Page 28 of Dukes for Dessert

“Pierson directed me to dig here. And here I stay.”

“Well, he told me to dig here as well.”

“Then we are at an impasse.”

Sophie glared. David wanted to laugh his triumph, but at that moment, Sophie stooped, came up with a damp clod of earth, and threw it at him.

Mud thwacked his coat, brand new from his tailor, made for the messy business of archaeology. It was the best Scots tweed.

“Bloody hell, woman.” His snarl was also the best Scots, his years of Harrow, Cambridge, and flitting through the top of London society flowing away.

Another chunk of mud hit his midsection. Sophie’s fury had segued into merriment, her eyes gleaming satisfaction.

Oh, she wanted to play, did she? David tossed aside the shovel. He bent and gathered mud into his gloved hands, sending her an evil grin. He liked that Sophie’s eyes widened in trepidation, but he’d be gentle with her. Perhaps.

He took a quick step toward her … and found himself falling, his feet penetrating a deep hole. The balls of mud fell from his hands as he windmilled for balance and found none.

David toppled slowly forward. He braced himself to land facedown, but as he hit the earth, it opened up and swallowed him whole.

8

David!” Sophie shrieked. She unfroze from the horror of watching David fall through the earth and dashed to the spot where he’d disappeared. “David!”

Bogs could drown a person while they thrashed in desperation. The thought of David, a man so full of life, being dragged out of sight forever streaked terror through her.

Sophie reached the edge of the square hole David had fallen through and sank to her knees, heart thudding. She spied his body, facedown at the bottom of a shallow cavern, weak sunlight barely illuminating the interior. David lay unmoving, wet earth around him, but he’d landed in a damp cave, not a bog—thank heaven.

He didn’t move, didn’t groan. Sophie hiked up her skirts, caught the edge of the hole, and dropped down to him.

She landed on stone covered with dirt and had to stoop to hands and knees under the low roof. “David,” she whispered frantically.

“Music …”

Sophie scrambled to him, uncertain she’d heard right. “David, are you hurt?”

“Lady, thy voice is music.” David rolled himself over with difficulty, his face scratched, his words hoarse. “Is this heaven?”

“If it is, it’s cold, dark, and damp and half a mile from my uncle’s house. You are hurt.” Sophie cupped his cheek, brushing away earth and blood with her gloved thumb.

“Heaven,” David said with conviction. “And music. Look.”

He repositioned himself on all fours and swiped dirt from the floor.

A painted eye stared back at them. Its pupil was a rich brown, the lid pale ivory lined with black lashes and one black arched brow.

“Good heavens.” Sophie gaped then helped David brush away more grit and mud to reveal once-smooth tile. “It’s a mosaic.”

She understood in a moment why David had gone on about music. He revealed part of a lyre, being plucked by the person with the keen brown eye. More frantic rubbing revealed another figure, smaller and female, with a flute.

“Orpheus,” David said excitedly. “Master of music.”

“Not necessarily,” came a voice from above. The opening darkened as Uncle peered down at them. “Could simply be a chap playing at an entertainment, flute girls at his side.” The dry tone left Uncle Lucas and he clasped his hands in joy. “My dear fellow, you’ve found my floor.”

“No, indeed,” David said. “Sophie had been diligently digging at this spot while I was vagabonding. I only widened the hole. With my body.”

Sophie had to grin. “You could say he stumbled upon it.”

David’s eyes began to sparkle. “I dropped in, and there it was.”

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