by Syrie James
Part of her wished she could just give in. Let herself experience exactly what she’d wanted to experience that night in the bathroom, when she’d been nearly naked in his arms.
We are both responsible adults, she would tell herself. We are both unattached. We want each other. Would it be so wrong if I gave in and made love to him?
Yes, it would be wrong.
She had work to do. And she would focus on that work if it killed her.
Lance awakened to the caw of a seagull. He rose, dressed, and traipsed down to the beach for his morning plunge.
As he began swimming out to sea, he glanced over his shoulder to see if Kathryn might have followed him down here, as she had that morning two weeks ago. To his disappointment, she hadn’t.
A week had passed since the bathtub debacle, as he liked to think of it. They’d been getting on famously. There had been no more hanky-panky. He was keeping his end of the bargain, even though it hadn’t been easy.
And he was making progress.
Lance had taken her down to the village again and showed her the schoolhouse. Laying the foundation for all the good they could undertake in the community with her fortune at play. They had engaged in lively conversations while out walking and every night at dinner. All day long, he had found himself looking forward to those dinners, when he had the pleasure of her company.
It turned out they had many things in common, in addition to their shared enthusiasm for reading. They both loved to travel. Each had seen a great deal of the world—him in his service to the Crown, her on holidays with her family. They both enjoyed playing cards. They also had a shared appreciation of music.
“I loved attending the symphony in New York City,” Kathryn had enthused a few evenings before. “And in London, my guilty pleasure is to treat myself to a Royal Philharmonic Society concert.”
“Never consider a concert a guilty pleasure,” Lance had admonished her with a grin. “On board ship, I grew so tired of the hornpipe and harmonica I taught myself to play the violin.”
“You taught yourself? How is that even possible?”
“It is not easy, and not recommended,” Lance had admitted ruefully. “I did manage to find a few instructors in diverse ports of call who corrected critical deficiencies in my playing. But for the most part, I was obliged to learn what I could from books and by diligent practice.”
“That must have been difficult.”
“It was probably the reason it took me five years to become even halfway proficient.”
“I adore the violin. I would love to hear you play some time.”
“It has been a while since I took up the instrument. I fear I would be rusty.” But Lance had stored away that piece of information, thinking it might come in handy someday.
If only he could ask for her hand again now and have the matter settled, Lance thought as his arms bit through the waves.
When, he wondered, was the right time to come clean about his financial situation? Before he asked her? Or after? He hoped Kathryn’s career might not seem so important to her when compared to the loss of a nine-hundred-year-old castle and the island it stood on. Did he dare tell her now?
No. It was still too soon to risk it. No matter how he tried to spin it, he still feared that if he told her now, she’d think her fortune was the only reason he wanted her. Which was not the case. At least not anymore.
It may have started out that way. But he had gotten to know her on a whole new level. There was far more to the woman than a beautiful face and figure and a dowry the size of Manhattan. She was a fascinating person. If he married her, he would have a wife he cared for forever.
Would she accept him the next time he asked? That was the million-dollar question. The question that teased at the corners of his mind and ate away at his gut. The question that would remain unanswered until the day he felt sure of her. Sure that she wanted him so much that she would be willing to give up her career to be his duchess.
Then he would admit to the financial mess his brother had left him. The desperate situation in which he had been placed. The secret his father and brother had kept for decades. A secret even he hadn’t known about until he’d inherited the title. A secret he’d been too embarrassed to tell anyone, even his own grandmother.
Then Lance would get down on his knees and beg her forgiveness for keeping it from her.
Then, and only then, could he be reasonably sure that she’d forgive him for not telling her in the first place.
Lance returned to his chamber to find his valet ready and waiting to help him dress.
“That was a bracing swim,” Lance said as he put on his trousers.
“Your brother was also fond of a morning swim,” Woodston commented, holding up a newly pressed shirt.
“Was he?” Lance slipped into the garment. “I had no idea.”
“The habit began not long after he inherited the title. As I recall, the inspiration came from you, Your Grace.”
“From me? How is that possible? I barely knew Hayward. We saw each other so rarely.”
“Yes, but you exchanged letters, I believe? He said that in your correspondence, you had mentioned your own practice of taking a daily plunge. He decided to try it, and grew enamored of it.”
“Well, what do you know,” Lance said, surprised.
He buttoned up his shirt, then donned the waistcoat Woodston had selected. Lance wished he knew more about his brother. This man probably knew a great deal about him, Lance realized. If only he knew what questions to ask.
A very different subject was taking up his mind at the moment, however. Lance glanced at his valet. The man seemed savvy and observant. Lance knew it wasn’t the done thing for a duke to solicit advice from a servant. But Woodston had worked here for nearly two decades. And Lance had often received good input from the Marine who’d attended him in the Navy.
“Woodston, I have a question for you.”
“Your Grace?”
“When you want to impress a woman, what do you usually do?”
Woodston hesitated, his mouth dropping open slightly as he turned to retrieve the coat he had laid out over a nearby chair. “Ladies generally enjoy bouquets of flowers, I believe,” he said finally.
