Bryan shrugged. "Father couldn't remember him mentioning a location. The nursery doesn't seem likely for a hidden room, does it? Father recalls him describing it as being a large enough s.p.a.ce that he could get into it, like a priest's hole or something. He thought it could be almost anywhere in the house."

Their search of the rest of the second floor was cursory, but they did go up to the nursery on the third floor. It was more dangerous, as the maids' quarters were up there, also, and any who were already in bed might hear them. They moved very quietly, only whispering to each other now and then, but the largely bare rooms yielded no evidence of a hiding place.

They made their way quickly downstairs. Time was running out, and they were becoming somewhat discouraged. They had already decided that the most likely of the formal rooms to hide anything in was the study, for that was the most personal of the downstairs rooms. After a quick check of the sitting and drawing room walls for safes, they locked themselves in the study and lit a candle. One wall held books, all of them perfectly aligned and looking unused. A large set of gla.s.sed-in shelves stood against another wall, each gla.s.s front locked. This place intrigued Priscilla the most, for it was filled with beautiful objects, small vases, gla.s.s miniatures, little carved Oriental scenes and other such things. However, since all the contents of the shelves could be clearly seen and there were no rubies among them, she soon left the shelves and went to the desk. This yielded nothing; most of the drawers were not even locked.

"h.e.l.lo," Bryan said quietly, breaking the stillness, and Priscilla turned.

"What?"

"This panel of the wall," he said. "Listen." He knocked on the wall on one side of the fireplace, then on the wall on the other. The second piece of wall sounded peculiar.

"I think it's hollow."

Excitement flared in Priscilla, and she hurried over to where Bryan stood. "You found it? The hiding place your father talked about?"

"Maybe." He ran his hand over the wall. "I can't feel a crack. How do you get into it? That's the problem."

"Try the mantel," Priscilla suggested. "It is carved with all kinds of curlicues and k.n.o.bs and such. That's always where they put the release mechanism."

"You have a wide experience with hidden doors?"

"In books, I mean."

He made a face. "I am talking about reality, not books."

At that moment, the k.n.o.b he touched moved. He twisted it, and the panel of wood beside the fireplace slid open.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

PRISCILLA LET OUT A LITTLE SQUEAK, immediately stifled, as the door slid noiselessly into its pocket, revealing a dark s.p.a.ce behind it.

"It really exists!" Bryan breathed, amazed, and held up the candle to illuminate the room.

Their hearts immediately fell. The "room" was not as big as the inside of a wardrobe. As tall as the rest of the room, it was barely wide enough or deep enough to hold more than one person. Bryan moved the candle up and down, illuminating it from ceiling to floor. It was absolutely bare.

"Not much of a secret room, is it?" Priscilla commented in disappointment.

"Maybe something in it opens up," Bryan said, and felt the walls and floor for a crack or a sound that indicated another empty s.p.a.ce behind it. Nothing moved or looked as if it ever would.

"I pity the poor priest who had to hide in there."

Bryan stepped back out and twisted the k.n.o.b on the mantel. The door moved back into place. They continued their search of the room, feeling even more down-hearted. Finally they had searched every inch of the place, even turning up the corners of the Oriental rug to see if there might be an opening for a safe beneath it. They walked to the door and unlocked it. Bryan leaned his head against the wood, listening for any sound of a person outside. Then he turned the k.n.o.b and eased the door open an inch.

At that moment the knocker on the front door crashed down hard. Priscilla jumped, clapping her hand over her mouth. Bryan stiffened, closing the door to a mere crack and putting his ear to it.

They heard the measured steps of a footman crossing the marble entryway, then the sound of the door opening.

"Good evening, sir. We hadn't expected to see you back so soon."

"Quite right. However, I decided to return early."

Priscilla's eyes went wide. Evesham! She and Bryan looked wildly at each other. Quickly Bryan eased the door to and, taking her hand, hurried across the room to the mantel. He pressed frantically on the ornate carving. They could hear steps on the marble of the entryway and m.u.f.fled voices.

For one breathless moment Priscilla thought that the strange door would refuse to open, or that Bryan had gotten the wrong rosette, but then the panel in the wall slid open. Bryan reached out for her hand, but she hesitated.

"It's too small!" she hissed.

Bryan stepped into the s.p.a.ce and unceremoniously jerked her in after him. The panel was still open, however. The voices were closer, right outside the door. Panic gripped Priscilla. Then she noticed the small b.u.t.ton on the inside of their box, beside the open panel. She punched it, and the panel closed.

The s.p.a.ce was indeed too small. Priscilla found herself pressed against the wall in front, and Bryan was so close behind her that she could feel his body all the way up and down her back. It seemed hard to breathe, and she wondered about the amount of air there might be in this upright coffin.

