Chapter 15
EVA
I’ve been quieter than usual all day, still turning over the royal visit. With Millie at her friend’s, dinner has been… introspective.
Alex and I are finishing dessert when the storm starts. The thunder doesn’t bother me. What does is the flicker in the chandelier, followed by darkness that swallows half the room.
I sigh. “Old wing’s out again.”
Alex sets down his napkin. “I’ll send someone.”
“There’s no one to send,” I point out. “Most of the staff is off, and the ones on duty wouldn’t know what to do.”
I rise, already picturing the clunky fuse panel.
He stands, too. “Eva, stay. This isn’t your job.”
“It would’ve been the new estate manager’s,” I parry. “But you still haven’t replaced Eric.”
His jaw tightens. “Then it’s mine now. I’ll go.”
“I hate stating the obvious, but you have no idea where the fuse panel is,” I say.
“Tell me.”
“It’s in the electrical room above the dungeon, near the staircase that leads down to it.” I tilt my head to one side. “Do you know where it is?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “There’s a dungeon in this wing? Fort Vauclaire has two dungeons?”
“You didn’t know?”
I consider a patronizing tap on his shoulder but decide against it.
Not because I’m afraid it’ll seem taunting, but because I don’t want to touch him.
Every accidental brush lights up all the wrong parts of my brain like a Christmas tree.
It’s been only three weeks since our one-night stand. I need more time.
“Really, I’ve got this,” I say, turning away.
“I’m coming with you!”
I don’t bother arguing. He’s taller, more stubborn, and clearly itching to feel useful.
Fine.
I grab the flashlight and the heavy ring of basement keys from the hallway drawer.
We step into the unlit, cold corridor, side by side. I shiver once, then square my shoulders. As we walk, Alex’s stride matches mine, annoyingly in sync. The only sounds are distant thunder, our footsteps on stone, and a low hum in the air that has nothing to do with the storm.
The silence stretches, taut, dangerous. So, I fill it. Of course I do.
“This wing was added by Aymon the Bastard,” I say.
“Was he the eighth or ninth Duke of Rohinn?”
“Eighth,” I reply. “He’s the one who gave Fort Vauclaire its current double-wall layout. He also founded the first civil court to stop clan justice. And survived two assassination attempts.”
“No wonder they renamed Rohinn’s capital after him,” he offers.
I smile. “Also, because the original name was too long and unpronounceable.”
“You’ve really studied the place, haven’t you?”
“Of course I have. I was the duchess, remember?”
“You still are.”
I wave dismissively. “It’s just a courtesy title now.”
He gives me a look. Not pitying—thank God—but thoughtful.
“I like Aymon the Bastard,” I go on. “He was practical. Cunning. Larger than life.”
The flashlight flickers as we pass a draft. The corridor narrows. I can smell the damp stone, old wood, and something warm and familiar… Him. He doesn’t touch me. But I feel him.
“Not to mention,” I say, my pitch rising, “that Aymon left us a fortress that can survive a siege.”
“Yes but can it survive a fuse blowing every time there’s a storm?” he teases.
“That’s not his fault; it’s Geoffroy’s,” I shoot back. “Upgrading the electrical system to code was never his priority.”
Alex scoffs. “Figures.”
We reach the stairwell. It’s steep and pitch dark. I shine the flashlight down the first few steps. The uneven stones look damp. One bad move and I’ll snap an ankle.
“This is our very own stairway to hell,” I comment.
Alex whistles, “So, there’s a second dungeon down there, huh?”
“Yep, but don’t ask me to go down there!” I point the flashlight ahead. “The utility rooms are just ahead.”
We move down the corridor, the flashlight’s beam sliding over damp stone and ancient wood. The storm rattles the shutters above us. I concentrate on their deep, rolling bass and the staccato tap of our footsteps in a vain attempt to be less aware of the man beside me.
Finally, we reach the electrical room at the end of the corridor. I stop in front of its squat iron door with a keyhole worn smooth and pull the heavy key ring from my pocket. The metal’s cold, biting into my skin as I sort through the keys.
Alex stands close, holding the flashlight for me. I can feel the heat from his body. I refuse to look at him. If I do, I might forget which key goes where.
“There!” I find the right one, slide it in, and the lock clicks open.
Inside, the room smells of dust and something faintly metallic. Alex swings the beam toward the panel. The ancient thing is a clutter of mismatched switches, patched wiring, and labels that only make sense to someone long dead.
I find the blown fuse and flip it. The lights hum back to life, a pale glow flooding the hallway behind us.
“Woohoo!” I turn around, grinning.
He’s watching me. Not my hands, not the panel. Me.
The air feels thicker. My pulse picks up as I realize how small this room is and how easy it would be to close the door.
No! I can control my lust. What happened in Pombrio was a glitch, a onetime lapse. I won’t allow it to become a habit!
Determined, I lock the fuse box. “Mission accomplished.”
“I’m proud of you,” he says, his voice devoid of sarcasm. “You keep surprising me, Eva.”
Refusing to let him see my flush, I sweep past him. “Let’s get out of here before I freeze.”
He follows me out. The lights are back on in the corridor, and so is my sanity. Good.
As we pass the shadowed staircase, Alex points toward it. “We’re standing on top of the dungeon, aren’t we?”
I avoid his gaze. “And?”
“And you can’t expect me to go back upstairs without seeing what’s down there.”
“Yes, I can.”
He grins. “Show me. It’ll be our secret.”
“Why would I share a secret with you?” I counter.
“Because you know you want to.” His voice dips low, coaxing. “And you know I’ll keep it.”
“My secrets aren’t party favors, Alex.”
“Then think of it as… property management. A joint inspection.” His smile turns lopsided. “Unless you win, which you won’t, I’m the master of this house. So, it’s a legitimate request.”
“Oh, I’ll win, Alex, and you’d better brace for an inglorious return to Pombrio!”
“Uh-huh.” He stifles a smile.
Such arrogance!
I blow out my cheeks. “Fine. I’ll show you. Just don’t touch anything.”
My warning wasn’t meant as a double entendre, but the sly curve of his mouth says he’s taking it that way.
“What if I see something extraordinary down there?” he asks, tilting his head. “Why shouldn’t I touch it?”
“Because it might bite,” I snap and stalk to the staircase.