What You Deserve (Anything for Love 3)

“He … he did.” She swallowed deeply again. “He took his pleasure from … from watching others.”

Tristan jumped to his feet. His heart thumped loudly, the sound echoing in his ears. “Please tell me he didn’t make you perform—” Good God, he could not say the words.

“Heavens, no!” She waved her hands frantically in front of her. “I would rather die than suffer the humiliation. Besides, knowing I was his wife only served to exasperate his problem.”

So Lord Fernall enjoyed watching his guests partake in amorous liaisons. Tristan wondered if his friends were aware of his depraved habit. Had one of them taken their revenge by pushing him down the stairs?

Tristan took to walking about the room as it helped him to think clearly. “Perhaps he was murdered by a disgruntled guest,” he said revealing his suspicions.

“To my knowledge, the people who came here were all of a like mind.”

Good Lord. He glanced around the room, his mind concocting obscene images of portly, middle-aged gentlemen gathered around the bed. He shivered in disgust, raked both hands through his hair in a bid to erase the vision.

“So why have bookcases up here?” Tristan said in a mocking tone. “There is a perfectly decent library downstairs and by the sound of it no one had the slightest interest in reading once—” Tristan stopped abruptly. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at the books lining the oak shelves.

Isabella came to stand at his side. “What is it?” She placed her hand on his forearm. Even through the fabric of his coat, he found the sensation soothing. “Your eyes are so wide you look as though you truly have seen a ghost.”

“It never occurred to me before,” he said scrutinising the size and shape of the case. “But there are identical bookcases in both rooms at the end of this hall.”

“What is so strange about that?” she said.

“I don’t know of anyone who keeps this amount of books in their bedchamber.”

“Perhaps you have always been too preoccupied to notice.” Her playful tone held no hint of spite or jealousy.

Isabella followed him as he moved to examine the books. The case consisted of five shelves, all containing books of a similar size. Even whilst standing directly in front of it, there was nothing unusual. He turned and glanced at the bed, turned back to observe the row of books at eye level.

“Help me remove all the books on this row.” If his suspicion proved correct, they would only need to move the middle section. “Start with the ones in the centre.”

They had removed four books when Isabella gasped. “What is that?” She took a step closer and peered into the gap. “It’s a little window.”

“It’s a viewing screen.” Everything was beginning to fall into place. “I’m certain there will be a similar window cut out of the bookcase in the master chamber.”

With wide eyes, Isabella turned to him. “But … but that would mean there must be a space behind the wall. A space large enough for a man.”

“Not just a space. I imagine there is a hidden room that runs along the entire length of this wall.” He tapped the wall to the right of the case. The hollow sound confirmed his theory. “This has to be the way the ghost managed to move about without detection.”

She raised a brow. “You do not need to say it in a way that makes me feel foolish. You must admit, we were both alarmed last night.”

“Confused is the term I would use,” he said offering a grin. “Now, stand back and I shall see if I can find the way into the room.”

Using his shoulder and the weight of his body, Tristan attempted to move the bookcase. Remarkably, it did not even move an inch, nor did the books on the shelf slip or slide back and forth in the gap.

“Perhaps it is not a bookcase after all, but a door,” Isabella suggested as she witnessed him struggle. “Perhaps there’s a handle hidden somewhere.”

It was the only logical answer.

Tristan removed all the books to the right of the case, only from those shelves at hand height, and placed them in a pile on the floor. One book proved to be nothing more than an empty casing used to conceal a brass knob.

“Here we are,” he said, immense satisfaction evident in his tone. He turned the handle, resisted the urge to cheer as he eased the door from the jamb.

The long narrow room was sparsely furnished: a washstand, a few red damask chairs, a table with empty decanters, dusty glasses and partially burnt candles. There were no windows, no way for any natural light to filter through.

Tristan examined the other side of the fake bookcase. “Once in here, they only had to turn the handle to open the door. The hollow book casing meant we would not even notice anything unusual in the bedchamber.” He pointed to the door at the far end of the room. “Using both doors they were able to move freely between rooms.”

“But we were in our rooms last night. Surely we would have noticed someone coming in.”

Guilt flared. “Before coming into your chamber, I heard footsteps padding along the hall. I left my room and ventured all the way down to the staircase.” Like an unsuspecting fool, he had fallen for the simplest of traps. “Someone could have easily waited in one of the other rooms. They would have had ample opportunity to enter this concealed chamber through the door in my chamber.”