“It’s been closed,” she whispered, feeling her heartbeat quicken.
“That’s what I feared,” he said, passing her to look at the paneling firsthand. He pushed against it to no avail, then attempted to find a latch. “Someone was in here.”
Ivy turned in all directions, feeling a panic rising. “After we came through?”
He stood tall and looked at her directly. “Someone, probably the same person who nearly caught us by the well, is making use of these passageways regularly. And he or she knows we’ve discovered them.”
“We’re locked in,” she breathed.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “No, we can get out through one of the bedrooms, I’m not worried about that.”
“Well, it worries me,” she murmured in agitation. “Let’s get out of here before whoever it is locks us in for good.”
Immediately, he took the lamp from her and snuggled close to pass her, putting him in front. Over his shoulder, he said, “Stay close to me.”
He sounded calm and very much in control, she decided, but she could tell by his quick walk that although he might not be as frightened by the prospect of being trapped forever in an enclosure without exit, he couldn’t hide his own concern.
At last they reached the library entrance.
“Hold the lamp,” he said, fairly shoving it into her hands.
She raised it for better light while he inspected the corners above for a hidden latch. His nimble fingers inched along the top then down the left side.
“I found it.”
She sighed with relief when she heard a click. He pushed on the door—and nothing happened.
“I think it’s been locked from the other side,” he said through a grunt as he tried a shove with his shoulder. It didn’t budge.
“Garrett?”
He stood upright again and combed his fingers through his hair. “It’s all right. I’ll get us out of here.”
She shivered, feeling icy sweat cling to her neck. “We could take the main tunnel to the forest, I suppose.”
He shook his head. “That’s sealed from the outside as well.”
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, closing her eyes.
Immediately, he pulled the lamp from her fingertips and wrapped his arm protectively around her shoulders, hugging her close.
“At least you smell better than that damned cat,” she said, feeling an immense comfort in just his presence alone.
He chuckled softly. “A lady should not use profanity,” he breathed into her hair.
She groaned and rubbed her cheek across his chest. “And she should never find herself alone in a hidden tunnel with a man who is not her husband,” she added.
He exhaled a long breath, then dropped a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “Let’s go back to the door of the master bedchamber. At least we know that one opened. I can’t imagine anyone being able to lock it quickly without our noticing or hearing something.”
“I can,” she grumbled, glancing up to his face.
He gave her a wicked smile. “Always the optimist, you are.” He rubbed her back, then gave her a nudge. “Let’s go.”
He carried the lamp, and she led the way, climbing the steep stairs quickly, then turning down the left passageway when they reached the top. Holding her skirts up to her ankles to avoid tripping, she swiftly walked to the door, Garrett following closely behind.
Without a word, he reached for the latch and unlocked the door. Ivy attempted to push it in, but it stood firm.
“It’s locked, too,” she shrieked in a whisper.
He grabbed her jaw with his hard hand. “Don’t panic. Someone is playing with us, Ivy, and he wouldn’t leave us in here like this without reason.” He inhaled deeply and rubbed the pad of his thumb across her lips. “Trust me?”
She blinked back tears as she nodded minutely.
“Good.” He glanced up and down the dusty enclosure, thinking of options, then grabbed her hand, clutching it tightly as he continued to move down the passageway. For several moments they walked forward in silence, slower than before as they were in an unfamiliar area of the house.
The small tunnel curved to the right, then turned again sharply to the left. Garrett stopped. “Where are we? Can you tell?”
She rubbed her nose with her free hand. “Well, if that was Benedict Sharon’s bedchamber, then…” She glanced back, calculating. “We’ve probably passed the adjoining room, and we’re—we should now be near the one Lord Rye assigned to me.”
“Good,” he said with a trace of relief. “I suspect whoever locked us in here knows that.”
“What are you saying?” she asked very slowly, her eyes widening with concern.
He squeezed her hand faintly. “That we’re being steered there for a reason. So let’s find the door.”
“If there is one,” she groaned.
He walked a few steps farther, then murmured, “The passageway is narrowing.”
“We’re nearing the end?”
“I think so, but—I see a shift in the wood up ahead.”
Instead of picking up the pace, he slowed his stride with caution. “Stay behind me,” he whispered over his shoulder.
She nodded.
Gingerly, he strode to the end and held the light up to survey the wall. She couldn’t see a door in the dimness, but it reminded her of the exit they had found the day they entered from the library.
Brushing a spiderweb aside, Garrett pressed his palm to the wall. Without effort, or even a click of a lock, it opened just enough for them to slide into Ivy’s withdrawing room.
She almost threw herself into his arms with her relief, but he stopped her by squeezing her fingers again in warning.
She swallowed as he pushed the wardrobe closet door to the side and stepped into the room, then pulled her inside with him before releasing her.
“There’s nobody here,” he said seconds later. He walked into the bedroom proper and strode at once to the window, scanning the area below and toward the lake. “And nothing unusual outside, though it’s dark, and I can barely see the shoreline.” He turned and looked at her, his brows creased in frown. “And I’ll wager the door to the hallway is locked from this side, too.”
