The butler smiled when he saw her. “You’re late, Miss Felicia.”
She glanced at the clock and saw it was nearly eleven o’clock. “Good gracious.” She looked at the letter she was writing. “I’ll just finish this page, then go up.”
Johnson smiled benignly, then circled the room, checking that the windows had been locked
.
Felicia laid down her pen with a sigh and looked up. “A last and final check?” Johnson usually did his final check soon after he wheeled the tea tray away.
“Indeed, miss. Given the circumstances, one cannot be too careful, and I have to admit I sleep a lot easier if I check the locks late.”
She nodded. “No blame to you. As whoever wishes to break in and steal the plans or sabotage the invention has presumably learned that the workshop doors cannot be forced, then it must surely be on the cards that they might attempt to gain access through a door or window on this level and make their way down to the workshop.”
Johnson somewhat diffidently remarked, “Lord Cavanaugh did canvass that possibility with me. It seems you and he think alike, miss.”
She smiled. “That’s not really surprising. We’re both committed to ensuring this invention remains safe all the way to the exhibition, and as you know, William John is somewhat...”
“Absentminded?” Johnson smiled. “Indeed, miss. But a very clever gentleman, nonetheless.”
Felicia allowed her smile to grow and inclined her head. “As you say, Johnson.” Seeing he had completed his circuit of the room’s windows, she said, “I’ll be going up momentarily. You can turn down the lights elsewhere.”
“Yes, miss.” Johnson bowed. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Felicia remained in the chair by the escritoire and let her mind wander—first to assessing the steps they’d taken to secure the Hall, searching for any weakness and finding none, then to the revelations of recent days and the changes those revelations had wrought.
Eventually, with the house settling to nighttime quiet about her, she rose, turned off the twin sconces she’d had burning, and made for the door. She opened it and stepped into the front hall, shutting the panel quietly behind her. As per her instructions, Johnson had turned the two small sconces in the hall and the one on the stair landing to their lowest setting; they cast the faintest of pale glows, just enough for someone like her, familiar with the house, to be sure of their way. She started toward the stairs.
She was halfway to them—exposed in the very center of the open expanse of tiled floor—when she heard a boot scrape on stone.
On the stone of the stairs leading up from the workshop.
Before her mind registered the oddity of any intruder coming up the workshop stairs, her heart started to race.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she swung toward the door to the stairs in time to see it slowly open.
A figure appeared in the doorway. Male, tall, powerfully built.
Even in the poor light, she recognized those shoulders. At some level beyond that of normal senses, she recognized him.
Her heart leapt and raced again—this time, for a very different reason.
She exhaled in relief and smiled. “Rand. Checking the guards?”
He tipped his head as he walked toward her. “That, and checking your brother’s masterpiece of an alarm system. It’s quite ingenious.”
He drew level with her, and she turned. Side by side, they continued toward the stairs, with him shortening his stride to accommodate hers.
“And you? This is later than usual for you, I think?”
She waved toward the sitting room. “I was writing letters and forgot the time.” Ruefully, she glanced at him. “Thank you for checking the alarm. Sadly, William John doesn’t possess a practical bone in his body—he would never think to do it.”
Rand shrugged, those wonderfully wide shoulders shifting fluidly beneath his well-cut coat. Amusement ran beneath his words as he said, “I’ve worked with quite a few inventors in recent years. None are what you could term ‘practically minded.’”
She smiled. “I suppose it’s an upshot of single-minded focus.”
“Indeed. So it seems.”
Wreathed in shadows, they started up the stairs, and she felt his gaze on her face, not intent so much as assessing.