When Harriett failed to hear from Gerard, she questioned the stable boy, who swore he put the note into his lordship’s hands.

“Did he read it?”

“Too right ’e did, Lady Harriett.” He grinned. “And he cursed something savage.”

“There was no return message?”

Jed hesitated.

“Tell me, Jed. Quickly.”

“Not a message, exactly, milady. First, ‘is lordship said, ‘no. On no account.’ Said it loud, and tore up the paper. Then ‘e grabbed my arm lookin’ quite fierce and said, ‘I order you to forget about this, Jed.’” Jed shrugged. “After that, ’e just walked away, milady, shaking ’is ’ead.”

Since then, there’d been no word, and she’d found no sign of Gerard, although she’d searched for him around the estate.

Harriett decided to keep to her plan. She’d considered every detail to make it all go smoothly. She’d sent the maid away while still in her petticoat and stockings, but her stays had been unlaced. It would have seemed odd to Sarah otherwise, and as she was assisting her mother, Sarah might mention it to her. If only she had something seductive to wear, but she was limited for choice. Her mother had decided not to send for any more clothes as their stay was to be a brief one.

Harriett could not explain away any possible damage to her evening gown. It must be either the grey she’d worn to the funeral—which was dreary before the sad association, the cream percale which was so difficult to get in and out of, or the yellow stripe with the mismatched flounce. She washed and perfumed her body, brushed her hair until it shone, and left it down around her shoulders, it was after all her best asset and Gerard seemed to admire her hair. She successfully managed the fasteners on the yellow gown, and added the spencer. Pleased with her good management, she rested on her bed. This time she was determined not to close her eyes, although, that was unlikely as she was wide awake with anticipation. The clock struck half past ten. She hoped her father would be asleep. Harriett gathered up an unlit candle in its holder, the tapers and flint, and slipped from her room.

The night air was heavy and humid heralding rain. A heavy bank of clouds covered the moon. When she reached the hall, she stopped at the walnut table to light the candle, but even with its flickering glow, the trip to the library was precarious. The house seemed a different place at night, filled with strange dark shapes, a sense of menace lurking in every corner. Memories of Harrison’s grisly end would not leave her. The clock struck a quarter to eleven, and by the time she reached the library door, her knees threatened to give way, and her heart raced in her chest. The lofty room lay in darkness. She closed the pair of doors behind her, and holding the candle high, hurried to the area of wall where the tunnel was located. She counted the acorns, until she found the right one. Pressing it, the section obligingly swung forward, and she stepped inside smartly, before she could change her mind.

The panel banged shut behind her.

In the dim light she found herself enclosed in a ghastly, stuffy space, with a low ceiling. She walked straight into a cobweb, and squealed, tearing frantically at the wisps clinging to her face and hair. The rank smell of mice droppings made her want to gag. She had an irrational horror of the tiny creatures; they ran so fast on their little legs you never knew where they were headed. She doubted they knew either, for once, one had raced under her skirts. The skin on her ankles flinched at the memory as she continued determinedly down the roughly hewn steps.

More confident with a level rock floor beneath her feet, she picked up her skirts with her free hand and ran, her candle flickering. It seemed a very long way to the door, and the confined space threatened to send her into hysterics. She slipped the bolts and darted outside dragging fresh air into her lungs. Her candle guttered and promptly went out, the blackness of a country night descending.

She knew herself to be at the base of the Venus temple, and ascended the steps, stubbing her toe in her thin slipper in the process. Mama would scream with horror when she saw the state of these shoes. Before she reached the temple floor, a figure appeared above her.

“G…Gerard?” she called in a loud whisper, her knees threatening to betray her and send her tumbling.

“Of course it’s me, Harry.” Gerard leapt down the steps and seized her arm in a vice like grip. “What are you about? You said in your note you’ve discovered something.”

He sounded cross and not at all glad to see her. Harriett faltered. Had she gone mad to consider a clandestine night of love with him?

The moon sailed free from the clouds and bathed the temple in its silvery light, the marble columns romantic and mysterious. “Come into the temple, I’ll tell you there,” she said.

“Tell me now.” Gerard sounded almost savage.

“Someone searches the library during the night.”

“What makes you think so?”

She pushed at Gerard’s hard chest, but he didn’t budge an inch. “Let’s go into the temple.”

“Tell me right now,” he repeated. “And then go back to bed.”

“You didn’t seem to mind meeting me before this.”

“I…I can’t keep doing it, Harry.” His tone softened. “It’s becoming too…dangerous.”

“Then come to the library,” she said, accepting that making love in the temple was now impossible, for several heavy drops of rain had just fallen on her head. “I’ll tell you there.”

There was silence. Harriett shivered. “You’re getting cold,” Gerard said, “Come on, then. Show me.”

Returning to the horrid passage, Harriett held up the candle while Gerard lit it with her last taper. He had to duck his head as they walked along, brushing away cobwebs. Harriett tried not to think of spiders. Something rustled at her feet and she squeaked, louder than any mouse could manage.

