Page 43 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)

L ucius crashed through the entryway door of Perlsea, frantic to find Meredith. “Verity.”

The portly butler hurried into the vestibule. “Oh, sir. Your wife—”

“My wife—”

Their simultaneous words echoed in the vast hall. Lucius inhaled a harsh breath and let it out slowly. “Go on, Verity.”

The butler drew in his own breath. “Lady Pender is visiting the wine cellar, my lord.”

“What the devil? Where is the wine cellar?” he asked appalled that he had no idea where his own cellar was.

“A part of the old dungeons was converted many years ago. The stairwell leading down is near the steward’s office, m-my lord. It’s quite hazardous.”

Lucius tore off his greatcoat and tossed it to him.

“Lucius?” Docia was halfway down the grand staircase. “What’s going on?”

He strode past her without answering and took a short path through the dining hall.

Verity’s heels clicked on the polished planks hurrying behind him. “I tried discouraging her, sir, b-but she insisted on my l-leaving.”

“Unless she is lying dead. Verity, you are hereby excused of any wrongdoing. I know how elusive and stubborn my wife is. Find Ashcroft and send him to her sitting chamber,” he threw over his shoulder.

Lucius reached Ashcroft’s office but the stairwell door to the dungeons stood open.

A deep black hole beckoning—or repelling—one to unspeakable emotion.

A faint flicker of light danced from the depths below, a tremulous glow barely holding back the oppressive darkness.

His pulse quickened, unease pooling low in his stomach.

“Meredith?” His voice carried, harsh and sharp, into the still air.

No answer came, but the faint scuff of a footstep on stone drifted upward, easing his fear. The light grew stronger, its source drawing closer, until she emerged from the shadows.

Relief mixed with a jagged stab of frustration pierced him. He couldn’t decide whether to hurry down to kiss her or shake her.

She climbed the steps carefully, her head bowed as if the task required her full attention. The oil lamp in her hand cast a wavering halo of light, illuminating her pale face. Dust streaked her cheeks, and her other hand gripped her skirts tightly, keeping them from snagging on the rough stone.

“Meredith,” Lucius said, his voice tight, harder than he’d intended. “What in the devil’s name are you doing down there?”

She paused mid-step, lifting her chin, meeting his gaze. The faint sheen of sweat on her brow, the faint tremor in her fingers were details only someone watching closely would notice. Someone, being him.

“Thank God,” he breathed, and stepped down.

“Oh, Lucius.” Her words soft, almost fragile, pierced the fear encasing his heart.

She hurried up. Nearly reached him when she lost her footing or tripped on her skirts, the lamp flying from her hold as she tried to save herself with nothing to grasp onto.

The lamp crashed below and the oil caught fire lighting the stone stairwell.

His free hand shot out, catching her hand just as she lost the war with her balance. “I’ve got you, darling.” Fear trembled in his voice, but he managed to keep her steady until she regained her footing.

He dashed back down the stairs with his right hand on the wall. At the bottom, he tore off his frockcoat and threw it over the flames, then stomped on top of it. There was no telling how far a fire could spread even surrounded with stone steps and walls. The door to the cellar wasn’t stone.

Satisfied he’d averted disaster, he made his way back to the top, somehow having kept his temper in check.

By the time he reached the top his temper sharpened into something closer to rage. He spun her about, facing him. “Are you out of your senses?” The pain in his shoulder fled beneath his fury.

The hall’s low light revealed smudges of grime on her hands and the appalling apron she wore. The moss green of her eyes glittered with fury, excitement, uncertainty. “Oh, Lucius,” she whispered, and launched herself at him.

Instinctively, his one arm flew up and wrapped her. Two things hit him at once. His front side was besieged by bulges that did not belong and… He winced. “Not again.”

She slid down his body and his cock took on its own bulge.

Her spine straightened, her expression puzzled. “Oh, no. Your shoulder.”

His lips compressed.

“What were you doing down there? Alone.”

“I-I wasn’t alone,” she said softly, gesturing vaguely to the void behind her. “The ghosts of this place… they’re everywhere.”

Lucius clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to shake her in truth. “Ghosts don’t leave footprints,” he said tersely, his gaze flicking to the damp trail her shoes had left on the stones. “What did you find?”

Her hesitation was brief but telling. “A hidden compartment,” she said. “Hidden beneath an empty cask.”

A cold knot formed in his chest. “Compartment?” His voice dropped, his anger shifting to wary curiosity, his eyes going to the bulky pockets of her apron. “What did you find?”

Her eyes met his briefly before darting to the darkened stairwell. “I don’t know yet,” she admitted, her voice low. “I haven’t had a chance to look yet.”

He stepped closer, towering over her as his eyes bore into hers. “You shouldn’t have gone alone, Meredith,” he said, his voice tight with suppressed fury. “That was very dangerous.”

“I had to,” she said quietly, her arms hugging her waist. “Someone has to uncover what’s been hidden.”

The quiet conviction in her tone left him momentarily speechless. He could hardly argue her point in light of what he’d learned himself that day.

He glanced down the dark stairwell, the faint glow from the open door below barely touching the endless black. The air seemed heavier now, colder, as though the very stones were holding their breath.

“Verity,” he shouted.

The man stepped from around a corner. “Sir?”

“The oil lamp broke. Get someone to tend to it.”

“The broken brandy bottle too,” Meredith added. “And don’t forget to douse the sconces.”

“Broken brandy bottle?” Lucius inquired a little too calmly for the riotous emotions roiling through him.

Her skill at ignoring him was growing legendary, he decided, stuck between irritation and admiration.

“We best see to that shoulder.”

Whatever secrets the dungeons held, Lucius felt a grim certainty that they would not let go easily.