Page 8 of Never Dare to Masquerade with a Maiden

“Believe me, I’d rather be abed with Lord Camden than dealing with this mess, but one must do what one must do.” She removed Olivia’s hand and added, “If you would rather wait here, I can have Ian…”

“No. No, need. I will do my duty and accompany you.” Olivia wasn’t about to miss this opportunity for adventure after she’d been slowly dying, year after year, cooped up in the kitchens.

With an approving wink, Lady Charlotte exited the coach and, after Ian finished assisting the countess, he turned to help Olivia down. She was filled with such delight she could have rolled up to her toes and kissed him on the cheek, but his serious features reminded her to refrain from such hoydenish behavior. Instead, she lifted her hood over her head by way of disguise and followed her mistress into the famous—or rather, the infamous--Velvet Hell.

Chapter Three

Scanning the dimly lit hall, Warren raked his hand through his hair. Where in the devil had his mama disappeared to? He should never have agreed to accompany her to the Velvet Hell. However, she was determined to meet Lady Osbourne and would have kept her appointment with the reputed matchmaker, with or without him.

The chorus of laughter and hackles was ear splitting.

He’d closed his eyes for a mere moment. That had been his first mistake. His second had been to release his hold on his mama’s hand upon his arm to block the overly enthusiastic wave of ladies making their way through the women’s entrance. His poor mama must have been swept away in the commotion.

Either way, the Velvet Hell was the last place he wished to spend an evening. He lengthened his stride as he crossed the threshold into the main room filled with felt-covered tables surrounded by gaggles of ladies.

Egad. His whole body stiffened as another throng of ladies pushed solidly against him. He rolled to his toes and would have jumped if space had permitted when a delicate, yet firm hand gave him a swat on the arse. Bloody Hell. He needed to locate his wayward mama, and the sooner the better.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes briefly, attempting to recall what she was wearing. Backing his way into a corner, it occurred to him that he should have taken a second to make a mental note when she stopped to peek into the mirror in the foyer before donning her cloak, or when she patted her coiffure and met his eyes in the mirror to ask, “Well? How do I look?”

She looked like his mother, but he knew better than to utter the first thing that came to mind and answered, “Lovely, Mama. As always.”

For the life of him, he couldn’t even remember the color of her gown. He’d been preoccupied trying to formulate an argument for her to remain home; he had paid no mind to details he’d otherwise be able to rattle off without hesitation.

Now, after an hour of searching, Warren pressed his back against the book-lined wall of a quiet study that he’d thankfully found and escaped to. He rubbed his arse, which would surely be black and blue on the morrow. Never had he ever been subject to such treatment before, and if he had a choice, it would never happen again.

The creak of a hinge had Warren straightening and twirling about to face the entrance. Except the door was closed, and there was no sign of anyone. He scanned the room and confirmed that he was the only occupant. Confounded, Warren marched across the room and pulled back the curtains to check the windows. No one was hiding. The windows were securely sealed and levers in place. How odd. He could have sworn he’d heard something.

Returning his gaze to the bookshelves, he studied the wall carefully. Rumors of secret tunnels and passageways at the infamous Velvet Hell were rampant but he wasn’t one to believe such gossip. Indeed, there was no visible sign of a hidden door. He turned to the hearth, where a low fire burned. On the mantel, he spotted a candlestick and a box of wisps. Perfect! He moved to the grate to use one of them to light the candle, thankful that whoever ran the house not only kept a fire going in a supposedly empty room but also provided the means to create some light in case someone wanted to read, he supposed.

* * *

Holding the candle aloft, he moved back to the rows of books and stood there, examining the titles. As he moved the candle to his right, the steady flame suddenly flickered. Warren took a step back and re-examined the paneling, this time with a keen interest in the slight spaces between the books. His breath caught as he discovered the ever-so-slight crack that proceeded from the top of the shelf to the floor in one continuous but hard-to-notice line. A secret entrance! He backed up and narrowed his gaze upon the book-filled wall before him, determined to discover what was on the other side. How could he trigger the door to open?

Relying on his sense of sight had failed him earlier. He moved closer and pressed his ear to the bookshelf. Eyes closed, he steadied his breath until he tuned out the noise from beyond the study. After what seemed an eternity, muffled footsteps made Warren press even closer to the leather-bound volumes.

The noise of footfalls grew closer; whoever was behind the door was approaching not walking away. He’d barely had time to realize this before the wall began to shift. Moving more quickly than he’d thought himself capable, he blew out his candle, crossed the room, and hid behind the curtains.

“Lord Marshall. Unhand me.” The command, barely above a whisper but in a woman’s voice, sounded like it was uttered through gritted teeth.

Unable to come to the aid of the lady without revealing himself, Warren stood behind the curtain with his hands balled at his side and waited. Surely, the Right Honorable Earl of Marshall would release her, even if he was a rake through and through with absolutely no honor in him. Second in line to a dukedom, with his maternal family’s title bestowed upon him, the man—and his twin brother—had reputations that made even the gentlemen of the ton blush. It came as no surprise to Warren that Marshall, who was rarely in need of company, would be present and granted the privilege to traverse the secret halls of the Velvet Hell.

“What in the blazes are you doing here?” Marshall’s ire was rarely revealed. He played the role of the carefree spare heir to perfection, yet now the man’s anger raised the temperature of the room by a good five degrees.

“I came for you.”

The meek and tentative reply had Warren gripping the curtains. Anne? He must be mistaken. Anne would never… or would she? What was the correct course of action? Should he risk intervening? What if it wasn’t Anne? Should he peek around the material shielding him? Before he could come to a resolution, the click clack of the lady’s heels against the hardwood floors wafted through the room, followed by the slam of the door being closed. The muttered obscenities from Marshall reached Warren before the material fluttered in his hand, and the door to the room was once again opened and slammed shut.

Finally able to step out from behind the curtains, Warren froze at the sight of the opening behind the bookshelf. Marshall had left without sealing the secret entrance. Whoever he was chasing was obviously more important than his allegiance to the meddling Lady O.

Since curiosity was the downfall of every man, Warren reasoned, he was not infallible. Treading carefully, he returned his candle to its place on the mantle, then hurriedly slipped into the dark hallway before the door closed. Indeed, even as he cleared the entrance, the wall began to shift back into place. He wondered, with a moment’s panic, if he should have kept his candle with him.

But then he realized that candles lined the passageway's interior walls. Or what he hoped was a passageway; it wouldn’t do to be found locked in a closet. Though, where had Anne gone? Had she left at the same time as Marshall?

It took a moment for Warren’s eyes to adjust. He searched for a pulley or a handle to operate the wall behind him, yet there was no obvious mechanism. Again, he worried about being locked in a closet. How humiliating! And how was he to exit? He turned to his right, then his left, and his dismay calmed as he noted there were several rays of light leaking through in intervals. This meant there were other entrances and exits.

Deciding to go right, he made his way down to the next sliver of light, but his progress was hindered as his broad shoulders brushed against the sides of the passageway. It must have narrowed as he’d progressed. He was in the space between the walls of the Velvet Hell.

Now, forced to take side steps, he faced the wall. Three steps down, he paused as light flooded in; there was a hole in the wall. No larger than a button, it enabled him to clearly see into the hallway on the other side. With both hands pressed flat against the wall, he peered through the opening.