the sound echoed grimly about the cavern.

  “Enough!” Lord Basselton’s shout was deafening in the sudden silence. “Mr. Hatfield, do get up and bring the viscount with you.” He gripped Sophia by her braid and used it to maneuver her like a dog on a short lead.

  “Got bells ringing in your ears, you bloody cit?” Mr. Hatfield asked him as the big man wrenched Jonathan to his feet by his jacket collar. “That’s your death knell.”

  “Buggar off.” When Jonathan attempted another punch, he was rewarded with a sharp jab into his ribs by Mr. Hatfield’s elbow. “Oof.” He doubled over as pain washed through his midsection. Darkness still fuzzed around the edges of his vision.

  “Take his weapon, Miss Wickham,” Basselton ordered Sophia, and he prodded her over to Jonathan’s position. She came close, a trickle of blood oozing from a cut on her bottom lip. When she slipped the revolver from his lax hand, the man said, “Throw it into the pool.” After she did as instructed, he yanked on her hair. Her cry cut Jonathan to the quick. “Time to render you and the viscount immobile.” He looked at Mr. Hatfield. “You know what to do with him.”

  “Leave her alone,” Jonathan demanded, making one last attempt to slip from his captor only to have his arm wrenched hard behind him. Pain lanced through his arm, shoulder and chest.

  “It would appear the two of you have chosen a slow, lingering death.” Lord Basselton marched Sophia over to a large, slender stalagmite. “There’s a coil of rope hanging at my waist, Miss Wickham. Please procure it for me. It’s fitting that you participate in your own demise, since you’ve guided Trewellain on my trail.”

  Jonathan gave up the fight in favor of remaining conscious. There was every possibility they could escape the bonds. He just needed to practice patience and wait.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  What is one supposed to do when confronted with a madman in the flesh?

  Sophia struggled with Lord Basselton as he attempted to bind her hands behind her back. Her head pounded from being hit and her cheek stung. A string of sneezes issued from her that gave the evil lord the upper hand in subduing her. She whimpered when he drew the rope tight around the slender stalagmite, looping the bond around her several times to make certain she couldn’t pull away.

  This was not how she’d hoped the mission would end.

  “Are you afraid, Miss Wickham?” Lord Basselton asked as he tied off a knot.

  “Of course I’m afraid. There is nothing in life that prepares a person for a situation such as this.”

  “True, but then, had you not thrown your lot in with Trewellain’s, you’d still remain in England, safe and sound, tucked away in your parlor—or trekking through darkest India with Lady Archewyne.” His laugh didn’t hold mirth. “I suppose either way, the end result would be the same. Fancy that.”

  “Never say you have arranged for misfortune to strike them.” She gawked at him, and then glanced past him to Jonathan, but the viscount was putting up a valiant fight against Mr. Hatfield.

  “It flatters me that you assume my reach is so great. The viscount is the operative I’m responsible for. There are others who are assigned to Archewyne.”

  “Why?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned closer, and as the campfire Jonathan had built snuffed out—the light from the lantern long gone—darkness settled throughout the cavern. The only illumination came from the glowing algae in the thermal pool and along some of the cave walls. Fear slid down her spine with ice cold precision. Trapped and bound in the dark. Oh, dear God. “If it would ease your mind, I will gladly put a ball through your head to spare you the pain of dehydration.” He lowered his voice. “Or perhaps save you from going mad while your terror of the dark seeps in.”

  How did he know—or guess—so much about her? “G-g-go to hell, you bastard,” she finally managed to spit out and lifted her chin to stare him in the face. Let him see into the eyes of a woman he would condemn to death. Perhaps he would remember and guilt would eat at him for the rest of his days.

  And if she was ever given a chance to meet his traitorous arse again in this lifetime, it would be her who put the ball through his head, with a matching hole in his black heart for good measure. She stifled the urge to laugh. Was this what she’d become during her time spent with Jonathan? Good, for she rather enjoyed the new confidence she’d acquired.

  “Ah, it’s a pity to waste such spirit.” Her captor brushed her cheek with gloved fingers, moved his knuckles along the underside of jaw, and Sophia jerked her head in a bid to bite one of those hated digits. “Your part in a bigger plan is done. I have no more use for you, but I do thank you for making certain the viscount followed the clues.”

