Aware of Marcus, stone still, beside her, she straightened. “No, ma’am.”
“Did you truly believe I would send someone into harm’s way in my stead?”
“I’d hoped”—she shook her head—“it doesn’tmatter what I’d hoped. We need to get you out of here posthaste. Mr. Stanwick is going to escort you to safety.”
“I saw his father hanged and his inheritance stripped from him. Do you truly think he will have my best interest in mind?”
“I trust him with my life,” she stated vehemently, “and with yours. As we told you when we met with you at Balmoral, he is not his father. And Mr. Brown is waiting for you outside.”
The Queen nodded. “Very well then. Let’s see this done. Nothing quite as unsettling as having a death sentence hanging over your head. I’m ready to be rid of it.”
“This way, Your Majesty,” Marcus said, bowing slightly and sweeping a hand toward the passageway.
As the Queen ducked through the doorway, he grabbed Esme and slashed his mouth hard and quick across hers. “Stay safe until I return.”
Then he was gone, the panel sealing them away, beyond the reach of anyone who might enter the bedchamber through the door. She desperately wanted Marcus here with her, which was ridiculous. She was a woman who’d learned early on to depend upon no one other than herself.
Quickly, she crossed over to the bed, threw back the duvet, and placed pillows along the mattress’s center. Tossing the duvet over the makeshift body, she set a braided hairpiece, which matched the shade of Victoria’s hair, against the pillow so it appeared the Queen was on her sidesleeping. She blew out the lamps, leaving only the flames dancing on the hearth to provide the light. Although the shadows placed her at a disadvantage, they would do the same for whoever entered the room. If anyone did.
Slipping behind a thick and concealing frond that had been placed beside the wardrobe that morning, she had a clear view of the doorway, the window, the bed, and the remainder of the large chamber. The clock on the mantel ticked, ticked, ticked. An irritating sound. She should have stopped it from marking time before she’d taken up her position. Normally she enjoyed the crackling of a fire, but even that soft murmur was grating on her ears. This was her least favorite part of any hunt—the wait.
She didn’t feel in control, couldn’t rush the perpetrator into attending to his task. She was at his mercy for when things would be set into motion.
And then she heard it. Theclick.
The door would have been locked, so someone was tinkering with it. Anotherclick, slightly more ominous than the first, and then the door was opening on silent hinges. The gloom prevented her from seeing anything except the silhouette of a figure that quickly entered and sealed them in together. Short in height. For some reason she was surprised by that fact.
Whoever it was possessed the skill of moving without creating a sound. She tracked his—or her—path to the bed. She had to be sure, so she waited for an action that would offer proof thata dastardly deed was on the verge of being committed.
She saw the firelight glint off the edge of a blade, watched as the knife sliced down, heard the muttered profanity as feathers flew. A calmness settled over her as she stepped out from behind the frond, brandishing her revolver. “Don’t move.”
But he did. Quickly. And she found herself facinghisrevolver. She stared at him, unable to believe her eyes. “O?”
The Queen was acting like they were on a bloody holiday, taking her time, cautiously placing one foot on a step, following it with the other, before attempting to navigate the next roughly carved bit of stone that would lead her out of this blasted place. Marcus was holding the lantern over her head so she could see clearly but that didn’t seem to make any difference. Of course, she was a good twenty-five years older than he was, but still... Esme was up there alone, waiting for God knew who or how many.
He was tempted to hand the lantern off to Victoria and tell her to make her own way, but he knew Esme would never forgive him for such an action, especially if some tragedy did happen to befall the woman. If she fell, or God forbid, someone other than his brother and Brown were waiting at the entrance. And one certainly couldn’t tell the Queen to get a move on.
Ah, but he was sorely tempted. What worse thing could she do to him? She’d already deprived him of everything of any consequence. Although he supposed she could have him imprisoned. Or hanged. The risk was worth it to return to Esme. “Your Majesty, perhaps we could move a tad more quickly.”
“I’m not as spry as I once was, young man.” Then she stopped, bloody stopped, and faced him. “What is Esme to you?”
“Presently, to me, she is in danger.”
She flicked her hand toward him. “Then head back up.”
“She’d never forgive me for abandoning you.” Then another idea struck him. “Would you hold the lantern?”
She took it with the enthusiasm of someone picking up offal. When she had it firmly in hand, he lifted her into his arms and began hurrying down the steps.
“What the deuce are you doing?” she screeched. “You’re not allowed to touch your queen without permission, and you most certainly can’t treat your sovereign in such an undignified manner.”
“You’re welcome to hang me later for the offense, but I’m doing what I must to save you and—”the woman I love.He nearly stumbled and sent them both tumbling down the stairs. When had he come to love Esme? Yet there was not a single doubt that he did, with everything within him. She was the sun and the rain, the moon and the stars. She was the reason that he was presently risking incarceration or death by touching a woman whom no one was supposed to touch. Well, except for her husband. Prince Albert had obviously touched her or they’d have not had all those children.
Children Esme couldn’t have, which made her unmarriageable in his former world. But now... now he had to get back to her as quickly as possible. He wondered why when he’d followed this route that morning, he hadn’t realized traversing the passageway was akin to traveling to the Isle of Wight. It went on for bleeding forever.
Then finally, he saw the open doorway and Griff standing in it.
“I was beginning to worry—”