There was a click as the study door opened, and then a loud, familiar voice, "But surely you don't keep your objets d'art in here. I would think they would be on display in the drawing room."

Ranleigh? Priscilla glanced back up at Bryan in amazement. What on earth was he doing here? And with Evesham!

Bryan raised an eyebrow and shrugged. Outside, Evesham's silky voice replied, "What? To let the ma.s.ses see? Oh, no, dear boy, I keep them in here, where only I can look at them."

"But where's the fun in that?" another voice asked. It sounded very much like Mr. Rutherford's.

"I say, why are you speaking so loudly?" Evesham asked petulantly.

"Am I?" Rutherford returned blandly.

"Yes. Both of you."

"Oh, sorry." That was Damon's voice again. "Guess I'm used to speaking on board ship. Hard to hear on the open sea, you know."

Priscilla had to smother a giggle. It was obvious that the two men were trying to warn them of Evesham's presence as best they could. She doubted that they suspected that Priscilla and Bryan were in the very same room with them, but no doubt they hoped that their loud talk would reach them wherever they were searching.

Outside, in the room, they heard the sounds of Evesham opening the gla.s.s display case into which they had gazed earlier. Rutherford and Damon began to exclaim over the miniatures within at great length.

Priscilla realized that the Duke and his friend might keep Evesham talking in here for some time. Since it was apparent that Bryan and Priscilla were not in this room, no doubt they would a.s.sume that the couple were escaping from some other room. They would want to give them plenty of time in which to do it. She leaned against the wall in front of her, suppressing a sigh.

Now that her heart had subsided a little and her nerves were no longer standing on end, she began to think about how close Bryan was to her. His front grazed her back, and she could feel the heat of his muscular body through their clothes. She looked up at Bryan, and in the faint light seeping in through the cracks around the secret door, she found him gazing back at her. Blood flooded her cheeks; she was glad that he could barely see her.

She glanced immediately away. But it was too late; the s.e.xual awareness was there, and with every pa.s.sing second it grew, seeming to feed on the silence and awkwardness. Outside, the three men continued to chat. Priscilla wondered impatiently if they would ever shut up.

Bryan touched her hair. Priscilla flinched, barely suppressing a gasp-less of surprise than of pent-up desire. It had been only a few weeks since she had felt his intimate touch, but it seemed as if it had been forever. He smoothed his hand over her hair, then delved into the knot in back, pulling out pin after pin. A shudder ran through Priscilla, and she pressed her lips together to hold back a moan. His hands felt so wonderful in her hair; it turned her knees to b.u.t.ter. She flashed him an admonishing look, trying to appear stern and forbidding, but she knew inside that what she really wanted was to feel his hands all over her.

Bryan grinned at her, his eyes alight with deviltry, obviously reading her mind. She dared not speak, and there was not enough room in the hidey-hole to pull away from him. She could only glare at him, but he ignored her, continuing to take down her hair until at last it tumbled freely over her shoulders. Then he combed his fingers through it, fingering the silken locks. Priscilla leaned her forehead weakly against the wall in front of her.

His hand went to her face, and his finger traced over her brow and cheeks as if he were a blind man. He ran his forefinger slowly across her mouth, and it was all Priscilla could do not to take it between her lips. His finger trailed down over her chin and onto the soft flesh of her throat, delving beneath the collar of her riding habit.

Priscilla's eyes fluttered closed, and her breath came more quickly. Bryan's hand moved to the long row of b.u.t.tons down the front of her jacket, and he began to unfasten them. Her eyes flew open, and she turned her head to glare a warning at him, but he paid no attention to her, just gave her a bland look and continued working on the b.u.t.tons. She could say nothing, for fear of being heard by Evesham, outside in the room. Bryan's hand slipped inside the bodice and under her chemise, and further efforts to stop him went right out of her head. Her breast fit perfectly into his hand; Priscilla quivered at the feel of it there. His other hand came up, and took possession of the opposite breast.

He bent and began to nuzzle her neck, his hands busy teasing her nipples into hardness. Priscilla went weak at the knees. Her head lolled to the side, giving him freer access to her neck. Taking her nipples between his forefingers and thumbs, he rubbed and tweaked and caressed them into thrusting out. His fingers explored her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and delved down beneath her chemise as if he had all the time in the world, as if they were not stuck in a hidden s.p.a.ce, perhaps to be discovered at any moment.

Now his fingers left her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and went to the fastenings of her skirt. Deftly he disconnected the hooks and eyes, then slid his hand beneath her petticoats and undergarments, finding bare skin at last. Priscilla was startled from her haze of desire, and she craned her neck to look up at him. He met her gaze this time, his hot eyes boring into hers, and she felt herself melting all over. This could not be happening, she told herself.

