“Plus, if we’re about to die?—”
“Which is not in my plan.”
“But, either way, we get to choose if we spend that last night talking about mummified cats, or making history as the last two people to have sex in this house.”
He stroked the sides of her waist, and even through her various layers, his touch seemed to reach right into her—a sensation she remembered from the night before. “Because it’s all about putting things into perspective,” he teased. “Looking at the wider picture.”
“No,” she corrected, lightly nipping his lower lip. “Forget what I said about history. There doesn’t need to be any context. No past, no future, no promises, no regrets. This can be just you and me, very quietly making the most of right here, right now. Because that’s all we ever have.”
“Zooming in,” he said.
“Exactly.”
“Escaping, one might say.”
“Precisely, one might reply.”
Chapter 20
Amelia
Amelia woke from a nightmare in which the countess’s ghost was chasing her through the subway, to find a hand over her mouth. She kicked out, just as she registered Tom leaning over her, concern creasing his face, a finger to his mouth. He removed his hand and placed it on her shoulder, anchoring her. He pointed toward the panel that led to the yellow room. She let her lungs quietly expand, willing the hot panic to pass. The pounding in her ears gave way to the sound of shuffling. Tom squeezed her shoulder and crept to the panel, peeking through a slit. A weak daylight had spread into their little cave, somehow making it gloomier.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Tom said in a regular voice. He swiftly removed the plank and slid out.
Amelia shuffled to the gap and peered through. In the middle of the room, aiming a rifle at Tom, was … Duncan! His hair was messy, poking out from under a red beanie, his eyes wild.
“Duncan, it’s okay,” Tom said placatingly as he rose to his feet. “It’s just me. Where are they? Are they in the house?”
Duncan took a step back, blinking. “What? Who?” He looked twenty years older than he had yesterday, a confused old manrather than the sturdy gardener who’d been in calm control of his corner of the world. Amelia could relate.
“The Pritchards. They’ve been breaking in, stealing things, shooting up the place. They took down the phone and internet. I thought they’d…” Tom let his head fall backward, staring at the ceiling for a second. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
Duncan warily lowered the gun. So, if he wasn’t the one in the rug, who was? Or was no one in the rug, after all?
“I thought they’d done away with you, mate,” Tom continued. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
Duncan’s bushy gray eyebrows drew together. “I was … out at the western fields, fixing the walls. Been looking high and low for you.”
“I guess we both hid so well that we’ve successfully hidden from each other.” Amelia could almost feel Tom’s relief. “It’s a long story, but we thought someone was killed here last night. We thought it was you.”
“Me? You thought I was dead?”
Tom ran his hands through his hair. “They were searching your study for something. Any idea what?”
“My study? In the cottage? Why d’you think that?”
“We heard one of them leave—well, we assume it was them. They were searching the abbey in the last couple of days, too.”
“That so? The Pritchard boys, you say?” Duncan rubbed the white stubble coating his jaw. “Well. I have been hearing their dogs a lot, close by, too. Why would they be interested in my study? When was this?”
“Yesterday,” Tom said.
Duncan stared blankly into a corner of the room. It was never nice to imagine an intruder in your home, whether you were there or not. “Where’s the lass you were with?” he said, straightening. “She still here?”
“You can come out, Amelia,” Tom called quietly. “It’s safe.”
Duncan stared at Amelia as she slid through the gap, and then bent to look into it. “Well, I’ll be. That one of them priest hides? Even after all these years, this place still surprises you.”
