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 ahead. “I’ve reached the end,” Drake Swift called back. “It opens into a larger room. A vaulted room.”
The dirt and grit bit into Serena bare knees as she crawled, and Lord Sommersby’s powerful arms bumped her rear end since he could move much faster than she. His lordship’s apologies made her ache to laugh. Finally Draft Swift reached for her arms, locked his strong hands on hers, and helped her forward. With a reassuring wink, he set her to her feet. Foolish to feel such triumph over conquering a tunnel, over Swift’s approval of her courage.
Mr. Swift’s candle threw light on the circular space surrounding them, revealing stone blocks, oozing muck, and several shadowy doorways. Swift immediately went to the nearest arched wooden door set into the stone wall. “How do I open the lock, sweetheart?”
“Miss Lark,” Sommersby corrected through gritted teeth.
They were facing danger and arguing over endearments. “It is a special type of lock, gentlemen. It contains a barrel-type device, with numbers that must be lined up to a pin for the pin to slide free.”
“Let me, Swift.” Sommersby handed Serena the candle and moved to take his partner’s place.
“I can line up a few numbers, Sommersby,” Swift snapped. “What are they, Miss Lark?”
“1, 3, 7, and 9, sir,” she said. At least, those were the numbers recorded in a vampire hunter’s journal.
Swift’s fingers turned the numbers slowly. From the side, she saw him struggle with the old lock. Her heart sank as he tried to pull the lock apart. “It doesn’t work,” she breathed.
“A moment, Miss Lark.” He pulled again, harder. With a reluctant creak, the lock opened. She’d been correct! She’d solved an ancient puzzle and found something no other vampire hunter had done.
Swift peered around the door. “There’s another door, Miss Lark. With a padlock.”
“There can’t be!” She hoisted her robe and ran around to look. But it was—a padlock that required a key. Her shoulders sagged in despair. She hadn’t read anything in any of
