by Regina Scott
He beamed at her. “That’s what made me suspect a hidden passage as well. This place is immense; it didn’t make sense to have such low ceilings in so many of the rooms, especially when the rotunda has a three-story ceiling. And I hope you can see my dilemma. With one hand holding a candle and being careful to stay on the beam, it’s difficult to search. I literally fell into that Rembrandt. Luckily it wasn’t damaged. But with you along, I’m less likely to miss or damage something.”
The longing in her eyes assured him she was weakening. “Surely Mr. Asheram could help you,” she countered.
“I need Asheram to manage things while I’m off searching. Besides, this is an adventure.” He paused for a moment, watching her, but he couldn’t tell if his point had persuaded her. There was another reason he wanted her beside him, alone with him. Perhaps she should know all. “Let’s be candid, shall we?”
She hesitated. “About what?”
“About everything.” He stepped closer and gazed down at her. “I’m not very subtle, Miss Alexander. I don’t bother to hide my feelings, good or bad. I like you, have done so since I first laid eyes on you yesterday. Aside from the fact that I need your help to find the last of the treasures, I’d like the opportunity to get to know you better. That doesn’t seem to be all that proper according to your British traditions.”
“And you always go by tradition,” she teased.
That she remembered made him smile. “If I don’t, there are others who do. Her ladyship, for example, uses traditions as a pawn, remembering them and forgetting them as they serve her. You must have noticed that she doesn’t like seeing us together. She won’t make it easy for me to spend time with you. If we met in the passages, we could avoid her censure.”
She lowered her head before answering. “My lord, you must understand my position,” she murmured. “I am honored you find me interesting. I admit that I enjoy your company as well. But I cannot afford a scandal. It is my dream not to spend my life as an art teacher but to earn my way as a painter. If I make Lady Brentfield my enemy, I could lose everything. Besides, you and Priscilla have an understanding. I cannot trespass on that.”
David started. “Priscilla and I have a what?”
She glanced up at him. “An understanding. Both Lady Brentfield and Priscilla have explained it to me. You have agreed to marry Priscilla Tate.”
David started to laugh, then caught himself. The rumor wasn’t entirely funny, not when these Brits took such matters so seriously. “I assure you, Miss Alexander, that Miss Tate and I have no understanding. I’ve never met the girl before yesterday, and I certainly haven’t talked to her aunt about marrying. In fact, when I’m with her aunt, I avoid that topic above all things. I don’t even call her Lady Brentfield; it makes her sound like my wife. I have never been engaged, to anyone, either in England or in Boston. I’ve never even been tempted, before now.”
She caught her breath, and he realized that he’d said more than he should have. “So you’ll do it?” he hurried on. “You’ll help me search?”
“If it won’t interfere with my duties,” she hedged. She glanced about the dark corridors again and shivered. “Are you sure it’s safe?”
“Some parts of the house are in poor repair,” he allowed. “But I’ll show you which areas to avoid. And I’ll be with you when we go exploring. If you ever need me between our trips, just follow that corridor to the east. The descending stair ends beside my bedroom.”
“I doubt I’ll need to go that far,” she replied primly. He grinned at her unconscious pun and, apparently realizing it as well, she colored. David took her hand.
“Don’t worry, Miss Alexander. I promise no harm will come to you. Let me show you around my secret world. You never know what you’ll find.”
“That’s what I fear,” she muttered.
Chapter Five
Hannah had never thought her chaperone assignment might lead to anything remotely enjoyable. She was delighted to find herself swept up into a fantasy world of dark corners and arching passages, led by the most handsome of princes to find a treasure greater than she could have imagined. Wondrous masterpieces lay for her to find, if only she had the courage to search for them. The only sober part of the morning was the thought that she was avoiding her duty and the girls once again. Still, she consoled herself with the fact that they would be well chaperoned by the grooms on their ride, and surely Lady Brentfield would have other activities planned for them by the time they returned.
