A Notorious Proposition

by Adele Ashworth

  “Be careful,” he warned.

  “Of course I’ll be careful,” she replied, turning so that she began to descend the ladder after him.

  Counting the rungs, he began his descent, holding the light down from him, noting the dank air mixed with the smell of damp soil. The space couldn’t have been more than five feet around, just enough for a person, or a trunk or package, to be lowered without hitting the sidewalls.

  He’d counted to twenty-six when he saw a widening beneath him.

  “We’re nearing the bottom,” he said, knowing she followed closely above him.

  Four rungs later he stepped onto solid ground. He moved to his side and Ivy lowered herself beside him, snuggling close to him, probably without realizing it.

  Garrett lifted the lantern to better view their surroundings.

  The tunnel split in two directions—north, toward the house, and south, presumably toward Portsmouth, where it was rumored to connect to another entrance near the docks, though he knew the southern end had been filled and sealed off eighteen months ago.

  “This way,” he said, taking her hand as he began to walk carefully into the passageway, Ivy following close behind without argument.

  The tunnel had been carved out of the earth fairly evenly, about six feet high and six feet wide, held up by large wooden beams placed about every four feet or so. It also stayed fairly uniform on all sides, he noted, though the smell of rotting wood and mold increased the farther inside they moved.

  “This was built ages ago,” she murmured up to his ear, clinging to his coat sleeve with her free hand, her voice echoing slightly.

  “It’s probably been here for several generations,” he concurred, noting with pleasure that even though she professed to hate him, she obviously didn’t fear him after their passionate kiss that morning.

  For another few minutes, they continued north in silence, seeing nothing in the distance to block their path. The tunnel curved just slightly as they proceeded, probably taking them toward the back of the property nearer to the lake.

  “I need to know something, Garrett,” she murmured, her tone low and cautious. “Why do the Martello diamonds mean so much to you? Why are they such an obsession?”

  He had expected her to ask him that one day, and he’d been prepared since he wasn’t yet ready to reveal the truth.

  “Men do not like to fail in their careers, Ivy,” he replied with only the slightest evasion, “especially when they’re being paid by the British government.”

  “You didn’t fail, you were trapped and attacked,” she countered. “That has to mean something to the Home Office.”

  “Yes, but why was I attacked?” he queried, holding back the disgust he felt to his bones.

  She sighed. “Your intelligence in the matter had to have been incorrect—”

  “Exactly,” he interjected.

  “—but that wasn’t your fault.”

  He slowed to a standstill and turned to look at her face, hidden in shadow. “Why did you warn me, Ivy?”

  She pulled back a little. “Warn you?”

  “With your…gift, shall we say, you warned me not to go to the rendezvous, knowing I would anyway. Why?”

  She straightened and took a step back. “If you remember correctly, I warned you not to go alone. I should have been there with you.”

  “For you to be attacked as well?” He shook his head. “I’m sure you know I never would have let you take part in such a dangerous mission, regardless of the outcome.”

  “I was not in danger,” she insisted, annoyed. “And I was also working for the British government.”

  He stopped himself from a snide retort. Their work had been nothing alike, and she knew it already. Instead, he turned around and started walking again. After a second or two, she followed.

  “Have you ever actually seen the Martello diamonds, Garrett?” she asked a moment later.

  “I have,” he admitted without prevarication.

  “Describe them to me.”

  Her request didn’t sound particularly cunning in nature, just curious. He decided to indulge her.

  “They’re three stones, actually, blue diamonds, each the size of…oh…a man’s thumbnail. They’re set in a tiara of gold, along with some very small rubies, that once belonged to the Martello royal family in Italy.”

  “Once belonged?”

  He drew in a deep breath of moist air to reply, “The tiara was given to the former Marquess of Rye, as part of a dowry, seventy years ago or so, when he married the royal princess.”

  He heard her quick gasp of surprise, and he smiled in the darkness. “Yes, the Marquess of Rye, Ivy.”

  She grabbed his arm to stop him. “And you didn’t tell me this until now?”

  He shrugged. “Why do you imagine he purchased this particular home and sent you on such a wild hunt?”

  She said nothing for a moment, then, “So when were they stolen?”

  He thought about lying, then decided against it. “During a party two years ago.”

  “A party?” she repeated, incredulous. “During what kind of party does a family display a tiara of priceless jewels?”

  He rubbed his neck, stalling. At last he revealed, “A betrothal party for the Marquess of Rye and Lady Margaret Dartmouth of Brighton.”

  That seemed to confuse her, as he assumed it would. He reached for her hand again, and said, “We need to keep moving.”

  She followed him, her mind in deep introspection, he supposed. Finally, she whispered, “I didn’t know the marquess was married.”

  “He’s not.”

  “He’s not? How do you know?”

  “If he was, I’m sure we’d know about it, Ivy.”

  “True…” Seconds later, she said, “So I have to wonder why he didn’t marry Lady Margaret?”

  Because I was deceived…and then met you…

  “You’re talking too much,” he grumbled.

