Circle of Spies (The Culper Ring #3)

A quick search of the study produced a lantern stashed in another cabinet. He lit it, stepped into the passage, and loosed an exasperated breath when he heard the tap of dainty feet in the hall. Headed straight for the study door, from the sounds of it.

Or perhaps the front door, a definite possibility. As for who it was…it could be Marietta, who wouldn’t be surprised to find him here. But it could as easily be Barbara or Mrs. Hughes. And if the latter found him in her precious son’s study, it would spell trouble. Not worth the risk. He pulled the hidden door shut, leaving only the tiniest of slivers open. He didn’t know how this door worked from the inside and wasn’t about to lock himself in.

Marietta sashayed into his slit of vision a moment later and sat at the desk. Slade set his lantern silently down on the step behind him and watched.

For a long moment, she leaned onto the desk, her head in her hand. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted and moving ever so slightly, as if she were praying.

Was she praying? He hadn’t thought Marietta Hughes, socialite and siren, the type. But as he studied her profile, he didn’t see the woman he’d come to expect. A mask had been peeled off. Absent the flirtation, absent the pleasantries, absent the control, she looked like an entirely different person.

One just as beautiful as the belle, but younger looking. Almost—he could scarcely think to apply the word to her, but it was the only one that fit—vulnerable.

She blinked her eyes open, the breath she drew in catching. Moistening her lips, she shook herself and opened the topmost drawer. It had nothing of note inside, but something gave her pause. She reached in and drew out what looked like a photograph.

Right. A picture of her in a wedding gown. He had glanced at it on his own search last time. She looked at it for a long moment, the press of her lips indicating some emotion he hesitated to label.

Then her head jerked toward the French doors, and she jumped from her seat, dropping the photo back into the drawer and shutting it before rushing to the panes of glass.

His straining ears finally heard what she obviously had—a carriage halting outside the house. He watched her shoulders hunch, her frame coil as if ready to run. “Dev,” she muttered, panic making the name a blade. She spun, eyes wide, and took two steps toward the door before apparently hearing what he’d just noticed too—footsteps in the hallway.

In Slade’s opinion, whoever was outside the door was a lesser evil than getting caught in this room by Devereaux Hughes, especially since she had every right to be in here in the servants’ eyes.

That didn’t seem to occur to her. She turned around, obviously looking for a hiding place.

Blast it. Not sure if he was a complete fool or just struck by an unanticipated bout of heroism, he pushed open the door.

Marietta jumped and splayed a hand over her heart. And then went from shocked to exasperated when her gaze fell on him. Well, she could lecture him later. They hadn’t the time right now. “Hurry.” He waved her in. If Hughes had forgotten something that sent him to her house, chances were it was in this room.

She rushed toward him, grabbing her skirts to pull them out of the way. He swung the door shut, wincing at the click, but he would look for the release later. He had apparently been blocking the view of the steep steps behind him, for Marietta didn’t halt quickly enough and tottered on the edge. He slid an arm around her waist to keep her from sending them both tumbling down.

The close call was surely what made his heart pound in his ears. Surely.

A second later, the unmistakable sound of the French doors opening sifted through the panel. His gaze entwined with hers. The pale green of her eyes looked nearly golden in the lantern light that seeped past her voluminous skirts. For once, they held no calculation, no tease, no intrigue. Only fright.

Her hands had landed on his arms, fingers clinging. No doubt to keep her balance on the narrow top step. Slade had little choice but to hold her close, given the tight space of the stairwell. He could only hope the Lord wouldn’t blame him for enjoying it.

From the study there came a mutter too low to be intelligible and the sound of a drawer. Slade closed his eyes and prayed with every ounce of his heart and soul that the man would need nothing from down these steps. That he would have no reason to investigate the hidden door.

For an interminable, full minute he heard nothing but his own thudding pulse and Marietta’s near-silent breath. The cold pushing up the passage set her to shivering. Not daring to move or rustle enough to take off his greatcoat to share, Slade wrapped his arms and coat around her as best he could without making a noise.

For a moment she remained still, held herself away. Then a crash sounded from the other side. Her shivering quickened, and she nestled into him, going so far as to bury her face in his lapels.

Bad, bad idea. He should have let her flee. Then the scent of lilacs wouldn’t be tormenting him, and he wouldn’t be infinitely aware of the feel of her back under his hands.