Hermione snickered from behind him, and he turned to look her up and down. “But you do, don’t you?”
She shook her head with feigned innocence. “Actually, I don’t have any idea, my lord.”
He looked at Catherine Mossley. “You’ve lived in this village all your life. Are you aware of a dungeon?”
She gaped at him, her skin as ashen as Lady Isadora’s, seemingly lost in the confusion of the last few minutes. Finally, she said, “I—it’s possible. This house has been here for nearly five hundred years, owned by…monks, originally, during the Black Death. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d had a dungeon built during that time. You’d have to ask Sarah Rodney to be sure.”
“Where would an entrance be?” he probed her directly, knowing he didn’t have time to hunt down the historian.
She pinched her brows together tightly. “I—I don’t know, probably beneath the house, and near a water source.”
Near a water source…
“The lake?” Madeleine asked as she stood.
He thought about that for a second or two, then enlightenment struck. “No, a well.”
Chapter 22
The trip through the passageway seemed to take an extraordinary amount of time, he thought, and Garrett was nearly beside himself with impatience and worry.
A dungeon. God Almighty, who would put a person in a dungeon? The thought alone filled him with an indescribable terror, and to think Ivy had somehow been led to one, or carried and deposited inside, left him beyond horrified.
He led the way, followed by Madeleine. Although Lady Margaret had insisted on coming with them, he’d ordered her to stay, and he’d closed the tunnel entrance behind them to ensure her cooperation. She had no light and didn’t have any idea where to look. He still had numerous questions that required answers from her, and he would get them. But first he would rescue Ivy from hell.
“Where are we going?” Madeleine asked from behind him, holding her skirts above her ankles as he rushed her along.
“To the main tunnel entrance,” he replied over his shoulder. “Where’s Eastleigh?”
“I don’t know. I left him to search the bottom floor when we went to Ivy’s room.”
He didn’t reply to that as he continued walking down the passageway. They’d curved around the bottom now and were nearing the entrance from the wine cellar.
“If Ivy is down here,” Madeleine speculated, “wouldn’t she have had to walk?”
“I’m not so sure,” he said, slowing his pace as he came to the door. He handed her the lamp as he began looking for the door to the alcove. “If she was unconscious, she’d have had to be carried.”
“Then a man is involved,” she insisted. “That would be the only way she could be carried this distance.”
“Or more than one woman.” He found the latch and heard the click. “Be careful in here,” he warned. “The well is to the left, and it’s open; I don’t know how sturdy the stairs are.”
She nodded and returned the lamp. “You first.”
With little effort and only the slightest creak the door opened. He held the lamp out to survey what he could see of the area, though the alcove appeared as black and empty as it had before.
He tried the top step, gradually lending his weight to it, and found it sturdy. Then, with a controlled haste, he descended the remainder of them and moved quickly toward the well. He could already hear the trickling of water again but nothing else.
“Ivy!” he shouted.
Nothing.
“There has to be a door somewhere,” he said to Madeleine, as she walked to his side.
Immediately, they both began to search with the lamp held high, moving from the edge of the well until they’d made a circle of the alcove, finding only solid earthen walls.
“I don’t see anything that could be a door,” she muttered, her voice filled with a growing desperation.
Garrett felt panic rising to the surface once more. Stopping in the center of the small room, he closed his eyes to think.
“When Ivy and I were in here weeks ago, someone entered through the door at the top of the stairs.” He raised his lashes and looked at her again. “Why?”
Madeleine very slowly shook her head. “Perhaps…she heard you?”
“Exactly, my thought.”
He watched her forehead crease with her own stupefaction. “But if she did, why didn’t she confront you?”
Garrett rubbed his eyes.
Think!
“If these are two separate events, then we can assume Margaret’s plan of stealing the diamonds was rational.”
“Rational?”
“It was stupid, yes,” he replied, “and criminal. But it’s not the work of an irrational mind.”
Madeleine’s mouth dropped open as realization struck. “So you think whoever came in here knew you were here and didn’t confront you because…Why?”
“She enjoyed it,” he answered simply. “Enjoyed our anxiety, our…getting caught.”
“She?”
He turned and glanced back to the stairway. “I can’t imagine a man would care about playing me for a fool, watching me from hidden enclosures, sending me a package containing my own tiara wrapped up in a pretty red bow.” He shook his head. “No, this is the work of a woman.”
Madeleine drew a deep breath. “And we know Hermione Bennington-Jones drugged Ivy. So she is likely—but could she carry her down here?”
“She’s a large woman,” he agreed, “but she would probably need help.”
“From Viola?” Madeleine mused. “Or someone else? Elizabeth?”
Garrett glanced at the floor of the alcove, certain he was missing some vital piece of information, something he knew but couldn’t quite—
His head shot up. “What was she doing in the passage space on this side of the wine cellar?”
Madeleine looked confused again.
