Page 171 of Courting the Wrong Duke

The front door was locked. William tested it once, then motioned Rosalind back and led her along the side of the building in search of another entrance.

They found a smaller door near what appeared to be the servants’ quarters.

William tried the handle.

It yielded beneath his hand.

He raised one finger to his lips before stepping inside, and Rosalind followed.

The silence was immediate.

It was not the ordinary quiet of a sleeping household, with servants moving discreetly through distant rooms and life continuing somewhere beyond sight. This felt abandoned.

Their footsteps seemed impossibly loud despite every effort to soften them. The air smelled faintly of damp stone and dust. Furniture stood beneath sheets in one room they passed, while another contained nothing but a cold hearth and an overturned chair.

William went first, pausing at every doorway before signaling for her to follow.

Rosalind hated being behind him, yet she could not deny how grateful she was that he was there. Every darkened passage seemed capable of producing someone, and every faint creak overhead drew her gaze toward the ceiling.

Nothing came.

At the end of another corridor, William stopped so abruptly that Rosalind nearly walked into him.

He turned, lowering his voice until it was scarcely more than breath. “If someone is being held here, I would choose the cellar.”

Her stomach turned.

“There are fewer ways out,” he continued. “And doors that can be locked.”

She lifted her eyes to his.

They had crossed half the country for this. Somewhere beneath her feet might be the answer to every question that had tormented her since her father disappeared.

William’s voice softened. “Stay with me.”

Not stay here.

Stay with me.

Rosalind nodded.

William found the stairs beyond a narrow service passage. They descended carefully, the air cooling with every step. Rosalind held one hand against the wall, more for balance than guidance, while William carried the small lamp they had found near the kitchen.

At the bottom of the stairs stood a heavy metal door.

Rosalind stopped, her gaze fixed upon it as William stepped forward and carefully tried the handle.

Locked.

The trembling that had begun upstairs worsened. She wrapped her arms around herself, but it did little to steady her.

“Papa?”

The word escaped before she could stop it.

William turned sharply, lifting a hand to warn her against calling again, and Rosalind pressed her lips together. They stood listening in the silence until a faint scrape came from somewhere beyond the door.

Her heart lurched.