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

by Sandra Sookoo

He fell into the pit with a scream that didn’t do him justice. Then the wooden plank finally broke into two pieces and hurtled into the abyss after him.

  There was nothing below her, and her hands, slick with blood and sweat were the only things keeping her from that dark maw.

  “Crispin!” Terror launched the word from her throat. Her chest heaved from exertion and pain; her heartbeat a frantic rhythm.

  “Hold on, Miss Barrington,” Lord Archewyne cautioned. “We’re sliding another board into place and will have you on stable ground in a thrice.”

  “Please hurry.” She closed her eyes, for she couldn’t bear to look down into the impenetrable pit. Every ounce of concentration she had went into keeping her grip on that hook.

  The earl shouted across to his workers, who’d indeed returned with substantial assistance. At once, the sounds of the Egyptian diggers filled the passageway, followed by the unmistakable scrape of a wooden plank being slid into place.

  Her eyes popped open as her grip began to fail. “I cannot hold on much longer.” She panted. Dark spots clouded her vision. “So much pain.” Beyond caring, she let a whimper escape. She had finished the mission. Though the relic was lost, she’d kept it from falling into the wrong hands.

  “One second more, Juliana.” Crispin’s soft voice reached her location and she cried from the effort of clinging to that hook—to life.

  More scraping ensued, and then everyone talked at once. Lord Archewyne’s command was the one she heard over the din.

  “Extend your feet, Miss Barrington and release the hook, but gently. I’m coming across to your position and will help you over.”

  With a sigh, Juliana did as she was told, and she wept with relief when her boots did indeed land on a solid piece of wooden board. Shock cooled her skin and she shook with it, hardly daring to believe she’d survived—more or less. When the pain from her wound reared its ugly head and she cried out from it, teetering madly on the plank while darkness flirted with her vision, the earl was there to wrap a steadying arm about her waist.

  “Job well done, Juliana,” he said into her ear. “You have made me proud and you have my utmost respect.” With tiny steps, he escorted her to the other side of the pit where his workers waited, all talking at once.

  Fuzzy with the hard-won praise and unsteady from blood loss, she collapsed to the floor. She put a hand in her pocket, and then she withdrew the jewel and pressed it into his fingers. “Heal Crispin with the Tears of God. He deserves to live.” She tried to concentrate on the earl’s face as it swam into her line of vision, but the effort was too much. “Tell him I...” What had she wished to say?

  With a little sigh, she fell into the blessed, quiet darkness where there was no more pain.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  November 15, 1822

  It had been six days since Crispin had walked out of that tomb in so much pain he couldn’t see straight. Six days since Archewyne had carried a near-dead Juliana from the tomb and all the way back to the expedition house. Six days since they’d both made the unanimous decision to use the Elixir of Life on her.

  He drummed the fingers of one hand on the arm of a chair while he sat taking tea in the drawing room. Lady Archewyne was having a lie down to bolster her strength for later. The children’s governess had taken them to one of the sites in Luxor for the day. As for the surgeon, he’d been preparing to visit the tomb, for the earl had engaged his services in examining the princess’ body before they removed it for safekeeping. While Archewyne himself was in with Juliana, talking, for she’d finally woken from the restorative sleep she’d fallen into shortly after the few drops of God’s tears were put beneath her tongue.

  Crispin sipped at his tea. It was actually his second cup and neither had helped tame the anxiety skittering through his veins. He barely tasted the tepid Earl Grey as his mind revisited the events that had taken place shortly after they’d returned to Archewyne House where the men present had wrestled with Crispin to pop the shoulder once more back into place. The surgeon had told him to wear the sling for a few days, that no heavy lifting could occur for a month and to rest the arm as much as he could for the next two.

  Not the news he’d wanted to hear, yet at least he was alive.

  “Figure this out, Herrick,” Archewyne had said as he handed over the moonstone. Blood marred its once pristine surface. “She wished to use the contents on you.”

  “Why?”

  “Said you deserved to live.”

