Page 52 of An Earl’s Sacrifice (The Clandestine Sapphire Society #3)
T he oppressive weight of the earth above pressed down on Lucius as he stepped deeper into the cavernous mine, the faint light of his lantern casting long shadows over the jagged rock walls.
Beside him, Ashcroft moved with the precision of a man driven, the map they’d followed clutched tightly in his hand.
Lucius’s stomach churned with unease. They were too close to something—something foul.
“What do you expect to find here?” Lucius murmured, his voice low.
Ashcroft didn’t answer immediately. His gaze flicked to a patch of disturbed earth ahead, then to a pit. A gaping maw carved into the mine’s floor. The stench grew stronger, sour and metallic, turning Lucius’s stomach. Ashcroft kneeled by the edge of the pit and pointed silently.
Lucius approached with a wary step. Light from his lantern fell over bodies piled within. His breath caught. Skeletal remains interspersed with fresher corpses. The sight of a man’s lifeless face, even in its decayed state, sent a jolt through him. “Who is it?” Lucius whispered.
“I suspect it’s Derwa Cardy’s husband.”
The name echoed in his mind, and with it, the weight of countless injustices. “How long ago?” he whispered.
Ashcroft’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Three years. Soon after your wife arrived and hired me. I-I suspected, but—” His voice broke.
Inside, guilt squeezed Lucius’s chest like a vise. “Any idea how many?”
“Too many. I believe some of those missing stewards might have found a new home here. Other miners. Anyone who threatened to talk.”
Lucius’s chest tightened. “What is Thornfield hiding?”
“The same thing Rathbourne is,” Ashcroft bit out.
Heavy footsteps echoed from the mine’s entrance. Lucius turned sharply, his hand instinctively going for his cane, again, sending a sharp pain through his shoulder. He ignored it.
Ashcroft lifted his torch.
The flame revealed Rathbourne and Thornfield descending an incline toward them, their expressions dark and foreboding.
“Couldn’t keep your nose out of it, could you, Pender?
” Rathbourne’s commanding and resonant tone bounded against the stone.
The sound carried the smooth authority of an orator.
He held his own lantern that made his eyes appear as empty sockets in the inadequate lighting.
“What you’ve uncovered here will do no one the least amount of good.
” His conversational rhythm failed to disguise an almost indiscernible tremor.
“This is my land, Rathbourne. Admittedly, I’ve been as neglectful as was my father, but I’m here now. My wife has grown fond of Perlsea. And, I’ve grown fond of my wife.”
Thornfield stepped into the light, closer to the pit as if daring Lucius to challenge him. “Have you any idea what you’ve stumbled upon?”
Lucius squared his shoulders, his fury boiling over. “This is murder, Thornfield. These people didn’t just disappear—they were buried here like refuse because of your greed. I want to know why?”
“Tell them,” Rathbourne instructed Thornfield. “They shan’t be leaving here alive.”
“Have you forgotten the terms of the betrothal agreement, Your Grace? If I die before my wife, she retains full ownership. Not you.”
Rathbourne’s harsh laughter echoed in the chamber as he backed away. “I can handle my daughter, Pender. I find her quite manageable.” He lifted his other hand, exposing a pistol, aiming for the rafters above the entrance from which Lucius and Ashcroft had emerged.
“Good God. He’s planning to bury us alive,” Ashcroft bit out.
“You’re quite right—” Rathbourne stopped, froze in place. “Dorian,” he breathed. “Impossible.”
“At your service, Your Grace.” Ashcroft stepped forward and whipped off his hat.
The duke clutched at his chest. “But… you… you ran.”
“I saw what you did. I watched you murder my mother,” Ashcroft snarled. The weight of years of pain seeped into his words. “I’ve spent every day since ensuring you’d pay for it.”
Dorian. The name echoed in Lucius’s mind. “The Marquess of Blackstone,” Lucius said, remembering.
