He opened a narrow door at the end of the room. The passage was so tight their shoulders and arms touched.
“I love these hidden corridors and passages.” She leant on him, seemingly uncaring about their closeness.
“It would take a week to explore them all.” He opened another door to enter a lateral hallway. “Patrick and I spent the summers exploring the castle. We drew a map with all its secrets.”
“I need it, so I won’t—” She skidded to a stop in front of a flight of stairs leading up. “Look at that. Isn’t that perfect?”
“The stairs? I believe there are plenty.”
“Yes, but these are special. The bannister is large, flat, and straight.” She released his arm and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I really have to do it.”
“What?” He knit his eyebrows. “You have the same expression as this morning before screaming bloody murder, and I’m worried.”
“You meant it when you said you wouldn’t be embarrassed by me, didn’t you?”
He was lost. “Yes, I did.”
“Then allow me to do this. Please.”
“By all means. But what isthis? Another scream? Please no. My eardrums have barely recovered.”
“No, no, no. No screaming. I’ll be quiet.”
“I’m curious. A little worried but curious.”
She darted up the stairs. Her skirt fluttered up, exposing her slender ankles and calves, and he shouldn’t look, but he did.
She stopped at the top of the stairs and faced him.
“Isabella?”
There was a swish of fabric. Then she mounted the bannister backwards and rushed down. A whoop of delight echoed off the walls as she flew down like a bullet. She was going to hurt herself if she didn’t slow down. The bloody floor was hard stone. No carpet. She might break a bone.
“Isabella—” He barely had time to shoot forwards before grabbing her.
Grabbing was the wrong term. She smashed her rear against his chest, and caught by the momentum, he fell over backwards with her in his arms. As her chignon came undone, her hair ended up in his mouth while her skirt and petticoats twisted themselves around him like the tentacles of an octopus.
“What the hell!” He tried to free himself from the entanglement of her hair and gown.
She trembled in his arms.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No, no.” She laughed. “It was fantastic.”
She shifted and writhed to stand up. Her elbows sank into his stomach, and her knee hit his groin.
“Ouch!” He groaned.
“Sorry. The floor is slippery.” She scrambled up to her feet, towering over him still on the floor on his back.
Her hair was flowing down past her waist, and with her gown in disarray, she looked like a warrior goddess.
“I’m so sorry.” She helped him up, grabbing his arm.
He winced.
“Where did I hit you?” She brushed his jacket.
