A Notorious Proposition

by Adele Ashworth

  He paused for a moment, then said, “What do we do now? So I suppose we’re actually working together?”

  She huffed. “There you go answering a question with a question again. And you know that if I had a choice, I’d rather not be in your company.”

  They both stopped walking at the same time, standing in front of the inn, and he turned to her.

  “I admit it’s uncomfortable,” he said at last. “For both of us.”

  It dawned on her suddenly that she’d never considered his feelings in the matter, that perhaps his being near her brought back his own bad memories of their week together, the night he’d taken her, and then his attack. She’d felt his physical pain, knew something of that night still lingered as a dark force within him. She just hadn’t taken into account how difficult his life might have been these last two years.

  Before she gave thought to her actions, she leaned up and lightly kissed his cheek, noting only briefly how warm his clean-shaven skin felt against her lips.

  He did nothing, didn’t move or say a word at her brazen action. And then she took a step away from him and glanced to the Rye estate in the distance.

  “I suggest you come to the house for tea this afternoon,” she said in a wistful voice. “We’ll take that opportunity to finally check the cellar.”

  “After tea?”

  She glanced up at his face, studying the hard planes, the lock of hair that fell across his forehead unnoticed, his dark eyes hiding feelings she couldn’t read.

  With a smile, she amended, “I’ll serve coffee just for you, Garrett.”

  One side of his lips curved upward.

  And then she turned on her heel and left him, heading back quickly to the house of many secrets.

  Chapter 10

  Ivy spent the better part of the day walking through various rooms on the second and third floors, looking for hidden entrances behind bookcases and wardrobe closets in a few of the rooms, only to be disappointed in the end. The master bedchamber hadn’t been used or changed since Benedict’s disappearance, though it had been cleaned by the new staff. She realized a passageway entrance had to be behind one of the walls in the large suite, but to her dismay it was obviously well hidden, as she had yet to find it.

  At one o’clock she took a luncheon of bread, cheese, and fruit alone in the dining room, sifting through the little correspondence that had been delivered to the estate since her arrival, noting nothing of importance. She’d written the Marquess of Rye, through his solicitor in London but had yet to receive a reply to her request for hosting a Winter Masquerade on his estate.

  Finally, Garrett arrived at exactly half past three. He’d changed into the same casual attire he’d worn when they entered the passageway from the library, as had she. The day had grown darker, and the air smelled like rain, so the inside of the house already seemed gloomy and particularly cold.

  After announcing to Newbury that she would be escorting Mr. Burke to the wine cellar so that he might note the additions done in that part of the house, she requested tea and coffee be served at five in the parlor. Then lifting her skirts, she led the way down the darkened hall toward the kitchen at the back of the house, Garrett following without comment.

  As they walked inside the hot enclosure that had been modernized and clearly remodeled in the last few years, neither the marquess’s cook nor the two servant girls peeling potatoes near a sideboard gave them more than a quick curious glance as they passed through and headed toward the rear servants’ entrance.

  Just before reaching the door, Ivy turned to her left and began to descend a long staircase.

  “There’s a lamp for use at the bottom,” she said before he asked. She’d only been in this part of the house once, finding it neither frightening nor particularly intriguing as an old wine cellar—until last night when they’d found the entrance from the tunnel. But her anticipation in inspecting it had been building all day, so that she now had trouble restraining herself from rushing to get within the dank walls. Garrett followed closely behind her, though he still hadn’t said a word. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she stopped and turned so quickly he ran into her, though the quick action of wrapping his arm around her waist kept her from falling backward.

  “Don’t do that,” she whispered.

  “Do what?” he asked, releasing her slowly.

  She wanted to admit how uncomfortable she felt each time he held her in his arms, how it managed to make her remember the times she longed to forget, but she wouldn’t. Instead, she said, “Nothing. Just…be careful. You almost knocked me over.”

  She caught the slightest smirk on his face, but he didn’t comment as she turned quickly away from him.

  “This is a storage room that contains canned goods, oil, sacks of flour and potatoes—”

  “I know what a kitchen storage room contains, Ivy,” he said wryly. “Where’s the wine cellar?”

  She ignored him and raised her left hand, locating the oil lamp and matches on the shelf above her, always kept at the foot of the stairs for just such usage. Swiftly, she lit the lamp and held it out in front of her.

  “I think that’s the cellar door straight ahead,” she said, motioning with her free hand as she began to move toward it.

  His stride was faster, and he reached it first. “Give me the lamp.”

  “No.”

  He turned and looked down at her. “No?”

  Her brows rose as she stared him straight in the eye. “It’s my turn to go in first.”

  He almost snorted. Then, with an exaggerated swing of his arm, he said, “Be my guest, madam.”

  Her lips curled up in triumph as she grabbed the door handle and pushed down on the latch. “I believe you are my guest, sir,” she whispered.

  With a quickness that startled, he raised his arm and clamped his palm against the back of her neck, yanking her to him.

  “You are far too saucy for a lady,” he breathed. Then he lowered his mouth to capture hers.