Ashcroft, rather Blackstone, flashed a quick smile, his teeth gleaming against the torch he held. “At your service, my lord .”
Before Lucius could respond, more footsteps whispered on the stone floors, lighter but frantic. Lucius spun to see Harper emerge from the shadows, hauling— dear God —a struggling Meredith by the arm.
“It’s a trap, Lucius! It’s a trap—” she screamed.
A blast cut her words short and the low ceiling crumbled like wadded up foolscap and rained on her and her captor’s heads.
Terror like he’d never known spiraled through Lucius.
He dropped his torch and sprang forward, his world narrowed to the frantic beat of his heart and the suffocating dust filling his lungs.
His fingers tore at the rubble, rough rocks cutting into his skin as he dug desperately.
Each movement sent searing pain through his shoulder, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care.
“Meredith!” he choked, his voice raw with fear. Images of her still form beneath the debris flashed through his mind, just like the child he’d witnessed her carrying, threatening to paralyze him. No. She had to be alive. She had to be. He would know if she…
He cleared his mind and felt Blackstone beside him, digging just as frantically.
The weight of the collapsing mine pressed down on him, both physically and mentally.
Sweat mixed with the smell of blood assaulted him.
His muscles screamed in protest. His shoulder felt as if it might tear apart, but he pushed through, his nails scraping raw against unyielding stone.
The thought of losing her, of her being swallowed by this darkness, drove him to the edge of madness.
“Hold on,” he whispered, his voice cracking. The words were as much for him as for her. He refused to let her slip away. Not like this. Not here.
It seemed hours, but couldn’t have been but seconds, before his fingers brushed against fabric.
Relief surged through him, numbing the pain in his shoulder.
With a surge of renewed vigor, he dug faster uncovering her face as the dust settled.
Her features were pale, streaked with grime, but there was a faint rise and fall of her chest.
Alive. She was alive.
“Meredith,” he breathed, his voice trembling. His hands cradled her face, desperate to assure himself she was real. “Stay with me. Please.”
Blackstone’s voice rang out. “Harper—he’s dead.”
Lucius turned briefly, his gaze falling on Harper’s lifeless form, blood pooling from a gaping wound at his temple.
“We’ll have to leave by the main entrance,” Blackstone said. “Hurry, the whole place could collapse.”
Without time to waste, Lucius lifted Meredith and followed Blackstone’s lead. The late shift miners had gathered, mouths gaping.
“Get me a conveyance! And the doctor.” Lucius barked.
At the end of the line, a man he remembered as Trevorrow held Thornfield by the neck in an iron grip.
“Hang onto him, Trevorrow,” Lucius said. “He’s out and we’ll need a new Mine Agent.”
“You can count on me, milord.” Trevorrow spoke with great relish.
With a quick glance to Meredith, Lucius murmured, “Hang on, darling. We’ll be home in a thrice.
You’ll live to give me hell.” His voice was a promise he had every intention of seeing through.
He strode through the cavernous opening where it seemed the fresh air rushed in.
His steps grew more frantic for need until he burst outside.
“Bartlett?”
The footman looked dazed and was rubbing his head. He held two horses by their reins. His eyes dropped to Meredith. “Sorry, milord. ’Tis my fault. The man caught me unawares…”
“He was a sneaky bastard, Bartlett. Where’s the duke?”
“Ashcroft’s got ’em.” He pointed to a cart hitched to an old nag.
“Blackstone,” Lucius bit out. “He’s the Marquess of Blackstone.”
The duke stood hunched next to Blackstone, who had a grip on him similar to that Trevorrow had on Thornfield.
“I’ll walk him back to the Keep,” Blackstone said with a menacing smile. “We have much to discuss.”
Lucius gave a sharp nod then turned to Bartlett. “Tie the horses to the cart. Can you drive?”
“Aye, milord.”
Lucius laid Meredith gently in the back on blankets someone had generously provided and crawled in beside her. He rested her head in his lap to protect it from the bumpy ride home. “Let’s go.”