care if servants were seen in the nursery?’
‘I wonder why he built the whole thing,’ Ross said.
She grinned. ‘It made for wonderful games of hide and seek.’
He could picture it in his mind’s eye. The neglected children running through the secret parts of the house as if the passages had been created for their amusement.
‘It even leads to the attic!’ They came upon some stairs and she climbed to the top, opening a door into a huge room filled with boxes, chests and old furniture. Their little lamp illuminated only a small part of it.
Ross’s shoe kicked something. He leaned down and picked up what looked like a large bound book.
‘What is that?’ she asked, turning to see.
He handed it to her and she opened it.
‘Oh! It is my sketchbook.’ Heedless of the dust, she sat cross-legged on the floor and placed the lamp nearby. She leafed through the pages. ‘Oh, my goodness. I thought this was gone for ever!’
‘What is it doing up here?’ he asked.
‘I hid it for safekeeping and then I could not remember where it was.’ She closed it and hugged it to her. ‘I cannot believe you found it!’
‘Tripped over it, you mean.’ He made light of it, but her voice had cracked with emotion.
When had he ever met a woman who wore her emotions so plainly on her sleeve? And yet...there was more she kept hidden. From everyone, he suspected. With luck the Christmas season would afford him the opportunity to see more of her.
She opened the book again and turned the pages. Illuminated by the lamp, her face glowed, looking even lovelier than she’d appeared before. Her hair glittered like threads of gold and her blue eyes were like sapphires, shadowed by long lashes. What might it be like to comb his fingers through those golden locks and to have her eyes darken with desire?
He stepped back.
For all the scandal in her family she was still a respectable young woman. A dalliance with her would only dishonour her and neither she nor he wished for something more honourable—like marriage.
The time was nearing when he would be forced to pick among the daughters of the ton for a wife worthy of becoming a duchess. Not yet, though. Not yet.
She looked up at him. ‘What should I do with it?’
‘Take it, if you wish. It is yours.’
Her brow creased. ‘Would Lord Penford mind, do you think? He might not like knowing I was poking through the attic.’
He shrugged. ‘I cannot think he would care.’
She stood and, clutching her sketchbook in one hand, brushed off her skirt with the other. ‘We were not supposed to take anything but personal items.’
He pointed to the book. ‘This is a personal item.’
She stroked it. ‘I suppose.’
He crouched down to pick up the lamp. ‘In any event, we should probably make our way back to the drawing room.’
She nodded.
He helped her through the door and down the stairs. She led him through the secret corridor down more stairs to the main floor where they heard their names called.
‘Genna! Where are you?’ her sister cried.
‘Ross! We need you!’ Dell’s voice followed.
Genna giggled. ‘They must think we have disappeared into thin air.’
‘Does your sister not know of the secret passageway?’
‘She knows of it, but we really stopped using it years ago.’ She paused. ‘At least Lorene and Tess did.’ She seized his hand. ‘Come. We’ll walk out somewhere where we will not be seen emerging from the secret passageway.’
They entered another hallway, and Ross had no idea where they were.
‘This is the laundry wing.’ She led him to a door that opened on to the stairway hall, but before stepping into the hall, she placed her sketchbook just inside the secret passage.
‘Genna!’ her sister called again, her voice coming from the floor above.
‘We are here!’ Genna replied, closing the door which looked nearly invisible from this side. ‘At the bottom of the stairs.’
Her sister hurried down the stairs, Dell at her heels. ‘Where have you been? We have been searching for you this half-hour!’
Genna sounded all innocence. ‘I was showing Lord Rossdale the house. We just finished touring the laundry wing.’
‘The laundry wing!’ Lady Tinmore cried. ‘What nostalgia did you have for the laundry wing?’
‘None at all,’ Genna retorted. ‘I merely thought it would interest Lord Rossdale.’
‘I assure you, it did interest me,’ Ross replied as smoothly as his companion. ‘I am always interested in how other houses are run.’
Dell tossed him a puzzled look and Ross shook his head to warn his friend not to ask what the devil he was about.
‘Never mind.’ Genna’s sister swiped the air impatiently. ‘The weather has turned dreadful. Jeffers has called for the carriage. We must leave immediately.’
Genna sobered and nodded her head. ‘Of course.’
Jeffers appeared with their cloaks and Ross hurriedly helped Genna into hers. As they rushed to the front door and opened it, a footman, his shoulders and hat covered with snow, was climbing the stairs.
‘The coachman says he cannot risk the trip,’ the footman said, his breath making clouds at his mouth. ‘The weather prevents it.’
They looked out, but there was nothing to see but white.
‘Oh, no!’ Lady Tinmore cried.
Genna put her hands on her sister’s shoulders and steered her back inside. ‘Do not worry, Lorene. This could not have been helped.’
‘We should have left earlier,’ she cried.
‘And you would have been caught on the road in this,’ Dell said. ‘And perhaps stranded all night. We will make you comfortable here. I will send a messenger to Lord Tinmore as soon as it is safe to do so.’
‘We will have to spend the night?’ Lorene asked.
‘It cannot be helped,’ Genna said to her. ‘We will have to spend the night.’
The