He rucked up one side of her skirt and moved his hand up under it, smoothing it over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Priscilla jerked convulsively. But there was nowhere to go and nothing she could do. Desire rushed in on her like a freight train. His fingers went between her legs, and she had to clap her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. He stroked her there, and she labored for breath. His hand came out and around to the back, moving down inside her pantaloons and over her derriere, squeezing the firm flesh there. Then his fingers found her soft inner pa.s.sage from the back.

Her hands came up, elbows resting against the wall. She was so caught up in pa.s.sion that she could scarcely breathe; it seemed as if every fiber of her being were centered in the heat in her abdomen right now. It was all she could do not to groan or cry out as Bryan's fingers worked new delights on her tender flesh. He buried his finger deep within her, while with his other hand he continued to caress her breast. He stroked in and out, arousing her, as he nibbled at her neck.

She could feel his maleness hard and stiff against her bottom. He pushed her hips back against him, making it even more obvious, and rubbed them back and forth across him. Priscilla took her lip between her teeth, clamping down on it to keep from making any noise.

His hand found the tiny b.u.t.ton of pleasure that lay between her legs, hard and aching. He teased it gently, gliding over the slick flesh again and again. Priscilla began to rotate her hips involuntarily. Desire was building in her, making her desperate. She wanted to beg him to take her farther, higher, faster, to the pleasure she knew awaited her. She buried her face in the crook of her arm to stifle the sound of her quick breath.

His finger pressed harder, instinctively answering her mute plea. The pleasure was swirling in her, moving inexorably to its goal, and Priscilla trembled, poised on the brink. Then, suddenly, she was falling over its edge, warmth flooding through her. She moved her hips, biting her lip till it bled to keep from letting out a moan.

At long last she came back to her senses, floating down from the blind pinnacle of pleasure. She leaned against the wall, struggling to control her breathing. At last it reached her consciousness that there was no longer any sound from the room beyond them. She glanced back up at Bryan questioningly.

"I think they have left," he whispered in her ear. His face was flushed, his eyes were glittering, and she could feel the insistent throbbing of his aroused manhood against her.

They waited for another moment, and when there was still nothing but silence, Bryan pushed the b.u.t.ton. The door slid open, revealing an empty room. Priscilla stumbled out of the small s.p.a.ce, feeling as if her legs would barely support her. Bryan came after her and twisted the k.n.o.b on the mantel to close the door.

He reached out and whirled Priscilla around, pulling her to his chest and sinking his lips into hers. They kissed forever, their mouths fused. Priscilla, languid in the aftermath of her own pa.s.sion, could feel the heat rising in her again.

"What about Evesham?" she whispered.

"He won't come back," he answered, his lips trailing down her throat to the open neck of her riding habit. "And I don't give a d.a.m.n if he does."

He picked her up, his hands beneath her b.u.t.tocks, sliding her up his body. For a moment he fumbled with her skirts and his own clothing, and then he was inside her. Priscilla made a noise, startled, but she was quick to catch on, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as she wiggled a little, moving down more fully over his stiff maleness. He let out a groan at the sensations her movements generated. Then he was moving inside her, his head buried in her neck, his breath rasping harshly in her ear.

He moved blindly back to the wall, partially supporting Priscilla against it as his hips drove into her, setting up a primal rhythm of l.u.s.t. Priscilla tangled her fingers in his hair and leaned her head back against the wall, lost in their mutual pa.s.sion. Any number of people could have come in at that moment, and she would not have noticed.

Bryan thrust into her deeply, his fingers digging into her crumpled skirts, and m.u.f.fled his groan against her skin. He shuddered, pouring his seed into her, and Priscilla tightened her legs around him as if she could hold him closer, pull him inside her even more deeply.

With a sigh, he relaxed against her, his breath coming in short pants. She brushed her hand over his neck; it was damp with sweat cooling in the air.

"Am I still alive?" he murmured.

Priscilla chuckled softly. "Yes." She kissed the top of his head, caressing his hair with her hand. "But neither of us may be much longer, if we stay here."

"I don't think I can move."

But he did, stepping back and letting her slide down his body to the floor. His eyes took in her tousled hair and her swollen lips, the slackness of her face, the disarray of her riding habit. Her appearance sparked his desire again, despite what they had just done. She looked like a la.s.s who had just taken a hasty tumble in the hay with her lover, a woman well loved and pa.s.sionate.

"G.o.d, Priscilla," he said impulsively, "you have to marry me. I do not think I can live without you another day."