After a short way into the passage, she released Lord Brentfield’s hand and let him go ahead of her, listening with a smile to his animated description of how he had found the other pieces. She had wondered at first about his motives for encouraging her to wander about alone with him. Perhaps in America things were less formal, but even though she would probably have to relax her code of conduct to be alone with the subjects of her paintings on occasion, she knew that a lady was not supposed to be alone in an enclosed space with a man who was not her husband. Of course, those enclosed spaces were usually defined as bedchambers or remote sitting rooms with tempting sofas, not dusty, dank passageways where it was safe only to walk single file.
But she needn’t have worried. His lordship was a perfect gentleman. More than that, he was a great deal of fun. He joked and whistled as they poked about uninhabited portions of the house and tiptoed with exaggerated stealth over sections that did contain a busy servant or two. Once they passed within inches of Lady Brentfield, who was ringing a peal over poor Clare. The little blonde was temporarily serving as her maid. From the sound of the stinging diatribe, Clare had done nothing more heinous than forget to set out a matching set of earbobs. Hannah was sure she must have misunderstood.
“That’s the third maid she’s had in the month I’ve been here,” he whispered as they moved over the room. “Her ladyship seems to be quite particular as to what she expects of her assistants.”
“I would think someone as important as Lady Brentfield could afford to be particular,” Hannah whispered back, feeling a little guilty for helping his lordship instead of the lady. “Among the servants it must be an honor to serve her.”
“So much of an honor that Asheram had to triple Clare’s pay just for her to consider a temporary assignment,” he replied.
Hannah wondered about this as they pressed onward. Certainly she had already seen evidence that her ladyship was not the sterling example of English womanhood she had been led to believe. For one thing, she had lied to Hannah about Priscilla’s engagement to David. She might even have been encouraging the girl to lie about it as well, or lying to the girl by assuring her the engagement was real. Surely her motive was only to see her niece well settled. Hannah had heard stories from the other teachers about young ladies who set traps to lure their intended husbands to the altar. Somehow Hannah had always assumed those traps were laid by women far less alluring and more desperate than Lady Brentfield, certainly more desperate than Priscilla, who wasn’t even out yet. It was all very odd, and she could only think that a great gulf existed between the lives of the aristocracy and the rest of the English citizenry.
Of course, she found many things about Brentfield puzzling, foremost this business with the art treasures. Why would anyone hide such precious items away? If the previous Earl of Brentfield was the hunter David had indicated, it seemed unlikely he had had the foresight to take precautions from some unknown thief. Yet if he hadn’t removed the treasures, wouldn’t he have noticed that someone else had? Like the russet painting in the Blue Salon, the changes were noticeable. Then she remembered the story of a murder and felt a chill run through her.
“Are you all right?” David asked, turning from his place ahead of her in the passage. “You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden.”
She smiled, far too brightly she was sure. “I’m fine. Just wondering why the previous earl might have wanted the treasures hidden.” There had been no reason for the deaths to be considered murder, Priscilla had said. For that reason alone, the story sho
uld be dismissed. But the art treasures would be worth a considerable fortune. Could the thief have attempted murder so as to have an easier way to steal the art?
“As I told you, I can only think of two reasons,” David replied ahead of her. “Either he was hiding them to protect them, or he was hiding them to sell them.”
Hannah frowned. “Why would he have to hide them to sell them? They were his to begin with.”
He shook his head. “Apparently not. All the artwork is part of a trust, and the estate itself is entailed. Do you know what that means?”
“I’ve heard the term,” Hannah told him. “Doesn’t it mean that the entailed item has to go intact to the nearest male relative in direct line descent from the previous title holder?”
“Exactly. From what the solicitor and Asheram told me, the condition generally applies to large tracts of land. The thought was to prevent the division of great estates into successively smaller and smaller parcels with each generation. That makes sense for Brentfield. But the collector of all these lovely pieces of art, the previous earl’s father, couldn’t stand the thought of seeing all his treasures go should his son turn profligate or start gambling. So he set up a trust to prevent anyone from selling a single piece. So, I’m land-, and art-rich, and money poor.”
