Free A Man Of Many Talents by Deborah Simmons Page A

either.
    Having kept the small, shuttered lantern he had been given earlier, Christian peered behind the fretwork, but all seemed unchanged. Of course the doors were still locked. A lengthy search of several of the main rooms after dinner hadn’t turned up anything except a lot of dust, and although Christian had asked Hobbins to poke around the servants’ quarters, his valet had given him a look that stated most equivocally that such duties were below his station. Now, as Christian studied the heavy oak, he wondered if perhaps Emery was right. The stout portal looked like it hadn’t been opened in years.
    And that was when he heard it.
    Catching his breath, Christian paused to listen. There it was again. Far and above the lash of the wind and rain outside, this was a more rhythmic sound, as if someone were tapping. Or knocking. Silently, Christian walked the length of the passage behind the partition, then the hall itself, where the noise was definitely fainter. Still, he was fairly certain of the direction it was coming from: below.
    He was just wondering if there was some other entrance to the old cellars that presumably lay beneath the hall when he caught sight of a light. No flash of lightning illuminating the windows, this was a steady bob of brightness that came from within the house. Unless Sir Boundefort glowed as he floated along, someone else was approaching. Swiftly extinguishing his own lantern, Christian ducked to the side of the doorway, where he waited silently to see who felt the need to visit the great hall in the middle of the night.
    Whoever it was moved quietly but not with the noiselessness of an expert, and the light was a beacon that announced the advance. With a smug smile, Christian was inclined to guess the visitor was Emery, the not-so- intelligent scholar, and he nearly stuck out a booted foot in order to trip him. Accidentally, of course. But another sound stopped his movement, a gentle swish that he well recog nized from his rather dissolute youth: the sway of a lady’s skirts.
    And so Christian stood still, watching, as a circle of light came into view, accompanied by a firm but soft tread and a glimpse of dark, utilitarian fabric. The Governess! Christian jerked in surprise as his employer walked into the cavernous room, her lantern’s glow practically swallowed by the vast shadows around her. With a frown, Christian leaned against th e cold stone, crossed his arms o ver his chest, and spoke just loud enough for her to hear him.
    “Looking for someone?” he drawled into the darkness.
    To her credit, she did not flinch, but turned toward him, her lamp held high. Brave woman, Christian thought.
    “Yes, actually, my lord. I heard footsteps earlier, and I thought I would investigate,” she replied in a matter-of-fact fashion hardly in keeping with their surroundings.
    Brave or incredibly foolish, Christian amended. He pushed away from the wall. “Have you gone mad?” he asked in a conversational tone.
    “I hardly see how my mental state can be any concern of yours, but, no, I consider myself quite sane,” she answered.
    Christian found himself growing more than a little annoyed at her wit, as well as her self-possession. “Pardon me, but when you entreated me for help,” he said, enjoying her slight wince at his words, “you made yourself and everything here my concern, and I hardly think that wandering about here alone in the dark is a clever decision.”
    For some reason he was becoming angry, so he drew in a deep breath in an effort to shrug it off. He was normally the most easygoing of men, and he did not intend to let the Governess and her bizarre behavior alter his temperament.
    “You would have me confined to my room, unable to walk through my own house?” she asked in her sharpest tone. Her expression was accusatory, even though she was the one acting like a lunatic.
    Christian blew out a breath in exasperation. “During the night hours, yes! Didn’t you hear the claims