  For seconds she was so stunned she couldn’t react. He apparently feared she might drop the lamp, for she felt it slide from her grasp as he took it from her.

  Ivy closed her eyes. His lips felt warm and soft, so inviting. He teased them with his own, flicking his tongue across the top so that she opened for him.

  He deepened the kiss, holding her head close, his hot breath caressing her cheek, his tongue invading her gently, searching, and a feeling of helplessness descended on her, forcing her to give in completely.

  And just as suddenly as it started, it was over.

  She kept her eyes closed as he lifted his head though she could feel his gaze on her face. She knew he had to be feeling the same skepticism, confusion, and longing.

  But he apparently recovered himself long before she did.

  The latch on the cellar door clicked, and without delay, he began to swing it open.

  She drew a deep breath and raised her lashes, intent on giving him a resounding earful. But he only grinned at her, and that made her mad.

  “Stop kissing me, sir,” she seethed in whisper.

  “You must admit,” he stated very casually, “that kissing you cuts down on the chatter.”

  She fairly grabbed the lamp from him. “You forget that I despise you.”

  “Yes, that’s very apparent,” he replied with a wry grin. “Let’s go.”

  She dropped the topic for the moment, deciding it best to ignore his inane behavior. But at least he allowed her to enter first, so in a sense, she felt she had won this particular annoying moment with him.

  With the door to the wine cellar opened completely, she very slowly walked inside, holding the lamp out in front of her.

  There were six steps to the left that went down to the wooden floor, and she descended without incident, seeing nothing out of the ordinary—just bottles of wine stacked on racks as they should be. The room smelled of damp earth, though the air seemed stale to her and colder than the rest of the house.

  �
�Where do we start?” she asked as she moved farther into the room.

  He strode past her toward the far end of the cellar. “If I’m not turned around, this should be the east wall, putting it in line with the end of the tunnel.”

  She moved to his side, scanning the racks for any indication of a door behind them. “We shouldn’t have to move the bottles,” she said, thinking aloud. “Whoever left a doorway to the old well would expect to be able to move an entire rack; otherwise, it would have been sealed completely. Or left obvious.”

  “I agree,” he said simply.

  She glanced up to his face, noting how lamplight made his strong features look chiseled to perfection, his eyes dark and full of mystery. And as he glanced down to meet her gaze, a soft surge of awareness passed between them, sending a jolt of heat through her body.

  His gaze lingered on her for another moment or two, his brows drawn together as if he were attempting to fit pieces of a puzzle into place. And for the smallest second, she feared with an unusually desperate desire that he might kiss her again.

  “Let’s start looking,” he insisted in a husky timbre.

  She swallowed and nodded. With that, he turned his attention to the first set of racks at the southern end of the east wall.

  For several minutes they found nothing beyond the ordinary as each rack of wine bottles seemed bolted to either the floor or the wall. Ivy held the lamp behind him, doing more observing as he attempted to push and pull to no avail. Then suddenly, as they neared the northern wall, she stilled.

  “I feel a draft again,” she whispered. “Coming from down here.”

  She lowered her body, and he crouched beside her.

  “Near the floor?” he murmured, stretching his palm out to feel for himself.

  The warmth of his breath on her ear made her shiver, and she fought the urge to rub it on her sleeve.

  “No, a little higher…Here.”

  He clutched the rack in front of her with both hands. “It’s loose, but unmovable. There must be a latch here as well.”

  Ivy stood again and stepped back as Garrett began looking for a hook or latch to release the entire case from the back wall.

  Then she heard a click.

  “I found it,” he whispered, his tone now edged with anticipation. “Stand back.”

  She did as he ordered, holding the lamp up for him to see better.

  “I think the whole rack moves,” he said through a grunt. “The wine bottles, too.”

  And then, with a faint creak, the rack seemed to crawl open on its own, just as the bookcase in the library had done.

  “Amazing,” she whispered, noting how the bottles filled with wine didn’t even rattle.

  “Indeed,” he agreed. “Whoever built these passageways took extraordinary care to assure they stayed sturdy and well hidden.”

  “It’s just wooden paneling,” she muttered as she drew her fingers along the back wall.

  He started pushing against it as well, and almost at once half of the panel, from the floor to nearly waist height, moved to the side about four feet.

  Garrett took the lamp from her outstretched hand and crouched to look inside. “It’s another room…or passageway.”

  Incredulous, she replied, “Do you see the door to the main tunnel?”

  He was silent for a moment. “I think so.”

  As he began to enter what appeared to be a crawl space, Ivy whispered, “Be careful.”

  He didn’t reply as he disappeared inside. Ivy followed, ducking to maneuver her body through the opening. As soon as she was through, she stood next to Garrett, brushing her skirts out as she surveyed the area. She noticed the door to the main tunnel at once, straight ahead about three feet. With nothing but a wall to the left, Garrett moved past her to peer into the darkness on their right.

  “I think it’s another passageway,” he whispered. “Probably the one that leads to the bedchambers.”

  “But that’s got to be up at least five flights of stairs,” she added with a trace of amazement in her tone.

