The Day of the Duchess (Scandal & Scoundrel #3)(67)

She looked to him. “I believe it.”

She hadn’t known what to expect when she’d followed him, lantern in hand, as he descended the rise to the lakeside. She shouldn’t have even followed him, for what was the point? Spending time with him only resurrected the past in ways she wished never to do again.

Spending time with him only reminded her that she’d once wanted to spend a lifetime with him.

And still, she’d followed him in the night, drawn like a moth to his flame. And, just like a moth, the fire of him threatened to consume her. As ever.

She’d never spent time on the grounds of Highley; he’d spoken of the lake a dozen times—it held a powerful place in his childhood stories—but she’d never had a chance to see it.

And now, as she looked from one of the women to the next—each so beautifully designed that it seemed as though they were trapped in glass—Sera wondered why he hadn’t brought her here, to this beautiful room overlooking the lake beyond. She looked to him. “Who are they?”

He hesitated—just barely—not even enough for another to notice. “The Pleiades.”

The Seven Sisters, daughters of Atlas. She looked back to the windows, counting. “There are only six.”

He nodded and turned away, toward the circle of wrought iron at the center of the room. Opening a gate inlaid in the railing, he waved the lantern toward the dark circle below. “The seventh is beneath the lake.”

Sera moved toward him, sure that she had misheard, her gaze transfixed by the dark, turning staircase there. There were no lights below, the first few steps giving way to immense blackness in no time. She looked back to Malcolm. “I’m not going down there.”

“Why not?”

“Well, first of all, because the words beneath the lake sound properly ominous and, second, because it’s blacker than midnight down there and I’m not an imbecile.”

His lips twitched in a tiny smile. “I was planning to go ahead of you.”

She shook her head. “No, thank you. I shall be fine here.”

He ignored her, turning to the wall and fetching an unlit torch, opening the lantern he carried and lighting it with impressive skill. Sera took a step back when he lifted it over his head, casting his face into bright light and sharp shadows.

“If you think a burning club is going to make me feel better about going down there, you’re very misguided,” she said.

He chuckled at that. “You do not trust me?”

“I do not, as a matter of fact.”

He grew serious. Or maybe it was a trick of the light on his face, making him seem as though he were never more honest than in that moment. “I will keep you safe, Sera.”

Before she could answer—before she could slow the instant, panicked beating of her heart—he was gone, heading down the steps into the darkness. She came to the edge of the railing, watching as his light circled down the narrow steps. “How far down does it go?”

“Don’t worry, Angel, I shan’t lead you into hell.”

“All the same, I prefer not to follow,” she called.

“Think of yourself as Persephone.”

“It’s summer,” she retorted as a brazier came to life, revealing the bottom of the staircase. “Persephone is aboveground in September.”

He looked up, his beautiful eyes turned black in the darkness, a wide grin on his face. “You’ll follow.”

She huffed a little laugh. “I have no idea why you would think such a thing.”

“Because this is what we do,” he said. “We follow each other into darkness.” And then he passed through a dark doorway and out of view.

And damned if he wasn’t right.

She followed, lifting her skirts and inching her way down the winding staircase, grumbling about bad decisions and irritating dukes the whole way. At the bottom, she looked up, the circular opening at the top of the stairs a great distance away, the stone and stained glass windows seeming, suddenly, as though they were a frieze painted on the ceiling rather than an entire room above.

It was beautiful artistry—a mastery of perspective like none she’d ever seen.

Air teased at her skirts, a cool and welcome respite from the cloying heat above. It comforted Sera for a moment, before she realized the reason for the comfortable temperature. She was underground.

The thought had her looking to the teardrop-shaped doorway where Haven had disappeared, and where he stood, not a foot away, torch in hand, grin upon his handsome face. “I told you that you would come.”

She scowled. “I can go just as easily.”

He shook his head. “Not if you want to see it.” He waved his light deeper into the space, revealing what appeared to be a narrow, teardrop-shaped tunnel, painted on all sides in the same motif as the windows above, dark sky and a starscape that gave competition to the night sky beyond.

Her eyes went wide. “How far does it go?”

“Not far,” he said. “Take my hand.”

She shouldn’t. “No.”

He looked as though he might argue with her, but instead he nodded and went ahead, lighting another brazier, and then another, each revealing a few more yards of the tunnel.

“We are under the lake?”

Another brazier. “We are technically inside the lake, but yes.”