Page 165 of The Dueling Duchess

At the sound of Helen’s voice, Cecile looked up from the book she had not been reading. “Yes?” she asked dully.

“Guy has come to say goodbye to Cat but I can’t find her anywhere.” Helen’s brow was furrowed with concern.

“Have you checked the laundry cupboard? That’s where I found her last night.”

The first time Cat had disappeared, it had driven Cecile and everyone else frantic looking for her; they’d not found the child for almost five hours. When they’d finally thought to look in Guy’s clothes cupboard, they’d found her sound asleep.

“She’s not there. Nor is she in Guy’s cupboard,” Helen added before Cecile could ask.

“What about up in—”

“She’s not up in the gods or under the stage, either. She’s not in any of her favorite haunts.” Helen heaved a sigh. “I went to look for the key to the counting room, but it wasn’t there. When I knocked on the door to the room, she didn’t answer. Still, she might be in there.”

“It’s more likely that Angus took the key again.”

“I don’t know,” Helen fretted. “She likes to go in there—she asks for it as a reward when she’s done well on her schoolwork.”

Cecile closed her book and set it aside. “I’ll fetch the extra key and go check.”

When Cecile descended the stairs a few minutes later, she saw a familiar set of shoulders blocking most of the hallway.

“What are you doing here?” Cecile snapped, although Helen had already told her that he would be stopping by. “Don’t you have a boat to catch?”

Guy turned and Cecile felt the same jolt of emotion she always felt upon seeing him.

Was he thinner? Or was it the clothing he was wearing—not his work clothes, but the Darling clothing.

And good God did he look delicious in his dark green clawhammer coat, fawn pantaloons, and glossy Hessians.

“They prefer that you call them ships,” he said, smirking down at her.

“Hmmph.” She slid the key into the lock and turned it, but the tumbler didn’t click. She turned to Guy and Helen. “I thought you said it was locked?”

Helen raised her eyebrows. “I’m sorry, I thought it was.”

Cecile opened the door and frowned at the candle burning in the wall sconce. “Cat? Cat, are you hiding in here?” she asked louder.

There was no answer, but there were two bottles of wine on the heavy counting desk, along with a loaf of bread, a wax-wrapped cheese, and a bowl of grapes.

“What is all this?”

“It looks like somebody was planning a picnic,” Guy said, looking over her shoulder.

“What’s that over in the far corner?” Helen asked from the doorway, pointing at something on the other side of the room.

Cecile took a few steps toward what she was pointing at. “There used to be a chair there,” she murmured, squinting through the gloom at what appeared to be a chaise longue.

“That’s new,” Guy said from right behind her.

“I didn’t put it in—”

The sound of the door clicking shut behind them cut off her words and Cecile turned and bumped into Guy in the confined space. The distinctive sound of the tumbler turning in the lock filled the room and Cecile pushed past Guy, grabbed the door handle, and tried to turn it. “It’s locked,” she said stupidly. She turned to Guy when he didn’t answer. “What is that you are looking at?”

Guy held a piece of paper up to the wall sconce and they both leaned close to read it.

Their names were written in a very familiar childish scrawl.

Dear Guy and Cecile: