9

E lizabeth had not sliced open the sleeves covering Mr. Lenox's arms—a lack of forethought she was highly tempted to correct—but the taut bicep currently flexing beneath the curve of her fingers felt every bit as toned as the muscular chest and abdomen constantly winking at her in the gap between the cut edges of his clothing.

"One moment, if you please." Mr. Lenox was exceedingly polite for a hostage. "I ought to bring along our bonnets."

He stepped away from her… Leapt away from her… Did some strange, twisting dance, clearly meant to avoid placing his boot down on several specific stones in the floor, despite there being no difference between them to Elizabeth's eye. She memorized each step anyway.

Mr. Lenox caught her gaze and gave her a winning smile. "Best to avoid the blanket of needles, wouldn't you say?"

Blanket of needles. She now wished she had brought more supplies than her trusty battle-axes. She needed her chain mail and a proper helmet. One considerably hardier than the gear-and-monocle-adorned leather hat in Mr. Lenox's hand.

He scooped up her soaking bonnet gingerly, then made his hopping, twisting way back to her side. "Shall we?"

Elizabeth realized she had no idea how they were going to go anywhere. The room was still devoid of exits, save for the exterior door through which she'd entered.

Mr. Lenox slid on his leather helmet and adjusted the pair of lenses before his eye.

"The spot to press is only visible when viewed through glass of a specific hue and polarity," he explained, as though such an explanation made any sense at all.

He was flirting again, she was sure of it.

"Ah, here we are." Mr. Lenox reached out and tapped lightly on a small section of uneven gray stone that looked exactly like all the other uneven gray stones. A rectangular section of the wall swiveled ninety degrees on a center hinge, leaving an opening on either side just big enough for someone Elizabeth's size to squeeze through.

Mr. Lenox did not wait to see if she followed, but ducked through the doorway with the hurried air of a man hoping to find his teapot was still warm. Elizabeth placed each foot exactly where Mr. Lenox's boots had fallen, turning to her side to slip through the opening after him.

The rotating door swung closed behind them. They were now standing in a long corridor made of the same large gray stones as the rest of the castle. From this side, there was likewise no indication of how to turn a solid wall back into a doorway.

"Am I going to need to borrow one of those bonnets in order to leave the castle?"

"Bothersome, isn't it," droned a voice behind her.

She spun, axes at the ready, to discover an older man with white hair, thick jowls, and impeccable, if simple, dark blue attire. He raised his eyebrows at her stance and sighed heavily, as if she were the least alarming disturbance in a long succession of vexing inconveniences.

Mr. Lenox handed the disgruntled man her wet headpiece. "McCarthy, I need you to dry Miss Wynchester's bonnet, if you would, please."

"You're the butler?" Elizabeth guessed.

McCarthy glared at Mr. Lenox. "See? Our guests would not suffer this unnecessary confusion if you allowed me to assume my proper station at the front door."

"We've not admitted any guests until now," Mr. Lenox reminded him. "The entryway is designed to repel them."

Elizabeth nodded in approval. "By killing them, sight unseen."

"A disgraceful practice." McCarthy held his nose in the air and Elizabeth's dripping bonnet pinched between two outstretched fingers. He spun on his heels and stalked off down the corridor, muttering all the while. "Unseemly lack of manners. The indignity!"

"I'm not the earl," Mr. Lenox called after him. "Reclusive curmudgeons don't need manners."

Elizabeth agreed wholeheartedly.

A loud sniff was the butler's only response before McCarthy disappeared from sight.

"Where were we?" asked Mr. Lenox.

"Forget the tea," said Elizabeth. "Just pour me a glass of brandy."

Mr. Lenox tucked his helmet under his arm. "That'll be over this way."

Soon they were ensconced in what might have been an ordinary study, were it not for five hundred years of nicks and scars in the tall stone walls, and the inexplicable network of bits and bobs strung about from floor to ceiling.

"Is this another murder room designed to kill me?" she inquired.

"Strongly deter," he corrected firmly. "I hope never to kill anyone."

"Then what is all this?" She pointed at the walls and ceiling.

He glanced around, as though he had forgotten they'd walked into a human-size crow's nest. "It's for adding milk to one's tea."

Of course it was.

He stoked a small fire, then dropped into an armchair and motioned for her to do the same. "I apologize for activating the entryway's defense mechanisms."

She perched on the edge of her seat with interest. "It's not always a murder room? Then how did you know to deploy the weapons?"

He arched a brow. "Have you heard of a telescope?"

"Ah." She leaned back in her chair with satisfaction. "You saw me knock upon your door. Energetically. With a pair of battle-axes."

"You also invoked the word ‘berserker,' which I've calculated to have a 0.87 probability of imminent trouble."

"Are any other doors guarded in such a manner?"

"There are no other doors."

"Then how do you leave?"

"I never go anywhere if I can help it. Except to satisfy the occasional craving for pistachio ices. That is, back home when I am not under fire."

