“Humph.” Greyson wasn’t sosure.
But in that moment, a low, dark gray shadow slunk past the garret’s half-opened door. He blinked, sure he’d been mistaken. But then thetappity-tapof dog claws on wood echoed from thestairwell.
“I’ll be damned!” Greyson grabbed Ophelia’s hand and pulled her with him from the room. “That’sJericho.”
“I know.” She didn’t soundsurprised.
Greyson glanced at her as they hurried along the corridor. She didn’t look surprisedeither.
“How did you know?” He peered at her again when they reached the top of thestairs.
“He was sitting in the doorway the whole time we spoke.” She tugged on his hand, taking him with her down the steps. “I told you that I sometimes seeghosts.”
“I’ll be damned,” Greyson said again, not wanting to ruin the moment by asking why she hadn’t told himstraightaway.
He had, after all, kept a secret fromher.
But when they reached the landing where the ghost dog’s footsteps had ended, Jericho wasn’t there. Nor was his master, though the air there was frosty. So cold Greyson wouldn’t have been surprised to see ice on thewalls.
“Well, sweet?” He turned to his bride. “Do you see old Jericho orPriddy?”
She turned in a slow circle, her brow pleating as she looked about. “No, they aren’t here now. But they were, only moments ago. I can feel their lingeringenergy.”
Greyson thought he felt it,too.
Indeed, he was sure that hedid.
But his stomach also chose that moment to grumble and from far below came a whiff of frying onions and roasted beef, the faint clatter of pots and pans as Smithers prepared the eveningmeal.
“Come, sweet…” He reached for his love’s hand, lacing their fingers. “Let’s take a before-dinner stroll along the Tulliepath.”
“I would like that,” sheagreed.
But when they started forward, she tripped, falling to her knees on the cold hard wood of thelanding.
“How clumsy of me,” she said, pushing to her feet, brushing at her skirts. “I tripped- … oh, look!” She pointed at the floor, a warped board that jutted up at an oddangle.
Greyson dropped to a knee to peer at the board. He’d never noticed a bad one anywhere in the stairwell, certainly not here. But there could be no doubt – one was loosenow.
“I’ll fix it at once,” he said,standing.
To his surprise, Ophelia knelt beside the floorboard, a smile spreading across herface.
“I don’t think it needs fixing.” She leaned down to peer into the darkness beneath the plank. “There’s a space. Perhaps something Jericho wished us tofind?”
“I dinnae think so.” Greysonfrowned.
He could accept ghosts, the fey, and even enchanted shawls. But he drew the line at hidden treasure. Especially in the house of a recluse artist who’d diedpenniless.”
His bride clearly believed otherwise and was already prying up the board. And then two others beside it, followed by two or three more. Old as they were, they came away easily. Before he could stop her, she flattened herself on the landing and thrust her arm into thespace.
“O-o-oh,” she cried, pulling up a long, string-tied roll of canvas. “Look what’s down there! Paintings and paintings, I’ll bet you. Arbuckle Priddy’s masterpieces, here beneath his landing all thistime.”
“Nae…” Greyson couldn’t believe it. The artist was known to have burned his paintings in the garden, just as Greyson’s own father haddone.
But he reached for the roll Ophelia still held and untied the aged bindings. His heart nearly stopped when he carefully opened the canvas, revealing indeed one of Priddy’s paintings – a self-portrait, of allthings.
And the artist appeared to scowl at them, perhaps annoyed that they’d needed so long to discover hislegacy.