He turned and once again studied the wooden staircase. “She didn’t know Ivy and I would be down here; we entered through the tunnel in the forest. And if she only opened the door because she heard us, then she had to be between the wine cellar and this door, in the passageway that leads upstairs.” He paused, then murmured, “But there would be no reason for her to be there, unless—”
“There’s another door,” Madeleine whispered.
“She didn’t catch us,” he breathed, “we caught her…”
Garrett reacted at once. He took the steps two at a time, entering the passageway and holding the lamp high.
“That’s the wine cellar entrance,” he said, pointing toward the floor paneling directly in front of him as Madeleine moved to his side, breathless. “The passageway to the library is to the left, so—”
He moved to his right about three feet to view the wall he and Ivy had noticed the day they’d entered.
“It doesn’t look like an entrance to anything,” Madeleine said from behind him.
“It doesn’t have to,” he maintained, passing her the lamp once again. “I found an entrance to a closet space in the wall inside the passageway earlier. This is exactly like it.”
His fingers quickly skimmed the top of the wall, finding nothing. He then began to draw them down the sides, growing ever more discouraged with each passing inch, until he reached the floor. And then, on the left side, a foot from the bottom, he noticed a notch in the paneling, exactly like the one in which Ivy found the spider when they had discovered the first door upstairs.
His heart began to beat wildly in his chest; perspiration broke out on his neck and back as he stuck his finger inside. He heard the click and stood abruptly.
Palms on the wall, he pushed, and it rolled open to the side.
Madeleine sucked in a sharp breath of surprise.
Directly in front of them stood a massive iron door, with one small round window in the center and an iron bar across the front, secured with a large metal lock.
He peered into the window. “I can’t see anything.”
“Try the loc
k,” she directed, holding the lamp up to give him a better view.
Wrapping his hand around it, he yanked hard, but it remained solidly bolted. Wiping his sleeve across his forehead, he said, “We need a key.” Then in a fury, he leaned back and shoved his foot hard against the door once. Twice.
It didn’t budge.
“Goddammit!”
Madeleine placed a palm on his arm in comfort. “Let’s find Hermione or Catherine Mossley. Maybe they know something about a key. If they can’t help, we’ll get a locksmith.”
He clenched his teeth, breathing hard, his muscles tight. “You go through the wine cellar entrance, I’ll return through the passage to the library. We can find them faster if we separate.”
She nodded as he fairly shoved her aside to unlatch the paneling near the floor.
“Just push the rack aside and move forward about five feet. You’ll see the stairs that lead to the kitchen.” He grabbed the lamp. “I’ll meet you in the foyer, and if you see Viola or Penelope, bring them as well.”
With that final order, he disappeared into the darkness.
Ivy opened her eyes abruptly. Something had jarred her awake, something beyond the blackness, a sound maybe, a noise that had penetrated the stone, though she couldn’t know if it had merely been a dream. She shivered from the bitter coldness, huddling against the wall, forcing herself to focus on only Garrett.
He would find her. She had absolute faith that he loved her enough to trust that she would never leave the house, or him, without one last good-bye. She refused to consider anything else.
Wrapping a layer of her silk gown around her shoulders, she leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes once more.
With extra care, she wrapped the package and tied it with another red ribbon, just like the one before it. Then she left her darkened closet space and entered the passageway, careful not to make a sound because she knew the marquess was inside the tunnel system, and she didn’t want him catching her.
But she would go the other way to avoid him, to change her clothes in one of the unused bedchambers. They’d never know she was there, that she sometimes even slept between the sheets. Really, it amused her that she’d gotten away with so much, with so little help, for so long.
She quickly reached the hidden door and clicked the latch. Then after squeezing through the entrance, she dropped the package on the vanity and walked to the wardrobe where she’d left her gown. She donned it as fast as she could manage by herself, then slipped on her good leather shoes. That done, she checked her features in the mirror and, with a calculating smile on her lips, lifted the mask to her face and tied it behind her head.
After straightening her shoulders and smoothing her skirts, she retrieved the package and walked to the main door.
With a final glance into the room, she stepped into the deserted hallway and closed the door behind her.
Garrett reached the library entrance and stepped into the light, noting at once that everyone had left and feeling a sudden fierce anger at himself for not taking Hermione with them when they went to the well. But then after a bit of thought he wasn’t so certain she knew very much. Either that, or she knew everything. She was very good at hiding information and not showing emotion on her face.
Swiftly, he walked to the open door, lowered the lamp to the floor at his side, and stepped into the hallway, moving as fast as he could to the foyer, thankful that the orchestra still played, keeping the majority of the guests ignorant and engaged.
He noticed Thomas first, his head above the others, standing next to Madeleine—and behind them both stood Hermione, Viola, and Penelope.
“Where were they?” he asked through a fast breath as he moved to Madeleine’s side.
Penelope huffed. “How dare you speak to us—”
“Be quiet, Penelope,” Thomas interjected, his voice pierced with irritation. “I noticed Viola coming down from the upstairs landing earlier, so I’ve been following her. When I spotted Maddy, she directed us here.”
Madeleine gave her husband a quick smile. “I found Hermione on the ballroom steps just as I came in through the hallway from the kitchen, and she has something for you,” she said. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Hermione. “Give it to him.”