“This particular woman doesn’t like cut flowers.” Lance put on the coat.
“Is there anything of which Miss Atherton is particularly fond?”
Lance froze. “I didn’t say this was about Miss Atherton.”
“Forgive me, Your Grace. I just presumed.”
“Did you now.” Lance shrugged off his annoyance. He was right: the man was shrewd. “Well, what if it is Miss Atherton?” he retorted grumpily, buttoning the coat. “She has been working hard and I wish to do something to thank her.”
“Well, Your Grace,” Woodston answered, “I return to my previous question. Has Miss Atherton ever mentioned something she especially likes? Something she misses or wishes you might do? If you go out of your way to give her or do for her that very thing, it would be very endearing.”
Lance stared at him. The answer to his dilemma instantly sprang to mind.
“Woodston, thank you. You are a genius.”
Kathryn put down her pencil and rubbed her eyes. It was not quite eleven o’clock in the morning, but already she was tired. For days, she’d been burning the candle at both ends and getting very little sleep. But it was worth it. The progress she’d made was gratifying.
She had completed architectural plans and decorative sketches for almost all of the rooms they had discussed improving, including the great hall with its elaborate new ceiling. She still had more work to do, but she was getting close to the finish line. If the duke were to implement even half of these changes, it would be an exciting project.
Taking another sip of cold coffee, Kathryn glanced over the plan for the fourth floor to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. This drawing had received the least attention, as the only improvement was to be new carpets in the dowager duchess’s suite.
As Kathryn glanced at the drawing now, something didn’t feel right.
She pulled out one of the elevations of the castle and studied it. Hmmm. Something definitely was off. A suspicion began to simmer in Kathryn’s mind. She found the set of plans from the renovation sixty years ago and compared the drawings of the unoccupied wing on the fourth floor. What she saw made her gasp.
Kathryn rolled up several drawings, took them to the terrace level, and stared at the eastern wall of the castle. Just as I thought. She spent a few minutes in the unused wing on the fourth floor, but couldn’t test her theory as all the doors were locked. Weeks ago, when she’d drawn up her own plan of this wing, she’d gone by the measurements in the old drawings, since no new work was to be done here. But she now realized there was an anomaly she couldn’t account for.
It was most intriguing. Kathryn needed to speak with the duke at once. Where, she wondered, might she find him at this hour? She headed downstairs and was moving in the direction of his study when the sound of music caught her ears.
Someone was playing the violin.
Whoever was playing was an artist with great talent. She recognized the song: Brahms’s Violin Sonata No. 3. The music was plaintive, tantalizing, beautiful. Lance had mentioned that he played the violin. Was it him?
She followed the music, finally locating its source. It was coming from the smoking room, just a few doors down from the ladies’ parlor where she always worked. Kathryn paused in the doorway and peeked in.
It was Lance. He was standing by a window, eyes closed, a violin in his caress. He appeared to be lost in the pleasure of the music.
Kathryn stood stock-still, afraid to make a sound lest she disturb him. She had heard untold numbers of concerts in her life, but only a few violin solos by masters of the instrument. The Duke of Darcy might not be of their caliber, but he was a player of great skill. He would have lit up the stage as a soloist in a professional company.
The sweet melody swept her away, its lilting notes carrying her to a place of enchantment. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard music that had affected her so.
When the song ended, the duke noticed her standing in the doorway. “Kathryn. Forgive me. I hope my playing did not disturb you?”
“Not at all,” she said, entering the room. “In fact, I was looking for you when I heard the music. That was just beautiful.”
“You are very kind.”
“I’m not trying to be kind. You have a gift, Lance. I could listen to music like that all day long.”
He seemed highly pleased by her compliments. “If my playing gave you a moment of pleasure, then I am glad.” He set down the violin and said in a more serious tone, “You said you were looking for me?”
“Yes. This is going to sound strange, but . . . I was studying the plans I drew up, and I found a discrepancy.”
“What kind of discrepancy?”
She gestured with the drawings in her hand. “May I show you?”
“Please.” He indicated a table nearby, where Kathryn unfurled the plans.
“This is an elevation of the castle’s east wall,” Kathryn explained. “Note that there are ten windows on each floor.” Placing two other drawings atop the first, she continued, “Here’s the fourth floor of the castle. The drawing on the left is from the last renovation. On the right is my new one. Check out the east wing, which has been shuttered off for years. The old drawing shows five bedrooms with two windows each, which makes perfect sense. But I only drew four bedrooms. Because when I scouted that corridor, I only counted four doors.”
“What does that mean?” Lance asked, puzzled.
“I suspect a change was made on that floor sometime over the last sixty years. Maybe one of the rooms was enlarged and the unneeded door removed. Or there might be another room that’s unreachable from the hallway.”
He arched a brow. “Are you saying the castle might have a secret room?”
“It’s entirely possible.”
“How fascinating. Let us go find out if you are right.”
Lance rang for Mrs. Morgan and asked to borrow her set of keys. She explained which ones would open the rooms in the unoccupied wing on the fourth floor. Kathryn’s heart thrummed with excitement as she and Lance hurried upstairs. Halfway down the corridor in question, they paused in an area where several large family portraits were hanging.
