Chapter 16

Stacia hurried up the stairs, her heart still pounding. Had Shelton been about to kiss her? He had ! She just knew he had.

"Miss Martin—where are you going?" Lord Shelton called out when they reached the top of the stairs and Stacia began hurrying down the corridor.

She stopped and reluctantly turned back to him.

"Where is the clue?" he asked.

She opened her fist and wordlessly revealed the crumpled paper.

He took it, smoothed it out, and read the words aloud. "The only place where today comes before yesterday."

"The only place where today comes before yesterday," she repeated, the intriguing clue pulling her thoughts from what had almost happened.

"Any ideas?" he asked after a moment.

They looked up at the same time and Stacia hastily lowered her eyes. "I don't know." Beneath her breath, she murmured, " Today comes before yesterday . Today comes before yesterday. Today comes— " she broke off and her head whipped up. Again, she met his gaze, but this time she gave him a triumphant smile. "I have it." She glanced around at the corridor and frowned. "I am disoriented. Which way to the library?

"Just a moment," he said, "I can hear them all coming up the stairs." He strode over to the secret panel and shut it with a firm click and then grinned at her. "There, that will buy us a few extra minutes while they bumble and search for the latch."

"Isn't that rather…dirty?"

He set a hand lightly on her shoulder. "You know what they say?"

"No, what do they say?" she asked, trying not to think about the feel of his big, warm hand.

"All is fair in love and treasure hunting, Miss Martin."

"Funny, I've never heard that," she said wryly.

The others had obviously reached the small landing and were thumping on the door. Muffled voices barely penetrated the wooden panel. " Hello? Let us out !"

"Are you sure about this?" she asked, glancing dubiously at the panel, which was now vibrating with the fury of their pounding.

Lord Shelton laughed. "Don't worry about them; they will figure it out soon enough."

Stacia bit back her disappointment when he removed his hand and strode down the corridor.

When they reached the library a few minutes later it was to find it already occupied. But instead of another team, it was the maid from earlier, Dora.

She gave them a startled look. "Oh! I beg your pardon. I was just leaving."

"Were you looking for me?" Stacia asked. "Does Lady Addiscombe need me?"

"No, no, not at all, Miss. Er, I'm sorry, I was looking for somebody else." She dropped a curtsey and hurried toward the door.

Lord Shelton lifted an eyebrow. "That was…"

"Odd," she said. "I wonder if I should go—"

"Lady Addiscombe would send for you if she wanted you. Besides, the woman cannot deprive me of both my partners."

Stacia warmed at his words. It almost sounded as if he wanted her to stay.

He stared at her. "Well?"

"Well?" she repeated blankly.

"Where is it? The clue," he gently reminded her.

"Oh. In the dictionary."

His gaze went vague for a few seconds before sharpening. He grinned. "What a clever clogs you are!"

"Thank you," Stacia said.

He laughed at her lofty tone. "Chatham keeps his volume—which is massive—on a stand. I daresay Needham does the same," Shelton said, turning in a circle to survey the cavernous room. "Ah, that looks like it might be it." They hurried toward where the maid had been standing.

Stacia opened it to the word today , where a folded piece of paper was tucked. "There is only one clue," she said, looking up at Shelton. "Where are the rest for the other groups?"

He shrugged and took the paper from her. "That is not our problem."

Stacia snorted. "You are horrible!"

"I know," he said, sounding unconcerned. " The only safe place for some religious treasures. "

Stacia puzzled over the clue, the only sound in the room the ticking of an enormous longcase clock. "Treasures are kept in a safe. Surely Lord Needham is not going to leave his safe open?"

Shelton barked a laugh. "I wouldn't think so."

"But where else do you keep treasures?" She frowned. "Jewelry caskets?"

But Lord Shelton was staring fixedly at the scrap of paper and didn't seem to hear her.

"My lord?" she urged after a moment.

"I know this one." He gave her a fierce, triumphant grin. "Come, let's go before the others arrive." He took her hand and pulled her toward the door.

"But what about the clue? Shouldn't we leave it?"

"No."

"That is wrong, my lord."

" Mmm-hmm ," he said, and then opened the door a crack, peeked out. "The coast is clear! Make haste, Miss Martin! Make haste!"

Stacia laughed as he all but dragged her down the corridor.

***

Andrew could not recall when he'd last enjoyed a game so much.

"Where are we going?" Miss Martin asked in a breathless voice as they hurried toward the oldest part of the house.

"To the Wych House priest hole." He led her up a narrow flight of stairs and down a gloomy, unadorned servant hallway.

"Oooh! I didn't know there was a priest hole here. Ah, religious treasure! How clever. They are supposed to be impossible to find."

"They are, indeed, and this one is no different. Come, let's hurry before anyone else gets here." The door on the landing led to a broad, elegant corridor that was empty except for the maid from earlier, Dora, who was absently flicking a marble bust with a feather duster.

How odd that the woman was here when she'd just left the library.

He exchanged looks with Miss Martin and she shrugged. "Perhaps she is in charge of distributing the clues," she whispered, her warm breath on his throat causing a pleasurable tightening in his belly.

