Page 20 of A Scandal In July
Lenore placed her hand on his arm, distressed by the sudden bleak look his eyes. “If they did, then I’m glad. Who would have given Gordon Burton a lesson in manners if you hadn’t made it back from France?”
His eyes flashed at the implication that didn’t wish his demise, and he smiled again. Her spirits soared.
She dropped her hand, and they moved into what was clearly the oldest part of the castle.
“The wine cellar wasn’t originally built for wine,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “It used to be the dungeons.”
He pushed open a heavy oak door studded with iron spikes, and a blast of cool air from below raised goosebumps on her arms.
Rhys took one of the lanterns that were hanging on a hook on the wall, lit it with a tinderbox he produced from his jacket pocket, and held it high.
The steps led down to a dark hallway lined with a row of cells, each with a metal grille set in the door and a tiny, barred window near the ceiling to let in a little fresh air and sunlight. Lenore shivered, clearly able to imagine how miserable it would have been to be locked up somewhere so inhospitable.
“Now, instead of storing Montgomery hostages down here,” Rhys said, a laugh in his voice, “—these cool, dank conditions are perfect for storing wine.”
The cellar opened out into a vast space, far larger than the feeble circle of light cast by the lamp, and Lenore sucked in an impressed breath.
A network of arched, vaulted stone was supported by a series of thick pillars, and between the pillars were rows upon rows ofwine bottles, all stacked in tall, latticed shelves, stretching out into the darkness as far as she could see.
“That is alotof wine,” she breathed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much in one place. This is ten times bigger than the cellar at Newstead.”
“Well, we Davies have always been fond of a tipple, historically. If the family annals are to be believed, we had one ancestor who was known as Owen the Unsteady, thanks to his love of the grape. But this isn’t all to be drunk. Not yet, anyway. Most of it’s been bought as an investment.”
Lenore did some swift mental calculation. “This must be worth a fortune!”
His lips twitched at her obvious astonishment—and at her inability to disguise her unseemly curiosity.
“It is,” he said mildly.
Lenore frowned. She’d known the Davies weren’t badly off; certainly, they were richer than her Montgomery relatives, who’d only been saved from penury a few years ago by the fortuitous discovery of the gold seam that stretched across their jointly-held lands.
But while the income from the mine was steady, it certainly wasn’t enough to fund this level of extravagance. Were the Dastardly Davies living up to their name and takingmorethan their fair share of half the profits?
“Did your family buy all this with money from the gold mine?”
Rhys grinned, as if fully aware of her suspicions. “No. We have a few other sources of income. Even ones that don’t include pillaging with our pitchforks.”
He clearly wasn’t going to say any more on the subject, and while Lenore was desperate to interrogate him, it would be the height of rudeness to pry into his financial affairs.
Besides, this probably all belonged to his older brother Gryff, as the Earl of Powys. As far as she could tell, since he’d left the army, Rhys had no profession, except semi-professional brawler and general libertine-about-town.
If she was a sensible woman, she’d have made sure to fall in love with a man like the Duke of Andover, who possessed both money and a lofty title. Instead, she was hopelessly drawn to Rhys. A handsome second son with neither title nor fortune to his name.
Shakespeare was right when he said that ‘reason and love keep little company together.’
Unaware of her inner turmoil, Rhys stepped up to read the labels on some of the dust-covered bottles that lay stored on their side, each with the cork facing outward.
“Not a good year, that one. Here, take this.”
He thrust the lantern forward and she took it automatically, then followed in his wake as he strode off into the gloom as confidently as a cat in the dark.
The rows of racking passed by in a blur, the lantern light glinting off the glass bottles as they followed one long row to the end, then turned a corner and followed another section deeper into the shadows.
Lenore’s heart was pounding at the slightly oppressive sensation of the thousands of bottles looming around her. She felt like Theseus, sneaking through the corridors of the labyrinth, terrified of turning a corner and encountering the minotaur. She hoped Rhys wasn’t getting them lost.
He finally stopped and she skidded to a stop next to him, peering around to see if they’d finally found one of the elusive flags.
Instead, he pulled two bottles from the shelves, and held them up to her.