Inside this trunk, he found a map, which he tossed in his bag in case it might prove useful. He searched one trunk after another until he finally came to one that was filled with books. He squatted and picked up each book, carefully checking the titles as well as glancing at the inside texts. He came across two that might be of use to some of his friends at Solomon’s, and shoved them both in his bag. Then he saw it, a small leather-bound volume encrusted with jewels. Inside he found ancient Persian text. The Magi’s Book of Wisdom.
He took one last look at all the glittering treasure, then extinguished the torches before stepping back onto the rope bridge. It was difficult to leave all of the antiquities behind, but he couldn’t excavate all of that alone. He would notify Solomon’s and they could send a group in to remove all the historical treasures, but he’d found what he’d come for. The rope beneath his feet wobbled. Somewhere to his right, he heard metal scrape.
Then the rope fell away beneath his feet. He gripped the balance rope firmly as he dropped. It felt as if his shoulders were being ripped from his body at the sudden shift of all his weight, but he would not let go. As quickly as he was able, he started moving to his left. One hand moved painstakingly over the other.
He listened as he moved, waiting to hear the sound of fraying rope, but all he could hear was his own heavy breathing. His heart pounded. Sweat coated his hands, and he prayed that he wouldn’t lose his grip. He slowly drew closer to the light from the torches to his left.
Finally, he reached the other side. He fell onto the dirt floor and lay there, feeling grateful he hadn’t fallen to his death. He was one step closer to finding the Stone of Destiny.
CHAPTER 1
London, 1888
Vanessa Pembrooke crept down the staircase, careful not to make a noise. She would marry in two more days, and thoughts of the ceremony plagued her mind, keeping sleep at bay. It would take hours for her mother and her army of servants to primp and curl and shine every last inch of Vanessa’s person. Not to mention the dress that she was expected to wear. She’d be head-to-toe ruffle and lace, a doily with feet. Needless to say, all these wretched thoughts left her wide awake. Currently, she tiptoed to the library to find something to occupy her mind.
The house sat void of sound, the servants all off to bed, her family long ago retired. Her fiancé was staying in the house, but he had gone to bed early with a sour stomach. So at this late hour, she would have the library to herself. All those books waiting just for her. She’d already read the latest scientific journal from front to back. Perhaps she’d pick up a history text.
A soft noise caught her attention and she paused at the door. She turned behind her, but saw no one there. Perhaps her nerves about the wedding were making her more jittery than usual. With a silent turn of the knob, she opened the library door.
Vanessa paused just short of entering the room when she caught sight of something, or rather someone, on the floor in front of the fading fire. Naked limbs writhed around one another, glistening with sweat. The man groaned, and the woman, who sat atop him as if riding a horse, whispered a series of soft yesses again and again.
In all her imaginings, Vanessa would never have guessed that couples could copulate in such a manner, having only been told of the traditional man-on-top, under-the-covers-in-the-dark position. Vanessa wondered what might compel two people to do such a thing in a public room. It was rather scandalous, and were her mother to discover such activity, she would have the servants fired immediately. But then the woman leaned back, giving Vanessa a clear view of the man’s face—Jeremy, her fiancé.
Vanessa knew her mouth had fallen open, and protocol demanded that she turn away and leave him to his transgression. It was precisely the advice her mother would have given her. Turn your head and look the other way. Pretend as if you don’t notice.
She knew men strayed from marriage, but it was that long blond hair about the woman’s shoulders that gave Vanessa the longest pause. She knew that hair. It belonged to Violet, her younger sister.
Anger coiled inside her. Vanessa didn’t know how long she’d stood there, but eventually they finished what they were doing. Violet rolled off of Jeremy and lay to his side. They murmured to one another, soft whispers between lovers, their heads leaning close together. It was then that Vanessa stepped into the room. She cleared her throat, and upon seeing her, Jeremy reached for the nearest piece of clothing to cover himself. This happened to be Violet’s shift, making him look utterly ridiculous. But Vanessa could find no humor in the situation.
“Vanessa!” he said. “I, uh, we—” He had the decency to blush under her scrutiny, the rosy hue staining his cheeks and neck.
“I can see what you were doing,” Vanessa said. She steadied her breathing and selected her words carefully. “You said you were not interested in that sort of relationship. You said you did not believe in passion.”
He looked at Violet, then back to Vanessa. “That was before.” His eyes cast downward.
“Before this?” She motioned to the floor where they sat. “Before tonight?”
“Well, before I met Violet.” He winced, clutched the shift to his chest.
Had they been together the entire six weeks Jeremy had been in London? Vanessa longed to sit down, to take several slow breaths and think on the situation until it all made sense.
“We’re in love, Vanessa.” Jeremy shook his head, his expression moving dangerously close to pity. “I’m sorry. It happened so unexpectedly.”
Vanessa shifted her stance, crossing her arms over her body. “In love. Another thing you said you did not believe in. And when were the two of you going to tell me this bit of news?” She took another step forward. “On our wedding day?” Anger, like a spool of thread wound too tight, unraveled. “After the wedding? Or were you planning to simply ignore it and hope I wouldn’t notice?” she asked, knowing her voice was rising.
All the while, Violet simply sat there, not saying anything, nor did she even have the decency to blush. She would not, however, meet Vanessa’s gaze.
“I don’t know,” was all he said.
Vanessa didn’t wait for further explanation. Instead, she simply turned and left the room. She didn’t know which one of them had angered her more. She was fond of Jeremy, but she’d thought their relationship had been built on mutual interest and respect. As for Violet, they shared blood, a childhood, memories. Granted those things were the extent of the commonality between the two sisters, but she was family.
Vanessa entered her bedroom and closed the door behind her. Without another thought, she opened her trunk, already partially packed with her wedding trousseau, and started tossing clothes into it. Violet was the youngest of the three Pembrooke sisters and undoubtedly the most attractive. Also the most gregarious. She was vibrant and spoiled, and people, mostly men, loved her.
Vanessa loved her, too. Although they were different, they were sisters, and this was the ultimate betrayal.
Three hours later, when the carriage finally rumbled down the London street, Vanessa did not dare glance out of the tiny curtained window for fear of seeing her mother’s stricken face, or worse, her would-be groom’s relieved expression. She was officially a runaway bride.
No one would realize that she’d gone until morning. She removed her spectacles and cleaned the lenses on her skirt. Oh, the scandal this would cause. She sighed heavily. So often it was the man who committed the indiscretion, yet it would be the woman’s reputation that lay in tatters.