  She ignored that. “And how on earth did the diamonds get stolen from the party and into the hands of Benedict Sharon?”

  By way of your brother…

  Suddenly he stopped. “The air is getting colder.”

  “I hear a trickling of water, too,” she added, pushing aside their previous discussion.

  He crouched to study the dirt floor. “The ground is moist, here. We’re probably nearing the lake.”

  “Which means the entrance to the house shouldn’t be too far now.” She tugged at his hand. “Let’s go.”

  He stood upright again, and they continued in silence. Moments later the tunnel took a sharp turn to the left, and within just a few feet, it widened into a small, rounded alcove containing two sturdy, wooden benches on either side of them. And just barely visible straight ahead, about seven feet in the distance, rose a steep incline of stairs exactly like the ones behind the library.

  “Those have to lead to the cellar entrance,” she whispered.

  He nodded as he raised the lantern high and glanced around. “Rothebury must have used this as a collection area” he surmised, “before moving his smuggled goods in and out of the house.”

  “What’s that?” she asked, pulling her hand from his grasp.

  He turned and followed her to his right, the dim lighting casting dark shadows on the walls as he approached her.

  “I think it’s a well,” she announced as she glanced back to him.

  “Don’t get too close,” he murmured forcefully.

  “I’ll be careful,” she scolded in a whisper. Placing a gloved palm on the earthen wall, she peered over the edge. “This must connect to the lake.”

  “Probably, though it now appears dismantled,” he said, moving up beside her and looking down into the darkened hole. “I’ll bet the owners used this as their water source before the last renovation, when pumps were installed.”

  “It’s deep,” she maintained. “I can hear the movement of a spring, but it’s a long way down.”

  “It just seems that way because it’
s dark. I doubt it’s more than twelve or fifteen feet to the bottom.” He reached for her hand again and pulled her gently away from the edge. “Let’s try the cellar door.”

  Reluctantly, she turned and followed him past the small clearing to the stairs.

  “Wait at the bottom,” he ordered, handing her the lantern.

  Without argument, she did as directed, holding the light up so he could see his ascent up the seven narrow steps to the door, its latch and lock clearly visible.

  Garrett climbed each step cautiously until he stood at the top, then without delay he tried the latch. The door wouldn’t budge.

  “It’s stuck,” he whispered.

  “Let me try,” she said as she started climbing.

  He turned and gave her a wry smile. “Ivy, if I can’t open it, you certainly can’t open it.”

  “You don’t know that,” she countered, reaching up to remove the hood of her pelisse.

  “I’m sure it’s locked from the other side,” he continued, starting his descent. “We’ll have to try to find the entrance in the cellar.”

  He reached the bottom and stood in front of her, gazing down to her face, noticing her brows pinched in speculation.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked in whisper.

  “I’m thinking that I don’t see any other entrance to the house from here.”

  “So?”

  “So…” she said through a sigh, “if through the cellar is the only way to get in, then Desdemona would have had to walk through this long tunnel, climb the steps to the cellar, then from there enter another passageway that leads to the master bedchamber.” She looked into his eyes. “That’s a lot of work for a lovers’ tryst, don’t you think?”

  He lifted a shoulder negligibly. “I suppose if I were going to bring a secret lover to my room, that’s how I’d do it.”

  Her brows rose. “You mean make it difficult to enter, with more concealed places to hide to avoid being caught?”

  “Exactly.” After a long exhale, he added, “I suppose it would also depend on how much their meeting in secret meant to her,” he remarked casually.

  “Well, of course she loved him,” she clarified at once, “or at least she thought she did, else why would she risk her future in such a way?”

  “You mean by giving herself to him unmarried?” he asked, his low tone growing thoughtful.

  His question made her visibly uneasy. She squirmed a little in her stays, then turned away from him. Suddenly, she raised the lantern and walked to the center of the alcove.

  “I feel a draft,” she whispered, meeting his gaze again with wide eyes.

  He immediately moved to her side and grabbed the light from her hand. “From where?”

  “I don’t know…” She shook her head absentmindedly and took a step around him, then turned. “Something’s wrong, Garrett.”

  He didn’t feel a draft, and heard nothing but the distant trickle of the spring at the bottom of the well.

  “It’s probably—”

  “It’s not my imagination,” she charged, pivoting to glare at him.

  “I wasn’t going to say that,” he insisted in a whisper.

  Suddenly he heard the faintest thumping noise above them. Quickly, he dimmed the lantern, grabbed her, and pulled her into the tiny crevice beneath the stairs.

  “Garrett—”

  “Don’t move,” he whispered as he clamped his palm over her mouth to cut her off. “There’s someone in the cellar.”

  He felt her stiffen in awareness as he lowered his hand. They stood together motionless for another few seconds, and then he heard the latch click at the door above them.

  Very slowly, now in total, disconcerting darkness, he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her tightly to him, her backside pressing into his hips so that they became nearly one body, as flush to the wall as possible. With a swift surge of awareness, he felt the weight of her breasts on his arm, caught the faintest scent of her silky skin, and tried very, very hard to avoid thoughts that would drive him to distraction. She didn’t move, and he could barely hear her breathing, though he had to assume she also realized how closely they touched each other.

