by Regina Scott
Hannah found herself staring once again. He had a clear, warm voice, higher than a traditional baritone but not as high as a tenor. The words flowed gentle and sweet from his lips, and if she closed her eyes, she could imagine that he sang them for her alone.
“O, my love is like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June:
O, my love is like a melody,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
So fair thou art, my bonnie lass,
So deep in love am I:
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
And I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands of life shall run.”
The message washed over her, promising a future she had never dared to dream. She opened her eyes, met his gaze, and realized he was singing the words for her. The others in the room seemed to have receded behind a gauze curtain. The only people in all the immense great house were David and Hannah, and the only sound was his tender voice and the beating of her heart in time to a music only the two of them could hear.
She didn’t know how many verses he had sung but when he stopped, it was entirely too soon. The girls applauded wildly, even Priscilla on the bench. Asheram added his acclaim from his station beside the door. Lady Brentfield sighed.
David gave them a bow. “Ladies, you are too kind.”
“Oh, sing another,” Daphne begged, and the others chimed in. Hannah wasn’t sure which she feared most, that he would sing again and she would betray herself, or that he would not and she would never hear his sweet voice again.
Lady Brentfield stood, shaking out her skirts. “It was kind of you to humor the girls,” she told David, “but I must insist that they get some rest. We have a busy day tomorrow.”
“Doing what?” Lady Emily muttered. Hannah frowned at her.
Lady Brentfield must have heard the comment. “We are going in to Wenwood to shop,” she replied, eyes flashing as if she dared any of them to disagree with her. “There are some things I need in preparation for Easter, and I thought you all might enjoy accompanying me. Should you find anything that interests you, I will pay for it, of course.”
Asheram frowned. Ariadne and Daphne brightened though Lady Emily still looked skeptical. Priscilla’s brow was furrowed, but she said nothing. Hannah wondered what was on the girl’s mind. She somehow couldn’t imagine Priscilla, even the reformed Priscilla, refusing a shopping trip.
“Just a little longer?” David wheedled with a wink at Hannah. He sounded for all the world like her younger brother when they were children, trying to convince their mother to give up another cookie. Hannah would not have had the will to refuse him.
Lady Brentfield was obviously made of sterner stuff. “I try to keep the girls’ best interests at heart,” she answered, glancing pointedly at Hannah. Hannah felt a blush rising again. In truth, she would have gladly stayed up all night to be with David, a fact that only made her feel more guilty.
“I bow to the voice of wisdom,” David replied, doing just that. “Good night, ladies, and pleasant dreams.”
As he rose, he winked again at Hannah, and she felt her blush deepening. Following the girls from the room, she reflected that once again she was unlikely to sleep much that night.
Chapter Eleven
David had never felt less like a gentleman as he wandered through the secret passage that night. Oh, he was still dressed in the clothes her ladyship had picked out for him when he had first arrived at Brentfield, but he had never believed that clothes made the man. No, it was his motives that made him feel like the selfish aristocrat he feared he was becoming.
He had spent the better part of a half hour after retiring arguing with himself, and for a person who prided himself on decisive action, that was considerable time indeed. Nothing he could say, no logic he could bring to bear, no moral lesson he could recite had been able to deter him from having his way. So now here he was, shouting his conscience into silence and doing as his heart bade him.
It was folly to seek her out like this, he knew as he carefully skirted a damaged portion of the passage. In the first place, no sincere man would take advantage of such a passage to reach his lady love unseen. In the second place, if they were caught, her reputation would be ruined. But he hadn’t had a moment to speak to her today that wasn’t surrounded by prying eyes. Besides, he itched to show her what he had discovered on his explorations of the night before when too he had been unable to sleep.
Ignoring the twinge of guilt, he held the candle high and hurried down the descending stair of the west wing, approaching the panel that opened to her room. There was a removable knothole, he knew, that would allow him to peer into the room before entering, but the idea of using it made him feel as if he were invading her privacy. Instead, he put his ear to the panel and listened intently for several minutes, just to be sure she was awake, alone, and properly gowned.
He thought for a moment she had company, for he could hear her talking. When no one answered, he realized she was talking to herself. No, talking was too mild a word for it. She was giving herself a downright scold.
“And what did you prove?” he heard her demand. “What difference did wearing that dress and jewels make? You’re still a nobody, Hannah Alexander. You can’t play, you can’t sing. Who wants a countess who paints? You can put on all the airs you like, but that isn’t going to change the fact that you will never be his equal.”
“Rubbish,” David said aloud without thinking. On the other side of the wall, she gasped, and he cursed his ready tongue.
“Hannah,” he murmured through the panel, “it’s me, David. I’m sorry I frightened you. I had to see you. May I come in?”
She slid the panel away herself and stood facing him, hands on hips, cheeks blazing with obvious embarrassment. “How long have you been eavesdropping?”
