What the Dashing Duke Deserves (Lords of Happenstance, #3)

by Sandra Sookoo

  That brought out a smile. “There is the hint of having it all, and knowing it’s possible changes... everything.”

  “You’re thinking about him.” Andrew spat out the word as if it were a foul-tasting bug. “The duke is dead, and if he isn’t, he will be soon.” He jostled her arm, dug his fingers into her flesh, and she bit back the urge to cry over Crispin’s fate. “Why the hell couldn’t you have given up your insane desire for redemption and partnered with me? Think of all we could have done together. We could take this staff and make a stamp on the world of Egyptology. Imagine what we could accomplish.”

  Why indeed? The answer was simple. “I am a King’s agent. We do not give up easily.”

  Juliana again tripped. Keeping her balance was proving a challenge. How much blood had she lost? The glimmer of the chain in his waistcoat pocket captured her attention. That gem would be hers, no matter how the night ended. It was the least she could do. And perhaps if there was such a thing as God’s tears in the center, she would give it to Crispin, to save his life.

  Her heart squeezed painfully. I should have told him how I feel. But she hadn’t out of fear—for herself, for what he truly thought of her, for the need to prove herself without his assistance. Now she saw that that way of thinking was flawed. Having a man by her side didn’t make her weak or diminish her power or her integrity. Having the right man helping her, supporting her, believing in her increased her strength.

  That was the difference, and Crispin made her feel as if she could do anything. His eternal optimism, his steadfast belief that there was joy in everything, his willingness to throw himself into a fight merely for her battered honor all worked to bash down the barriers around her heart and give her a new outlook. She had taken the ball meant for him because she couldn’t bear to think of a life where he didn’t play a part. There’d been no thinking; she’d just done it.

  I love him.

  And she’d be damned if she’d let him die because of her mission that had hit the weeds.

  “Even when the truth is staring you in the face, your inherent obstinacy will bring you to the bitter end.” Annoyance wove through his voice, and he yanked her along with him. The shadows from the jostled lantern sent eerie shapes dancing along the walls. How unfair was it that she’d never be able to study those reliefs of the queen she’d felt such kinship to?

  “As I told you, a King’s agent never gives in.” A tiny whimper escaped her when they left the puzzle room to go into the passageway.

  “You are deluded. There is no way for you to win this, Juliana.” His voice was as hard as his grip while the fervor of determination burned in his eyes. “The sooner you realize that, the better it will go for you.”

  “I am bloody tired of men telling me what I should know and only from their limited viewpoints,” she muttered. “I am worth so much more than their—your—low opinions and expectations.”

  For so long she’d been barely clinging to the mantra that a King’s agent never cried defeat. Ever since she’d been exiled to Cairo, she’d searched for redemption, hoping to make the Duke of Rathesborne proud, hoping that he would accept her on her own terms and not try to fit her into a rigid box of his own making. When no help came from that austere gentleman, she’d all but given up, especially after that first staff piece had come to light.

  She’d failed once more after that; the clues had stopped coming, and her very presence in Cairo had gotten one man killed and another framed for his murder. Why? Because she’d let her guilt and grief guide her into the arms of the man she should have been wary of, the man she should have monitored within an inch of her life. But she’d ignored her instincts. And now, the man she wanted in her life was nearly ready to lose his despite the sacrifice she’d made.

  No more. Today, it was time for her to make a stand. She was either a King’s agent or she wasn’t. No longer did she strive to make a duke back in London proud of her. No more did she hope Lord Archewyne would look favorably upon her. She would do this, see the mission through, for her own satisfaction.

  That very truth had been there all along, but she’d been either too stupid or too blind or too comfortable wallowing in self-pity to see it. Being a King’s agent was an honor not afforded to many. If she didn’t make herself proud, she didn’t deserve it from anyone else. And if she was to die tonight, she’d do so with gladness, for she was a King’s agent, no matter what had happened to her in the line of duty or in her personal life.

