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Simon winced but lowered his only weapon carefully to the ground. Pointing the tip of it to the tapestry. What else could he do?
“Is it money you’re after?” Simon asked. “Because kidnapping a duke’s son won’t get it for you.”
“Quiet,” the man snarled again, stepping closer but keeping the gun at his hip. Smart of him. He’d keep control of it that way. “Down the stairs. Be quick about it, too.”
Simon clenched his jaw, refusing to show any fear, and went to the door. Down the stairs he went, Whorton following behind him.
This was not how Simon had envisioned his afternoon going.
* * *
Isleen leaned as farout her window as she could without fear of toppling out. She pulled in one lungful of air after another, trying to cool the heat in her cheeks and calm her racing heart.
“Miss, you’re going to fall or catch cold, and I’ll be the one your family blames for it.” Darrie scolded as well as any upper servant, for all that she was younger than Isleen.
“I’m trying to breathe.” Isleen didn’t realize how odd that sounded until her maid laughed.
“You can breathe just as well with both feet on the ground and the window closed. Come along, miss. Here are your gloves for dinner.”
Isleen lowered herself from toes to heels, then swung the window shut. She didn’t dare tell Darrie about the duke, catching her and Simon in the woods. Had it been someone less kind or invested in Simon’s future, scandal surely would have followed.
Her cheeks blazed again. Darrie, approaching with elbow-length gloves, paused. “You haven’t fallen ill, have you? Playing in the snow today, as though you weren’t a lady, couldn’t lead to anything good.” Darrie raised her hand and placed it first on Isleen’s forehead, then on her cheeks. “Your brow is normal. Are you blushing, then?”
“Nevermind that.” Isleen took the gloves. “I’m not ill. There is nothing to worry about.” She drew the gloves on one at a time, then let Darrie button them above her elbows. They were a lovely set, but not entirely practical for meals. She would have to strip them off for dinner, then put them on again to mingle with the other guests afterward.
“You’re sure you want to be ready this early?” Darrie glanced up through her lashes. “How exactly will you pass the time?”
Isleen smoothed the material over her arms, then picked up a fan from her dressing table. “I’ll wander about the castle and find something to do. Perhaps I’ll have a conversation with someone. Or read a book.”
Darrie smirked but said no more. Given the maid’s romantic turn of mind, she likely suspected Isleen had a gentleman she planned to meet.
The maid confirmed Isleen’s suspicions when she turned the conversation down a similar path. “Did you know the servants meet in the halls with their sweethearts? In secret passages and such. They don’t know all of ‘em, of course, since the duke’s family must keep some things to themselves. But they arrange their schedule to bump into one another, right inside the walls.”
“Really?” Isleen shook her head. “It cannot be that difficult when they all work together in the castle, I suppose.”
“Oh, it’s even the outdoor staff.” Darrie’s grin grew larger. “Remember that gardener we met? He’s got a sweetheart in one of the upstairs maids. He’s been trying to surprise her with a Christmas present for days, sneaking up here to meet her in secret.”
“Poor man. I hope he doesn’t lose his position. I cannot think the duke would want his gardeners poking about inside the walls.” Isleen nodded at her reflection. She was as presentable as she’d ever be. “I shouldn’t need you until late, Darrie. You’re welcome to enjoy the fire here or in the servants’ hall. I’ll ring for you if you aren’t here when I come back.”
“Yes, miss. Thank you.”
Isleen left her room to find the corridor empty of all save a footman at one end. She nodded to him with a smile, then went on her way around the corner and toward the main stairs that would take her to the second floor and the formal dining room. If she happened to pass by near the family wing, and perhaps glimpsed Simon, she could find out exactly how much the duke saw, and if she needed to prepare herself for a lecture on propriety from her mother.
Isleen hesitated at the intersection of two corridors and looked at the servants’ stairs. Dare she take the shortcut upward? She bit her lip, then decided she could at least peek inside. If no one was using the stairway, perhaps she could.
Her hand hovered briefly over the hidden indent that acted as a handle, then she gave it a tug. The wall swung open, and she smiled to herself as she climbed up the tightly wound stairway. How often did Simon, the proper duke’s son, slip in and out of servants’ hidden passages?
She came out on the second floor to find the corridor empty again. No one else seemed in a rush to dress for dinner after their adventures in the snow. Yet she could not imagine keeping still. She had to restrain herself from skipping down the hall, such was her pleasure, and she very nearly tripped over a stick left in the middle of the carpet.
Isleen bent down to pick up the cane but stopped the moment her gloved fingers brushed the finely polished wood.
Simon’s walking stick. She knew it was his even before her gaze flicked to the end with his silver-pressed letter “S.” But what was it doing in the middle of the corridor? Where was its owner?
She wrapped her hand around it, her eyes following its length with curiosity. Simon wouldn’t leave this gift from his father lying about. Not when it concealed a dangerous weapon inside, especially.
She looked at both sides of the corridor, trying to find some hint or explanation for its presence there, or some indication of where Simon had gone. And her eyes noted something. A small, almost imperceptible, line between the wall and floor where the stick had pointed.
A passage? Here?