  “Damn foolish woman.” Crispin had fiddled with it while the surgeon had tended to Juliana. Eventually, after pressing on the jewel in a specific pattern, the top of the thing had popped off. Inside, was a tiny glass vial, sealed with a wax stopper. A clear liquid rested within, the vial half-filled. Was it truly the tears of God? He had no idea, but he rushed it into Juliana’s room all the same, for the surgeon had pronounced her nearly gone. She’d lost too much blood, and one of her kidneys had been hit.

  “What say you?” He’d held up the vial so Archewyne could see it.

  He’d shrugged. “Any help is better than none, and I’ve seen enough things during my tenure in the field that I won’t turn up my nose at this.”

  Despite the surgeon’s warnings, Crispin had encouraged her mouth open and poured the remainder of the liquid beneath her tongue. When he was satisfied she’d swallowed, he and Archewyne had compared stories, told the surgeon to rouse them both if her condition changed—he’d done his best to repair what damage he could and then stitched her up. They’d gone their separate ways: Archewyne to the tomb to organize a strong guard over the burial chamber as well as the second entrance, and Crispin had returned to his bed.

  The days had slid by with excruciating sluggishness. He was bloody useless at the tomb with only the one arm, but he went out with the earl anyway, for sitting at Juliana’s bedside made him crazy with worry, and she didn’t know he was there, so he left her to sleep in peace after the surgeon suggested she might heal faster without company to concentrate upon.

  The planks over the pit were reinforced and build up so that workers could come and go at will without fear. There was now a stout bridge across the chasm and against the wall, bolstered in the middle by ropes suspended by the scaffolding. In addition, a rope railing had been installed for ease of access and safety. While the men had brought out countless wonders from the tomb, the countess was in her element cataloguing some of the finds and treasures.

  And through it all, Crispin’s mind remained in that bedroom with the woman who’d turned his life upside down. He’d clung to faith she would pull through. The Staff of the Gods had had a power of its own, that much had been certain. Why couldn’t the alleged Tears of God work one last miracle?

  A discreet clearing of a masculine throat yanked Crispin from his thoughts. He shot to his feet the same time he set the teacup on a low table in front of him. “How is she?” he asked of the earl, his chest tight with worry. As soon as she’d woken, she’d asked for a bath and then to see the earl, which led to further supposition on his part.

  “Well. In fact, she’s asked for food and wasn’t best pleased when I ordered her to stay in bed for the remainder of the day.” Archewyne grinned. The gesture banished the lines of fatigue in his face. “I think we can assume the relic worked as intended.”

  “The surgeon examined her wound?” Crispin’s pulse pounded hard in worry. He wouldn’t believe it until he saw for himself.

  “Yes. She’s been healed. It’s as if the trauma never occurred.” The earl shrugged. “As I said, I’ve seen impossible things during my time as an agent. You accept them and move forward without question.”

  “I owe her my life,” Crispin said in a soft voice. His throat tightened with emotion, and he cleared it before speaking again. “And England owes her a debt.”

  “Quite right.” He tapped a finger against the leather folio in his hand. “I read her the contents of the report you wrote... the report wherein you gave her all the credit.” Co
njecture twinkled in his eyes.

  A trace of heat went up the back of Crispin’s neck. “It was true.”

  “Perhaps much of your account was, but I know you, and I suspect you played a supporting part, but I won’t ask you to rewrite the report.” He flashed a grin. “I’ve told her she will receive a commendation once she returns to London and presents herself to Lord Liverpool with a letter and my seal.”

  “I’m sure she appreciates the gesture.” Would that soothe her need for redemption within the network? He hoped so. She deserved peace.

  “No doubt. She accepted with grace and dignity, and though she received what I had to say with enthusiasm, I wasn’t the man she wants to see above all others.”

  Crispin’s heart skipped a beat and then thudded into normal rhythm once more. “Truly?”

  The earl snorted. “You’re not so stupid that you don’t know.” He attempted to appear stern, but he snickered and ruined the image. “I expect you to make an honest woman of her.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Crispin’s jaw gaped like a caught trout. “How did you know?”