Ivy felt a wave of nausea course through her as she considered how someone had the knowledge to come and go from her bedchamber at will, could watch her while she slept or dressed, even bathed.
And then from the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of something odd sitting flat on the bed. Something out of place, white against the purple quilting.
Very slowly, she moved toward it, suddenly overwhelmed by a sharp sensation of terror, a foreboding unlike any she had ever felt before.
Her mouth went dry as she felt the blood drain from her face.
“What’s wrong?” Garrett asked, pushing himself away from the window to walk toward her.
She couldn’t speak. With her thumb and index finger, she reached for the piece of white paper, folded neatly in two, her Christian name written in very tiny letters on top.
He grabbed her wrist. “Don’t touch it.”
“I have to,” she replied coldly without looking at him.
With her insistence, he relaxed his grip. Nimbly, she lifted the paper, and as she did so, the bottom half opened, and from it fell a small lock of hair that landed softly on the quilt—just like hers in color, texture, tied with a small blue ribbon. In a flash she saw Ian’s face, distorted and reaching…
Garrett pulled the sheet of paper from her grasp and glanced at it. “It doesn’t say anything.”
“It doesn’t have to,” she breathed, and within seconds she began to tremble violently.
“Is this lock of hair yours?” he charged.
“It’s Ian’s…”
Suddenly he took action. He reached for her hand and fairly dragged her to the hallway door. Then after peeking out to make sure all was clear, he turned to her, and whispered, “We’re going outside where the w
alls don’t have ears, and you’re going to tell me everything.”
She shook her head as tears began to stream down her face.
“Stop it!” he demanded in a quiet voice of concern, giving her a quick jostle. “Don’t let the servants see you upset. It’ll alert them that something is very wrong.”
Attempting to recover herself, she drew in a long, unsteady breath and nodded.
He reached up and gently wiped his fingers across her cheeks. “You can cry on my shoulder at the lake.”
Then, acting swiftly, he opened the door and they left her bedchamber, walking as fast as they could without causing a commotion, thankfully seeing no one as they made their way to the foyer, grabbed their wraps from the bronze coat rack, and stepped out into the fresh air.
Chapter 11
Garrett knew he had to think quickly. If this had been just a week ago, he would have believed Ivy had set him up with such trickery to make him succumb to her emotions, to give in and trust her without question. But he knew fear when he saw it, and Ivy was afraid. She had been afraid in the tunnel, and she seemed positively terrified now. Suddenly he knew that everything had changed between them, and probably more so in him. She might have been involved in tricking him two years ago, but she wasn’t involved now.
He waited until they were well away from the house before he considered talking. Instead of walking all the way to the bench that overlooked the lake from the back of the Hope cottage, he decided to lead her toward a more secluded area nearer the house, though away from prying eyes.
They didn’t speak until he turned off the forest path and pushed through a bit of brush, walking downward toward a clearing by the water.
At last he motioned to an overturned log, directing her to sit. She did as ordered, noting she still clutched the lock of hair in the palm of one hand.
“Tell me what’s going on, Ivy,” he insisted in a tone a bit more subdued than he felt.
She shook her head as she gazed out over the water. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said matter-of-factly, lifting a leg to plant his foot on the wood next to her hip. “At least,” he amended, “I know there’s something you’re not telling me and that it has to do with your brother.”
For a lingering minute she just stared past him, across the lake, and he waited, with a patience that defied his irritation at her for being so evasive at a time when there wasn’t anyone else in Winter Garden she could trust.
Finally, she turned her face skyward, keeping her eyes closed. “I told you my brother was in danger.”
“Yes,” he replied, avoiding the fact that he hadn’t exactly believed her.
Her lashes fluttered open, and she looked at him at last, her smooth skin pale, her eyes filled with trepidation. “I don’t know who to trust…”
In a sudden melting of will, he felt his heart swell with tenderness at her honest disclosure. And it took an endless moment, he thought, to comprehend exactly what her words implied, how even now she reached out for him in a longing she probably didn’t understand. He also realized with a bit of rationality, that to tell her she could trust him with anything would cause her to deny him, perhaps even reerect that barrier that had slowly crumbled between them in the last few days. That event would cause more harm than good, and lead him further away from his own search for the truth. If he were to gain her trust, he would need to trust her.
Garrett pulled his foot from the log, and with a gradual acceptance and a slow organization of his thoughts, lowered his body to sit beside her. To his relief, she scooted a little to the side to give him room.
“Ivy, if you’ll let me help you, I’ll trust you with something, a…secret of sorts, that I’ve kept to myself for two years.”
She turned to look at him, her eyes vibrant and sparkling with tears she attempted to hold back from his view.
“This is not about us, Garrett,” she said in a forced whisper. “This is far more important than us.”
He tried not to let that statement, uttered in fear, slice into his gut. Instead, he replied, “This is about me, Ivy.”
Her brows creased gently as her gaze scanned his face. “It’s about the pain in your head, isn’t it?”
He almost smiled. “There’s a bit more to it than that.”
A cold wind stirred the leaves at his feet, and blew strands of loose hair around her pale face as she gazed unblinking at the water just a few yards away.