The blond woman’s lips twitched beneath her mask. “I have a gift for you, my lord.”
“A gift? What the devil is going on?” he asked in low rage.
Penelope flushed from the cursing, then wrapped an arm around Viola’s shoulders in some measure of protection, her lips tight.
Hermione didn’t falter as she brought her hands forward very gradually from behind her back, cradling another gold box in her palms.
A box like the other.
Garrett grabbed it and pulled the ribbon off in one hard tug. He dropped it to the floor and lifted the lid, at first seeing nothing but crumpled newspapers within. With fast fingers he pulled everything out until he stared unbelieving at the contents.
“Holy Mother…”
“What is it?” That from Madeleine as she moved to his side.
The key.
“Oh, my God,” she murmured. She looked up abruptly. “Where did you get this, Hermione?”
The woman shrugged, and pure hatred coursing through her voice spat, “I found it.”
“Found it?” he repeated unbelievingly.
With a flicker of a caustic smile, she added, “It is addressed to you, my lord, is it not?”
“There’s a note,” Madeleine said, when he pulled the brass key from the box.
He grabbed it, opening it to read:
I want the diamonds. Find them, and I’ll give you her location. Find them before she dies.
Garrett’s mind had become a blur. The secrets, the taunting, the teasing, the novelty…
“It’s a game,” he whispered, dropping the empty box to the floor. “It’s an insane, goddamned game.” He choked down a cry of fear. “And someone is using Ivy’s life as the pawn.”
“But we know where she is,” Madeleine encouraged him. “And now we have the key to release her.”
Hermione paled, her lips parting just barely in acute surprise.
Garrett stepped so close to her she had to pull her head back to view him. But she never looked away.
“You were part of this blackmail scheme, weren’t you?” he whispered gravely.
Penelope winced and brought a hand to her mouth, swooning and looking as if she might faint.
Hermione’s gaze never wavered. “I was only a messenger.”
He wanted to slap her. “A messenger? What the devil does that mean?”
She offered no reply.
“Let’s get Ivy out of there, Garrett,” Madeleine said, grasping his arm. “We’ll discover truths later.”
He looked up and stared hard at Hermione. “Watch them, Eastleigh. Don’t let them leave.”
“I think we’ll all get some champagne and chat,” he remarked coldly. He looked at Madeleine, and his features softened. “Be careful, sweetheart.”
She touched her husband’s cheek, then the two of them turned and raced toward the library.
Her plan had fallen apart. Hermione had been caught before she could hide the box, and now she was a suspect where she should be glowing with untold wealth from the sale of the diamonds that could have been hers.
She hadn’t meant it to happen like this. She’d only wanted to kill her nemesis, the bastard Benedict, who’d confronted her in his home, ordering her out when he shouldn’t have. But she’d also heard him mention the diamonds, and after she killed him, she wanted them. Benedict owed her that much, owed all of them that much, and she’d vowed to do whatever she could to find the precious stones for herself, even if she needed to resort to kidnapping and ransom.
Now, seemingly in an instant, it was finished. They’d stolen her only card to play, and soon Lady Ivy would be discovered, the diamonds, she supposed, never found.
Her plan had failed, and with
it, so had the hope she’d held for those she loved. She had nothing left.
Standing at the shoreline, in a peaceful snowfall, she spread her hands wide. “I’ve truly failed them, Father,” she whispered. “Forgive me.”
And then, with silent tears, braving the cold, she stepped forward and slowly glided into the lake.
Chapter 23
Garrett had never been so worried in his life—worried for her, for them. As the time ticked by, he couldn’t help but berate himself for allowing his deception to continue. If he had told her everything before the ball, maybe she wouldn’t have run from him to find herself alone and in such a vulnerable position. He couldn’t help but blame himself for her kidnapping. He should have gone after her at once. And what if they found her alive, and she never forgave him for his deceit? What if she never wanted to see or speak to him again? His panic from the thought took his breath and threatened to undo him, but he refused to allow it to stop him in his pursuit. Nothing mattered now but finding Ivy.
With Madeleine following closely behind him, he walked as fast as he could through the maze that would lead him to her. He’d considered going through the kitchen and the wine cellar, which would be faster, but he’d left the lamp in the library and he absolutely needed light.
He felt like crying, in sorrow, in rage—or better yet, killing someone with his hands—as he began to comprehend just how scared she must be alone in the darkness, with the rats and spiders. It was all he could do to keep himself together. He was all she had.
At last they reached the doorway to the dungeon. Breathless, covered with perspiration, his hands shaking, he lifted the key to the lock and shoved it inside.
Old and covered with rust and dirt, it took him several seconds to get the key to turn. And then he heard a click and relief washed over him.
“It works,” he said, mouth dry, voice rough. A moment later the lock dropped off, and with little effort, he lifted the iron bar. With a long, loud creak, the door opened.
“Jesus,” he whispered as the stench struck him hard.
A Notorious Proposition Page 27