“Only a moment,” he assured her, stepping down into the room beside her. He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that she had changed for bed. The shapeless blue flannel gown she wore hung heavy about her, obscuring her figure. As she turned away from him to close the panel, he saw that her hair was unbound and flowing down her back like a river of molten chocolate. It was longer than he had thought, nearly reaching her knees, and it outlined her curves more effectively than the gown had done. He caught himself imagining what she would look like wearing nothing but the silken mass. It was then he realized that this visit was a serious mistake.
It was too late to escape, however, as she turned to him, lips compressed. “You should not have used that passage,” she scolded him, but he got the impression that she was still more angry with herself than with him. “This is unseemly. Do you know what will happen if we’re caught? Do you want to be forced to marry me?”
The idea had never seemed more delightful, but somehow he didn’t think that would reassure her. “No one is going to force anyone to do anything. This was too important to leave to a chance meeting and from the sound of it, you won’t be available tomorrow. Besides, I wanted to make sure you had recovered from your fright this morning. You gave me a bad moment there in the library.”
“I gave you a bad moment?” she demanded. “I’m not the one who was nearly crushed to death. And what was so important that you could not wait until daylight?”
“I found another passage.”
She perked up, as he had hoped she would. “Really? Did you see where it leads?”
“I followed it far enough to know it goes quite a ways. I was hoping I could convince you to join me in exploring it.”
“Now?” she replied, spreading her skirts. “In my nightclothes?” She seemed to suddenly realize that she was indeed in her nightclothes, for she hurried to draw the coverlet from the bed and drape it about her. In scant seconds, all he could see of her was the oval of her face, which was turning a becoming shade
of red.
“Put on your wrapper,” he said with a laugh. “Better yet, put on a cloak. I think the passage may lead outside.”
She still looked skeptical. He put on his most pleading expression. “Please, Hannah? If I’m right, and this leads to old Lord Brentfield’s art treasures, I’ll need you to help me identify them.”
She scowled at him from her mound of wrapping then gave a mountainous movement that was probably a shrug. “Oh, very well. I must be crazy to humor you.”
“No, just sensible,” he replied thankfully as she waddled to the wardrobe to dig out her cloak. “Asheram says there’s no arguing with me when I make up my mind.”
“That’s true enough,” she agreed, throwing off the covers and masking herself in a voluminous brown cloak instead. He helped himself to a candle from her bedside table and lit the taper from his own.
Returning to his side, she asked, “And about Asheram, why do Lady Brentfield and the servants call him Mr. Haversham?”
“Her ladyship started calling him that and many of the other servants followed suit. I think he’s given up correcting them. But his name is Honorius Asheram, and he’s a descendant of the King of Ethiopia.”
“Really?” she asked breathlessly as he opened the panel.
“So he tells me,” he assured her, handing her the candle and helping her over the sill. He put a finger to his lips, mindful of the room on the other side of the passage, where he could only hope Lady Emily lay sleeping. Then he held up the candle to light the way forward.
As they climbed to the main passage and followed it to the intersection at the wing’s corner, he couldn’t help thinking that she had been a good sport to let him appropriate her like this. All the more reason for him to remember to behave. Still, he couldn’t seem to keep from teasing her.
“Remember what I told you?” he asked, deeming it safe to talk at last. “Which of these passages leads to my room?”
“That one,” she replied, pointing to the correct passage. “But you needn’t look so pleased, as I have no intention of acting on that knowledge.”
He grinned. “You never know.”
She put her head up higher, and he set off down the north passage before she could argue with him.
“You may also remember that I found the original passage because the portions of the room didn’t look right,” he explained as they moved through the darkness. “I’ve wondered the same thing about the servant stairs. I checked it again last night and found another gallery leading off and sloping downward.”
“Down?” she murmured, clearly curious. “But if it joins the servant stairs at the ground level, down could only mean . . .”
“Underground,” he agreed. “Exactly my thought. I’m guessing there’s a room under the central court yard, between the two wings.”
They soon found he was right. The tunnel was well braced and wide enough for the two of them to walk side by side. While it was a little dusty, there was no sign of debris or decay. It crossed about half the distance between the west and east wings. The tunnel ended at a wide, bronze-studded oak-plank door. It had an old-fashioned iron latch and a very large iron padlock.
“Well, how do you like that?” David declared. “We come all this way only to be defeated.”
Hannah was studying the lock. “This is new,” she murmured. “It seems cleaner than the rest, and it’s been oiled.”
“Are you saying someone put it there recently?” David asked, lowering the candle and peering closer.
“Perhaps not as recently as in the last day or so but certainly within the last year. I think, my lord, that you may indeed have found the location of the missing treasures. I cannot understand why the former Lord Brentfield would want to hide them away like this, but I think you should discover what lies behind that door.”
