A Royal Wedding. Trish Morey
‘May I?’ she said, with no more than a glance in his direction, unwilling to take her eyes from this precious discovery for more than a second lest it disappear in a puff of smoke. She should wait until they’d brought the package back to the castle and she had the right lighting and the right conditions. She should wait until she had her tools by her side.
She should wait.
Except that she couldn’t.
Adrenaline coursed through her. She had to look. She had to see. So she slipped her arms from her backpack and pulled a new pair of gloves from the pocket where she kept them and drew them on, fingers almost shaking with excitement. Calm down. She heard the Professor’s voice in her head, heeded it, and willed herself to slow down. To breathe.
She knew what she was looking for. She’d studied what little remained of the Salus Totus. She knew the language and the artwork. She knew what inks the artists had used and how they’d been sourced, and she knew what animal’s skin had gone to make the parchment. And nothing on this earth—nothing—was more important to her than the thrill of seeing what could be those missing pages and seeing them now.
With gloved hands she gently prised the clasp open and pulled back the leather wrapping, folded like an envelope around the treasure within.
A blank page met her hungry eyes, but the bubble of disappointment was happily pricked in the knowledge that, whatever their purpose, whoever had taken these pages had realised they needed some form of protection.
She took a steadying breath. A big one. Gingerly, she lifted the cover sheet and moved it to one side.
And what little breath she had left was knocked clear out of her lungs.
Colour leapt from the page—vivid reds, intense blues, yellows that ranged from freshly picked corn to burnished gold. And even in the flicker of torchlight the quill strokes of another age stood out clear and bold, the Latin text as fresh as the day it had been written, although it was clear the parchment itself was old, despite being in amazing condition.
Her eyes drank in the details. The similarities to the remnants of the Salus Totus were unmistakable. And tears sprang to her eyes. Whether authentic or a cleverly crafted fraud, it was a thing of beauty.
‘Well? Do you think it’s what you’re looking for?’
She jumped and swiped at her eyes, suddenly embarrassed at the unexpected display of emotion. She’d been so absorbed she’d forgotten completely there was anyone else present.
And the last thing she wanted was for this man to see her shed tears. So she turned away and delved through her backpack again, pulling out one of the acid-free boxes she’d packed, thankful for the excuse to have something to do so that she didn’t have to look at him.
‘I don’t know. I have to get it back to the castle. Do you have somewhere I can use as a study?’ Reluctantly she replaced the protective cover over the page and refolded the bundle before slipping it into the slim box. She had to get it back before she was tempted to look at the next page, and then the next. She could prove nothing down here but her insatiable curiosity.
When finally she did look up, wondering why he hadn’t responded, his features looked strained, a flicker of inner torment paining his eyes. But then he merely nodded and said through gritted teeth, ‘I’ll take you there now.’
He said nothing as he led the way back to the castle along the twisted passages and for that she was grateful. Her blood was alive and sparking with possibilities. Her mind was already processing the little she’d seen and working through the steps she’d take once she got the package back somewhere with decent lighting and her tools.
And as for her other senses? They seemed one hundred percent preoccupied with the Count. That damned evocative scent teased her at every turn, the fluid movement of his limbs was like a magnet for her eyes, and then there was his shadow, looming menacingly against the wall …
She swallowed. He was so big he dwarfed her. He was powerful and dangerous and he was angry, and he’d made it clear he didn’t want her here. He should frighten her. That would make sense. But instead she felt something no less primal and every bit more confusing.
Because he excited her on a level so deep she’d never known it existed. He caused a quickening of her heart and an ache in her breasts and made her wonder what he’d have tasted like if he’d kissed her back there …
Madness, she decided. He’d done the right thing in turning away. She didn’t want to kiss him. She was here to do a job. She didn’t need the complications.
Yet still she wondered …
Soon they were back in the castle, past the stone door and making their way up the winding stairs. There was space here, and light, though gloomy and thin. The sound of the wind was growing louder. She wondered if things might be different now they were above ground, not so strained and tense between them. And then a shutter banged somewhere and curtains fluttered on unseen draughts.
‘A storm is building,’ he told her over his shoulder. Unnecessarily, she thought. Given the setting and her dark companion, she would have been more surprised if a storm wasn’t building.
Then he did surprise her, by showing her into the room that was to be her office. It was remarkably well thought out. No external windows to let in draughts or damp. A large desk to spread her things out with lamps for extra lighting. A heater in one corner. A dehumidifier in another. She circled the room, stopped before the desk and nodded her appreciation as she took it all in.
‘Did the Professor give you a shopping list?’
She turned and took a step back and gasped, so surprised to find him within a metre of her that she took another involuntary step backwards against the desk, one hand reaching down to steady her, the other over her pounding heart, willing it to slow. So much for his impact being less intense above the ground. An aura surrounded him, a mantle of power and presence, and a scent that wove its way into her senses like a drug. So how exactly was she supposed to calm her racing heart?
His eyes glinted, his lips curving into the slightest smile, as if he was relishing her reaction. ‘You really think I would take chances with something potentially so precious?’ He nodded knowingly before she could reply. ‘But of course, you do. You thought I was irresponsible to leave it in the caves, didn’t you? In the place that had harboured it safely for perhaps hundreds of years.’
She licked her lips, regretting the gesture immediately when his scent turned to taste on her lips. Regretting it more when she saw his eyes follow the sweep of her tongue.
‘I’ll admit it,’ she said, trying to get a foothold on the conversation and justify her position. Because she had thought exactly that. Until she’d felt the air down there and realised it was probably the reason why the pages were in such good condition. ‘It did seem a trifle reckless, at least—’
‘Reckless? ‘ he repeated, jumping on the word, his eyes gleaming, refusing to let hers go. ‘I take it you’re not a fan of being reckless, Ms Hunter?’
‘No, but—’
‘But you make exceptions?’
‘No! That wasn’t what I was going to say at all.’
His eyes gleamed, searching hers with a heated intensity that left her breathless, until with a blink they cooled and flicked towards his wristwatch and then at the door, as if he had somewhere he had to be. ‘No. You really don’t seem the type. And now I shall leave you. Anything else you need, Bruno will see to it for you.’
Right now she could uncharacteristically do with a stiff drink, though she’d quite happily settle for tea. She was still strangely stinging from that ‘you really don’t seem the type’, and she wasn’t even sure why. She’d never been reckless in her entire life. She’d been too driven, so focused on what she wanted that even her friends at university had affectionately labelled her a nerd.