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‘Let me see what I can do to produce a frisson.’ He took a lantern from a stand beside a small door off the great entrance hall and lit it. ‘The dungeons date from the first castle, built by my ancestor, the Chevalier Guy de Beaumartin. He was a powerful war lord and needed somewhere to keep his many captives. Mind how you go on these narrow steps. Here.’ He took her hand and led her down the spiral stairs.
It was no different from the way Theo helped her, his light grasp was quite impersonal, but Elinor freed herself with a murmured word of thanks as soon as they arrived at the bottom of the stairs. They were in a wide, stone-flagged passageway, vanishing into darkness and shadows and, on either side, small doors that she would have to stoop to enter. ‘Cells?’ she queried.
‘Certainly.’ Leon pushed one open with a rending creak of rusted hinges and shone the light inside for her to see. ‘No windows, the damp runs down the stone walls. See the bolts in the walls that held the shackles? Imagine the despair of being chained here in the darkness, month after month, with only the rats for company.’
Elinor could imagine it only too vividly, and she did not find that sort of medieval barbarity romantic. But she had to maintain her excuse of wanting to see the Gothic horrors, so she produced an exaggerated shudder. ‘Ghastly indeed.’ Something scuttled across the edge of the pool of light: a vast spider. She gave an involuntary gasp and jumped backwards, to find herself being supported by Leon’s arm.
‘It is only a spider,’ he said reassuringly, making no attempt to remove his arm. Elinor stiffened, but he did not try to take advantage of the situation either.
‘Thank you. I have to confess to hating the things—so foolish.’ She stepped aside as though to allow him to proceed and he dropped his arm away. The count’s manner as he led her through the maze of underground passages and chambers was perfectly correct and yet Elinor was left in no doubt at all that he saw her as an attractive woman and that he wanted her to see him as a man, not just as her host.
How he achieved that intrigued her and she began to watch closely to analyse his technique. Leon touched her, fleetingly, always with a good excuse, always somewhere unalarming, such as her elbow or her hand, but frequently. His voice was husky, soft enough that she had to move a little closer to him to hear, and, when he spoke, he kept his eyes on her face as though hanging on her every word of response. He was, in effect, flirting in the most unexceptional manner.
Elinor decided to try responding. She laughed at anything he said that could be considered even faintly amusing, she leaned a little when he offered her support on the steps, she gasped in admiration when he told her tales of his ancestors’ deeds of chivalry. In fact, by the time the narrow passageways opened up into a great chamber with a vaulted ceiling, they were both thoroughly at ease with each other and, she suspected, he might very well try to kiss her at any moment.
Oddly, Leon did not seem to want to linger, but took the direct path across the imposing space. ‘Oh, please wait,’ Elinor implored. ‘What a strange room. Was it a guard chamber?’
‘I have no idea,’ Leon said, a trifle shortly. He wanted her out of there, she realised, staring round. The chamber was like a chapel with bays at intervals along the walls and rusted flambeaux holders. There were small metal hooks high up that she recognised as suspension points for tapestries, although the walls were stark stone now. There was a small stone platform at one end. It was too low for an altar.
Then she saw the ring bolts at all four corners of the platform and more on the pillars. She measured them by eye, cold chills running up and down her spine. They were the right height to tie the wrists of a woman to, if she stretched up. This, surely, was the room the wicked count used for his depraved orgies. And where better to house the ritual objects and the Chalice?
Leon set down the lantern, sending wild shadows flickering across the walls. As he walked towards her, smiling, his dark, lean features seemed devilish in the gloom. ‘Do you find this gives you the thrill of horror you were seeking?’ he asked her. And it seemed the light, bantering tone had been replaced with something more sinister. Almost she could believe he was the reincarnation of his ancestor.
‘Oh, yes.’ She tried to laugh. ‘See, I am all of a tremble.’ She held out her hand, surprised to see she was speaking the truth, and he took it, drawing her in to him. It seemed impossible to resist, as if he, or the strange atmosphere of the chamber, was mesmerising her. He was going to kiss her, she realised, almost fatalistically.
‘Oh, Elinor, how I would like to make you tremble,’ Leon murmured and lowered his mouth to hers.
Chapter Twelve
Think, Elinor told herself fiercely, see how this is no different from kissing Theo? See, all it is, is physical passion and my lack of experience. She opened to the pressure of Leon’s insistent lips, let his mouth mould hers, let his tongue explore, let him brace her hard against his lean body so she could feel his arousal. And she felt nothing, nothing but surprise that she could do this and feel only detachment.
But detached though she might be, this was enough. More than enough. Elinor put her hands on Leon’s shoulders and pushed. It did not make him loosen his hold, but it threw her off balance. She took a step, the backs of her knees met an obstacle and she fell, Leon coming with her, to the low stone platform. He threw out a hand to take their weight,
then let them both subside slowly on to the hard surface.
Now Elinor did start to feel uneasy. Surely he would not persist? He was a gentleman, her host—but she had held out her hand to him, gone willingly into his arms. Perhaps he thought that her unconventional lifestyle meant her morals were loose. With an effort she freed her mouth, pushing against the upper part of his chest with her left palm. From a distance of inches Leon’s dark eyes burned into hers.
‘No,’ she managed. ‘Enough!’ Her outflung right hand met metal, grasped it, and she found she was holding one of the rings set at the corner of the platform. It was as though the panic and fear of those women from so long ago flowed into her body, lending her strength. She shoved harder and Leon stood up, catching her hand in his and pulling her to his feet as he did so.
He seemed neither put out by her rejection nor particularly agitated by what had just occurred. ‘I am sorry we fell. Are you hurt?’ he asked solicitously.
Elinor bit back the retort that it was rather late in the day to ask that and managed a bright smile. She did not want to expose her own inexperience, nor did she want to let him glimpse her fear, not of him, but of the place where they stood.
‘I am quite all right, but I am afraid that this wildly romantic atmosphere has led us both further than we meant to go.’ She heard her own voice sounding as cool and emotionless as though she was disputing a footnote in a learned journal. What was the matter with her? Her heart was pounding, but it was not the same as the way she felt after Theo kissed her. What did she feel? More than a little embarrassed, in the aftermath of that embrace, but not even slightly stirred by it. Shouldn’t she be? He was an attractive man, his technique seemed perfectly assured. Wasn’t she supposed to be aroused by what they had just done?
All she wanted, she realised, was Theo. She wanted to be in his arms and have him sooth away the terror that seemed to ooze from the stones; despite that, she wanted to join him searching the place, certain that here they would find the Chalice.
‘Elinor!’ Even distorted by the echo in the maze of underground corridors, his voice was unmistakable.
Leon smiled tightly. ‘It appears your cousin desires to chaperon you. He does not like you being alone with me, I think.’
That was all she needed. The two men were prickly enough around each other without them circling like two dogs over a juicy bone. The thought of herself in that light, when previously the best analogy would be to a rather overcooked and dried-up mutton chop, made Elinor’s lips twitch in wry amusement.
‘That makes you smile?’ Leon asked. ‘It amuses you to have two men desiring you?’
‘My cousin most certainly does not—Theo! You have found us. Is this not the most atmospheric place? I swear I am going to try my hand at writing a Gothic novel, I am so inspired.’
‘Aunt Louisa would have kittens,’ Theo observed, smiling. In the light of the lantern his eyes looked like cold obsidian, utterly at odds with his voice and the curve of his lips. ‘She is wondering, loudly, where you are. I gather you are supposed to be in your room, recovering from a headache.’
