Dark Surrender Read Online Free PDF Page B

couldn’t stop her jaw from slackening in shock. He would pay her now , before she’d worked a single minute, before his daughter had so much as laid eyes on her new governess? Now she knew he was mad.
    “Hold out your hand,” he directed calmly.
    Following his instructions, her trembling fingers uncurled between them. He placed two impossibly shiny coins in the center of her palm. Her breath caught. Had she ever even held two sovereigns at one time?
    “If you accept my money, then you accept the terms of the contract. No less than one calendar month as my daughter’s full-time governess.” Mr. Waldegrave’s voice was as dark and smooth as the silver-tongued procurers lurking in the Whitechapel alleys. “Come what may.”
    The slyness in his tone gave her pause, but her fingers were already closing tight about the strangely heavy coins and shoving them into her own pocket for safekeeping. After a few months of teaching an heiress to paint, not only would the hunt for Mr. Percy Livingstone’s killer have (hopefully) lost some of its ardor, she would be able to afford a competent barrister. She would be free.
    She tucked the coins deeper into her pocket. “So shall it be.”
    “Come.” Taking the candle from his manservant, Mr. Waldegrave stepped into the murky passageway.
    The manservant made no move to follow, so Violet assumed the command had been directed at her. She took a step forward but paused at the threshold as she realized the floor sloped steeply downward, with no indication of a plateau. A musty odor seeped from earthen walls. Dust. Mold. And something darker. “Where are we going?”
    “To my daughter.”
    Against her better judgment, she crossed into the passageway. As soon as she did so, the hallway door closed behind her and the lock engaged. “Mr. Waldegrave, wait! The door . . .”
    “Do not be alarmed.” He strode into the blackness, candle aloft. “All the doors in Waldegrave Abbey have been fitted with a mechanism to lock automatically, and Roper’s presence is required elsewhere. For now, you are safe enough with me. You may eventually be provided with a key of your own.”
    Alarmed? Safe? Violet could not abide being locked in small dark spaces. She hurried to catch up to him, ignoring the twinge of pain when she put weight on her ankle.
    “Where exactly is your daughter?”
    He motioned to the shadows ahead. “The sanctuary.”
    “Which is in the cellar ?” she blurted doubtfully.
    “The sanctuary is in one of the outbuildings.” He lifted the candle a little higher, but cupped the flame with the other hand as if to protect the light from a ghostly breeze. “These catacombs run beneath the earth and connect all seven structures to one another.”
    She stopped walking, her swollen foot arrested in mid-air. “Catacombs, as in, ancient tunnels? Or catacombs, as in, ancient tunnels lined with”—she almost choked on the word—“corpses?”
    “The latter. This was a working abbey for centuries. Every tunnel has history embedded in its walls. The monks’ graves are recessed, and quite old. The chances of stumbling over anything unpleasant are slim. The stale air, however, I can do nothing about.”
    He did not so much as slow his pace. As he was the sole possessor of both key and candle, she was forced to hobble forward on trembling limbs. She took care to focus on the flickering light ahead, rather than the crumbling walls it illuminated.
    Had she thought this man merely eccentric? He was off his dot completely.
    She cleared her throat. “Might I ask a question?”
    “Miss Smythe,” he said firmly, without slowing or even glancing in her direction. “Let us dispense with the formality of inquiring whether or not you may inquire something. I see no need to waste valuable time granting petitions to ask questions.” When he finally glanced down at her, his eyes glittered in the candlelight. “Though we may be master and servant, if you have something to say, please say