Reaching the bottom, she looked one way, then the other, surveying the dim passage and its shadowy corners.
She found herself in a basement far less polished than the levels above, with tiled floors and brick walls lit by lanterns hung at distant intervals. To the left was a door markedKitchenStaff Only, which she guessed might be a cold cellar or larder. She turned right, passing padlocked rooms markedBaggage StorageandWine Cellar.
She turned another corner and followed the sound of muffled voices to the end of the passage. There she saw an open doorway to an anteroom. This room held leather armchairs and a few small tables, with paintings of horses and hunts on the walls.
Beyond this lay an inner chamber from which wafted men’s voices and cigar smoke. Through its open door, she glimpsed green felt and heard the telltale click of billiard balls striking one other.
So the rumors were true.
Had the hooded figure fled into this male bastion? Certainly not if it had been the ghost of a righteous abbess. But something told her the figure she’d seen was far less upright.
Rebecca was not brazen enough to enter this male sanctuary. Woe to her reputation if she ventured into such a place!
She slowly backed away, stepped on the edge of her hem, and stumbled, colliding with a firm object—a man’s chest?
She gasped.
Masculine hands gripped her elbows to steady her. “Careful.”
Whoever it was turned her to face him.
Thomas Wilford.
His handsome features creased in surprise, followed by a roguish grin. “Miss Lane. What an ... unexpected pleasure.”
Rebecca guessed most women would be charmed by the blond man’s smile, but she had always been more attracted to Frederick’s dark good looks and serious demeanor.
“Mr. Wilford. Pardon me, but I thought I saw ... someone ... come down here.”
“Oh, who?”
“Never mind. You will think me silly.”
“Never! Try me.”
“Someone in a hooded robe. I could not see a face.”
“Ah. A mystery!” His eyes glimmered. “Shall I look inside for you?”
Before she could decline, he stepped to the threshold and looked around the inner sanctum. A moment later he turned back. “No one wearing a cloak of any sort, hooded or otherwise.” He teased, “Perhaps you saw the ghost of the abbess in her habit?”
“And here I have been trying to convince myself otherwise. You are not very reassuring, Mr. Wilford.”
His expression sobered. “I must say, you do look like you’ve had a fright. Shall I walk you to your room?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Come, you are trembling. Allow me to walk with you back upstairs at least.”
“Very well. Thank you.”
He laced her arm through his, and she did not pull away, glad for his supportive presence. Together they walked through the passage and up the narrow stairs.
They met someone at the top. Someone Rebecca would rather not have seen when she was coming from somewhere she had no business being and on the arm of his flirtatious brother.
Sir Frederick.
He stopped abruptly, staring down at them, lips parting and then pressing tight. Self-conscious, Rebecca tugged her hand from Thomas’s arm.
