Page 7 of Til Death Duke Us Part
“You should know that.” Her body went rigid. “You were lying! You’re not here to help family.”
He rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m not. I could have done that in the middle of the day. Now open the damn tomb.”
She darted away, muttering about the constable.
“Oh no you don’t.” He lurched after her, caught her upper arm and brought her careening into him. She was a soft bundle of curves pressed oh-so nicely against his every taut muscle. But he didn’t have time to lust after grave diggers. “Listen, Miss Street Rat, if you bring the constable, I’ll simply tell him who I am, cross his palm with gold. Who’s he going to believe? Me, a duke, or you?”
She ripped her arm away. “You’re a donkey’s arse.”
He bowed low, came up with a grin that felt bitter on his face.
“I hate you,” she snarled.
“And I hate myself. We have something in common. Isn’t that lovely. Now tell me how to open the doors.” When she made no move to speak or open the damned door, he said, “I’m going to find a way into an alchemist tomb no matter what you do. But if you help me, I’ll pay you well for your trouble. I can’t imagine you wish to dig graves for the rest of your life. But if you do, by all means keep your secrets. However, if you’ve ever dreamed of easier days, help me. And I’ll help you.”
“It's a betrayal. And alchemists do not take betrayal lightly.”
“Seems to me you’re the one betrayed. By your own family. Alchemists are well off, mostly. You have the accent of an educated woman. Either your family is dead, or they’ve cast you off entirely.” He leaned closer, bending to bring his face nearer hers. “Tell me, have you been ill used?”
Something twisted in her face, and she looked at her feet, her eyes closed tightly. “The metal reacts to the warmth of the body,” she whispered.
Oh. He’d poked some uncomfortably vulnerable part of her, hadn’t he? His heart gave a little twist, his gut a little yelp, but he’d become adept at ignoring their complaints.
She turned to the silver door. “You must put your hand in the correct spot for these doors. It’s a little trick to protect against grave robbers.” Her head snapped up and over her shoulder, and she met his gaze. By God there was fire there. She couldn’t oppose him physically, so she would oppose him in whatever way she could.
He’d always appreciated spark and nerve in a woman.
“Show me where,” he said, the threat gone from his voice.
“If I don’t, you’d never find it.” She lifted her chin higher. “Only someone who’s spent time in an alchemist forge, only someone who has shaped metal a little bit, can do it. Your hands are useless here.”
Useless. Yes, he was that. “I assume you have that experience, that ability.”
Her jaw twitched.
“Show me,” he demanded.
She turned to the door, and he followed, standing close, looking over her shoulder. She elbowed him in the ribs, a nonverbal demand for him to back away. Like hell he would. This close he towered over her, and he wanted her to understand the strength he possessed. He wanted her to feel the threat so she would give him what he wanted. What he needed. Besides dirty as she was, she was still a warm soft body, and he had not visited his mistress in—good God—had it really been two years. Ever since Rebecca had learned he had no money to keep her as she preferred to be kept—expensively. Rebecca didn’t do anything for free. Not even a peck on a cheek.
He stepped back a bit, enough so the grave digger’s curvaceous little arse didn’t brush up against his interested and attention-starved cock.
She tilted her head, studying the door from top to bottom, and then she found a line along one edge. Almost imperceptible, a thin groove traced along the arching edge of the door. She put her finger right where a doorknob would be, and she traced the line with one smooth movement—up, across the arch, and down to the ground. She had to bounce up on her toes to hit the highest point as her arm stretched to its full length above her head. But once she stood again, a grinding noise keened in the eerie glow of the hallway.
And the silver door swung open.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed.
She wasn’t talking to him.
But she whirled around to face him, pressing her palms into his chest and shoving him hard. He rocked back a step.
“Do not steal anything, Morington” she warned.
He brushed her aside and stepped inside the tomb. Dark as Hades and twice as hot. “Oh yes. Since you asked so nicely, I’ll simply abandon my entire reason for being here tonight.”
“You should.”
“I won’t. Where are the damn lights?”
