Clearly stunned, George muttered, “Thunder and turf.”
Frederick rose, now in full alarm mode. If anything had happened to Rebecca, he’d never recover. Never forgive himself.Please, God, let her be all right.Aloud, he said, “Let’s make sure she has not gone to Lady Fitzhoward’s room.”
They hurried down to the Grand Suite on the ground floor, but Lady Fitzhoward had not seen her.
“Is something wrong?” the woman asked.
“Probably nothing,” Frederick said, striving to reassure her as well as himself. “But we shall keep looking.”
The two men continued across the cloisters and returned to the hall, but there was still no sign of her. “Let’s split up,” Frederick suggested.
“If you think it best,” George replied. “Though you are more likely to know where she might have gone.”
Frederick did have an idea where Rebecca might hide if she was frightened. But he didn’t want anyone to follow him there.
Mr. Edgecombe saw them and waved Mr. George into the parlour. “Are you sure Oliver said nothing to you about his plans for his next book?”
While Edgecombe occupied Mr. George, Frederick hurried back upstairs alone.
After what seemed an eternity, Rebecca began to believe Mr. George had given up the search.Maybe I should—
Click.
Panic gripped. Focusing her hearing, she realized the sound had come not from below but from above.
Then came the wooden pop of the panel door opening.
Rebecca rose to a crouch, prepared to scurry down the stairs, willing to risk a sprained ankle and anything else to escape.
“Rebecca?” a man whispered. “It’s me.”
Frederick.
Rebecca released a pent-up breath.Thank you, God.
Then she managed a weak “I’m ... here.”
She wanted to walk up to meet him, but her legs seemed suddenly made of jelly, and she sank to the steps once more. Why now did she tremble? Was the shock only now hitting her?
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She heard the scrape of footsteps on the stairs, and light shone around the curve of the central pillar.
“What is it? What’s wrong? Here, let me help you up.” He set down the candle lamp and reached for her, running his hands along her arms until he found her limp fingers. He grasped them and pulled her to her feet.
“Are you injured?”
She shook her head. A grazed ankle didn’t merit mentioning.
“You are shaking.” He pressed his back as far as he could to the outer wall and gently pulled her onto the same stair,bringing her nearer to eye level, although she still had to look up to see into his face.
Their hands, trapped between them, were all that separated them in the narrow space.
He studied her, concern tightening his familiar features. “Were you hiding?”
She nodded, lips trembling.
“From Mr. George?”
