To her left, Portia saw stairs going up, and she slipped silently toward them.
It occurred to her that the penalty for invasion of private property was probably hanging or transportation. It wouldn’t come to that, of course, but if a servant caught her she might be hauled off to jail before the Mallorens knew anything of it. Presumably they would correct matters as soon as they heard, but to end up in Newgate would be the final, degrading limit to her London adventures.
The stairs were wide enough, but being servants’ stairs, the treads were plain wood. Her shoes were noisy on them, so she slipped them off.
She paused at the first door, but it must surely open into the main floor where there would be public rooms and such facilities as the dining room and library. The chances were high that servants would be busy there, perhaps even stationed there. She carried on up to the next floor.
At the next door she paused, surprisingly reluctant to go through it, for there was nothing about the plain wood to tell her what was on the other side. If she went through this door, she might walk straight into a servant or a Malloren.
The latter, she reminded herself, was exactly what she wanted, and yet she felt so guilty at this housebreaking that she hardly had the nerve.
Housebreaking!
Portia sagged for a moment against the wall. Her life kept turning in circles. This had all started with housebreaking. What would the next spiral bring?
Enough of this. She turned the knob and opened the door.
And stepped into luxury.
She should have expected it, but coming from the dark plain stairway it was startling to walk into warm light, gleaming oak paneling, and fine furniture and art. Beneath her feet was a luxurious carpet runner from Persia, and figured red velvet draped a nearby window.
It was as fine as Lord Trelyn’s house, but a great deal warmer in tone.
What now?
Portia listened, but could hear nothing but the tick of clocks. The corridor had doors opening off one side and turned into other corridors at either end. Should she just enter the first room and wait there?
For what?
She berated herself for arrant cowardice.
Should she check each room?
But the chance of encountering a servant was great and she did not want to do that without finding a Malloren first.
On the other hand, if someone walked around one of the corners there was nowhere for her to hide….
Portia put aside her useless fears and walked forward, listening at each door.
Silence.
It was as if the house were deserted. What was she going to do if the Mallorens were out all night, too?
She halted at the corner. The end wall here had four magnificent windows for it was the head of the stairway. A peep showed her wide stairs coiling down toward the hall, where a footman crossed.
Where was he going? To answer a summons from a Malloren? She wasn’t sure enough of that to go down and announce her presence. She turned back to avoid crossing the open space at the top of the stairs, and checked each door in the other corridor.
She was halfway down, ear pressed to a panel trying to decide if the noises she heard were made by a person, and if so whom, when a voice said, “May I perhaps help you?”
Portia spun around.
She was face-to-face with the Marquess of Rothgar in quiet dark blue magnificence. His brows rose. “Miss St. Claire. What a delightful surprise.”
Chapter 19
Portia could feel her face turn red. It was such an extraordinary situation in which to find herself. “I…I need to speak to Bryght, my lord.”
“Do you? Did he refuse to see you?”
