Once outside the dining room, Hart strode down the corridor. Following the duchess’s instructions, he located the silver closet. The key was in the lock and the door was closed. He tried the handle. It didn’t budge. He turned the lock and tried the handle once more. It was stuck. “Meg?” he called.
Her muffled voice sounded through the thick wood. “Hart? Is that you?”
“Yes.” He pushed harder against the door, this time using his shoulder.
“Hart, don’t come in here, I’ve ripped my—”
The door flew open and Hart nearly fell into the room from the weight of his shoulder against the door.
The closet was in darkness, but he made out the shadowy figure of Meg, a glimmering bit of pink a few paces away.
“Why is it dark in here? Are you quite all right?”
“Don’t come any closer,” she squeaked.
“What? Why?” He stepped into the room.
“No! Don’t let the door—” Meg lunged toward it, a shadow in the darkness.
She was too late. The door slammed closed.
He’d stepped quickly to the side. “Why?”
“Because it will—” She jiggled the handle and sighed “—lock.”
Hart turned toward the door and grabbed the handle again. By God, she was right. The door had not only closed, it had locked. What in the devil’s name?
“I’ve been trying for the last ten minutes to get out of here.”
“I see that,” he said simply. “May I ask why you’re waiting in the dark?”
“Oh, because I prefer it, obviously.” Her voice dripped sarcasm.
He rubbed his fingers through his hair. “Tell me what happened.”
“I was standing on the stairs looking for the polish when the door slammed shut and blew out the candle. The flintlock appears to have gone missing.”
“There is a candle and a flintlock in here?” Instinctively, he turned to look before realizingthatwas a fruitless effort. He couldn’t even see his own hand in front of his face.
“Yes. Somewhere,” Meg replied.
“Then all we must do is locate it.”
“Brilliant. I wish I’d thought of that.”
Hart grinned in the darkness. “I never knew how witty you are.” Miss Timmons confirmed again shewasn’t the quiet little mouse he’d once assumed she was. He liked that. A lot.
“I suppose being locked in a silver closet in the dark with a ripped bodice doesn’t exactly bring out the best in me.”
“Pardon?” Had he heard her correctly?
“I said being locked in a silver closet isn’t particularly my finest hour,” she replied.
“No. The part about your bodice being, erm, ripped?”
“Oh yes. In addition to the door blowing shut, locking me in here, and divesting me of light, I managed to rip my gown while reaching for the silver polish.”
“That is unfortunate.” Hart’s mind raced. What sort of state of undress were they speaking of? He could smell Meg’s strawberry sweetness. Light. Ephemeral. Like her. His palms began to sweat. It had turned ungodly hot in the small space of a sudden.