He nodded, straightening. “You can believe that I will.” He winked at her. “Stay here with me tomorrow, and we’ll both find out together.”
“I wish I could,” she said with a sigh of genuine regret, he thought. “But Lady Brentfield will surely need my help. Believe me, I take no great pleasure in watching other people shop.”
“You won’t have to worry,” David assured her, giving the lock a tug just in case. It did not so much as squeak. “Ash has been sending to Wells for anything we need. He tells me there are no shops in Wenwood.”
“Does Lady Brentfield know that?” Hannah asked, clearly puzzled. “The girls are quickly becoming bored. I thought she was trying to divert them. Perhaps we should warn her ladyship that this shopping trip is doomed to failure.”
“She must know Wenwood,” he replied, more interested in how he might break the lock than in her ladyship’s entertainments. “She’s spent every summer in this house for the last five years, or so she claims.” He shook his head. “Well, it’s clear we’ll get no farther tonight.” He offered Hannah a bow. “Thank you for letting me waste your time, my dear Hannah. May I have the honor of escorting you home?”
She raised her eyebrows haughtily, but spoiled the effect with a giggle. “La, sir, you are too forward. Simply call my carriage, and I shall be off.”
“Ah, but I insist,” he chuckled, holding out his arm.
“Then I must comply,” she replied, giving him her hand.
She strolled down the passage at his side as if they were walking through the countryside on a brilliant spring day. David watched her profile from the corner of his eye. She was a quiet little thing, but game for adventure and not above a good tease herself. They fit together, like the well-worn strips of leather on an old harness, soft, supple, dependable. He found he would very much like that kind of dependence.
“Are you intent on being a painter then?” he asked casually, hoping she would not guess the reason for his questioning.
She started. “It has always been my dream.” Her answer was as cautious as his question.
“You will not miss having a husband, children?” He wondered whether his questions would be seen as too forward, but he had to know.
She hung her head. “I fear I am not overly good with children, my lord. I wondered about that before I started teaching, but my current profession has only proven the fact.”
He wanted to disagree with her, seeing how the girls had come to rely on her. But he sensed she was not in a mood to hear an argument. “Then painting will be your life. Will that be enough to fulfill you?”
“In truth, I had once hoped to have both a husband and my painting,” she replied sadly, “but time has shown that most likely painting is the more appropriate course. That thought has not been overly troubling.”
He waited for her to add ‘until recently,’ but she did not. Yet he seemed to hear it nonetheless. It was presumptuous of him to think that three days in his company would have changed all her dreams. He wanted to question her further, but they reached the servant stairs, and conversation became more difficult and more dangerous.
All too soon for David, they reached the crossroads. Although they could now speak with impunity, they also had reached the point to part.
Hannah dropped a curtsey. “I’ll go from here, my lord. Thank you again for a memorable evening.”
“You’re welcome.” Suddenly, he found the thought of leaving her untenable. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
She smiled. “I’ll be fine. I’m sorry I was so missish this morning. It’s just that I realized how close you had come to getting killed.”
“All in the line of duty,” he joked. “Though any danger would be worth it to hear you call me David again.”
“Don’t,” she murmured, reaching out to take his free hand. “If anything had happened to you, if I had lost you . . .” she broke off, snatching back her hand as if she realized she had said too much.
“Then you do care!” He wanted to crow his relief.
“What I feel is not important,” she insisted, chin rising. “You mustn’t refine on it. When you enter Society, you’ll find you have a host o
f choices, my lord. Any one of them will be better for you than I am.”
“Rubbish,” he replied. “I’ve had choices since I was fifteen. It didn’t get me married, now did it? I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. When I marry it will be because I’m in love, not because I need money or an aristocratic wife.”
She smiled sadly. “You’re still thinking like David Tenant, not the Earl of Brentfield. You have an obligation to this estate, to the people on it. There are expectations about whom you can marry. An impoverished art teacher, or even a gifted painter, is not on the list.”
“Hang their expectations,” David snapped. “And hang their list. They can dress me in fancy clothes, they can make me study papers until my eyes cross, they can even get me to hold a house party for girls fresh from the schoolroom. The woman I marry will be my own choice. And I choose you.”
She gasped, and the candle shook in her grip. David took it away from her, blowing it out. A moment more and he had extinguished his own as well, laying them against a beam in the utter darkness that followed.
“What are you doing?” she cried.
He pulled her into his embrace. “What I should have done the moment I met you.” He lowered his head and kissed her.
She was stiff in his arms, but only for a moment. Then she melted against him, arms encircling his waist to pull him closer. The cloak parted, and he felt her curves pressing against his chest. She returned his kiss, her mouth warm and soft beneath his. He tightened his grip and deepened the kiss, lingering over her lips, then raining kisses across her cheek and down her neck. His hands tangled in the silken strands of her hair. She moaned, swaying on her feet, as if his touch left her weak.
