Читать книгу Blood Rose - Sharon Page - Страница 10

Serena found herself alone again with Lord Sommersby, dark and lethal and radiating impatient anger behind his dark blue mask. He appeared more likely to throttle her now than sweep her into a kiss. She couldn’t help but smile—Sommersby was obviously not pleased she had forced him to bring her down here.

His lordship lifted the torch, and Serena heard the scurry of rats as the light drove them back into the shadows. She fought the senseless urge to scream. Then Lord Sommersby caught hold of her hand, sliding his fingers between hers.

Warmth flooded through her body at the touch—innocent, reassuring, but so intimate it seared her soul.

A touch like this had led to heartbreak. To a lost child. Guiltily, she remembered holding hands this way with William Bridgewater—when he was leading her to bed, or a blanket, or a stone wall, or oak tree—wherever he planned to make love to her. She’d been a fool, imagining that this gesture expressed deep love.

She was not going to be a fool again. And the library was so close—she was so close. She let go of his lordship’s fingers to run ahead.

“Have a care, Miss Lark,” Sommersby snapped. With his long strides, he outdistanced her, putting himself in front, and he took hold of her wrist. Serena rolled her eyes behind his broad back, but she followed, because in a few yards he would be waiting on her word.

As she’d known he would, his lordship slowed his pace as he reached Mr. Swift, who held his candle up to throw light on the fork in the tunnel.

“We take the one on the right,” she whispered with confidence. “We must go about fifty yards—we will pass three other tunnels. There is a fourth—it is so small it will not appear to be a tunnel. Not a proper one.”

Neither man spoke, but they followed her directions. Drake Swift approached the other three tunnels to take a glance down, but they passed them quickly and found the next one. It was right beside a larger offshoot, and Serena imagined that was planned for confusion.

She pointed to the opening that was barely three feet wide and about waist height off the ground. “That one.”

Mr. Swift drew down his mask and twisted it around his neck so it dangled down his back by the ties and revealed his grimace. “We’re going to have to crawl.”

The thought revolted her, but she knew she couldn’t turn back. She nodded. She had to admit she was impressed as Swift hoisted himself in the tiny opening without hesitation. How could he be so fearless?

As Lord Sommersby lifted her by the waist, she bit back a laugh. There was no way she could go from his arms to that tunnel in a ladylike way. “Will you fit in there?” she asked. She did wonder.

“I must—and pray I don’t get stuck.” She saw his lordship’s firm lips crank into a small smile. What a bizarre man—the two things to make him laugh were kissing her and the threat of being stuck in a tunnel in a sewer.

Serena tentatively put her knee forward. There was no other way to get through but to hike up her robe and scramble on bare knees. Candlelight glowed from ahead. “I’ve reached the end,” Drake Swift called back. “It opens into a larger room. A vaulted room.”

The dirt and grit bit into Serena bare knees as she crawled, and Lord Sommersby’s powerful arms bumped her rear end since he could move much faster than she. His lordship’s apologies made her ache to laugh. Finally Draft Swift reached for her arms, locked his strong hands on hers, and helped her forward. With a reassuring wink, he set her to her feet. Foolish to feel such triumph over conquering a tunnel, over Swift’s approval of her courage.

Mr. Swift’s candle threw light on the circular space surrounding them, revealing stone blocks, oozing muck, and several shadowy doorways. Swift immediately went to the nearest arched wooden door set into the stone wall. “How do I open the lock, sweetheart?”

“Miss Lark,” Sommersby corrected through gritted teeth.

They were facing danger and arguing over endearments. “It is a special type of lock, gentlemen. It contains a barrel-type device, with numbers that must be lined up to a pin for the pin to slide free.”

“Let me, Swift.” Sommersby handed Serena the candle and moved to take his partner’s place.

“I can line up a few numbers, Sommersby,” Swift snapped. “What are they, Miss Lark?”

“1, 3, 7, and 9, sir,” she said. At least, those were the numbers recorded in a vampire hunter’s journal.

Swift’s fingers turned the numbers slowly. From the side, she saw him struggle with the old lock. Her heart sank as he tried to pull the lock apart. “It doesn’t work,” she breathed.

