Kindred spirits, in some ways. She alone understood what it felt like to be betrayed by your flesh and blood, or the man you thought was such.
"Here," she said, stepping forward and brushing dust off his coat. "Dust looks like it's going to be the greatest danger here."
He'd been cautious as they entered, however. Lord Rathbourne liked his privacy and had once employed a host of wards and hidden tripwires to all manners of magical mayhem. Nothing of them seemed to remain. They'd faded into dust and air, along with their master. "Hopefully."
"Where would he hide the grimoire?"
"Not here." Lucien crossed to the bookshelf, tugging on some ancient play of Euripides. With a groan, the fireplace began to move.
"Hidden staircases?"
"It gets better. Lord Rathbourne was the sort of sorcerer who liked the darker practices. Anything that gave him power."
"Please tell me we're not going to find bodies down there."
"No. A skull or two, perhaps."
The grinding in the walls slowed. Lucien lifted the candle and waved it into the darkened tunnel.
"Suitably gothic." His proud, invulnerable Miss Martin looked like she was going to faint.
"Are you all right?" Lucien asked her.
Miss Martin let out a slow breath, her eyes darting around. "I'm fine. I'm just not... fond of small dark spaces."
Like attics. His heart actually clenched in his chest. He'd never have realized the cause behind such a weakness before their earlier conversation.
Hell, he actually wanted to draw her into his arms and curl her against his chest. "I have a candle," he promised, voice softening, "and I'll be here too."
Those dark eyes surveyed him, as if to gauge whether he was mocking her or not, and then she looked back down the narrow stone passage. A chill breeze whispered over his skin, and he knew what she was thinking.
"It won't blow out."
"I'm not entirely certain I won't make an embarrassing scene if it does," she said dryly, trying for humor and failing. "It's possible I might try to climb you. Like a tree."
"Miss Martin, the devil incarnate, scared of a little darkness?"
"I could thrash you sometimes, Rathbourne," she mock-growled, but faint glimmers of indigo-gray crossed her face.
Fear.
Without thinking, Lucien summoned a mage globe, gleaming with iridescent white light. It came to hand immediately, and Lucien looked down in shock. It hadn't hurt him to summon it. Mage globes of white were virtually powerless, but still... Was the problem his sorcery, or some part of his mind?
"Oh. Thank you."
Lucien gestured, and the faint globe rose from the palm of his hand, hovering in front of them. The strain came immediately, cold sweat springing up against the back of his neck, but he didn't dismiss it. Ianthe stepped into the tunnel, her skirts pressing against his trousers, and one hand on his sleeve, as though his presence gave her some peace of mind.
He couldn't have dismissed it if he'd tried.
"Rathbourne's occult study is not far. There should be a staircase at the end, which will wind down to the cellars." Lucien held his hand out as she stepped forward, as if to prove she wasn't afraid of the dark. Stubborn woman. "Let me go first, Ianthe. There might have been something he left behind to guard his private domain."
"Very well," she murmured as he strode forward, "but only because the view is more enticing from back here."
Lucien glanced back, noting her impish smile, and couldn't stop his own from forming. "One would think you enjoy your nights."
"Whatever gave you that idea?"
The sound of her gasps, her body arching up beneath him as he traced her skin with his tongue...
