Cornelia frowned. She was tired and cold, and worried about how they’d retrieve Minnie, but Burnell was clearly feverish about what was on the other side. “I was looking at the sarcophagus—”
“Exactly.” Burnell reached through to pull back the lantern. “That’s what those are, Nellie. It’s a crypt, and my guess is that it dates back to the sixteenth century, when the abbey was founded.”
Cornelia sat back on her heels. “That’s all very interesting Ethan but, if you don’t mind, it’s the sort of thing I’d rather discuss some other time. Right now, all I want is to retrieve Minnie, then make my way back and climb under the covers and not think about anything at all until there’s a breakfast tray to deal with.”
“Sure thing, but if my hunch is right, you may change your mind. At the very least, I hope you’ll be inviting me to keep you warm under those covers. Now, up you get and stand well clear. I was on my way back to find something to help with this, but chances are, I can manage without.”
Before Cornelia had the chance to ask what he was talking about, Burnell raised one booted foot and struck the planks directly beside the rotten section. There was the sound of splintering. Six more kicks and he’d created a large enough space that they might crawl through.
Really, thought Cornelia. Could we not have tried that in the first place!
“Minnie!” Taking the lantern, Cornelia moved between the stone tombs, pausing at each to listen for the source of the muffled yapping.
Burnell was searching on the other side, stopping periodically to run his hands over the engravings.
When Cornelia reached the end of the row, the barking became louder.
I know you’re here, Minnie. Hold on. I promise I’ll find you.
Turning the corner, she saw what she’d been looking for.
One of the tomb lids had been pushed aside and Minnie’s nose was visible through the gap.
Cornelia’s heart leapt with relief. “How on earth did you—oh, Minnie!”
Burnell hurried over and, together, they pushed the stone further over, allowing Cornelia to reach in and pull out the terrier.
Minnie licked Cornelia’s neck and cheek furiously and accepted the tightest of hugs in return.
Cornelia picked up the lantern, making ready to go, but Burnell was tracing his fingers over the coiled design around the edge of the lid.
“It’s the same on them all, have you noticed?” He blew off the dust, revealing more of the engraving.
She leaned closer and saw that the interconnecting S shapes were curving serpents.
“How strange. In Christian tradition, the serpent is an evil thing, associated with temptation, deceit and destruction. It hardly seems the most fitting motif for a crypt.”
Burnell’s eyebrows knitted. “These aren’t just ordinary snakes.” He moved his thumb over one of the designs. “See the head. I swear, it’s a likeness to the vision serpent carved on the temple at Palekmul.”
“But that’s impossible!” Cornelia shook her head.
“And, though the date on this one is more recent, I’d say these coffins date back to the first days of the abbey, which makes it stranger still. The sacred creature joining the realms of living and dead, serving as a gateway to the spirit realm." Burnell spoke softly, as if to himself, trying to fathom the significance of what they were seeing.
“Ethan. I don’t want to be here anymore,” Cornelia pleaded. “We can ask the duke what he knows tomorrow. We can bring twenty lamps down here to see what we’re doing. Make a proper study—when I’m wearing proper clothing!”
Burnell brought his arm around her, leaning his cheek against the top of her head. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Taking the lamp, he held it over the sarcophagus. “I suppose we ought to close this up. If we just—” He paused, peering into the dark space.
Cornelia wrinkled her nose. This was what she got for hanging about with an archaeologist. Burnell thought nothing of poking about where the dead were taking their rest. The next she knew, he was reaching deep inside.
“Really, Burnell! That’s going too far!” Cornelia hefted Minnie higher on her shoulder.
However, what he held up to the light made her catch her breath. Dangling from his fingers by a golden chain was the largest ruby Cornelia had ever seen. Burnell turned it over in his palm, studying it intently.
“It is beautiful, but oughtn’t you to put it back?” Cornelia didn’t want to look at the remains of whatever was inside the funerary vault but she could read the script upon the lid easily enough:
Lady Violetta Studborne, beloved wife of Algernon
1851-1882
“It doesn’t belong here.” Burnell closed his fist around the jewel. “I don’t know how it found its way into the coffin, but it wasn’t owned by this Studborne duchess.”
Cornelia searched his face. “What are you saying Burnell? How can you possibly know?”
His face was suddenly weary. “The last time I saw this pendant my mother was wearing it.”
“Your mother?”
He nodded grimly. “On the day my father sent for me, twenty years ago.”
Chapter 16
Burnell laid the necklace carefully on Cornelia’s dressing table, then propped the chair from the small writing desk against the panelled wall.
“No more adventures tonight, huh, Minnie.” He passed his hand wearily through his hair.
The fire was nearly out.
Resting the lantern on the mantel, he set to laying some extra kindling, fanning until it caught, then balanced three smaller logs on top.
All the while, Cornelia watched him, though her gaze wondered to the chaise.
Such a short while ago, she’d lain under him and they’d almost…
Now, she felt awkward. What did one say?
I know you don’t love me, don’t want to marry me—don’t want to marry anyone—but I’m offering you this anyway, because everything I said about not being willing to compromise was a lie. I’m exactly the sort of hussy everyone believes I am, and I’m putting myself forward for whatever lovemaking you’d like to bestow upon me.
Lovemaking.
It wasn’t the right word.
What did one call it when there was no genuine ‘love’ involved?
Copulating? Fornication? Coitus?
Fucking.
There was a word; one ladies weren’t supposed to know, let alone use.
A wicked word for all the wicked things she wanted him to do.
She knew it wouldn’t be like the times Mortmain had exercised his husbandly prerogative. Even without love, she had a feeling there would be more tenderness and care with Ethan than she’d ever experienced in her marriage.
His kisses told her that.
There would never be another night like this.
There would never be another Ethan.
She’d been gazing at the chaise, imagining herself there, right where they’d left off—imagining how it would begin.
She knew exactly what would happen, if she let it.
Skin to skin.
Not just his arms around her, but his whole body; every delicious inch, from his abdomen and the hardness of his chest to his thighs and the roughness of his stubbled jaw. She wanted that cheek to graze every soft and sensitive part God had given her.