  Archewyne rolled his eyes. “You’ve made a cake of yourself enough times over her. Anyone can see you’re far gone over the woman.”

  “But you frown upon agents marrying, especially to each other.”

  Was that a hint of a flush on the earl’s face? “I’m protecting England’s interests by keeping distractions low. I am also making certain you have the integrity to be both an agent and a husband.”

  With a chest tight with gratitude, Crispin extended a hand. “Protecting us all?” he asked in a quiet voice.

  “I am trying.” Archewyne shook his hand and promptly released him. “I feel compelled since we lost Rathesborne, to take a much different path than he did.” But he never lost his smile.

  “Well.” Crispin cleared his throat and pulled himself up to his full height. “There is one mission I need to complete—convincing Juliana we’re meant to be together.”

  “Best wishes. You deserve every good thing life has in store, my friend.” Archewyne clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m off to rouse my wife. Then I intend to show Emmy and the children, when they return, the wonders of the burial chamber before my team starts breaking it down.”

  A small gasp escaped him. “You’re trusting them to go over the pit?”

  “How else will they learn to adventure for themselves unless I teach them?” The other man shrugged. “Besides, you’ve seen how sturdy the bridge is. Everything is safe enough. I want them to deal with fear if they should experience it.”

  “And your wife, in her... condition?” Crispin must have looked shocked, for Archewyne chuckled.

  “Learn this lesson before all others, Herrick. Your life will go easier for it. Strong women might drive us close to Bedlam at times, but they’re the backbone of who we are, and you’ll find no greater support. If we’re lucky, they’ll bear us stubborn children, but if offspring are not in your future plans, you’ll still have the woman. That is fortune enough, for she’ll be all the glory you could ever want.” He winked. “Don’t squander a day of it.”

  “I’ll endeavor not to.” Then another thought occurred. “Miles, what will we do about the knowledge of Moses in that tomb?”

  Archewyne scratched his fingers through his hair. “It is a conundrum, and one that will rock the foundation of Christianity.” He looked at Crispin. “I’ll have to think about it, but I do want our painter to record the reliefs.” Then he shrugged. “Even if I don’t take the whole story behind the tomb to the papers, that knowledge will eventually become public knowledge, especially with the reliefs you found at Hatshepsut’s mortuary temple.”

  “Perhaps that’s as it should be. People should come to their own decisions,” Crispin agreed. “No doubt it will make for sensational reading.”

  “Indeed.” Archewyne chuckled and shot him a rue grin. “Now, off you go.” The earl waved him onward. “Much to secure in the next few days.”

  “Yes.” Somewhat bemused and his thoughts scattered, Crispin went through the house until he reached Juliana’s door, which had been left open, for a maid had brought in a tray containing tea and a light snack. On his way inside the room, the surgeon was on his way out. “All is well?”

  “As far as I can see, she’s suffered no ill-effects... from anything. She’s quite hale and hearty.” The man shook his head while astonishment lit his eyes. “If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I wouldn’t have believed it.” Then he grinned. “Since my patient doesn’t need me any longer, I’m off to the tomb.”

  Once the surgeon left, Crispin softly closed the door behind him.

  “Juliana...”

  She was sitting up among a bevy of pillows while indulging in a light repast without care or decorum. The mosquito netting had been pulled aside and bound to the bedposts. The shutters at the windows were slatted upward to deflect the afternoon sun. “It’s about time you came to visit,” she said by way of greeting. Her still-damp blonde hair spilled around her shoulders, her cornflower blue eyes were clear of pain or worry and she had the air of one who had woken from a restorative sleep. Twin spots of color enlivened her ivory cheeks as she watched him.

  Heat rushed up his neck. “I was advised to leave you in peace while you healed.”

  “Yet you were never one to follow stupid orders.” Her huff of frustration ruffled the curls on her forehead. She patted the mattress next to her. “We need to talk.”