  I do this for me alone. She held her chin a notch higher, her spine straighter. And she would have her revenge on this man who’d thought to kill her.

  “So, what is your plan then? Toss me in the abyss? Zap me with the staff again until I beg for mercy?” That was not part of her plan. If fate was kind, he’d be the one on his knees.

  “That depends on what awaits us when we hit that point.” Andrew slowed his pace, turned his head and met her gaze in the darkness. “You can still change your mind. I won’t hold your defection against you.”

  “No, but I would.” She’d had enough. Using considerable effort, Juliana wrenched from his hold. Then she slammed the lantern at his chest, and when he cursed, distracted, she rammed her knee between his legs. “I do not show mercy to murderers, no matter what their motivation.” As he clutched a hand to his privates, she tangled her fingers into the chain and pulled the moonstone from his waistcoat pocket. “If you want it, come and get it.”

  Oh, dear God, give me the strength to end this fight.

  Juliana tore through the passageway as she tucked the stone and its chain into the pocket of her skirt. The slight slope of the corridor that had made their descent so quick ensured the return trip took more time and burned muscle. Every jarring step brought pain bouncing through her body, and in the darkness, she was obliged to keep a hand on the wall as a guide.

  A muted roar and a curse from somewhere behind her was testament that Andrew followed. Would the staff give him the ability to see in the dark? I hope not. She had to keep moving. There was no allotment for error.

  Her heart pounded as she forged her path through the total darkness. The grit of the sand and limestone chips beneath the soles of her boots as well as the rough-hewn texture of the wall under at her fingertips brought her a small measure of comfort, and took her mind off the throbbing pain in her side. There was one chance to end this horrible nightmare—one.

  But that was all she needed. She wouldn’t fail, not now when it truly counted.

  “Give up, Juliana. You cannot best me, not while I have the Staff of the Gods at my disposal,” Andrew warned, and there was a decided growl in his voice that reverberated through the darkness.

  “Not if I have breath,” she muttered to herself, unwilling to give away her position.

  Time crawled, and with each footstep, the pain in her side grew. It hurt to breathe, but there was no other option. She knew not how far she’d come until the unmistakable soft golden glow of a lantern beckoned ahead. Archewyne and his party or associates of Andrew’s?

  Please let it be the former.

  Juliana hastened her progress. An involuntary cry of relief escaped her lips when the passageway opened up into the area that contained the abyss. While she and Crispin had been defeating the puzzle room and fighting in the burial chamber, the earl and his team had erected a wooden structure of sorts across the chasm. Compromised of two long poles on the far side and two more on her side, they were tied together at the top with numerous coils of rope. From the apex of those poles, another rope dangled with a rusty metal hook on a loop at the bottom. Did Archewyne mean for his men to hang a lantern from the took, or would he lower one of the workmen down into the shaft at some point to search for burial shafts?

  Oh, bother. I don’t have time for thinking!

  The plank she and Crispin had used to cross remained in place, which meant it had held the earl’s weight.

  And what was more, Lord Archewyne himself was on her side of the pit. Other members of his party
carried in additional poles and planks, and none seemed overly concerned about his safety. That was how much confidence they had in their leader.

  “Archewyne! Your pistol, if you please,” she implored him as she more or less tumbled into the space. Lanterns glowed about the area, and she was glad for the illumination.

  “What the devil is the meaning of this, Miss Barrington?” The question thundered through the cavern as the earl advanced upon her.

  “No time to explain. You must trust me.” She moved toward him, and then Andrew burst into the passageway with a cry that echoed in deafening waves.

  “Quickly, your pistol!” she implored.

  “Move even a finger, Lord Archewyne, and I will end you,” Andrew commanded as he ran to her.

  “No more killing.” Juliana swung about and hoped the earl would figure things out on his own. She held up a hand, as if that would keep Andrew from an attack. “Leave the earl be. He has no part in what is between you and me.”

