Free The Valentine's Day Ball by Julia Parks Page B

again, sending exquisite tremors up Jane’s spine. Almost, she forgot her fear.
    Once inside, Lord Devlin found a candle someone—probably one of the university researchers—had left behind. He lit it, let hot wax drip on a nearby rough table, and stood the candle in the wax.
    “There, now we can see even if my torch goes out.”
    Jane shivered beneath his strong hand as he once again led her farther inside.
    “Cold?” He turned from his perusal of the room.
    Jane shook her head, hoping her teeth wouldn’t start to rattle. Devlin drew her arm through his, never letting go of her hand. Jane made no protest, leaning on him quite openly. Under other circumstances, she would have been appalled to act so familiarly.
    “You are afraid. I shouldn’t have forced you to come.”
    Lord Devlin’s concern was evident, and he turned to lead her out, but Jane said quietly, “No, sir. I wanted to come.”
    “Why? What are you trying to prove? It is obvious you have a fear of this place.”
    Jane’s tiny laugh was sharp, but her voice was strong. “I do have a fear. I am ashamed to admit it, but it is true. But this is one fear I can face. I’ll be fine. You see?” She released his arm and walked toward the far wall.
    “Now this tomb is where our Valentine is buried. You see the birds—all in twos—that are carved all over it?”
    Devlin, standing beside her, held his torch closer. “Yes, if memory serves, St. Valentine’s Day became associated with lovers because it is supposed to be the day when birds choose their mates.”
    “Quite right,” said Jane. “So you see why I think our monk is the true St. Valentine?”
    “I must disagree. I think it much more likely this monk—who was no doubt quite distinguished since he has his own vault—this monk simply took the name Valentine. By the time he was alive, St. Valentine’s Day had become associated with lovers because of the birds choosing their mates on February fourteenth. And so this monk, this Brother Valentine, had those birds carved on his tomb.”
    Jane’s laugh sounded quite normal as she protested. “And I cannot agree with you, Lord Dev— My God! What was that?”
    Jane’s breath was suspended as they heard a low creak.
    The slam that followed was anything but quiet. Jane let out a shriek.
    b
    “Shh! Who’s there?” Drew thrust the torch into Jane’s hand, closing her lifeless fingers around its handle. Hurrying to the door, he called again, “Who’s there? Hell and…the door’s locked!”
    “L-l-locked?” Now Jane’s teeth rattled audibly. He hurried back to her, catching the torch as it fell from her fingers.
    “Miss Lindsay! Jane! That’s enough!” He jammed the torch between the crumbling mortars on the brick floor and paused to ensure it would remain standing.
    Jane’s eyes remained fixed on his face, her mouth rounded in an astonished O. Devlin put his arms around her to still her trembling. There was no passion in his embrace. Jane accepted this comfort passively, incapable of either speech or action.
    When her teeth stopped chattering and the violent shudders ceased racking her body, Drew said, “Someone will come soon. Remember, Jane, Lord Pierce has been down here before. He will know there can’t be too much of interest and will soon wonder at our protracted absence. They’ll get us out, even if they have to break the door down.”
    Thankfully, it didn’t occur to Jane to wonder how Lord Pierce and her Cousin Roland could break down such a thick and sturdy door without the proper tools.
    “Who could have closed it?” she whispered, her face still buried in his coat.
    “Wind, no doubt. I thought it had begun to shift. We’re probably in for some more cold weather. At least it is dry and relatively warm down here.”
    Jane nodded against his shoulder. “And also, Mary was wrong.”
    “About what?”
    “At least we’re not sharing quarters with mice or bats.”
    Jane’s mild attempt at humour wasn’t lost on Drew.