An Improper Aristocrat

Trey waited until the girl had steadied herself before he released her.

‘There are more below,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Fetch the boy, I’ll get the girl. Where is she?’

He had to give credit where it was due. Miss Latimer did not bluster, swoon, or ask idiotic questions as he had half-expected her to do. ‘Across the hall,’ she whispered, and, taking the dog, turned back towards Will’s room.

Trey crossed the hall and stealthily opened the little girl’s door. He sent up a silent request to whichever deity might be listening, hoping that the babe would not squall when awakened. He need not have worried. Nerves of steel must pass with the Latimer blood, along with those incredible eyelashes. Hers lay thick against her round, little cheeks, until he hefted her into his arms. Their one brief meeting must have made an impact, for she peered up at him, then tucked her head against his shoulder and promptly went back to sleep. He heaved a sigh of thanks and crossed back to the hall.

Miss Latimer was already there, along with a wide-eyed, young Will.

‘We must move quickly and silently,’ Trey whispered. He shook his head when Miss Latimer would have taken the little girl from him. ‘No, I’ll hold on to her, unless we run into one of them. Then you take her and run for the stables.’

‘Mrs Ferguson?’ she asked.

‘Is already there, with my man and your groom. They should have a vehicle ready when we get there.’ Trey nodded and set out for the stairwell. ‘Quietly, now.’

She reached out a restraining hand. ‘No, Lord Treyford. This way.’ She took a step backwards, and gestured farther along the hallway.

He might have argued, but Will grasped his forearm and hissed, ‘Listen!’

Everyone froze. From the direction of the stairwell came a soft, ominous creaking sound.

Trey promptly turned about. ‘Lead on,’ he whispered. ‘As fast as you can.’

They did move quickly, passing several more bedchambers before taking a connecting passage to the left. Almost at a run, they reached the end of that hallway in a matter of moments. Trey cursed under his breath. There was nothing here except a shallow, curved alcove holding a pedestal and a marble bust. Not even a window to offer a means of escape.

There was no time for recriminations. Trey’s mind was racing. Could these be the same bandits who had murdered Richard? Was it possible they had followed him all the way from Egypt? If it were true, then they were desperate indeed, and he had to keep these innocents out of their hands. ‘Back to one of the rooms. Are there any trees close to this end of the house?’

‘No, wait a moment.’ Miss Latimer was part way into the alcove. It was hard to discern in the near darkness, but he thought she was probing the wainscoting. ‘Ah, here we are,’ she whispered.

He waited. The dog gave a soft whine. There was a grunting sound from Miss Latimer’s direction. ‘Give it a push, Will,’ she urged. ‘No, there. Go on, hurry!’

The boy disappeared into the alcove, followed closely by the dog. Trey moved closer and could only just make out the outline of an opening in the curve of the back wall.

‘In you go,’ said Miss Latimer calmly. ‘I will come behind you and close it.’

‘Archimedes, is it not?’ Trey said with a nod towards the bust. ‘Someone has a fine sense of irony,’ he whispered as he squeezed past her in the tight space.

He, in the meantime, had a fine sense of all the most interesting parts of Miss Latimer’s anatomy pressing into his side as he passed. No, she was not the dried-up spinster he had expected, but apparently neither was he the jaded bachelor he had believed. One full-length press—in the midst of a crisis, all clothes on—and his baser nature was standing up and taking notice. Ignoring it, he moved past.

He had to stoop to enter the hidden doorway, and found himself on a tiny landing. Ahead he could barely discern a narrow set of stairs. Then the door slid home and the blackness swallowed them.

He reached out a hand. The other wall was mere inches away. If he had stood erect and unbowed, his shoulders might have brushed both sides of the passage. Suddenly she was there, close against him again, her mouth right at his ear. ‘Archimedes fought and died. We shall run and live.’

Her words were in earnest. The situation was serious. And still a shiver ran through him as her breath, hot and moist, caressed his skin.

Trey muffled a heartfelt curse. His head was still bent in the low-ceilinged corridor, an awkward position made more so by the child resting against his shoulder. Danger lay behind and the unknown ahead, and he must face it saddled with a woman and two children. This was hardly the first scrape he’d found himself in, but it ranked right up there with the worst of the lot. And despite all this, still his body reacted to the nearness of hers. To the scent of her hair. To the sound of her breathing in the darkness. For some reason he did not fully comprehend, all of this infuriated him.

