Blood Rose. Sharon Page
legs splayed, her body instinctively pushing against Sommersby’s erection, the long, unyielding ridge of it. Mr. Swift pressed against her, his lips on her neck. She was book-ended by their massive erections!
Time stopped, and when his lordship drew away, when Drake stepped back, they left her spellbound.
The door closed with a click and reality roared in. The vampire had returned to his lover. They were alone again. Serena’s lips yearned for another kiss. She ached everywhere—mouth, nipples, quim. Her thighs were slick with her juices, her nipples taut.
But her goal was so close. “Downstairs,” she insisted.
Mr. Swift went first. She heard the creak of the stair treads. Taking a deep breath, she followed, and the narrow stairway seemed to close in on her as she descended. Only the faintest glimmer of light showed at the very top—a touch of moonlight that turned Mr. Swift’s hair to silver and shimmered along the folds of his black cape.
“Is this library worth the risk, Miss Lark?” Lord Sommersby growled. He filled the stairwell behind her. She was trapped between the two of them—cocky scoundrel Mr. Swift ahead and the dangerous, guarded, taciturn Earl of Sommersby behind.
Her slippers trod on the worn stairs, but she felt the warmth of his lordship’s breath. She felt the brush of his hand against hers on the wall as they descended. “Knowing the truth is worth any risk, my lord.”
“Is revenge worth so much risk?” His voice was low, authoritative.
Serena shivered—she was going to have a devil of a time sneaking Vlad Dracul’s journal from under the nose of this perceptive man.
“I need to know. I have to know.” She couldn’t tell him the truth, but she wanted to make him understand. “I want to know how my parents died. I want to know who killed them. I—” Her voice faltered. “I barely know anything about them.” That much was the truth. She knew nothing about who her parents really were. All she knew were Ashcroft’s lies.
“How could you not know? Who raised you?”
Madness, but she wanted to confide in him. She had to be careful. “I was raised in a noble house—but turned out at sixteen. The lady of the house, Mrs. Bridgewater, she did not like me.” An understatement! “I became a governess, and then Lord Ashcroft communicated with me, and brought me to London.”
A light was struck—it flared. Then the spherical glow of a candle filled the space. It meant Drake Swift was at the bottom of the stairs. Swift leaned in the narrow doorway, the candlelight lit the silver stars on the glossy paint of his mask. “All clear.”
But Lord Sommersby touched her elbow lightly, and her step faltered.
“And the master or mistress of this house told you nothing?” Sommersby asked.
“They told me a story, a lie. I didn’t know vampires killed my parents until Lord Ashcroft told me. Mrs. Bridgewater died of illness two years after I’d left; her husband perished in a carriage accident soon after. And Lord Ashcroft refuses to answer my questions.”
“He felt it was better that you did not know.”
“And that is not his decision to make,” she retorted. She lifted the trailing hem of her robe and darted down the last steps. She didn’t want to answer any more questions. Her slipper touched wet, dank ground. She’d reached the bottom. The entrance to the tunnels was arched and low—she had to duck, and she held the stone wall to support herself. The cold wrapped around her, and a shiver raced down her spine. Drake Swift’s candle lit the tunnels—there was no other light, of course. Vampires did not need light. The space opened up both ways. “To the right,” she said.
Drake Swift grinned in the light that spilled from the candle—it threw flickering shadows on the arched stone walls, the dirt and flag floor.
“What’s that?” She grabbed Mr. Swift’s arm. It sounded as though a wave was bearing down upon them. Could it be a change in the level of the Thames—could the tunnels flood?
“You can hear the river,” Lord Sommersby said. “The sound of it will travel through the tunnels and will be distorted. There’s nothing to fear.” The coolness of his voice did not relieve her any, but Serena was determined not to show any fear. She waited as Lord Sommersby lit a small torch from Drake Swift’s candle. Unfortunately the light was a warning to vampires. It made them targets, but there was nothing they could do. They needed light.
“To the right, you said.” Swift flicked his arm, drew out a stake. His wicked chuckle sent another shiver down Serena’s spine.
“Don’t take mad risks,” she warned.
“Of course not, little lark. I intend to return for you.” And with an audacious wink, Drake Swift strode ahead.
6
Discovery
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