The door was unlocked. Easing the latch open, Devlin stepped inside Count Rupert’s set of rooms, and after listening for any sounds of a servant stirring, he stepped to the center of the carpet and slowly turned in a circle to survey his surroundings. There was nothing out of the ordinary. The furnishings were a trifle worn with age, but displayed a tasteful rustic elegance.

A settee and several armchairs upholstered in muted earthtone stripes, a massive pine sideboard stocked with various libations, a pair of mahogany tea tables…a pine desk, already cluttered with various personal items.

Devlin really didn’t expect to find anything momentous. However, he had found that having a sense of an individual’s personality was often an advantage in gambling. And as discerning whether the prince faced any real danger was a game of chance, he went over for a quick look.

The desktop showed none of the usual Germanic penchant for order. A set of meerschaum pipes lay carelessly atop several sporting journals. Next to them sat a book—poetry by Goethe, discovered Devlin, as he thumbed through the pages. Moving on, he found gloves, an oilskin hunting hat still in its wrappings, a pen case, and a portfolio of letters.

Count Rupert appeared to have a number of ardent female admirers scattered throughout Europe.

Finding nothing else of interest, he headed for the half-open bedchamber door. If discovered there, he could always feign drunken disorientation. House parties were notorious for guests stumbling into the wrong rooms, and he had taken care to splash a good amount of whisky on his coat. However, there was no need to linger, for a search turned up nothing, save for the fact that the count had expensive taste in clothing and boots.

Devlin checked the clock on the mantel and decided it was safe to move on to the margrave’s quarters. And depending on how long it took to take a look around, he might also have time to explore Prince Gunther’s quarters. However slight the chances, it was possible that some hint as to why anyone would wish him ill might be there among his belongings.

Too unsettled for sleep or for writing, Anna wandered first to her dressing table, and then to the armoire. But neither the rhythmic strokes of her hairbrush nor the rearranging of her evening slippers and reticules helped to quiet the nagging question echoing in her head.

Why was Lord Davenport sneaking through the garden at this late hour?

“An assignation, that’s why.” Muttering the answer aloud seemed to give it more force. “Good heavens, the man is a notorious rake, and that is what rakes do at a country house party—they steal into a willing lady’s bedchamber for a night of passionate amour.”

And yet, on her arrival, the layout of the castle had been carefully explained by the butler to help avoid becoming lost in the various wings. Devlin had been heading to the section that housed only the prince and his friends.

Which raised yet another question.

Why?

After pacing the perimeter of her room several times, Anna gave up any pretense of silencing her speculations. Tightening the sash of her wrapper, she decided there was no harm in doing a little reconnoitering. If spotted, she could claim that she had become disoriented in trying to find her way to the library for a book.

Easing her door open, she tiptoed past Caro’s room, praying her sister was not still awake. At the end of the corridor, the low-burning wall sconce by the carved staircase illuminated several choices. Recalling the neatly inked floor plan posted in her room, she chose the right-hand turn.

The shadows deepened, and the gloom seemed amplified by the flitting black shapes that dipped and darted over the ancient tapestries and objets d’art decorating the passageway. The little creaks and groans of the floorboards grew louder, the sounds stirring a prickle of uneasiness at the back of her neck.

Anna paused for a moment, suddenly feeling foolish. There were any number of perfectly plausible reasons why Davenport would be visiting the German gentlemen in the privacy of their rooms. A high-stakes card game…a comparison of Continental and English women over brandy and cigars…a look at the latest sporting rifles from the famed gunsmiths of Prussia…

She sucked in a breath on hearing the light tread of steps in the adjoining corridor, trying to gauge whether there was time to make a hasty retreat. Or was it better to seek shelter in one of the many display rooms?

There wasn’t a moment to lose—the steps were coming on faster than she anticipated.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Anna decided to hide behind the suit of armor standing guard by the entrance to the display room of ancient weaponry. Having come this far, she might as well see if her suspicions were correct.

A wiggle, a squeeze…a whispered oath.

“Hell’s Bells.”

She hadn’t realized how short the men of the Middle Ages were, or how many moving metal parts their fighting regalia contained. Already she had caused a slight jangle by bumping against a hinged kneepiece. And there was a most peculiar odor emanating from inside the helmet.

Perhaps mice had made a home in the pointed visor. She could swear she heard a scrabbling of tiny claws.

I really must find a way to include this scene in one of my next chapters, she thought wryly as she flattened her back to the wall and sank down into an awkward crouch. At least her own outrageous escapes were proving useful in inspiring ideas for Emmalina’s adventures.

A flicker of movement, dark on dark, made her go very still. No glimmer of a candle—like her, the person preferred to move about unnoticed. However the moonglow coming in through a pair of narrow windows was just bright enough that the shape slowly materialized into a distinct figure as it came closer.

There was no mistaking the broad shoulders and long, muscular legs.

The marquess was moving with a stealthy grace, his steps quick but careful as he kept close to the paneling.

Closer, closer.

Was there an odd bulge in his coat pocket? Anna shifted just a fraction for a better angle of view.

Tags: Cara Elliott Hellions of High Street Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net