Another puzzling thing about Brentfield, Hannah thought. Why would a father want to force his son to live frugally in the midst of such wealth? “So, the previous earl may have wanted to sell things without anyone knowing about it?” she summarized.
She could see him nod. “Asheram has an inventory that came with the house, claiming to be a full representation of every item. As you can imagine, it’s a long list.” He glanced back to grin at her, the candlelight throwing his face into profile and highlighting his lean nose. “We’ve been checking off the pieces as we find them, but there are still a goodly number missing.”
“And you think they’re all up here?” She looked around her at the widely spaced beams and plaster in between. Something caught her eye, and she stopped. He stopped too.
“There,” she said, pointing toward the supporting beam across from her. “Something’s shining in the passing candlelight.”
He leaned carefully over the space between them and the wall. Handing Hannah the candle, he braced one hand on the beam while he reached behind it with the other. Hannah held her breath as he drew a small gold statue into the light.
It was a woman with the head of a cat, holding a flail and a crook and dressed in clothes that spoke to Hannah of the Nile. The statue was no longer than her hand, but the eyes were of ruby and the ends of the flail glittered with what were surely diamonds. Hannah let her breath out in a soft puff of wonder.
“Well done, Miss Alexander,” he murmured. “I’ve already passed that spot twice and never saw this. You’ve earned your keep this day.”
His praise warmed her. She glanced up at him and saw that he was once more smiling at her over the candle. As their gazes met, the smile slowly faded, to be replaced by an intensity in his sapphire eyes that made her catch her breath once more.
“Such hard work deserves a reward,” he murmured, leaning toward her. Hannah swallowed, sure that she must have mistaken him. But he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers.
She closed her eyes as the sweetest of sensations rippled through her. His lips were warm and gentle. They brushed against hers like silk. For so soft a touch, they seemed to ignite a fire deep inside her that left her trembling. As he withdrew, she opened her eyes and found him regarding her with the most tender of smiles.
“Let’s see what else we can find, shall we?” he murmured. Hannah’s mind didn’t seem to be functioning correctly, so she simply nodded. He retrieved the candle and started forward, the statue held in one hand. It seemed to her that his walk was less steady than it had been. She knew her own knees were shaking.
It seemed his lordship had been wrong. The passages were dangerous, perhaps as dangerous as the singing of her heart.
Chapter Six
David found it difficult to focus for much of the afternoon. He’d stolen a kiss, but it had been his own heart that had threatened to be lost. How could he feel so tender, so hopeful about a woman he’d known less than two days? Perhaps all that time in the darkness of the secret passages had addled his wits.
He was careful to send Hannah back to her own room while he retired to his so that they would appear from opposite wings for the nuncheon he typically ate in the early afternoon. He hadn’t expected to find his other guests waiting for him, gazes accusatory.
“We thought you were going to join us on our ride, my lord,” Priscilla said as he took his seat at the table.
Her aunt narrowed her eyes as if she had not realized he had been neglecting his duty, and despite his best efforts, his gaze was drawn to Hannah near the end of the table. Her smile looked particularly wobbly, and her cheeks were beginning to darken. He could only hope Lady Brentfield had not noticed.
“Why don’t you join me for a tour of the back gardens this afternoon?” he offered, piling the cheese and meat onto a hunk of bread and ignoring the pointed way Lady Brentfield brandished her fork.
“Another tour?” Daphne grumbled.
Priscilla jerked as if something had struck her under the table, and she glared at her aunt across from her.
“Priscilla, you mustn’t deprive yourself of this treat,” Lady Brentfield said, while Priscilla wiggled in her seat. “You’ve always adored walking about the estate. Perhaps you’ve finally found someone else who loves it as well.”