“Shush. It’s only a rodent.”

“Only a rodent!”

She swore that under no circumstances would she ever return to this awful place. They finally reached the entrance to the library.

“Go on then, open it,” Gerard said.

Her heart fluttered. “I don’t know how to open it from this side.”

“There you see, Harry? What if someone cornered you in here, or if the door jammed?” He moved her aside none too gently and began to feel down the wall to the left of the door. “There’s a lever here.”

When the panel opened they stepped into the library and it closed behind them with a clunk.

Harriett breathed more easily. She gestured at the desk. “Look at this mess. And Mama had the servants cleaning in here for days.”

He walked over and held the candle up. “There’s nothing here but household accounts. Really, Harry, you’ll get us both…” He broke off mid-sentence at the sound of footsteps approaching in the corridor. Blowing out the candle, he unceremoniously pushed Harriett to the floor behind a walnut cabinet and dropped down beside her.

This time, crushed against Gerard’s chest, Harriett knew better than to try to speak. In case it became imperative, she moved her mouth close to his ear. His hair felt soft, the strands tickling her chin. She heard the door open, and candlelight brightened the room. Fortunately, the tall cabinet hid them from the man who’d entered the room. His muffled footsteps crossed the carpet, followed by a rustle as papers were rifled through. Desk drawers were dragged open and banged shut. Minutes passed. Harriett discovered she’d been holding her breath. The fear that she would give their hiding place away tightened her chest. She managed a soft gasp, stirring Gerard’s hair. He instinctively squeezed her waist, but this only made things worse. She breathed in and out through her nose, pressed her lips together firmly, and prayed.

The man uttered a curse and slammed the doors of the cabinet. Books landed on the floor, as he grew increasingly frantic. “Damn you to hell, Harrison.”

Harriett froze at his Irish accent, O’Hara, the butler. “I should have tortured you, you old fool. You’ve taken your secret to the grave. It can’t be here. It must be in your bedchamber.” The library door opened and closed, turning the room black as pitch again.

“O’Hara!” Gerard whispered. “He had me fooled.”

“It must have been him in the stable that night.”

“No, that was Madoc after a fox that has been killing the chickens.”

“You might have told me!”

“I planned to, but I didn’t want to see you, because I…. Blast, now is not the time.” He stood and extended his hand to her. “Let me help you up.”

“I can manage, thank you,” Harriett scrambled shakily to her feet. All thoughts of seducing Gerard had disappeared with the first wave of fear. “If we could just light a candle.”

“No, I don’t want him spooked. I have to ride for the Parish constable and you must return to your chamber.”

“I’m not leaving now.”

“Yes, you are, young Harry. I want you out of this havey-cavey business.” He gave her a quick hug. “I was wrong to doubt you, you’re a grand girl.”

Harriett felt an uncomfortable twinge of shame. She must be shockingly loose in the haft to consider doing something so immoral and filled with self-interest, which might have hurt her sister. She doubted that she could have become a lady-bird, even for one night. “Let me come with you.”

“Not likely.” He lit another candle and handed it to her, then opened the library door, peering out. “It’s clear. Go back to bed. Hurry. You won’t run into the blighter, he’ll use the servants’ stairs, and Harrison’s bedchamber is in the opposite wing to the guest’s.”

“Well if I do meet him, I’ll plant him a facer,” she said furiously and heard Gerard’s soft chuckle as she slipped from the room. She crept up the marble staircase vowing it to be the last time she roamed this house at night. Gaining her room, she struggled out of her clothes. She would have to bribe Sarah not to say anything to Mama about the sad state of her gown. Snuffing out the candle she stared into the darkness, and shivered, recalling the violence in O’Hara’s voice. He would strike down anyone in his way. She couldn’t rest until she knew Gerard was safe. She sniffed as a few tears trickled onto her cheeks. In a few days, their adventure was at an end and she would be back in dreary London.

♥♥♥

After the constable arrived and arrested O’Hara in his bedchamber, Gerard’s pulse beat in a steady and calm rhythm for the first time since Harrison died. O’Hara had failed to get his hands on details of the operation and the British spies working in the area, were safe. O’Hara would have been instructed to kill everyone on that list. Not only would it have cut off the route and stopped the flow of information, it would have exposed Colquhoun Grant who had infiltrated one of Napoleon’s commands in Portugal. These dispatches placed in the folder in the garden and passed on to Wellington were of vital importance to the outcome of the war. Gerard would go to London and offer to continue this work, until he was no longer needed.

When the constable shackled O’Hara’s hands and took him to the library to question him, Gerard searched the Irishman’s room for any evidence which might draw suspicion on Harrison. At the bottom of O’Hara’s bureau, under his shirts, was a green uniform with a yellow collar. Gerard bundled it up and took it with him. This would go with him to London. He needed orders concerning O’Hara and would visit Mrs. Green. If he was ordered to kill O’Hara, he would be only too happy to oblige.