Chapter Fourteen
Georgiana
My heart thrummed fast against my chest.
Marlow led me outside the library and down the dark, empty hall.
By logic, I knew this venture was a grave mistake.
Poor judgment in the past had taught me that the eerie feeling now filling my stomach meant I should do the opposite of what I was currently doing, and yet, the overpowering thrill of a secret passageway, of ghosts, was too good to fight against. And Marlow took his part as my guide very seriously.
He held his candle under his chin so shadows would fall upon his face. “Through here,” he whispered, leading me into a room a few doors down.
I couldn’t help but grin at how ridiculous and impulsive he was acting.
So unlike him, and yet, exactly fitting.
There were three windows on the far wall, letting in just enough moonlight to illuminate a large pianoforte, a harp, and several tables and chairs.
Paintings lined the walls. I hadn’t time for a closer view, for Marlow was on his knees, peeling back the pale-blue carpet in a dark corner to reveal a hidden trapdoor.
My pulse raced as I crouched beside him.
He pulled on the latch, and the door creaked as he lifted it up. Dark stone stairs led down, down, down into shadowy depths.
“Are you certain you are brave enough?” he asked me with serious, raised brows. Gone was the lordly duke. In front of me was a man—still half a boy—letting his imagination take the lead.
My heart flipped over itself, and I realized how badly I wanted this. I wanted to be here, with him, chasing shadows just for the thrill of it.
I did not believe in ghosts, but Marlow made me want to.
“I assure you, Duke, I am far braver than you.” I sat, one hand holding my candle in the cold, damp air, and swung my feet onto the first few steps.
They were gritty and steep under my slippers.
I had to push myself down to get started, and then I was up, descending into the darkness with no idea what awaited us ahead.
I heard his movements behind me, then the creak and swing of the door.
Total and complete darkness. If our candles expired .
. . well, we would see who was the bravest between us then.
My feet touched flat ground, and I stumbled a step and hit the right wall.
The walls were mud and stone, the same sort of material as the stairs, rough but not too unsteady.
The passageway narrowed until we could not walk side by side.
And with every step, the air grew colder and danker.
“Careful,” the duke said from behind. “Watch for bends in the path. If you hear anything—”
“The ghosts of your ancestors?” I teased.
“I was going to say perhaps a large spider or a rat—”
I sucked in a breath, stopping in my tracks. A rat? I envisioned red eyes, massive, pointed teeth, and a worm tail and shuddered. I’d seen field mice in the barn on occasion but never rats!
“—but perhaps the ghosts of my ancestors,” Marlow finished, his voice decidedly gleeful. “Is something the matter?”
“No,” I hurried to say. I took a few slow steps forward. “Just gaining my bearings.”
“I could walk ahead.”
“And leave the beasts at my back? No, thank you.”
He chuckled. He was enjoying scaring me far too much.
And I was letting him! Be brave, for heaven’s sake, woman.
If Emily St. Aubert, fictional or not, could face her fears, so could I.
I drew in a few steadying breaths through my nose and lifted my candle high.
See? Not a rat in sight. Nor spiders on the walls despite the few cobwebs.
I quickened my pace. Wherever we were, I’d make quick work of it. There was a doorway, he’d said, so the faster I made it there, the faster I’d be out of this place and to wherever it led. Apparently, I preferred reading about mysteries to living one.
Where was he leading me? If I endured all this only to be led to the kitchens—or worse, someone’s bedchamber!—I would ensure he reaped some sort of consequence, duke or not.
A scattering of rocks sounded ahead, and I stopped dead in my tracks.
Marlow bumped hard into my back, and I tripped forward.
His arm wrapped around me, and we swayed, candles in hand, breathing hard.
My body tensed and tingled where his chest met my back, where his arm brushed my shoulder, then steadied my waist. I could hear the thrum, thrum, thrum of my heart pounding in my ears.
“What was that?” His voice was a whisper in my hair. Slowly, his arm released me.
“Did you throw something ahead to scare me?” I breathed.
“You give me too much credit.” He did not laugh. “I’ve never done this before.”
I held my candle high, looking ahead for any sign of movement in the darkness. I could not see far enough to know for a surety that we were alone. “What, take a lady down your secret villain passageway?”
“Certainly not a live one,” he muttered at my ear.
I swatted backward at him, and he caught my hand and laughed.
His warm hand engulfed mine. I turned halfway, the glow of our combined candles like an orb in the darkness encircling us.
I parted my lips to say something, to give some witty retort to his continued attempts to scare me, but I found his gaze set upon our joined hands.
Despite being cramped in this narrow passageway, he looked at ease.
Untroubled. As though the burdens he so often shouldered had no place here.
With the air perfumed with spice and oranges, warm from the light of our candles, I felt it too. The ease. “You don’t look like a villain.”
His features were too smooth. His eyes too warm. And when he smiled one of his rare, genuine smiles, I felt his heart in mine. And it was good.
“Looks can be deceiving.” He swallowed. His gaze washed over my face.
I let him look, feeling the smallest bit shy at the open way he studied me. I hadn’t yet washed my face for the evening, nor had I done anything special with my hair.
“I shouldn’t trust you, then? To save me from what lies ahead?”
Marlow stroked my palm with this thumb. He looked down at our hands. “What lies ahead is far less dangerous than what is here, right in front of you.”
I swallowed, still as a statue. His lips pursed, left dimple creasing. And then his gaze flicked back up to mine.
He held my hand, my attention, my very breath. And I gave it to him willingly.
My cold heart stuttered back to life. The way it had so long ago in those ballrooms, and at Lakeshire Park. But this time it felt fuller. Stronger. Wiser.
This time my heart spoke tomes to my mind.
I had done this once before—given myself too willingly. I would not make the same foolish mistake twice. If Marlow wanted something from me—and I was not a fool, his very gaze beguiled me—it was not the whole, and I could not afford to give myself in pieces.
I turned from him, facing the darkness once more. I took a step forward. His fingers unwillingly released mine, and our hold broke. “Whatever lies ahead, I shall have to face alone as all brave heroines do.”
I took another step. I could feel his warmth at my back, heard his long pull of breath and a heavy exhale.
“We must be nearly there,” he said.
There was a turn ahead, and I navigated it. We walked in a series of weaves left and right.
“Where does it lead?” I asked.
“Certain death.”
I huffed. “Marlow!”
“Georgiana.” His voice was a tease. “You shall have to trust me.”
We had to be getting close. “Trust you?”
“Close your eyes,” Marlow said, and the urgency in his voice compelled me to instantly obey.
“What is it?” I stopped walking.
He put a hand on the small of my back and urged me forward. “Nothing. Just keep your eyes closed. A few more steps.”
“Tell me,” I insisted, too scared to open them.
“You . . . just passed a rat.”
“What!” My eyes snapped open, and I dashed ahead, pushing off the wall, rounding another bend, and there—the door! The passageway narrowed to a single set of stairs leading up.
“Wait!” Marlow laughed, rushing behind.
I slowed as I reached four small stone steps leading up to a square wooden door overhead.
I felt around blindly for the latch, only illuminating it with the candle once I found it.
Marlow was at my back, surrounding me. I lifted the metal piece, and, together, we pushed up.
The door raised high and then fell open to the ground.
I climbed out first.
And into a quiet, sleeping stable that smelled of horses and hay.
Like home.
Marlow closed the door behind us and latched it as I straightened. Our breaths met the cold air in little wisps. He set his candle on a little ledge in the wall behind us.
Leathers hung on hooks. Pails and brushes and tools waited on little tables and shelves. Marlow watched me take it all in.
“Your villainous hideout?” I motioned to the peaceful quiet around us.
“Indeed.” He frowned. Hands on his hips, he took in this space, which was lit only by the moonbeams trailing in from high windows lining the walls. “Honestly, I had no idea that passage led here. I was hoping for a dark cellar.”
I laughed aloud, and Marlow’s delighted eyes met mine.
And we wandered. The stable was composed of a dozen or so horse stalls, half along each wall, each lined with hay.
To my right, I looked in on a black stallion sleeping while standing.
Then a gray mare lying down next door; she barely rustled as we passed.
“This is much better than a dark cellar.”
He smiled.
I thought back to the look he’d given me earlier. The touch of his hand. And my chest tightened. “Though I think I’ve had enough dark passageways.” I trailed my hand along the smooth, polished wooden doors of each stall. “I much prefer the moonlight.”
“It suits you better.”
I looked back and found him not too far off. Studying me again. Still smiling. “Was there really a rat?”
He did not immediately answer. “. . . Yes.”