“A moment, Miss Lark.” He pulled again, harder. With a reluctant creak, the lock opened. She’d been correct! She’d solved an ancient puzzle and found something no other vampire hunter had done.

Swift peered around the door. “There’s another door, Miss Lark. With a padlock.”

“There can’t be!” She hoisted her robe and ran around to look. But it was—a padlock that required a key. Her shoulders sagged in despair. She hadn’t read anything in any of the Society’s books about a second door or about a key. Perhaps the lock wasn’t truly locked. She prayed that was so, but Swift tried it and it would not open. Serena seethed in frustration.

Lord Sommersby drew out a slim piece of metal and pushed Drake Swift aside. “Lock pick” was all he said, and he slid it into the keyhole. He jiggled it and then she heard a “click.”

Suddenly Serena felt panic. She must get in there before Sommersby told her she could not. She raced up to Drake Swift and put her hand on his hip. His hip was solid, lean, and a flame seemed to race through her blood at the touch. Swift glanced down at her, and she caught her breath at the desire in his eyes. A sudden battle waged behind his heated eyes. Would he grab her or send her back? Then he caught hold of her wrist and pulled her along with him.

The room was unlit, though Swift’s candle gave a circle of light. The anteroom they’d been in was an ill-fashioned domed space. Serena pulled away from Swift and spun in a circle, drinking in the room. Excitement surged. This room was rectangular—a large, carefully crafted vault below ground. It was fashioned of finished stone, and shelves lined the walls. There was a true floor of stone, each slab perfectly interlocked with the others. A simple table and chairs sat in the middle of the room. There was dust, though; fine brown silt seemed to cover everything. Serena supposed that modern vampires found little use for the journals of the past.

“So you were correct, little lark.”

Before she could answer Swift, Lord Sommersby ducked to cross the threshold. He let out his breath in a low whistle.

Now she had to be clever. She crossed to the shelves at the farthest corner of the room. The system used to arrange the books was obscure. It had taken her a long time to decode it from notes. And it had been hard to keep the gentlemen of the Society distracted while she was trying to do it. They always had such meaningless tasks and errands for her.

Hesitantly Serena reached out and touched the leather binding of a book, but Sommersby moved immediately to her side. His torch threw light on the shelf. He bent, as though to study a volume in front of her, and he murmured by her ear, “You know how these are arranged? You’re a clever woman.”

“I am.” Agreeing seemed the best option. She drew out the book, bound in red leather and untitled. She lifted the cover. The ink had faded, the script was ornate, difficult to read, and the date was 1582. She slipped it back in and drew out the next. Writings on Elizabeth Bathory from 1700.

It confirmed what she’d expected. She put the Elizabeth Bathory book back into place and scanned the rest of the shelf.

“I was right.” She couldn’t help but let triumph creep in. “They aren’t organized by date or by author. They are organized by each vampire who tends the library—it is always men—in a system unique to him. Each librarian had a section. This book came in during the end of the last century, when the library was brought here.”

She knew exactly where she had to look, but Sommersby watched her every move. “You could look at the other shelves, my lord,” she suggested.

“But I have the light, Miss Lark. We should work together.”

Blast. Serena moved to the shelf she wanted, her heart pounding. Could she distract him in some way when she found the book? Or grab the one beside it and then slip out the one she really wanted?

“I’m going out for a moment.” It was Swift’s voice. Going out? Where? But she couldn’t worry about that now.

Serena counted back six books. It should be…it wasn’t. Her fingers trembled over the two books and the slight gap between them. A book was missing. Vlad Dracul’s journal was gone!

She slid out the nearest work—a sheath of linen held with a slim ribbon. The paper had yellowed, the ink faded, but the Latin script was painstakingly beautiful. She would guess it to be a piece of a monastery manuscript—perhaps six centuries old. She held ancient history in her hand.

But it was not Vlad Dracul’s journal. It might be a phenomenally valuable book, but it was worthless to her. Had the journal merely been misplaced? Heart pounding, she pulled out book after book.

“Looking for a particular book?”

