Chapter 57
Fifty-Seven
Standing naked and alone in the circle of lanterns, Marcus felt as if Marguerite had reached in, pulled his rib cage apart and yanked out his heart. How had he gotten here?
One minute they’d been lying together, close as two heartbeats. All he’d wanted to do was tell her that no matter what the future held, he would always be there to protect her. That he’d never give her cause to regret their lovemaking.
Then he’d opened his mouth and somehow managed to do the exact opposite.
And she’d run from him, stumbling into a darkness so complete and so full of twisting, turning tunnels that people who became lost in them were sometimes never found.
“Marguerite, wait. Stop.” But the only answer was his desperate voice echoing around the walls of the quarry.
He pulled the shirt over his head, slipped into the breeches, and tied the laces. What had he said that was so terrible?
He’d offered to marry her, for God’s sake.
He found one of his shoes under the blanket where they’d just made love. Another beside it. As he jammed his feet into them, he caught sight of her shoes. Her stockings. She was stumbling around a limestone quarry in bare feet.
“You’re going to get hurt.” His words echoed back. As if he hadn’t hurt her already—somehow. Marcus cursed, as he staggered forward.
I will not leave a child behind. How could she misunderstand that he was making a commitment to her? That he was making it clear she was no passing fancy to him. She was…
Damn words. He stood where the circle of light ended, pain and desire pulsing through him. How was it he could find the right moves in a battle, but when it came to words he was lost?
“Where are you?” His gut clenched as he peered into the darkness, a darkness so thick that when he reached out his hand, it seemed to disappear.
“Come back, Marguerite. Please.”
Only echoes answered. He picked up a lantern and the circle of light around him immediately dimmed. Like a burial pit closing. Swallowing hard, Marcus took a step forward, focusing on the finger of light playing across the quarry floor, searching through the rock dust swirling in its beam.
“Marguerite?” He cried over the banshees in his head shrieking that the cavern roof was going to fall, the walls come tumbling down, burying him alive beneath miles of rock and earth.
But the only thing worse than being alone in the darkness, was being alone without her.
He took another step forward, his breath rapid and shallow. Filling his nose and throat with the metallic smell of earth. Just dust, just a smell, a massive quarry, not a tomb.
He wiped the sweat from his face. How the hell was he supposed to find her, to convince her to come back, when he couldn’t even see his way forward?
“If you won’t come back, at least listen.”
Listen, listen, listen. The damned words echoed back.
He tightened his grip on the lantern handle and continued on, swimming in an inky sea. “I may be a fool …”
Fool, fool, fool.
“But God knows, you’re not. There are miles of tunnels under the city.
” He knew from the map Andre had shown him that there were at least four tunnels leading away from the central chamber.
He tried to orient himself. But how could he orient himself when there were no landmarks to tell him where he was?
“You could trip, hit your head, break a limb. Fall into some forgotten cistern and drown.”
Earth on his face, heavy on his chest, the struggle to breathe.
“You’ve only got the one lantern. What if it goes out?” How would he ever find her? He had to find her.
He swung the lantern around, saw only piles of limestone, carved walls, swirls of dust. “For God’s sake Marguerite, you don’t even have any shoes…”
Shoes, shoes, shoes.
He thought of the comte, his arms outstretched, pleading for someone, anyone to save her. He’d stepped up. He’d sworn to do it.
“I know you’re not an inanimate object, no man’s property, you’ve a mind of your own.” He chose a direction, trying to step carefully, but with speed. “I know you’re angry. But think.”
Think, think, think.
“I’m terrible with words. Clumsier with them than I ever was with a brush. But I swear on my life, I wasn’t trying to trap you.”
Trap, trap, trap. You, you, you.”
He swung around. Was he even going in the right direction? The lantern flickered. Panic rose in him. Buried alive. Soil filling his nose, his mouth, throttling his desperate cries for help as God—or the Devil—laughed.
Was laughing now.
Clawing at the dirt, shoving at it, spitting it out.
Gut-twisting terror.
It was nothing compared to the gut-twisting terror of losing her.
“I’m not a mercenary. It’s not about the money! God damn it, Marguerite, it’s about you.”