  “You’re right. He does not, but he stands as a threat, and I won’t have that.” Andrew brandished the staff. The gold gleamed in the lantern light. Across the pit, shouts of alarm went up and men scrambled from the passageway. Hopefully they would bring help. “Stand down, my lord.”

  “Ah, I see you’ve found the Staff of the Gods, which means you’ve defeated Herrick.” Barely checked annoyance rumbled through the earl’s voice. Step by slow step he advanced, and Juliana whipped about to face him. “Put the weapon on the ground, Ramsay, and it will go easier for you.”

  “He killed the director, was behind the attacks at our camp,” she interrupted. Archewyne must know this man was a horrible person. “He’s going to kill me.”

  “That I will.” Then Andrew sprang at her, held her neck from behind in the crook of his free elbow. When he squeezed, she choked and sputtered. “I want the jewel, Juliana.”

  She kicked back a foot, hoping to catch him unawares, but he’d learned the lesson all too well. “Not unless I’m dead.”

  “That can easily be arranged.”

  “Let Miss Barrington go and we’ll talk like men,” Archewyne demanded, his hand slowly going to the pistol at his side.

  “I’m rather tired of talking at this point,” Andrew drawled. He waved the staff over his head and then pointed the end at the earl.

  With a cry of surprise, Lord Archewyne flew across the tight space of the passageway. His back crashed against the wall, and when he slid to the stone floor, he didn’t move.

  “Give me the jewel,” Andrew ordered again. He brought the tip of the staff to her cheek, and the flow and heat of the power it wielded crackled over her skin. “That’s all that I want. I’ll take it and the staff, and once I leave this place, I’ll set you free.”

  “You already have my answer,” she managed to gasp out.

  “Fine.” He released her throat only to punch that hand into her wound.

  White hot agony lanced into every point of Juliana’s body. She went lax in his hold and collapsed to her knees. Get up! Fight! Don’t let him win this way, with you cowering before him.

  Andrew touched the end of the staff to her bowed head and she jumped when searing heat burned into her. “I’ll give you the chance to try for the redemption you so desperately wish for, but in the end, we both know how this will go.” He lifted the staff away, and she sagged with the slight reprieve of the pain.

  Swallowing multiple times to stave off the urge to retch, Juliana struggled to her feet. The wound in her side screamed and she wanted to whimper from the sheer torture it was to stand, but she faced her opponent without flinching. This was her moment; this was her one chance.

  “That staff was never meant to be found,” she gasped out and wiped at the sweat on her brow. She was hot and cold by turns, and it was the oddest sensation. “If you give me the staff, I will give you the jewel.”

  Andrew snorted. He advanced onto her position, and she retreated before him, step by slow step. “How do I know you won’t betray me?”

  “How do I know you won’t do the same to me?” Juliana glanced over her shoulder. She was nearing the place where the plank sat across the dark, yawning chasm.

  “You don’t, but I can promise that if you come with me willingly, I won’t harm you.” He twirled the staff, his face twisted into an expression of smug victory. “Last chance, Juliana. With the staff and along with your knowledge of ancient cultures, imagine what relics we’ll find just like this one. We will have all the power to command the antiquities trade, this region and all of its riches will be ours.”

  She’d reached the edge of the board. Fear tightened her stomach muscles while icy fingers rode her spine. It had nearly cost her everything to pass over that plank the last time. Could she do it again with this madman trailing her? And she’d attempt the stunt while walking backward, almost blind as it were.

  Then his words sank into her pain-addled brain. “I thought you only wished to heal your sister.”

  “That was before I had a taste of what the Staff of the Gods can do.” His chuckle was a demented sort of sound tinged with hysteria. “The power flowing through my fingertips as I hold it is unimaginable. Men will have no choice but to bow before me.”

  Juliana moved. She placed her first footstep on the board and prayed that it would support her weight after what it had already endured. “It will turn your brain so that you no longer recognize yourself, Andrew. It will make you mad.”