“The space between the doors is much wider here than anywhere else,” Kathryn pointed out.
Lance unlocked the adjoining rooms and they glanced within. Average in size, they were ancient, unused bedrooms, the furniture draped with white dust covers. “These rooms are not nearly wide enough to fill in all that space in the hall.”
“Just as I suspected,” Kathryn said, nodding. “Which means there must be another room in between these two. A room that someone wanted to keep hidden. So the door was removed and the wall filled in and painted over.”
“If that’s true, why has no one ever noticed it before?” Lance asked as they returned to the hall and studied that section of wall.
“I suppose because this part of the castle hasn’t been used for decades. If anyone were to come up here, these paintings were hung as a clever distraction.”
“But who would go to the trouble of creating a secret room? And why?”
“A good question. Maybe it’s the hiding place for your family’s secret treasure,” Kathryn suggested playfully.
“Wouldn’t that be nice.” Lance’s tone held an unexpected hint of wistfulness, which he quickly shook off. Pacing off the number of steps between the two nearest doors, he stopped at the center. Lance peeked behind the painting hanging there, inviting Kathryn to look as well. “I see no trace of a door.”
“That just means they did an excellent job of covering it up.”
“There must be another way in,” Lance murmured, “through one of the adjacent rooms.”
They entered the room to the left. Kathryn laughed, enjoying the mystery of their hunt. “I’ve never looked for a secret treasure room before.”
“Neither have I,” he responded with a conspiratorial grin.
To their mutual disappointment, however, the wall facing the proper direction was just a solid wall. Although they checked behind paintings and moved aside furniture, there was no sign of a hidden door into another chamber.
“Let’s try the other room,” Kathryn suggested.
At first, it didn’t seem as though the second room was going to provide a solution, either. Two large bookcases built of solid oak stood against the wall in question.
“Well, that’s that, I suppose,” Lance muttered.
“Wait.” Kathryn studied one of the bookcases. “I think there’s a seam in the wall here. This bookcase might be a hidden door.” She pressed on the right-hand edge of the bookcase. Nothing happened. Moving her hand lower, she pressed again, harder, in several more locations.
There was a soft clicking sound.
And the bookcase began to move.
Chapter Fifteen
The bookcase swung open a few inches toward them, then paused.
“I think we found our way in,” Kathryn said in wonder.
“Allow me. I will ensure that whatever awaits inside is safe.” Lance pulled open the bookcase door and issued through it. After a pause, he returned and gestured for her to follow. “It’s fine. Come in.”
Kathryn entered the room and stopped. She hadn’t really been expecting a room full of treasure, but what did meet her eyes was so prosaic that she couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed.
It was simply a bedroom. Admittedly, a beautifully appointed bedroom that had been updated more recently than any of the other rooms on this floor, or in the entire castle, for that matter.
A large four-poster bed was topped by a turquoise satin comforter trimmed in gold braid. Carved mahogany furniture stood side by side with ornate pieces from the Louis XIV period. The walls were covered in brocaded silk and hung with oil pai
ntings of travel scenes from the Continent. Old volumes of classic literature filled a tall bookcase, and small but expensive-looking knickknacks and marble and bronze sculptures were scattered throughout the room.
“What is this?” Lance uttered in a puzzled tone.
“A very nice bedroom,” Kathryn observed, “far too nice to be used for guests. It looks more like someone’s private retreat.”
“But who? A room this elegant . . . with all these objets d’art . . . it could only have belonged to my father, or possibly . . .” He crossed to a small writing desk. It was covered with an elegant leather desk set embossed in gold with the initials HJM. “These are my brother’s initials: Hayward Jerome Granville.”
“Your brother.” Kathryn nodded. “That makes sense.”
“Does it?” Lance shook his head, bewildered. “I don’t understand. My brother had the entire castle at his disposal. Why would he go to the effort and expense of hiding a room like this behind a secret door?”
“Maybe he wanted a place where he could be by himself, unobserved and uninterrupted by the servants.”
“When I want privacy, I simply lock my door or tell the servants not to disturb me. No. This is something else.”
“Maybe,” Kathryn suggested, “he had lovers he met with secretly?”
“That still makes no sense. Hayward was lord of the manor and an unmarried man. He could have slept with any woman he wanted at any time. Why the need for secrecy? I fail to see why . . .” His voice trailed off, his attention drawn to the art objects in the room. Lance’s eyebrows lifted as if a new thought had occurred to him.
Kathryn followed the direction of the duke’s gaze. The marble and bronze sculptures in the room, she noticed, were all of nude men—depictions of Greek gods and Olympians. Two of the oil paintings on the walls were also of nude or scantily clad Greek gods.
An orange and black vase, which she suspected might be ancient and extremely valuable, depicted naked Greek athletes on a long distance run.
Kathryn couldn’t prevent a small gasp. At the same moment, Lance uttered an oath. And not a mild one. He was staring at a small framed photograph resting on the bedside table.