‘Go,’ he said in a low, harsh whisper. ‘I’ll be right behind you.’

She moved on silent feet down the narrow stairs. Trey followed, one arm cradling the child close, the other feeling the way ahead. At the bottom, the passage continued in a bewildering set of sharp turns. Several times Trey’s trailing fingers found the empty air of a connecting branch, but Miss Latimer passed them by, moving forward at a good pace and with an air of confidence that he hoped was well founded.

Presumably the upkeep of the secret corridors was not high on the housekeeper’s duty list. Cobwebs clung to his hair, stuck to his face, and soon coated his seeking hand. Dust, disturbed by their passage, hung in the air and tickled his nose. Desperate, he turned his face into his shoulder, trying not to sneeze. The occupant of his other shoulder had no such compunction.

How did such an immense noise come from such a small person?

The adults both froze, listening, hardly daring to breathe. Not far away, on the other side of the passage wall, sounded a triumphant shout.

Once more he felt the press of that lithe body, soft against his. ‘We’re near the upper servants’ quarters,’ Miss Latimer whispered. ‘They will waste time searching them. There is another set of stairs just ahead.’

For just that moment, her scent, light and fresh, engulfed him nearly as completely as the darkness. But as she moved away and they began to descend the second stairwell, the air grew dank and the walls moist. They were moving underground.

‘Where?’ Trey growled quietly.

‘The bake house,’ she replied.

It was not far. In a matter of a few minutes they were climbing out of the clammy darkness, emerging into a small, stone building, still redolent with the rich, yeasty smell of fresh bread. Will stood on a box, just next to one of the high windows.

‘There was a man at the kitchen door, but he went into the house a moment ago,’ he whispered.

Trey turned on the girl. ‘Who are they?’

‘You don’t know?’ Her startled look was authentic, Trey judged. ‘I have no idea!’

Perhaps not. He decided to leave the rest of that conversation for later. ‘How far to the stables?’ he asked, handing the child over.

‘Not far,’ said Will.

‘Past the gardens and the laundry, beyond that grove of trees,’ Miss Latimer answered. ‘Perhaps a quarter of a mile.’

Trey suppressed a groan. It might as well be a league, with this ragtag group.

‘We will stay off of the path,’ he ordered in dictatorial fashion, ‘and under the trees as much as possible. If you see anyone, drop to the ground as quick as you can, as silently as you can. We’ll go now, before the sentry comes back to the kitchen door.’

Moonlight was streaming in the high windows; he could see the worry in Chione Latimer’s eyes, though she had displayed no other sign of it. ‘I’ll go first,’ he said. ‘To the back of that garden shed.’

He paused, and caught her gaze with intent. ‘If something happens, go back into the passages and find another way out. Don’t stay there, they will find their way in, eventually.’

Her expression grew grimmer still, but she only nodded.

Trey went to the door and opened it a fraction. He stood watching for a short time, but saw nothing, heard nothing except the usual nighttime chorus. The noise, in and of itself, was reassuring. Taking a deep breath, he plunged out of the door and sprinted to the shelter of the tiny garden shed.

Nothing—no shouts of alarm, no explosion of gunfire, no whistle of a knife hurtling through the air. He looked back at the seemingly empty bake house and motioned for his little group to follow.

They came, silent and swift. When they had reached him and stood, gasping in fright and fatigue against the old wooden wall, he felt something alien surging in his chest. Pride?

He pushed it away. Emotion, never a safe prospect, could be deadly in a situation like this, and besides, his stalwart band still had a long way to go. He took the child back again and nodded towards the nearby grove of trees.

What followed had to be the longest fifteen minutes in the history of recorded time, let alone in Chione’s lifetime. Like mice, they scurried from one place of concealment to the next, always stopping to listen, to test for danger. They saw no one. Eventually they reached the stables. In the moonlight Chione could see that the great door stood open a foot or so. Morty, who had been sticking close to Will’s side, suddenly surged ahead, tail wagging, and slipped in the building.