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Jonas tossed James a gold coin. “Buy yourself a drink. Buy one for everyone else. Keep the bartender busy.”

“How long do you need?”

“Give me an hour after you place your first order,” Jonas said. “If Miss Doyle’s not upstairs, I’ll need to try the cellar.”

“Easily done,” James said, pocketing the coin. “If you get her out before then, start back without me. Patriot will be carrying two. I’ll catch up.”

For a few moments, it seemed to Jonas that he’d gone back in time. Back to a season when he and James were equals in their love of adventure and trouble, to when they’d both return to Langton Manor at the end of the day equally disheveled and dirty, and when titles meant almost nothing. Over the years, their differing positions had separated them, but their mutual trust remained intact.

“Keep your guard up,” Jonas warned.

“I wish you success in finding her, my lord.”

Jonas waited until James disappeared around the building before heading for the back door. He opened it a crack and listened. A low murmur of voices came from the front room, but the passageway was quiet. Pulling the door wide, he slipped inside. There was still light enough coming from the window beside the door to see the steep staircase at the other end of the passageway. He moved quickly, reaching the bottom stair just as a familiar voice rang out from the other room.

“A drink for all my new friends!” James’s announcement was met by cheers, and Jonas took the stairs two at a time.

On the landing, he entered the nearest room and closed the door behind him. The fireplace was empty; the candle that had once stood on the upturned barrel was gone. Wishing he’d thought to bring a light, Jonas hurried to the window and pulled back the curtain. Darkness was coming on rapidly. Moving to the paneled wall, he stood before it, studying it for inconsistencies. Each square appeared even.

Hoping that the release switch was located somewhere near the entrance, he focused his search on the right side of the wall. He ran his fingers across some of the panels, feeling for scratches or nicks. Nothing. Miss Doyle was too short for it to be above his head. She’d accessed the room without the aid of a stool. As loudly as he dared, he started knocking on the wooden squares, listening for one that sounded hollow. He was on his sixth panel when he heard a faint voice.

“Is somebody there?”

“Miss Doyle? Is that you?”

There was a pause. “Reynard?” Her voice sounded closer now, as though she stood immediately before him.

“Yes. Can you tell me how to release the door?”

She began to speak, but from downstairs, a door banged and a man’s voice came loud and clear. “I’ll fetch it from upstairs.”

“Someone’s coming,” Jonas hissed, then on silent feet, he crossed the room and stood beside the closed bedchamber door, his ear against it.

Heavy footsteps mounted the stairs. Sliding his hand into his coat, he withdrew a small pistol from the inside pocket, and with his heart pounding in his ears, he waited. Miss Doyle’s voice had silenced, and he could only pray that she’d understood his whispered warning. Another glance around the dark room reassured him that this bedchamber contained nothing but a poor excuse for a bed, an upturned barrel with a washbasin and pitcher, and an old rocking chair. Surely there was nothing to be retrieved in here. Could the man be coming for something from the hidden room?

The footsteps reached the landing. He was close enough now that Jonas could hear his breathing. A key scraped in a lock across the hall. A door opened and closed. The sound of men’s voices and loud laughter suddenly burst through the silence. Someone had opened the door to the front room again.

“Hurry it up, mate!” It was James’s voice. “The men are ready to sing. If you don’t bring your flute now, it will be too late.”

Jonas leaned against the door, thanking his lucky stars for James’s quick thinking. Raucous singing in the front room would more than cover the sound of voices, sliding panels, and closing doors from above stairs. Seconds later, the door across the hall opened and closed again, and the man’s hurried footsteps passed by and started down the stairs. Jonas waited until the wave of voices coming from the front room disappeared again before racing back to the paneled wall.

He knocked. The music had begun downstairs, and he could speak louder. “It’s clear,” he called.

“Reynard?”

“Yes. Help me find the release lever.”

“Three panels down from the top, three panels up from the bottom, three panels over from the corner.” He took a step back, trying to count the panels in the darkness. “Do you have it?” She was so close it was as if he could touch her.

“I believe so. What am I looking for?”

“A knot in the wood on the right side of the panel,” she said. “Press it.”

Jonas ran his hand down the panel. Nothing. He did it again. Still nothing. He raised his hand high above his head, counting the panels by touch rather than by his limited sight. This time, he found himself one panel farther over. He ran his hand over the smooth wood, instantly encountering a round, rough knot. Pressing it with his thumb, he heard a grinding from somewhere beneath the wood. The wall before him disappeared, and from the pitch-blackness, a small form staggered out.

“I prayed you would come.” Her voice broke, and suddenly, she was in his arms, her face buried in his coat.

He wanted to examine her face, to ask what further torture her monster father had put her through, but there was no time. “Are you well?”