  “No, I’ve never had so much clarity before.” He pointed the staff at her as his eyes glittered. Energy, magic, shivered through the air. “The jewel, please.”

  “Drop the staff into the pit.”

  “You know I cannot do that.” He took another step, and she matched him in her retreat.

  “And you know my answer as well.” There was no more time to negotiate. Step by wobbling, tricky step she continued until she reached the mid-point of the board. Then she stopped, for the wounds she’d suffered had her queasy with nausea and exhausted with the attempt to remain upright.

  “You are not a stupid woman. Don’t do this.” He extended his free hand as a warning crack of wood rang in the air. “Give me the jewel and I’ll let you pass to the other side unharmed.”

  “As if what you’ve already done to me is no more than the bite of a mosquito?” That struck her as funny, but it hurt too much to laugh. Juliana pressed her hand to her side. Her fingers came away sticky with blood despite her makeshift bandages. She forced a swallow into her parched throat. “You have taken on the wrong King’s agent, Lord Ramsay, and for that you will pay.” She retreated another step, stopping when the board beneath her feet groaned in protest.

  “How do you figure?” His laughter rubbed against her skin like blown sand. “You are nearly spent and half dead. Even if you win this fight, it’s doubtful you’ll survive.”

  She shrugged, gritting her teeth against the agony flaring through her body. “It is what I must do.”

  “I have the upper hand though.” His leer had the knot of anxiety in her belly tightening. “Once again you’ve failed in your mission.” The bark of laughter sent bitter bile into her throat. “Go back to England, Juliana. Marry some doddering old fool and have his babies, for that is the only life fit for women like you.” He gestured with the staff, presumably to encompass everything. “This world belongs to the men who dare rule it.”

  “You and men like you can go hang.” Hot rage burst through her veins in a red tide. That crimson color splashed across her vision. “I am not dead yet, you prick, and you aren’t getting out of here unless you go through me.”

  With a cry of desperation or perhaps daring, Juliana rushed at him over the ancient wood. She caught him in the midsection with her shoulder, perhaps stupidly, for they grappled for purchase and balance on the plank. The sound of splintering wood reached her ears, but she was engaged in the fight, and just one of them would come out alive.

  “You’re insane,” Andrew whispered, but despite her death-grip
on his shoulders, he brought the staff toward her. “You would die for the staff.”

  “No, I will die defending those I love from people like you who would wield relics like the staff for their own gain.” She pushed at his shoulders, but his solid form wouldn’t budge. “It’s what I pledged to do years ago when I became an agent.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Crispin stagger into the chamber, and for a moment, her heart fluttered with joy, but when he collapsed onto the ground, she gave Andrew her full concentration. Beneath her left foot, the board cracked. This fight wouldn’t last long.

  “Then you will die as an agent, unheralded, unpraised, and unsung, because you will fail in this also.” He raised the staff. Light glinted off the golden plating and winked off the eyes of the bird atop it.

  “That may be so.” She glanced up. The rusty hook dangled four inches over her head. “And I’ll take you with me. In that, I will have succeeded.” As she lowered her gaze to him for the final time, over his shoulder she spied Archewyne heaving to his feet. He went straight to Crispin and helped him up. At least they would live.

  “Fool!” He lowered the staff at the same time he reached for the front of her gown where the pocket was sewn.

  Perhaps one needed to be a fool if one wished to make a mark on the world around them—to change the circumstances. With a cry, Juliana jumped upward. She wrapped her fingers around the hook and when Andrew came at her, she jammed her feet into his chest just as the wooden board splintered and cracked.

  The momentum of her shove knocked Andrew off balance. His arms windmilled, the light glancing off the staff as it tumbled from his hand to fall into the pit below. His eyes grew wide, his fingers scrabbling as he extended a hand. She twisted away so that he grabbed at her skirting. The fabric tore as he scrambled for footing.

  “Enjoy hell,” Juliana said, and gripping the hook with renewed vigor, she sent him over with one hard, final kick.