Stephanie Laurens - A Lady of His Own

He was, however, heading for it.

Charles cursed beneath his breath, caught the edge of the panel, and hauled it shut. Penny looked around, straightened, but blessedly made no sound as the panel dully clicked into place.

He looked at her; she stared at him. Beyond the panel they heard the sound of a boot step on the floorboards.

If Nicholas wasn’t using the room, then why had he come there?

Charles grabbed Penny’s arm and drew her to the small door. Grasping the key, he turned it, trying to be careful, but eventually had to force it; the lock hadn’t been used in years. It grated, then the bolt clunked over.

Just as the faint whirring of the panel’s mechanism reached them.

The panel popped open. The catch to release it was concealed in the ornate mantelpiece surrounding the fireplace farther down the bedchamber.

Charles wrenched the narrow door open, unceremoniously thrust Penny through, and followed on her heels. He pulled the door shut, fast and silent, rammed the key into the keyhole, turned, and heard the lock fall home.

Just as the panel hinges squeaked.

They held their breaths. Nicholas took a few steps into the priest hole, then stopped.

Penny closed her eyes, then opened them. There was no real difference in what she could see. Blackness.

The…corridor?—wherever they were was narrow, musty, and dusty; the wall against which Charles had crammed her was cold, hard stone. The space hadn’t been designed for two people; they were jammed together, his shoulder wedged against hers, her back to the wall opposite the wooden door.

She could hear her own breathing, shallow and rapid. Her senses were in knots, reacting to the black prison on the one hand, Charles’s nearness on the other. Her skin started to chill, then flushed, prickled.

Through the darkness, Charles found her hand and gripped reassuringly. She gulped and fought down a mortifying urge to grab him, to cling and burrow against his solid warmth.

He shifted; releasing her hand with a gentle pat, he slowly crouched, his shoulder and back sliding down her.

Her legs weakened; mentally cursing, she stiffened them.

A pinprick of light glowed faintly. She blinked, blinked again, realized Charles had extracted the key from the keyhole.

He moved. The light vanished; absolute darkness once again reigned. He was peeking through the keyhole.

She bit her lip, trying not to form any mental image of their surroundings. Cobwebs, bits of stone, lots of dust, insects, and small creatures…not helpful.

Charles moved, then smoothly, carefully rose. His hand found hers, squeezed, then followed her arm up to grip her shoulder. He leaned nearer. She felt his breath brush her ear, felt the reactive shiver to her marrow.

“He didn’t see us. He’s studying the boxes. Doesn’t look like he’ll leave soon.”

He paused, then added, his voice the faintest thread of sound, “Let’s see where this goes.” He stepped away.

She clutched at him, caught the back of his hacking jacket.

Halting, he reached around and caught her hand. He pried it free, but didn’t release it; he drew her arm around him, then flattened her hand on his chest, over his ribs. He reached back and caught her other hand, and did the same, bringing her close—very close—behind him.

Leaning his head back and to the side, he breathed, “We’re going to move very slowly. Hold on to me—I think there are stairs a little farther along.”

How could he tell? Could he actually see anything? To her it was as dark as a sepulchre.

Regardless of the abrading of her senses, she wasn’t about to let him go.

He was right about the stairs. They’d only shuffled a few feet when she felt him step down. He stepped down again, then waited. Feeling with her toes, she found the edge and stepped down behind him.

In tandem, one step from him, one from her, they slowly descended. With every step, the hard strength of his back shifting before her, the steely muscles of his chest flexing beneath her palms, blatantly impinged on her senses. Although the air was growing cooler, she felt increasingly warm.

It was a long, steep, straight but narrow stairway; rough stone walls caught at her arms, her skirts. Charles reached up, moved his arms. An instant later, ghostly fingers trailed caressingly over her cheeks.

She jumped, valiantly swallowed a shriek.

“Just cobwebs,” he whispered.

Just cobwebs? “If there are cobwebs, there must be spiders.”

“They’ll leave you alone if you leave them alone.”

“But…” They were destroying the spiders’ webs. By the feel of it, dozens of them.

She shivered, then heard a faint sound. A scratching…her fingers spasmed on his chest. “Rats! I can hear them.”

“Nonsense.” He descended another step, drawing her on. “There’s no food here.”

She stared at where she knew his head must be. Were rats that logical?

“We’re nearly there,” he murmured.

“There where?”

“I’m not sure, but keep your voice down.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs. He took a longer step. Reluctantly, she let her hands slide from him. It was unquestionably safer to have greater space between them, yet…

Dragging in a breath, she reached out, and found more stone walls. They were in a tiny chamber, barely wider than the stairway. She couldn’t tell how much farther it went, but she sensed the answer was not far. The atmosphere was different, the air cool, damp rather than dusty; although she still stood on stone, the smell of earth and leaf mold was strong.

“There’s another door here.”

She could sense Charles reaching about, examining the walls.

“The lock’s an old one, but our luck’s held—the key’s in it.”

She heard him working it. After a moment, he muttered, “This isn’t going to be easy.”

A good many minutes and a number of muffled curses later, the lock finally groaned and surrendered.

Charles lifted the latch, set his shoulder to the door’s edge, and eased it open. In the end, he had to exert considerable force to push it open enough to see out. He looked, tried to place the spot.

Penny stepped nearer. He gave ground so she could look out. “It’s the side courtyard, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Her voice was full of wonder. She reached through the narrow gap, caught and turned a leaf dangling beside the door. “This is the ivy covering the west wall.”

She tried to push the door farther open. It didn’t budge. She looked down as did he; the door was blocked across its base by earth and leaves piled outside. He sighed. “Step back.”

Ten minutes and considerable effort later, she slipped past him and escaped into the bright sunshine. “Stay close,” he hissed as she pushed past.

Eventually, he widened the gap enough to follow her.

Gratefully inhaling fresh air, he walked the few paces to where she waited and turned; side by side, they studied the wall and the door. Even ajar and with the accumulated detritus of decades banked before it, the door was difficult to see, screened by the thick curtain of broad-leafed ivy.

“It’s built into the outer wall, isn’t it? I never knew it was there.”

“If we smooth out the leaves and earth, then rearrange the ivy, there’s no reason anyone would guess.”

Returning to the door, he retrieved the key, pushed the door closed, locked it, and pocketed the key, then kicked back the disturbed earth and leaves enough to disguise their passage. Stepping back, he studied the ivy; a touch here, a trailing branch untangled there, and the door had disappeared.

He walked back to where Penny stood, still staring.

“Amazing. I wonder if Granville ever knew of it.”

He glanced back at the now innocent wall. “I doubt it. Those locks hadn’t been used in years.”