It's in His Kiss (Bridgertons 7)

She nodded her agreement, and together they crept through the house. It was quiet, just as Gareth would have expected. The baron lived alone, and when he was out, the servants retired early.

Except one. Gareth stopped short, needing a moment to reassess. The butler would be awake; he never went to bed when Lord St. Clair was still expected back and might require assistance.

“This way,” Gareth mouthed to Hyacinth, doubling back to take a different route. They would still take the main stairs, but they would go the long way around to get there.

Hyacinth followed his lead, and a minute later they were creeping up the stairs. Gareth pulled her to the side; the steps had always creaked in the center, and he rather doubted his father possessed the funds to have them repaired.

Once in the upstairs hall, he led Hyacinth to the baroness’s office. It was a funny little room, rectangular with one window and three doors, one to the hall, one to the baroness’s bedroom, and the last to a small dressing room that was more frequently used for storage since there was a much more comfortable dressing area directly off the bedchamber.

Gareth motioned Hyacinth inside, then stepped in behind her, closing the door carefully, his hand tight on the doorknob as it turned.

It shut without a click. He let out a breath.

“Tell me exactly what she wrote,” he whispered, pulling back the drapes to allow in a bit of moonlight.

“She said it was in the armadio,” Hyacinth whispered back. “Which is probably a cabinet. Or maybe a set of drawers. Or—” Her eyes fell on a tall but narrow curio cabinet. It was triangular in shape, tucked into one of the rear corners. The wood was a dark, rich hue, and it stood on three spindly legs, leaving about two feet of space under its base. “This is it,” Hyacinth whispered excitedly. “It has to be.”

She was across the room before Gareth even had a chance to move, and by the time he joined her, she had one of the drawers open and was searching through.

“Empty,” she said, frowning. She knelt and pulled open the bottom drawer. Also empty. She looked up at Gareth and said, “Do you think someone removed her belongings after she passed away?”

“I have no idea,” he said. He gave the cabinet door a gentle tug and pulled it open. Also empty.

Hyacinth stood, planting her hands on her hips as she regarded the cabinet. “I can’t imagine what else…” Her words trailed off as she ran her fingers over the decorative carvings near the top edge.

“Maybe the desk,” Gareth suggested, crossing the distance to the desk in two strides.

But Hyacinth was shaking her head. “I don’t think so,” she said. “She wouldn’t have called a desk an armadio. It would have been a scrivania.”

“It still has drawers,” Gareth muttered, pulling them open to inspect the contents.

“There’s something about this piece,” Hyacinth murmured. “It looks rather Mediterranean, don’t you think?”

Gareth looked up. “It does,” he said slowly, coming to his feet.

“If she brought this from Italy,” Hyacinth said, her head tilting slightly to the side as she eyed the cabinet assessingly, “or if her grandmother brought it on her visit…”

“It would stand to reason that she would know if there was a secret compartment,” Gareth finished for her.

“And,” Hyacinth said, her eyes alight with excitement, “her husband wouldn’t.”

Gareth quickly set the desk to rights and returned to the curio cabinet. “Stand back,” he instructed, wrapping his fingers around the lower lip so that he could pull it away from the wall. It was heavy, though, much heavier than it looked, and he was only able to move it a few inches, just far enough so that he could run his hand along the back.

“Do you feel anything?” Hyacinth whispered.

He shook his head. He couldn’t reach very far in, so he dropped to his knees and tried feeling the back panel from underneath.

“Anything there?” Hyacinth asked.

He shook his head again. “Nothing. I just need to—” He froze as his fingers ran across a small, rectangular outcropping of wood.

“What is it?” she asked, trying to peer around the back.

“I’m not certain,” he said, stretching his arm a half inch farther. “It’s a knob of some sort, maybe a lever.”

“Can you move it?”

“I’m trying,” he nearly gasped. The knob was almost out of his reach, and he had to contort and twist just to catch it between his fingers. The lower front edge of the cabinet was digging painfully into the muscles of his upper arm, and his head was twisted awkwardly to the side, his cheek pressing up against the cabinet door.