"If so, she is doing a poor job," he whispered back.

"Maybe we should tell her that she didn't leave enough clues in the library?"

He clucked his tongue. "Oh, Miss Martin! Where is your cutthroat impulse? Do you want this treasure, or not?"

A mischievous smile illuminated her usually serious features. Really, the woman was adorable when she smiled and should do so more often. "All is fair in love and treasure hunting?" she asked.

"That's the spirit!" he said, holding her sparkling gaze for a moment before turning to the wall. "Now, where is that catch?"

" Another secret stairwell?" she asked, coming to stand close beside him, the faint smell of soap and lavender teasing his nostrils.

"This panel is not a secret, although it is very well-hidden," he muttered. "Here it is," he pushed on the upper corner of a panel and exposed a small room. There were shelves filled with bedding, a bucket, a mop, and other housekeeping supplies.

"It is a linen closet," Miss Martin said, sounding so disappointed that Andrew chuckled. "This wouldn't have been difficult for priest hunters to find at all."

"Oh, ye of little faith," he teased, and then began shoving aside piles of sheets until he found the lever and pushed it into its slot. "How is this for well-hidden?" he asked, and then pulled the edge of the shelving toward him. It did not move willingly, but like an especially heavy, grudging door. Andrew kept pulling until there was a two-foot opening.

"There is nothing but a wall behind it," she said, yet again sounding disappointed. "What now?"

Andrew slid his hand to the far edge of the panel, to where there was a gap where two sections of wall met.

He tucked the fingers of both hands into the gap. "This slides open, but it takes…a…bit…of… effort ." He pulled until an extremely slim aperture appeared.

She peered through the opening but hung back. "It's very dark."

"I'll go first," he said, amused by her reluctance to enter. The stairs were so narrow that his shoulders almost brushed the walls.

"It is warm in here," she said, her hushed voice coming from right behind him.

"The staircase runs alongside a chimney stack, which is how they managed to conceal it. From outside, it looks like there are six chimneys. If a person watched long enough, they would notice that smoke only came out of five."

"Clever," she murmured.

He stopped on the top step which served as a landing. There was one candle in a plain wall sconce to cast some light.

"I cannot believe they would put a clue up here," Miss Martin said as Andrew felt for the lever that would unlatch the door.

"I can. Needham is as proud of this priest hole as if he'd built it with his own hands. Evidently it is the second largest one in Britain. At least as far as people know." He slid his hand over the door again, but slower this time. "Needham is having three secret rooms constructed in the house he is having built. They are to be a surprise gift for his wife."

Miss Martin gave a delighted laugh.

"You would like that?" he guessed.

"Who would not?"

Andrew smiled. "There is speculation among the people who study this sort of thing that many hideaways still remain undiscover—ah, there you are," he muttered, depressing the metal latch and then grunting as he slid back the thick slab of wood to expose another narrow opening, this one so small that he had to turn sideways and crouch to get through it.

Once he was in the attic he turned, chuckling when he saw that she came through the space with ease. "It is a door made especially for you," he teased.

"Very droll." She looked around at the vast space. "I thought priest holes were supposed to be tiny. This is massive."

"Seventeen feet by twelve, or so Needham boasted."

"There is even a fireplace," she said, gazing toward the far end of the room, where all the comforts of a guest suite were arrayed—including a bed—the furnishings simple but elegant. "How on earth did they get everything up here through that narrow entry?"

"Much of the original furnishings had rotted away so Needham had carpenters build new pieces here. He said everything here is an exact replica."

"It seems rather ornate for a priest."

He laughed. "Indeed, whoever hid here must have enjoyed his creature comforts." He gestured toward the fire. "With that blaze going they must have been expecting visitors." Andrew had to stay toward the center of the room as the rest sloped from ceiling to floor as in most attics.

"What is all this?" Miss Martin asked, looking around at the piles of blankets, cushions, food hampers, a case of wine, corked clay jugs, and two ancient-looking trunks.

"I don't know," Andrew admitted. "And where is the next clue?"

"Perhaps on that table?" She pointed to a small console table on the other side of the fireplace.

Andrew took a step toward it but stopped and pivoted when he heard the distinctive sound of the heavy wooden slab sliding shut.

He hesitated only a moment before shouting, "Wait!" and breaking into a run, a sick feeling blossoming in his belly as the gap between the door and thick timber frame disappeared.

"We are inside!" he shouted, skidding to a stop and pounding on the door.

There was no handle or knob on the inside of the door, nothing but a smooth wooden panel. A thick wooden panel.

Miss Martin joined him, and they battered the wood together.

"Hello! Hello!" she yelled, hysteria coloring her voice. "You've locked us in! Please, let us out!"

Andrew stepped back, but she kept pounding.

He stared at the door. No. This could not be happening.

Miss Martin stopped and turned. Her wide eyes fixed on him, horror spreading across her face.

" You! " she shouted.

Andrew bristled. "Me, what?"

She flung her arms out. "You planned all this, didn't you?"

Andrew stared at her in disbelief.

And then he laughed.