  “That we do.” What the devil would he say to her after so much had happened? But he crossed the room and then climbed onto the bed beside her. “How are you feeling?” Though her skin was pale, she appeared strong, and the lace-edged nightdress of lavender silk made it seem as if she’d just returned from a society event to lounge in bed.

  “Surprisingly jolly, all things considered.” Juliana gulped down the remainder of her tea and then set the cup on her tray, which she then moved to the bed stand. “Lord Archewyne has given me a commendation for bravery and valor.”

  “So I heard.” He smiled and remained where he was, though all he wished to do was take her into his arms and hold her, remind himself she was here and healed and that they had their whole lives ahead of them. “You must be thrilled.”

  “It is a relief to have everything over. To know that I’m not the failure I thought I was.” She turned to face him and there were shadows in her eyes. “Andrew is truly dead? He and the staff didn’t make a sudden, startling reappearance?”

  “As far as we know, he perished in the pit. There is no knowing how far down it goes, but once the tomb is cleared, we’ll send a team into it for investigative purposes.” And if they did find the Staff of the Gods, it would be shipped to England and stored for safekeeping wherever Lord Liverpool put the other relics of power agents had found. “You may rest easy knowing Lord Ramsay will never bother you again.”

  She nodded. “It’s horrible to say, but I’m glad he’s dead. That staff made him a terrible person, true, yet he was already well on his way to that before he had it, even if I understand his motive.”

  “Which reminds me, I need to ask Archewyne who will tell Lord Ramsay’s sister of his death.” That was a maudlin thought.

  “Perhaps I should do it when I return to London. It seems only fair.”

  “We’ll talk it over with him.” Crispin took up one of her hands and held it between his own. “You did well on your mission.” His heart constricted, and he forced a swallow into his tight throat. “No, it was more than that. I was amazed at your strength and forbearance. When I came into the passageway and saw you battling him on that rickety old board...” He shook his head. “Suffice it to say, I remain in awe of you, and any man who says you’re not fit for the King’s agents, I will land a facer.”

  “You needn’t rush to my defense every time a man looks oddly at me or makes an unkind remark. That will happen, for men are men, and life is long.” Her laughter washed over him like a balm and banished the rest of his
worries. “You’d suffer bruises all the time if that’s the case.” With her free hand, she danced her fingertips along the side of his face. “And I rather enjoy it when you aren’t beaten bloody.”

  The touch of her, the scent of her, the warmth she imparted all worked at his undoing. They’d both survived much, and he wanted to claim her as his before anything else occurred. “You saved my life.”

  “I did, twice over, actually. It seems that the Tears of God patched you up.” She ran her gaze over his person, which sent awareness sailing over his skin.

  “No. We used those on you. My shoulder is still weak but will fully heal in a month or so if I don’t use it heavily.” When her eyes rounded in shock, he rushed to explain. “Archewyne didn’t tell you?”

  “He did not.”

  “While I’m flattered you wished for me to use the relic, you needed it more. The decision was an easy one, and quite frankly, I’m glad, for I don’t know what I’d do if you’d left my life.” It was time to give her all of his heart and hope that she returned the gesture. He squeezed her fingers. “Sometimes, when two people are fated or destined for each other, love... happens. No matter what. No matter how. It just is.” He peered into her eyes and nearly lost himself to those cool blue pools.

  “What, exactly, are you trying to say, Your Grace?” she whispered, but a sly grin curved her lips.

  Perhaps there wasn’t a need for a flowery declaration, not after everything. “I love you. Have loved you for a while now. Marry me.”

  Tears sprang into her eyes. “Like a wildfire, what’s between us has burned hot and fast. Will it last?”

  He shrugged. “There’s only one way to find out, but deep down inside, I think you know the answer.”

  “We’ve already established that I’m something of a bad luck charm.” She attempted to pull her hand from his, and he held on.

  “Some men like dangerous women.” His grin was cheeky; he could feel it.

  An answering grin tugged at the corners of her mouth and she scooted closer to him on the bed, her free hand on his shoulder. “Some men are fools.”