  And then, with a long, faintly heard creak, the cellar door gradually opened.

  For seconds nothing happened. Then directly above his head, someone stepped onto the first step, then the second, waiting, it seemed, as a flicker of candlelight bounced off the walls of the alcove.

  Garrett could feel the tenseness in Ivy’s body, could hear his own blood rushing through his veins as they stood together in strained silence. If they didn’t move at all, they might go unnoticed. Whoever it was would have to descend every step and walk around the staircase to see them. But by choosing not to react and confront the intruder now, he might never learn who stood above them in the earthen room nobody was supposed to know existed—except for Benedict, who he believed was probably dead. The temptation to discover the truth at that moment tore at his gut, but his desire to keep Ivy from secrets revealed trumped everything. It simply wasn’t time; revelation for all of them would come eventually if he remained patient.

  As quickly as he made the decision to stay hidden beneath the stairs, the quiet figure above them abruptly turned and stepped back into the cellar, the candlelight extinguished as the door softly closed.

  For several minutes they waited, no movement or sound between them. Finally, Ivy relaxed and took a hesitant step away from him. Before releasing her completely, he pressed a finger to her lips, and she nodded in response.

  Carrying the lantern in one hand, he clasped her elbow with the other, though instead of moving to the center of the alcove, he hugged the wall until they were a few feet away from the stairs, near the tunnel entrance.

  Leaning into her, he whispered in her ear, “Whoever that was didn’t lock the door.”

  “Then let’s go in,” she argued just as quietly.

  He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. With his face in her hair, he breathed, “No. We’ll check it tomorrow from the other side.”

  She struggled to be freed. “But—”

  He rubbed his nose across her ear, and she stilled.

  “Whoever it was could be waiting.” His lips touched her lobe, and she shivered. “It’s too dangerous.”

  She gave him an almost imperceptible nod and pulled back from his intimate touch. He let her go, quelling a grin of triumph.

  Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved another match. “Grab on to my arm,” he whispered.

  She groped for him in the darkness, her palm sliding down his coat until she clutched him at the elbow. Then, with caution, he entered the tunnel, his gait slow, feeling his way by gingerly touching the wall. After countless minutes they made the sharp turn to the south. He continued for several more feet, then stopped and struck the match on the bottom of his shoe, relighting the lantern without effort.

  She drew a shaky breath behind him. “Let’s go.”

  He didn’t reply. As the darkness gave way to a dim view of their path, they moved swiftly to the entrance, climbed the steps to the top, and exited into the cold night air.

  Chapter 9

  Ivy didn’t sleep at all. She tried, and occasionally dozed, but the memory of being held by Garrett as an intruder nearly caught them in the underground tunnel had unnerved her beyond all thoughts.

  They had left the site by moonlight, Garrett covering the forest entrance with its wooden door, pine needles, and leaves, then walking her near enough to the house to ensure her safety. She’d been careful in entering the house as well, and for the first time felt remarkably thankful for Lord Rye’s small staff. As far as she was aware, nobody knew she’d left and returned.

  They’d said little to each other after such a distressing experience and only vaguely discussed the possible identity of the person who’d almost caught them. Neither she nor Garrett saw or heard anything that could characterize the individual as man or woman, but together they conclud
ed it probably had to be someone other than one of Lord Rye’s employees. If Mrs. Thurman or Giles Newbury and his staff had discovered some secret entrance, the marquess would no doubt have been notified, and it wouldn’t have remained a secret. They would surely tell her, as well, or she would hear it from Jane, as servants tended to talk below stairs. The curiosity would certainly overwhelm everyone.

  If, in fact, the servants remained ignorant of the tunnel system behind the various walls of the house, they likely didn’t know that the main tunnel in the forest was still accessible. Most troubling to her, then, became the apparent certainty that another individual was entering the house at will, someone not employed by Lord Rye, and if that was the case, there had to be another entrance into the house from the outside—an entrance of which everyone remained unaware, including Thomas, Madeleine, and the authorities. Garrett’s last words to her before departing were to remind her to lock her bedroom door as soon as she retired, something she would have done anyway.

  Before leaving him last night, she’d made plans to meet him at ten in the village square, then walk together to Penelope Bennington-Jones’s home on the northern edge of town. After her lack of a good night’s sleep, she felt restless in waiting until even midmorning.

  Jane plaited her hair and coiled it loosely at the back of her head, then helped her dress in a modest day gown of sea green with three-quarter sleeves and rounded neckline, after which she promptly donned her good, fur-lined pelisse and left the house for her trek around the lake. She noticed Garrett at once, waiting for her in front of the inn, once again wearing his good morning suit of dark brown beneath his unbuttoned twine coat. The air was perhaps a trifle warmer than it had been in recent days, but the sky remained hidden behind thick clouds as together they traversed Sedgewick Lane to the northernmost end of town, where they’d learned Penelope lived with her two remaining daughters.