“Do you walk much when you’re at school, Miss Tate?” David politely inquired.
“Whenever possible,” Priscilla dutifully assured him. Hannah was frowning from her place at the foot of the long table as if she had proof otherwise, but Priscilla was batting her lashes to effect. “It is so lovely to feel the cool breezes across one’s skin.”
She’d no doubt meant the comment to be titillating, but he had no interest in her stratagems. Once more, he looked to Hannah. “And do you take walks too, Miss Alexander?”
“When I have pleasant company,” she said with a smile. “Miss Pritchett, the literature teacher, often goes out with me. Otherwise, my duties prevent much exercise.”
“Always dutiful, that’s our Miss Alexander,” Lady Brentfield said, voice as hard as her look. “You needn’t feel bound here, my dear. Walk as much as you like, all the way to the edge of the estate.”
“I don’t think she need go that far,” David said with a smile. “She could start by joining us this afternoon. I promise you I’m better at pointing out plants than portraits.”
Hannah shared his smile.
He thought steam might pour from Lady Brentfield’s ears by the way she stabbed her fork into her beef. As soon as lunch was over, she seized Hannah’s arm and dragged her off, claiming to be rethinking the need to be painted.
David resigned himself to a dull afternoon leading the young ladies through the greenery.
Dinner wasn’t much better. Every time he tried to draw Hannah into the conversation, Lady Brentfield deflected him with some comment about her niece. Priscilla must have realized her aunt’s gambit wasn’t working, for by the time the fruit trifle was served, the girl’s eyes were stormy, and David wondered whether he’d see a temper tantrum before the night was out.
But Lady Brentfield wasn’t through. When David retired with the ladies to the blue room after dinner, she stationed her niece at the piano and set her to playing an American tune that he could not fail to appreciate. The girl was talented. He found himself taking a seat as close to the instrument as possible just to watch the passion of her playing. As if she knew she had him, she moved on to a more difficult piece, her golden hair glinting in the candlelight as her fingers flew over the keys. Her playing was flawless, and his applause was genuine and enthusiastic when she finished.
“You play beautifully, Miss Tate,” he commented. “That’s a gift few can claim.”
“Oh, must it always be ballads?” Daphne complained. “Can’t we have something more interesting?”
“A battle hymn,” Lady Emily suggested, “or better, a dirge.”
“Oh, not a dirge,” Ariadne protested. “Something brighter. Have you nothing by a recent composer?”
“A waltz, perhaps?” Miss Alexander put in.
Now, there was an idea. He nodded, rising. “A waltz would be perfect. Do you know one, Miss Tate?”
“I know several,” Priscilla bragged. She launched into a particularly stirring one. Ariadne tapped her foot to the beat. Even Lady Emily nodded along. Daphne leapt to her feet.
“Oh, if only we could dance!”
With a grin, David bowed to her. “Miss Courdebas, I would be delighted if you’d join me.”
She ogled him. “Really!” she squeaked.
“Curtsey, you idiot,” her sister urged sotto voice.
Daphne dropped a deep, wobbly curtsey. “I would be honored, my lord.”
He took her in his arms and began to swirl her around the room. The room was huge; there was plenty of space between the piano at one end and the nearest grouping of chairs in which to take a turn. The girl giggled as he turned her, eyes sparkling. He could see Hannah watching them, her look fond. Then he heard a slight pause in the music. Glancing toward the piano, he saw that Lady Brentfield had taken her niece’s place at the keys and Priscilla had risen to stand beside her friends.
Daphne stumbled. David caught her easily, but after a few more steps, she broke away from him, blushing. “I’m sorry, my lord. I’m still learning.”
He bowed again. “I’m sure you’re a delightful pupil, Miss Courdebas.”
Priscilla stepped eagerly forward as if intent to be his next partner, but David had played the dutiful host long enough. He turned to Hannah. “Miss Alexander, as you’re a teacher, perhaps you’d be willing to demonstrate to your students how it’s done.”