An Unexpected Earl (Lords of the Armory #2) - Anna Harrington Page 0,108

as before. Smoke from the same incense pots, cigars, and hookah pipes saturated the ruins, the same exotic music pulsed against the stone walls. Drink flowed into golden goblets just as quickly, and disappeared down throats just as fast. The women were there, too, wearing the same flimsy costumes as they danced or draped themselves over the laps of the members.

Pearce didn’t give a damn about any of it as he slipped past, except that it had allowed the men of the Armory to take their positions inside without being noticed. Only when he reached the dark passageway that led down to the river did he pause. Trusting that no one in the room cared what he did here, he removed a lantern from its hook and started down the tunnel.

With his left hand holding up the lantern to light his way and his right hand beneath his coat on a loaded pistol, he moved carefully down the sloping tunnel in the shadows, expecting a guard to appear out of the darkness at any moment. But none materialized, the passage remaining empty.

When he reached the wooden door that barred his way, he paused to glance over his shoulder. He was alone in the tunnel. No movement, no sound. Not even muffled noise and lingering smoke from the party above. Only the dank, damp, and musty stench of the polluted river splashing quietly beyond the door.

He said a silent prayer and reached for the door handle, prepared to shoot the damn lock open if necessary. But the rusty handle gave way with a faint, metallic groan. He shoved it open just far enough to let himself into the darkness on the other side, then pushed it closed behind him.

Hanging the lantern from the door handle, he took a step toward the stone sarcophagus, and his boot sank into filthy water up to his ankle. The river had risen from the day’s rain and overflowed its culvert, flooding up onto the stone ledge.

Christ! He ran to the sarcophagus, afraid that it had filled with water. The lid rested in place, but a half-inch crack had been left open at the top to let in air.

“Amelia!” His pulse pounded with dread as icy cold as the water that had surely seeped through the porous stone.

Silence.

“Amelia, can you hear me?” Panic surged through him like an electric jolt. Was he wrong? Had Arthur Varnham hidden her someplace else? “Please, Amelia, answer me!”

If the bastard had hurt her, he’d rip the man apart limb by limb with—

“Brandon.” The breathless whisper came so softly that he barely heard it over the rushing river. But her fingertips reached out tentatively through the slit between the stone lid and the case.

“I’m here, darling.” With a strangled sound of relief, he grabbed her fingertips to reassure her that she was going to be all right. Dear God, she was cold as ice! “You’re safe. I’m going to get you out of there.”

Heart-wrenching sobs echoed from inside the stone box. Choking and guttural sounds, as if she couldn’t catch her breath between cries. Each one clawed at him in agony for her.

“You’re safe, my love,” he repeated to reassure her. “But I need you to pull your fingers back down inside, all right?”

When she didn’t let go, he reluctantly released her, only for a muffled scream to tear from the coffin. Her fingers stretched into the air as far as possible, desperately reaching for him.

“Don’t leave me!” Her voice was raw from hours of screaming for help in the black darkness, now little more than a hoarse rasp of terror. “You promised—you promised you wouldn’t ever leave again!”

Guilt slammed through him, and he grabbed again for her fingers to calm her. “I’m not going anywhere.” He leaned over the sarcophagus to try to look inside, only to see nothing but blackness. He lowered his mouth close to the gap and promised, “I’m not leaving here without you. But you have to pull your hands down so that I can move the lid out of the way. I don’t want to risk pinching your fingers against the stone.”

“Then keep—keep talking to me,” she begged, sobbing loudly in hysteria. “Let me hear your voice—let me know you’re still there.”

“All right. What should I talk about?” He forced himself to keep his voice calm, despite the rising panic. They were running out of time. “About that day we went exploring along the river in Birmingham and got caught in the storm? Or when