Read Blood Rose Online

Authors: Sharon Page

Tags: #Fiction, #Erotica, #General

Blood Rose (9 page)

“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.

Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 35

Chapter Six
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, 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 Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 36

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 the Society’s books about a second door or about a key. Perhaps the lock wasn’t truly locked. She prayed that was so, but Swift tried it and it would not open. Serena seethed in frustration.

Lord Sommersby drew out a slim piece of metal and pushed Drake Swift aside. “Lock pick”

was all he said, and he slid it into the keyhole. He jiggled it and then she heard a “click.”

Suddenly Serena felt panic. She must get in there before Sommersby told her she could not.

She raced up to Drake Swift and put her hand on his hip. His hip was solid, lean, and a flame seemed to race through her blood at the touch. Swift glanced down at her, and she caught her breath at the desire in his eyes. A sudden battle waged behind his heated eyes. Would he grab her or send her back? Then he caught hold of her wrist and pulled her along with him.

The room was unlit, though Swift’s candle gave a circle of light. The anteroom they’d been in was an ill-fashioned domed space. Serena pulled away from Swift and spun in a circle, drinking in the room. Excitement surged. This room was rectangular—a large, carefully crafted vault below ground. It was fashioned of finished stone, and shelves lined the walls. There was a true floor of stone, each slab perfectly interlocked with the others. A simple table and chairs sat in the middle of the room. There was dust, though; fine brown silt seemed to cover everything. Serena supposed that modern vampires found little use for the journals of the past.

“So you were correct, little lark.”

Before she could answer Swift, Lord Sommersby ducked to cross the threshold. He let out his breath in a low whistle.

Now she had to be clever. She crossed to the shelves at the farthest corner of the room. The system used to arrange the books was obscure. It had taken her a long time to decode it from notes.

And it had been hard to keep the gentlemen of the Society distracted while she was trying to do it.

Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 37

They always had such meaningless tasks and errands for her.

Hesitantly Serena reached out and touched the leather binding of a book, but Sommersby moved immediately to her side. His torch threw light on the shelf. He bent, as though to study a volume in front of her, and he murmured by her ear, “You know how these are arranged? You’re a clever woman.”

“I am.” Agreeing seemed the best option. She drew out the book, bound in red leather and untitled. She lifted the cover. The ink had faded, the script was ornate, difficult to read, and the date was 1582. She slipped it back in and drew out the next. Writings on Elizabeth Bathory from 1700.

It confirmed what she’d expected. She put the Elizabeth Bathory book back into place and scanned the rest of the shelf.

“I was right.” She couldn’t help but let triumph creep in. “They aren’t organized by date or by author. They are organized by each vampire who tends the library—it is always men—in a system unique to him. Each librarian had a section. This book came in during the end of the last century, when the library was brought here.”

She knew exactly where she had to look, but Sommersby watched her every move. “You could look at the other shelves, my lord,” she suggested.

“But I have the light, Miss Lark. We should work together.”

Blast. Serena moved to the shelf she wanted, her heart pounding. Could she distract him in some way when she found the book? Or grab the one beside it and then slip out the one she really wanted?

“I’m going out for a moment.” It was Swift’s voice. Going out? Where? But she couldn’t worry about that now.

Serena counted back six books. It should be…It wasn’t. Her fingers trembled over the two books, and the slight gap between them. A book was missing. Vlad Dracul’s journal was gone!

She slid out the nearest work—a sheath of linen held with a slim ribbon. The paper had yellowed, the ink faded, but the Latin script was painstakingly beautiful. She would guess it to be a piece of a monastery manuscript—perhaps six centuries old. She held ancient history in her hand.

But it was not Vlad Dracul’s journal. It might be a phenomenally valuable book, but it was worthless to her. Had the journal merely been misplaced? Heart pounding, she pulled out book after book.

“Looking for a particular book?”

The book she held fell from her hand.

Lord Sommersby’s leather-clad knuckles stroked her cheek. “Easy, my dear.”

She wasn’t crying, but her breath was fast, almost beyond her control. Without Dracul’s journal, what could she use to coerce Ashcroft to give her the truth? How could it not be here? It was forbidden amongst vampires to take from this collection—

Really, what was she thinking? Vampires preyed on humans. They fought constantly for supremacy. As if they would obey the rules of the library!

“What book did you want, Miss Lark? Tell me.” Sommersby’s voice was soft, soothing.

What was she to do now? Here, in one of these books, could be information about her vampire father. But did she have the time to look at all the books? And she had no idea what to look for or where to start.

Serena drew away from Lord Sommersby’s touch and forced herself to sound calm. “I want to find the books from the time of my parents’ deaths,” she lied.

“Miss Lark.” He cupped her chin. She obeyed the command of his long, elegant fingers and met his gaze. His lips were just a hairsbreadth from hers. Warm, promising safety, promising escape from failure and from the damned constant fight to learn who she was.

Blood Rose ©Sharon Page 2007 Email: [email protected] 38

Serena arched up on her toes, seeking him. Her lips touched his. Heat. Sparks. Pleasure. His mouth opened and hers followed. His tongue teased—coaxing hers into play. She dueled with his tongue as he plunged it deliciously into her mouth, a promise of so much more…

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