Priscilla, who had begun trying to straighten and refasten her clothes, looked up at him in surprise. His words struck her as all his fanciful wooing had not. His need was real and deep; it fairly vibrated from him, touching a chord deep within her. She opened her mouth, but could not speak.

He looked away, pulling his clothes back in order. The moment pa.s.sed. Priscilla hastily finished b.u.t.toning her bodice and straightened her skirts, shaking them and her petticoats into some semblance of order. As for her hair, there was nothing she could do with that. The pins were scattered all over the floor of that little room, and she certainly hadn't the time to pick them up.

They glanced around the room to make sure they had left nothing incriminating behind, then went to the door and eased it open. There was no one about. The house stood empty and still. Above them, somewhere, a door closed. Evesham's bedchamber, Priscilla hoped. That would mean he was not anywhere about down here, about to jump out and apprehend them.

Bryan looked longingly at the front door. It was not far away, but the great lock on it had been turned, and he could imagine the sound it might make were he to turn it. Also, in the entryway, they were completely exposed, with no place to hide. He turned back to the room and walked over to one of the windows. Pushing the heavy curtain aside, he looked out. It was only a short distance to the ground, and the window was wide and tall, with a single lock. He tried the lock, and it slid open easily. The window, too, slid up with little effort. Once they were outside, he thought he could close it again. It would be impossible for him to relock it, of course, but perhaps no one would notice, or perhaps no one would think anything of it if they did. An unlocked window would not implicate him or Priscilla, anyway.

He helped Priscilla out, then crawled through himself, reaching back up to pull the window down. When it was closed, he and Priscilla navigated their way through the dark garden. He did not look up to see if anyone was watching. If they were, he didn't want them to get a good look at their faces. Soon they were past the edge of the garden, and they ran full tilt across the small open s.p.a.ce to the woods beyond. It wasn't until they reached the trees that they stopped and turned around, panting, and looked back at the house. It appeared as dark as it had before, except for the dim light that shone in Evesham's bedroom windows. However, the windows were only rectangles of vague light. That meant the drapes were closed, and it was unlikely that Evesham or his valet had looked out and seen them running away from the house.

Bryan threw his arms around Priscilla and hugged her, picking her up off the ground. His heart was pumping wildly, and though they had found nothing to help his father in the house, he was filled with jubilation. It seemed to him that Priscilla had told him clearly, without words, what she felt for him.

"Marry me," he said, setting her down. "No more of this dancing around, no more playing games. Marry me."

"Did you mean what you said back there?" she asked, looking up at him seriously.

"What? About not being able to live without you? That is true enough."

"You have talked about marrying me. About saving my reputation. About wanting me. But you have not talked to me about love."

He gazed at her blankly. "Love? Are you asking if I love you?"

She nodded. "I do not want to be an obligation to you. I do not want to be a burden, a regret."

"I would never regret marrying you. Never." He seized her hands and held them between his earnestly. "Priscilla, I love you. I have loved you for a long time now. Why else would I have asked you to marry me? I don't feel obligated to marry you. And I would never, never consider you a burden. Don't you understand? I don't care that I am to be a duke. I don't care if your blood is not blue enough. I don't care what you have done in your past that you think is so terrible. h.e.l.l, I don't even care that you have a father who regularly blows up his workshop! I love you, and I want to marry you. Will you marry me?"

"Yes!" Priscilla threw her arms around him, beginning to weep. "Yes, I will. Oh, Bryan, I love you. It hurt so much to refuse you. I have loved you for weeks now. For- I don't know, I think I have loved you since I first saw you."

"Then why have you held back?"

"I don't know. I was so afraid...." She paused and looked away. Now was when she should tell him about her writing, let him know the scandal that might await them. Let him decide whether he really loved her enough to accept her, to accept what she did.

"Of what?"

Her nerve failed her. "I'm not sure. Of your not understanding who and how you should marry, of your regretting it years later."

"I promise you, I will not regret it." He pulled her to him and kissed her soundly on the lips. "Now, get on that horse, and let's leave this place."

She nodded, grateful not to have to elaborate on her words. They mounted up and made their way through the trees and out to the road, where they kicked their horses into a trot. After a few minutes of riding they rounded a corner and discovered two men on horseback waiting for them.

Priscilla started and reined in, realizing belatedly that it was the Duke and Mr. Rutherford.

"Father!" Bryan burst out.

"Bryan! And Miss Hamilton. Thank G.o.d! We weren't sure whether to wait for you or if you had already gone."

"We were in that d.a.m.n study with you the whole time you were jawing with Evesham," Bryan told him.

"What?"

"How could you have been?" Rutherford asked in amazement.

"There is a secret room-more like a closet, really, just as you said there might be. It happens to be in the study. Luckily, we had found it earlier, or you would have walked right in on us."