  He began to walk cautiously forward. “Let’s find out.”

  She followed him, staying as close as possible, her palm clutching his elbow, as he began to traverse the passageway that wound first toward the southeast part of the house, almost certainly underground, then gradually began to slope upward. The tunnel seemed to be as small an enclosure as the first they’d encountered behind the library, but with cobwebs and dust, it felt much smaller, and Ivy fought the urge to cushion her face in his back, between his shoulder blades, and let him lead her blindly.

  For at least ten minutes they moved steadily onward in silence, cautiously climbing two sets of stairs and making a number of sharp turns, disorienting them more with each curve as they had yet to come upon a door or something else to indicate an entrance into the main house. Then, suddenly, Garrett slowed to a halt.

  “What is it?” she murmured, unable to see anything around his large frame, which nearly filled the passageway.

  “I think we’re at the library,” he said over his shoulder.

  “Where we entered the first time? How do you know?”

  He stepped forward another few feet. “I think we’re coming up from the south, heading north. The door we came through is on the left, and straight ahead are the stairs we climbed.”

  She thought about that for a moment. “So, when we get to the top of the stairs, instead of going right, as we did before, this time we go left.”

  “Exactly,” he agreed in a gruff whisper. “That rotten smell is getting stronger, too.”

  She caught a whiff of it and shuddered.

  They remained silent as they passed the library entrance and began to climb the familiar staircase. Once at the top, Garrett turned to his left and started down the passageway opposite the one they’d taken two days before.

  “So there really is only one tunnel that’s built between rooms and traverses the entire house,” she said, thinking aloud.

  “Possibly,” he replied. “Then again there could be another that’s entirely separate.”

  “It’s cold in here.”

  “I know,” he replied in a whisper. “Just keep moving.”

  “I’m presuming,” she carried on, “that the various servants through the years have heard footsteps, and perhaps even creaking noises of the doors being opened and shut, and that’s where the rumors of ghosts have come from.”

  He didn’t comment.

  “And it’s likely even one or two of them saw a figure disappear into—”

  “Ivy, stop talking or they’ll hear your voice and start shrieking,” he admonished softly.

  She smacked him lightly on the arm but decided he was probably right.

  For several minutes they walked in silence, then he slowed again and turned a little to whisper, “I see another door.”

  She clung to his elbow as he neared it, then replied, “You look for the lock, I’ll hold the lamp.”

  He handed it to her cautiously, then began to run his fingers over the edges as before, almost at once finding the same type of latch as the other entrances.

  She heard the faint click, and with a gentle push, the door slid to the side about two feet, just enough for a person to squeeze through.

  Garrett peered inside. “This is paneling behind a vanity table,” he murmured. “The one in the withdrawing room for another bedchamber.”

  “That’s why I couldn’t find an entrance,” she said, annoyed. “I was looking for a door.”

  “The various room entrances were all probably built at different times,” he mused.

  She glanced around her for a moment, thinking. “We must be above the ballroom, or the eastern end of it. We’ve come farther than I thought.”

  He pulled the door closed. “Well at least we have that answer.”

  True, she thought. This was how Desdemona, and possibly others, entered the lion’s lair.

  “Let’s keep going and see if this passageway leads to other
rooms.”

  “I’m sure it does because it continues, but we can’t be gone any longer, Ivy,” he maintained as he closed the paneled wall with a faint tug. “We have to return, or the staff will start to become suspicious.”

  He was right again, naturally. The cook and kitchen help had seen them, and tea would be served soon in the parlor.

  “Then I’m—”

  “No, you’re not,” he insisted, turning to face her, his look stern. “Promise me now that you’ll not enter the main tunnel or these passageways without me, at any time.”

  She glared at him, hoping he noticed her annoyance in such faint light.

  “We’ve discussed this more than once,” he continued, his low voice carrying a trace of softness. “It’s not safe.”

  Biting down a snide retort, she said instead, “What we should do is see if we can find entrances from inside the house. There have to be several.”

  His brows rose just enough to know she’d surprised him by not arguing.

  She grinned wryly. “And of course you can’t help, Garrett, as we’ve already decided it would be highly inappropriate for us to be seen together in private quarters.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he seemed to grow thoughtful. “The problem,” he said after a moment, “is that we’re not really learning anything by walking hidden corridors. I can’t imagine we’ll find Benedict or the diamonds just sitting in the middle of the passage.”

  She knew that, of course, and yet hearing him verbalize it distressed her a little.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked cautiously.

  He rubbed a palm down his face. “That we’re going about this little investigation of ours the wrong way.”

  She shook her head, confused. “What wrong way? What do you mean?”

  “I’m not sure…” He took her arm and turned her. “Let’s go back, and we’ll discuss it outside, where nobody can hear.”

  “We’re whispering, Garrett. Nobody can hear—”

  He put two fingers on her lips to silence her, then motioned to her with a nod to get going. Exasperated, she turned, held the lamp out to guide their way, did as he directed.

  It took them only about half the time to retrace their steps and return to the small entry area behind the wine cellar. As soon as they neared the short entrance, she stopped short.