Elizabeth could not argue with her host's priorities. Pistachio ice was far preferable to most people, armed or not. "Might I scoot my chair closer to the fire?"

"Be my guest."

"Thank you." She tried to relax her tense muscles. With luck, the fire would dry her dress in short order and return her bedraggled appearance to some semblance of normalcy.

Mr. Lenox, for his part, showed no indication of changing his shirt. The act of flinging himself into the armchair had likewise flung open both sides of the shorn material, leaving most of his chest and one hundred percent of his rock-hard abdomen exposed to Elizabeth's hungry gaze. Her fingers itched to touch those positively lickable sharp planes.

Damn him.

Mr. Lenox had taught her so many things already. Until today, she'd believed herself solely capable of admiring sword-wielding, warrior-and-warrioress types.

Who would've guessed that an equations-quoting tinker wearing a hat with a monocle would be capable of turning her head? Or that such an attractive knight could defend a castle without sword or shield?

"Could you have a footman bring in my crate from the pony cart?" she asked.

"Of course." He rose to tug the bellpull.

"And my cane," she added.

Elizabeth was prepared to deflect any comment he might have about a young woman who used a cane, but Mr. Lenox didn't seem to find the request any more peculiar than a desire for brandy. Come to think of it, he hadn't even inquired why a nice woman like her happened to travel with a pair of battle-axes.

While on his feet, Mr. Lenox retrieved a fancy bottle and two snifters from the sideboard. Before retaking his seat, he poured for them both, then handed her a glass. "Will 1811 cognac do?"

"Nicely." She clinked her snifter against his, then took a sip. Delicious, syrupy heat traveled down her throat.

She sighed happily. Fine brandy was ever so much better than cheap gin. Which was the primary reason she never kept any on hand. She could scarcely blame the Earl of Densmore for being a shameless wastrel when his sideboard was stocked with quality liquor like this.

"You really don't know where your cousin is?"

"Trust me," Mr. Lenox said wryly. "If I had the slightest clue, I would hand the incorrigible wretch over to you myself."

Something about his story didn't make sense. "Why did you come to visit him, if he wasn't here? I thought you didn't go anywhere, save for pistachio ice."

"My good-for-nothing cousin is my only other weakness, I'm afraid. Densmore has been my closest thing to a friend since we were young. At school and university, he was always trying to drag me to gatherings and parties, but I was too involved in my inventions to waste time with social niceties."

"There's nothing nice about social niceties," Elizabeth concurred. "If someone tried to separate me from my sword, I'd stab them with it."

He nodded, as if this were a reasonable position to take.

"Except," she was forced to admit, "if it was family."

"Precisely the situation I find myself in," Mr. Lenox agreed with feeling. "Densmore told me he was dealing with an urgent matter and required my immediate aid. I was to take up residence here in Harbrook, bar the castle door, and pretend to be him until he returned to relieve me."

Elizabeth slid her axes out of the way beneath her chair. "That didn't sound… suspicious?"

"Frankly, every plot my cousin has ever dreamt up sounds suspicious. My talent is machines, and his forte is making trouble. Until now, the only person he'd ever put in a pickle was himself. Picnics and soirées cannot entice me from my laboratory, but saving Densmore from his own schemes… Shall we say, we've been in a bit of a pattern since childhood."

Elizabeth understood that much. Each of her siblings had their own role in her family as well. "Did the earl provide a date for his reappearance?"

"He did indeed." Mr. Lenox lounged back in the chair, his shirt gaping wider. "Densmore was to return three months and fourteen days ago."

Three and a half months ? Family or not, the murder room was starting to sound like an excellent place to drop the earl.

"You've heard nothing from him since?" she asked in affront.

Mr. Lenox took a sip of cognac. "From him, no."

Elizabeth frowned. "Who have you heard from?"

"First, a Miss Oak, Densmore's aunt on his mother's side. She purports to have legal claim over this castle."

"She does have legal ownership."

"Does she? Her letters indicated the ‘proof' was in a will no one has seen."

"We'd have a spare copy, if a fire at the lawyer's office hadn't destroyed his records."

"Convenient. You're certain the document existed and reads as she claims?"

"To the letter. My brother spoke to the lawyer himself."

"I see." Mr. Lenox drummed his fingers on his sculpted abdomen. "Miss Oak is your client, then, I take it?"

"Yes. Her late sister, Arminia, loved puzzles, and hid the original copy of her will here in the castle for her husband to find."

Mr. Lenox blinked. "‘Hid'?"

"As if the pages were buried pirate treasure, attainable only by following a series of coded clues… which I unfortunately do not have access to. To solve the puzzle, I'll have to rely on brute force."

"You intend to solve a treasure hunt without any clues?"

Elizabeth nodded. "I shall uncover the missing will and present it to Miss Oak this very day. With luck, the late countess hid a copy of the deed with her testament, and you and I will both be gone from this pile by nightfall."