“Two years ago, when I was attacked in St. Anne’s Church,” he began softly, “I was supposed to meet an informant who’d arranged for Benedict Sharon to be there in his attempt to exchange cash for the stolen Martello diamonds.” He paused, then admitted quietly, “That informant was your brother.”
It took a long time, it seemed, for her to comprehend his disclosure. For seconds she just sat there, staring, and then very, very slowly her brows drew together and she turned to stare at him.
“That’s impossible,” she breathed in a voice barely heard.
He rubbed his hands together in front of him to keep them warm. “Not impossible, Ivy. True.”
She began to shake her head. “He had no reason to be involved, Garrett. He’s not an investigator—he didn’t even know you.” She swallowed harshly, then added, “You’re lying.”
He noted how she nearly spat the words at him, but her confusion in the matter seemed to overcome her anger. He just didn’t know how much to reveal, not without knowing how deeply her brother was involved in the deception from the beginning.
With a quick exhale through his teeth, he continued. “I…was brought into the case when Ian went to the Marquess of Rye to inform the man that he was being blackmailed into stealing the Martello diamonds during his forthcoming betrothal ball—”
She cut him off with a bitter laugh. “Ian blackmailed? That’s insane. By whom? Why?”
He remained silent for a moment or two, then murmured, “By Benedict Sharon.”
Caustically, she replied, “I don’t believe you.”
Although he still hadn’t looked at her, he could feel her icy gaze on his face, and noted that she sounded less convinced of his deception, probably because she was attempting to piece together the puzzle with the information she possessed herself. He did realize, however, that she wouldn’t be able to do so without his revealing more.
Abruptly, she shook herself and stood, wrapping her arms around her waist in a defensive gesture, and walked forward to the edge of the lake.
He stared at her back, deciding to continue with his disclosure whether she chose to believe him or not in the end.
“According to your brother,” he said, “Benedict Sharon knew of the Martello diamonds, as did many of the aristocracy, but he was more impressed by their value as individual stones. He intended to remove them from the tiara, sell them illegally, and use the funds to buy his brother’s release from prison. Or at least that’s what he told Ian. I have my doubts about that after learning Lord Rothebury died only weeks after his arrest, but without proof, I’m not sure what to think other than that Benedict wanted the money for himself. And being such a reclusive individual, I suspect he thought to disappear from England for good without anyone knowing his whereabouts, or for that matter even caring.”
He watched her, remaining on the log to give her space to come to terms with the information. Daylight was fading, and the looming darkness fit his mood, his worry. Finally, she turned to him, her eyes meeting his directly, cast in a shadow of hurt and bewilderment.
“Ian has always been an honorable man, Garrett,” she said, her voice carrying just above the wind. “He would never give in to blackmail, for anything or anyone.”
He cocked his head to the side a little. “For you, perhaps?”
She pulled back a little, her features growing hard, lids narrowing. In a breath of warning, she asked, “What are you saying?”
Inhaling deeply, he revealed, “Benedict Sharon told Ian that if Ian refused to steal the diamonds,
Benedict would disclose, to all concerned, the nature of your parentage.”
For seconds she did nothing. Then he saw her lashes flutter, her lips begin to quiver, and he knew she understood.
In a second he was upon her, grabbing her around the waist before her legs gave out and she faltered. “Sharon is a shrewd and evil man, Ivy—”
“No!”
She shoved her hands hard against his chest, and he released her. She stumbled back, hugging herself, gulping for air. And then in a rage she turned to him, her breath coming fast and hard, her eyes flashing, her posture ramrod stiff.
“This is impossible!” she shouted in whisper. “Where is he? What has happened to my brother, Garrett?”
He felt gut-punched by her pain, the tears in her eyes, her confusion and fury as she continued to clutch the lock of hair in her palm.
“I don’t know, Ivy,” he said, his tone gravelly. “I don’t know where he is or what happened that night. But I do know he did the honorable thing by going to the marquess and informing the man that Sharon was blackmailing him into stealing his diamonds. That had to have been an enormously difficult thing for him to do, especially in disclosing the reason why.”
She ignored that, wiping her eyes with her fingertips. “That’s why you don’t trust him. You think he arranged, with Benedict, to set you up for attack that night? Why?”
He swallowed hard. To deny it would be an outright lie, and yet he knew there was far more involved.
He raked his finger through his hair, then said quietly, “I don’t honestly know, Ivy.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” she cried out. She took a step toward him, pointing at his chest. “You left me—me—in your bed that night while you went to meet my brother? Can you imagine how knowing this now makes me feel?”
“Yes, I do,” he insisted darkly. “But you weren’t the only person hurt that night.” He paused for a moment, watching his words register, then lowered his voice to continue. “I trusted him, Ivy. He didn’t want you to know the details of the blackmail, and for good reason. The fact that the authorities brought you in as their beloved seer to help was beside the point. All they knew was that the Martello diamonds were missing. Your help wasn’t pertinent to the plan your brother had set in motion, which was why I told you nothing at the time. It was supposed to be an easy arrest, but the fact remains that when I arrived at that church, Ian wasn’t there.”
A Notorious Proposition Page 15