The Wicked Governess (Blackhaven Brides Book 6)(54)

He pushed the terrified boy back into Williams’ hold to be marched out of the house by the front door.

Richard raised one eyebrow at him. “You’re letting him go?”

Javan shrugged impatiently. “I don’t want the fuss. Besides, it’s over. He knew that before he came.” He glanced around, frowning suddenly. “Where is Caroline?”





Chapter Fifteen





Caroline, once she saw that Javan would not harm the boy, had simply picked up the abandoned lantern and stepped back inside the secret passage.

The tension in Javan had been wound so tightly she’d been sure at first that it would have to erupt into violence. But he was a soldier, with a lifetime of training, self-control and, probably, a deep understanding of the folly of young, badly behaved men. Reassured, she went exploring on her own.

Curiosity as to where the passage led, if it joined with others inside the walls of the house, propelled her onward, down the narrow steps. She expected the stone to be damp and dank, but in fact the passage surrounded the chimney, the warmth from which seemed to have kept it dry over the years.

At the foot of the steep steps she found herself in another cave-like room, similar to the one at the top. There was only one passage leading out of it. Above her, hurried footsteps clattered down the steps.

“Caroline?” Javan’s voice, unexpectedly anxious.

“I’m here,” she called, though part of her wished to punish him with silence.

She held the lantern high and saw that he’d come in such a hurry he’d brought no light of his own. The lantern cast a soft glow over his harsh features, and in spite of everything, her heart lurched just at the sight of him. “There seems to be just one way out,” she managed, moving forward again. He said nothing, not even to chastise her for foolhardiness in coming down here alone, or to persuade her to return. He simply followed her.

Her every nerve seemed to tingle in awareness of his silent closeness behind her. At last she reached a dead end, the wall being a panel made of old, slightly warped wood. Javan brushed past her and found a lever similar to the one above.

“Stand back,” he warned, pulling it. The panel swung open and he walked forward.

Following, she found herself in the chill of a natural cave. She could hear water close by, but she couldn’t see it for the heavy fronds and thick tree roots that almost blocked the cave entrance.

“It must be in those rocks by the river,” Javan said. He touched the boulder by his side. “I suspect they roll this across the entrance to hide the panel from casual view. A way out for priests, perhaps, or rebels in the civil war. Or Jacobites, maybe.”

She shivered, imagining the tragedies and stirring escapes of long dead men and women associated with Haven Hall. “I would have expected this sort of thing at the castle more than here.”

“The castle would have been a lot more secure than a mere country house. Come back. It’s too cold out here.” As if he’d forgotten their quarrel, he took her hand and drew her back behind the panel, which he closed again.

They stood too close, and he still held her hand. Her body, her whole being ached. He must have seen it in her face, for he dropped her hand at once.

“Christ,” he muttered. “You are better with Richard.”

“It appears I have no say,” she retorted. “But, in fact, I do, and I want neither of you!”

“Good choice,” he approved, and led the way around the winding passage toward the steps.

The lantern began to flicker.

“Stay close,” he muttered. “I think it’s about to go out.”

It died, just as they reached the steps.

“Give me your hand,” he said roughly. She obeyed, and he began to climb. She tried not to stumble as she followed. The pitch darkness was disorienting and yet strangely…liberating. She let her fingers cling to his.

Abruptly, he stopped and stepped back down, pinning her to warm stone wall. “You don’t want me, Caroline,” he ground out. “You don’t. You deserve a good, clean man, unsullied by life and dishonor.”

“Dishonor?” she repeated, startled. “You have every honor—”

“No.”

She could make out only deeper blackness where he stood, but she could feel his hardness, his heavy breathing. This, she thought, whatever this turned out to be, was the root of his damage.

“Tell me,” she whispered, raising their joined hands to his cheek.

“I betrayed the Fort of San Pedro,” he blurted. “The French walked into it, chasing the British out, because of me.”

The agony behind his short, abrupt tone made her want to weep. “How because of you?”

“I told them,” he whispered. “I blurted it all out and I don’t even remember.”

I told them. The same agonized words he’d uttered in his dream last night. “Where?” she asked bewildered. “Where did you tell them this?”

“In my prison bed.”

“You were asleep?”

“I told.” He tried to push away, but she clung to him.

“I don’t care, Javan,” she said clearly. “I don’t care whether that is true or not.”

He stilled. “You should care.” And with that, he stepped back, climbing onward and all but dragged her after him into the light of the library.