"Hmm," Mr. Lenox said noncommittally. "How do you know Densmore didn't find the will already, and take the testament and the deed with him?"

"Is Densmore the sort of conscientious lord who packs important business documents in his knapsack before fleeing to parts unknown?"

"How certain are you a secret will really exists at all?" Mr. Lenox countered as he swirled his glass. "In my one hundred and four days of debilitating boredom, at no point in my desperate search for distraction did I come across anything resembling clues to a treasure hunt."

"The will is definitely here somewhere," Elizabeth said with absolute confidence. "The countess assured her sister of the fact in writing. Arminia wanted the testament to be found and her wishes to be fulfilled. She just did so a bit… unconventionally."

"Hmm" was all Mr. Lenox said. The fingers of his free hand idly brushed the flaps of what had once been a waistcoat pocket.

She bit her lip. "I'm sorry about your stick of chalk. I didn't mean to destroy it."

"I have an entire box of chalk," he assured her, then arched his brows. "You're not going to apologize for slicing open my clothes?"

She smiled. "I'm not sorry about that."

"Ill-mannered wench. I'm sorry about drenching you."

She snorted. "No, you're not."

He grinned. "No, I'm not."

She fought the urge to lean forward and plump up her wet bosom. "You mentioned someone other than Miss Oak has come to call?"

Mr. Lenox let out an aggrieved sigh. "Richard Reddington's cronies. First, it was lawyer after lawyer. Because I refuse to answer the door or his letters, Reddington has apparently placed a marksman in the strip of woods separating the two properties. Although they ignore the servants, the one time I stepped outside, I took an arrow to the hat."

She gasped. "Not your fancy leather monocle helmet!"

"I fear I was wearing an ordinary top hat at the time."

"It's still poor sportsmanship," she huffed.

"Thank you. I felt much the same way."

"An interesting wrinkle," she mused. "I didn't expect Reddington to use real artillery in his mock battles."

Stephen arched a brow. "So now what?"

"Now," she said, "I need to find the deed, the will, and the earl."

"Is that all?" Mr. Lenox asked mildly.

No, Elizabeth supposed it was not all. This had become a Situation that needed to be resolved. Handsome Mr. Lenox had been brave in the face of being taken hostage because he was already hostage.

And Elizabeth was a Wynchester—protector to those who needed it. Which meant she now had two clients. Blast. She had so looked forward to returning home soon. She supposed Mr. Lenox felt the same way.

"Very well. You've convinced me." She set down her cognac. "I shall station myself as your bodyguard until I am able to safely extract you from danger."

"You're stationing yourself as my… bodyguard?" he repeated carefully. "Here?"

"In a one hundred percent professional capacity," she warned him with a shake of her finger. "No more dampening my bodice with buckets of water, or slicing open your clothing to show off your rippling muscles."

"You're the one who sliced open my clothing!"

"I'm advising myself not to do it again, no matter how you tempt me. We'll see how that goes. As you mentioned, Wynchesters aren't used to following rules."

"Including the prohibition against an unmarried woman spending the night unchaperoned beneath the same roof as an unmarried man, so as to protect her reputation?"

"Oh, I haven't any reputation to protect," Elizabeth said proudly. "All the rumors are true."

Mr. Lenox narrowed his eyes. "Is there any gossip about you successfully acting as a bodyguard?"

"I've years of experience," she assured him. "The only thing I love more than a good offensive strike is defending someone else from harm. I shall be honored to personally oversee the protection of the castle and your person."

"Until you find the papers you're looking for."

She nodded. "Which will secure your freedom and Miss Oak's future."

Silence stretched between them. They both took another sip of cognac.

"Well," said Mr. Lenox. "It's certainly a big enough castle for two. If you're determined to stay and search for a hidden will, I shan't prevent you."

"You couldn't stop me if you tried."

"I did a very good job of stopping you," he pointed out. "You'd still be chopping at the door if I hadn't let you in."

"You created a semi-efficient temporary roadblock," she allowed. "I would've come through the wall one way or another eventually. And your secret panel, too."

"Hm." He considered her. "I suppose if anyone were capable of such a feat, it just might be you."

She beamed at him.

After Miss Oak's suffocating attempts to coddle her, it was a relief to be treated as competent again. Elizabeth decided not to mention her throbbing hip and aching back from the encounter with the murder room. Or how daunting she found the prospect of her new temporary residence.

Even without Mr. Lenox's devilish modifications, medieval castles were not designed for someone like Elizabeth. A warren of dark, narrow corridors with slippery stone floors, steps of uneven height, every staircase narrow and curving and dangerous with nothing to hold on to or to break one's fall…

She kept her voice brisk. "Could you please have a footman return the pony cart to Miss Oak and retrieve my belongings from her guest room?"

"Of course. It shall be my honor to host you."

Elizabeth hoped so. Because until they found the hidden testament or turned up the real Earl of Densmore…

She and Mr. Lenox were stuck with each other.