 
Annoyance warmed her and fed the flames of her anger. Had she not been so quick or clever, would Jonathan have remained safe? Unlikely. Lord Basselton had a sick determination to put an end to the viscount. “Why would you do something like this?” Her voice sounded small in the vastness of the cavern as a curse from Jonathan rang out. Had it truly been a mere handful of hours since the cave had echoed with her cries of completion and she’d shared that special intimacy with him?

  “Because I can, my dear. Because I must.” Lord Basselton patted the top of her head as if she were no better than a dog he’d tied to a tree branch.

  “Leave her alone, Basselton. It’s me you want. Release her and I’ll do whatever you ask.” Jonathan’s command captured the man’s attention, and he ambled around the pool to where Mr. Hatfield had tied the viscount in a similar fashion as her.

  She met Jonathan’s dark, agonized gaze and her heart trembled. For all his surprising words before the fight with their captors, he cared and had no doubt uttered them in an effort to protect her. Oh, Jonathan, I’m so, so sorry.

  “Ah, but there’s the rub, Trewellain,” Lord Basselton drawled. “I cannot turn her out, for she’ll run through the streets of Barcelona, telling everyone of this bizarre tale and my implication in it, and if I did set her free, I’d order Mr. Hatfield to kill her, which is a rather dodgy business. Would leave a mess on the aforementioned streets, and all that. I’m afraid you’ll both remain here, leaving the onus of murder not on me, but on natural causes.”

  Sophia rolled her eyes. The man thought quite highly of himself. Did arrogance come from holding a title in the ton, or had she only met the worst of the lot? Not that she’d been exposed to so many lords that she could lump them into categories. Yet she couldn’t help the horrified fascination as Lord Basselton swaggered in front of the viscount, his pistol once more in his hand. All the while, she surreptitiously worked at the portion of rope that bound her wrists.

  “I demand to know what purpose this serves.” Jonathan scoffed. “Our deaths will be laid at your feet one way or another. There will be an investigation.”

  “Oh, I’m certain there will, but that won’t come for some time, and the king’s agents will be rather too busy shortly to send a party to Spain.”

  As the men conversed, she let out a relieved breath when Lord Basselton and Mr. Hatfield turned their focus off her. The pounding of her heart reminded her that she was not yet dead, and that meant she still had the will to fight. Through it all, the urge to retch burned strong, for she’d shot and killed a man. Lord Basselton had been correct. She hadn’t hesitated. When attacked, she’d aimed and fired her pistol, and the stranger had fallen at her feet with a look of surprise. Blood had pooled around him, and she could only stare at the ever-widening spill. Shortly after, Mr. Hatfield had disarmed her, tossing her beautiful weapon away.

  That was his first mistake, for she would reclaim it and come after him.

  The drone of their voices changed sharply to arguing. Sophia glanced at Jonathan. He received a punch to the side of his head by Mr. Hatfield and she strained against her bonds. Aches and pains made themselves known, but she ignored them for the situation was too dire for complaint or to catalogue injuries.

  “No more violence,” she implored, her plea thrown back at her by the pressing darkness. “What the devil do you think we can do while immobilized?”

  “Ah, such boldness.” Lord Basselton chuckled and Mr. Hatfield joined in on the mirth. “It is a pity that you’ll die before London society is given a chance to know you.” He shrugged and adopted an expression of sadness so false he might as well shed alligator tears. “But take heart, Miss Wickham.” The man glanced about the cavern. “It is pretty here and a grand final resting place, don’t you think?”

  “Damnation, man, tell me who you work for,” Jonathan demanded in a low voice she’d come to associate when his rage built. “You owe me at least that.” He spat out blood, and Sophia’s chest tightened. Had he been so injured that even if they managed to free themselves, he might not live?

  “Why must you know? Do you intend to haunt me and Mr. Hatfield with your disgruntled spirit, unable to rest?” Lord Basselton handed his henchman the pistol. Then he delivered a back handed slap to Jonathan’s face.

  Sophia cried out. “Jonathan, please. Don’t antagonize him more than you have. Your body cannot take more abuse.” He had to remain alert if they were to survive.

  “How precious, Mr. Hatfield. The lady cares for him.” His mocking laughter slid over her like spilled tallow. “It’s all very maudlin.” He kneeled before the viscount, peering into his face. “But perhaps I do owe you an explanation. You see, Trewellain, you are merely a distraction, dear boy. I have found that black hearted men in the ton pay infinitely better than the noble ones. They wield more power and will reshape England more than anyone else.”

  Before Sophia could ask a question of her own, the viscount growled and strained at his bonds. “Who. Are. You. Working. For?” Each word was propelled on a jet of anger, and had he been free, she didn’t doubt he would have laid into Lord Basselton with all the power of a summer thunderstorm.

