Page 86 of How the Earl Entices

Now—she hitched up her skirts and ran, to duck out of sight behind the outbuildings.

She crouched low and circled the perimeter of the service yard to arrive at the wooden gate that separated the yard from the formal side garden beyond. The same garden whose three sets of French doors had been thrown open wide for the partygoers the night of the masquerade. Their grandeur was impossible to miss that night, and she prayed that they would be her way back into the house this morning.

She slipped through the gate and closed it silently behind her.

Behind the cover of flowered bushes and thick arbors, she finally let herself pause, to catch her breath and steady her nervous shaking.

She thought of Ross and pushed on toward the house. Careful to keep out of view of the windows, she reached the set of doors that she’d instructed the boys to unlock in their chase through the house. She whispered a prayer and reached for the handle—

It turned. The door swung open. She slipped inside the grand drawing room, then silently closed the door behind herself.

The house seemed so much bigger without the crush of hundreds of guests. And terrifyingly silent, which only made each faint footstep she took register in her ears like the sound of cannon fire. But she tried to take courage in that silence. It meant that Wentworth and his cronies were in Westminster, just as Christopher had predicted, gleefully relishing Ross’s downfall, while she was here to stop it.

She carefully moved through the house. As she did, she sent up a silent thank you to fate that she’d been at the party and so knew the layout of all the rooms and where little alcoves and corners were located where she could hide if someone happened upon her. But so far, there was no need to hide, the house remaining silent and still around her.

When she reached the stair hall, that enormous room that stretched two stories tall and could have engulfed her entire cottage between its walls, she hesitated. She would be exposed here, with no way to hide as she ascended the stairs. But the only other choice—unless she wanted to scale the downspout, and who would be mad enough to do a thing like that?—was the backstairs. Not a choice at all, given that the servants would be coming and going in their duties. She’d be seen the moment she took her first step.

No. It was up the grand staircase or nothing.

Hitching up her skirt, she raced up the stairs. Dear God, how had she not noticed the night of the masquerade how tall these stairs were? It took an eternity to reach the top and duck into the second set of stairs that led up to the ambassador’s private rooms above, and to the study, where the journal waited for her.

Although she’d not been into this part of the house during the party, the study was easy to find, because its door hung half off its hinges, the frame around it broken into shards. Good God, what had happened here with Ross that night?

Her hands shaking, she slipped inside and closed the door behind her as fully as she could, shutting herself into the lion’s den. Every heartbeat made her wince with pain and terror, yet she forced herself to stop and take a moment to quiet herself, to look around the room and gather her bearings. No good would come of being panicked in her search. Calm, controlled…Just breathe!

But the bell of a nearby church tolling the noon hour startled her. The morning was gone, and Ross would be facing the Lords even now. She had to hurry.

Her gaze swept around the room and landed on the side table that Ross had described. She ran her fingers over it, testing every surface and joint, every hidden place where a latch might—

Her fingertips found it, and she gave a soft cry of relief. She pressed it, and a front panel gave way, opening a hidden compartment. Her hand dove inside.

Only to come up empty.

She bit back a frustrated cry and sank down onto her heels. No! To come this far, through so much—

But the journal was here in this study. Ithadto be! And she wasn’t leaving until she found it.

She pulled herself up to her feet and turned back to face the room, determined to search through every inch of the place if she had to. Then she saw the matching side table on the opposite wall and smiled.

Shaking so fiercely that she could barely control her hands, she went to it and once more searched for the hidden compartment. Once more finding the latch. The panel fell open, and she reached trembling fingers inside—

They brushed against something hard and flat. She pulled it out, blinking against the stinging in her eyes as she stared down at what she held in her hands.

Wentworth’s private journal. Her hands shook as she opened it and flipped through the pages to make certain it was the proof she needed.Breathe. Each entry was meticulously dated and entered in an elegant but masculine hand, listing names and bits of information, places, favors granted, favors given. Her chest burned with each mouthful of air she forced herself to take.Just breathe!

The journal. It was more precious than its weight in gold, and she could scarcely believe that she’d found it. Ross’s salvation. And hers.

“Put it down,” a deep voice ordered.

With a startled cry, she spun around. A man stood in the doorway—

“Patton.” Panic spiked in her chest.Dear God, what was he doing here? Why wasn’t he in Westminster with the ambassador?

“Put it down,” he repeated as he stalked toward her.

She lifted her chin. “I’d rather die.”

An evil smile tugged at his thin lips. “All right.”