The book she held fell from her hand.

Lord Sommersby’s leather-clad knuckles stroked her cheek. “Easy, my dear.”

She wasn’t crying, but her breath was fast, almost beyond her control. Without Dracul’s journal, what could she use to coerce Ashcroft to give her the truth? How could it not be here? It was forbidden amongst vampires to take from this collection—

Really, what was she thinking? Vampires preyed on humans. They fought constantly for supremacy. As if they would obey the rules of the library!

“What book did you want, Miss Lark? Tell me.” Sommersby’s voice was soft, soothing.

What was she to do now? Here, in one of these books, could be information about her vampire father. But did she have the time to look at all the books? And she had no idea what to look for or where to start.

Serena drew away from Lord Sommersby’s touch and forced herself to sound calm. “I want to find the books from the time of my parents’ deaths,” she lied.

“Miss Lark.” He cupped her chin. She obeyed the command of his long, elegant fingers and met his gaze. His lips were just a hairbreadth from hers. Warm, promising safety, promising escape from failure and from the damned constant fight to learn who she was.

Serena arched up on her toes, seeking him. Her lips touched his. Heat. Sparks. Pleasure. His mouth opened and hers followed. His tongue teased—coaxing hers into play. She dueled with his tongue as he plunged it deliciously into her mouth, a promise of so much more…Her fingers closed around the earl’s strong arms. All she wanted to do was kiss him. His mouth on hers was so erotic. Her heart beat in her throat.

She’d failed, she’d almost lost her life on this gamble, and all she wanted to do was kiss his lordship. She wanted to melt into Sommersby’s powerful embrace, lay her hands on his massive chest, and kiss him until she forgot everything.

What was wrong with her? How could she be so wanton?

His lordship’s hands encircled her waist…but his mouth eased back, breaking the contact—

“Vampires!” Drake Swift leaned into the doorway, his silver-blond hair wild around his face.

Serena almost fell back against the books as Sommersby pulled away from her.

She grabbed at the shelf—a few volumes tumbled to the floor around her feet. She glanced down—one book had fallen open over her slipper. On the cover was one embossed word. Lukos.

She bent and grabbed it.

“Hell.” Sommersby scooped his arm around her waist and hauled her up. He lifted her over the fallen books.

Struggling, she tried to break free of his grip. “I can’t go. Not yet! There might be something here.”

But Sommersby carried her back to the anteroom—their only way out.

A vampire was climbing out of the small tunnel. Serena saw the vampire’s face, the mouth open wide, fangs pale white. The vampire and Drake Swift met in a crash—Swift’s arm plunged as the vampire’s teeth latched to his already-wounded neck. With an unearthly shriek, the black-clad vampire dropped to the ground.

“There’s more coming,” Swift yelled. “And we’ve got no way out of here.”

“There is a way,” Serena cried. “The first door leads to the tunnel, but it goes to the Thames—”

Swift raced to the door. “Blast! Forgot there’s numbers.” But the lock opened in his hand as he dragged his fingers away. “It’s unlocked.”

Unlocked? Someone had gone through before them, but Serena raced headlong after Mr. Swift into the room, not caring what she found. Lord Sommersby, on her heels, grasped her shoulder. “Stay at my side, Miss Lark.” As he propelled her forward, she held tight to the book in her hand, her fingernails driving into the leather cover. Mr. Swift ran out ahead, his candle throwing a glow on the masonry walls, on the damp floor. “Where do we go from here?” he called back. “The Thames?”

Serena’s lungs dragged in air as they ran. Her feet slapped painfully on the wet, rough floor. “T-there’s no other way.”

“Is there any fork in the tunnels at all? Even a dead end?”

Serena managed an astonished stare at Lord Sommersby. “There might be…. There is a church above with…with some catacombs.” She panted the words out. If it weren’t for Sommersby’s grip on her arm she would have fallen into the muck. Her knees ached from the crawl. Her slippers slid sloppily on her feet as she tried to keep running.

“Can you find the catacombs?” his lordship demanded.

“But then what?”

“We double back, Miss Lark,” he answered. “And go back through the brothel.”