  The other man dared to pat Jonathan’s cheek. He grinned, and in the eerie light, the gesture made a macabre mask of his face. “Ah, the over-arcing plan is evil in its intent. A shift of power is coming, Trewellain, and it’s been brewing for a few years.” He stood. “It all starts and ends with Nigel Hawkins, Miles’ only sibling.”

  Sophia gasped. “The earl has a brother?”

  “Preposterous.” Jonathan sputtered. He shook his head. “Archewyne’s brother is dead.”

  “There’s the rub. He’s not.” Lord Basselton’s laughter echoed off the cavern walls with chilling effect. “That’s the glory of it. He’s had years to plan his revenge.”

  “He plots against Miles?” Jonathan licked at the blood trickling from his lower lip. “To what end?”

  The other man shrugged. “Yes, Archewyne will face judgment by Nigel’s hand—terrible, horrible judgment I might add—and I’m afraid he and his lovely wife might not be strong enough to survive the ordeal that is coming. But he is only one of Nigel’s targets.”

  Sophia jumped into the conversation. “Who else?” She wished the men would leave them alone already, for she couldn’t devise a plan while Lord Basselton insisted on bragging.

  He glanced over the pool at her. “The Duke of Rathesborne. Archewyne will be the bait for the one whom Nigel truly wishes to find justice at his hand. But first, he had to make certain Trewellain, Archewyne’s watch dog, was brought to heel. Cannot have him running off with a warning.”

  “You’re mad,” Jonathan insisted as Sophia’s insides twisted with fear and loathing. “None of that will happen.” Yet was that a hint of fear in the viscount’s voice? She glanced sharply at him but couldn’t read his expression in the darkness. She’d never seen him afraid, and that worried her.

  “Such trusting devotion, Trewellain.” Lord Basselton clicked his tongue. “It’s what makes you a good if stupid agent, and it’s what brought you here—Rathesborne’s orders.” He kicked at one of Jonathan’s booted feet. “Don’t you and all the agents under his command ever tire of him putting you into danger while he remains safe on England’s shores?”

  “It is what a king’s man does. We know the risks going in.” Jonathan glared at him. “Rathesborne has earned his position through his work for the Crown.”

  Sophia’s respect for him rose. He would defend England and the men he served with to the very death. No matter what he thought were his faults, his integrity more than made up for them.

  “Perhaps, but Nigel doesn’t think so, and he won’t stop until those who have wronged him are dead. I’m afraid the future is rather grim for Archewyne and all of those he holds dear.” He shrugged again and gestured at Mr. Hatfield with a sharp chop of his hand. “Perhaps you can enjoy the afterlife with your friends.” He blew a kiss her way. “Fair thee well, Miss Wickham. Perhaps if circumst
ances were different…”

  She narrowed her gaze on his hated face. “If they were, you’d soon find an arrow lodged in your chest, Lord Basselton. I’m more accurate with them than a pistol.”

  The men left. For long moments afterward Sophia sat and stewed in silence. Was this, then, how her life would end? Tied in a cave with no food, no water and no chance of rescue? Fear crashed down her spine and she sneezed twice in succession. This cannot be the pinnacle of my existence. I was put on this earth for more than this. Jonathan offered no insights. In fact, he sat with his head bowed and wouldn’t look at her.

  “Say something. Say anything, Jonathan. I need to know there is still a bit of hope,” she implored while working at the rope. The rough fibers cut into her wrists, but she kept at it.

  “What would you have me say?” Finally, he raised his head and shot a dark glance at her from across the pool. “Even if by some miracle we can free ourselves, and providing Basselton and his goon aren’t lurking somewhere in the cavern network or on the surface waiting for us, a courier won’t be able to reach Rathesborne or even Archewyne in time.”

  “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.” She grunted and ignored the rising terror in her throat. “What kind of people are we if we don’t exhaust every possibility?”

  He snorted. “Ah, to be so green again.” The viscount shook his head. “You and I have tarried in Spain for a month. By the time we find a way out—if we don’t die first—Rathesborne will already be in danger, if he hasn’t been attacked as we speak.” He strained at his bonds and then wilted. “The Hawkinses won’t return until late April or early May.” A cry of desolation left him. “Oh, God. What if Nigel’s contacts intercept them while they travel with the children?”

  Her heart squeezed at the anguish in his voice. “You mustn’t think like that.”