He laughed softly. ‘No, thank you. If I wish to have you in my arms, my intrepid Mademoiselle Stamppe, I can think of easier ways of managing it.’
Serena rose from her seat, shaking out her petticoats. ‘You take rather too much for granted, Mr Lytton.’
‘We shall see,’ was all he vouchsafed in return.
Three hours later they were both smudged with dirt, and Serena had a goodly amount of cobwebs trailing from her frilled petticoats, but of the papers they had found no trace.
In the first priest’s hole located beneath a cupboard at the side of a fireplace carved with a number of Tudor roses there had been only some mice droppings.
The second priest’s hole was a cunning little trapdoor in the upstairs drawing room operated by turning yet another rose in a nearby panel. When Nicholas lowered himself into it, he found a squashed shallow-crowned hat from a much earlier age. He emerged from the hiding place wearing it. Serena laughed, not so much at the absurd spectacle he presented—for the hat was much too big—but at the ring of dirt it left around his brow when he removed it. With the dusty halo and those gunmetal eyes he looked, she thought fancifully, like a dark angel. Or maybe a devil. She reached up to brush it away, drawing back immediately at his startled look. ‘I’m sorry, you have—if you look in the mirror, you have dust on your hair.’
In the large formal dining—once more panelled with a design of roses—a concealed door lifted away to reveal a space built into a hollow column. ‘My father was minded to keep his own papers here, until I informed him that the entire household, if not the whole countryside, knew of the place. After that he stuck to the rather more orthodox method of locking them in his desk.’ Once more the space was empty.
In the master bedchamber, where Nicholas pulled back one of the window shutters to reveal yet another ‘secret’ space, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. He handed it to Serena, smiling at the look of anticipation on her face as she opened it, bursting into infectious laughter when it turned out to be an account for three pairs of evening gloves and six ostrich feathers.
‘This was my father’s room. I can only assume it was a bill he didn’t want my mother to see. Before he married my stepmother, my father was rather free with his favours.’
‘Was he? Well, so was my father after my mother died—and before he married her, I presume.’
‘Don’t you find that shocking?’
‘No, why should I? Papa was very much in love with Maman, and it was a long time after she died before he took an interest in any other woman. Why should I grudge him pleasant company?’
‘What a very enlightened attitude.’
Nicholas’s coolly ironic tone irked her. Remembering just in time, however, that it was not in her interests to quarrel with him, Serena took a calming breath before speaking. ‘It’s not enlightened, it’s just—honest. Why pretend the world works one way when it is obvious to anyone who cares to look that it works in quite another? I don’t mean that I approve of such choices, but to deny that they happen would be quite foolish.’
‘Foolish, I agree, but it’s what most of your sex claim to do none the less. And may I ask if Papa had the same enlightened attitude when it came to his daughter?’
‘Of course not. It’s different for a woman, as you very well know. I think you’re making fun of me.’
‘On the contrary, I must commend you for the candour of your outlook.’
Once again she struggled to contain the spark of temper his words ignited, for though he denied it she knew she was being deliberately riled. Biting back the riposte that sprang to her lips, Serena instead executed a mocking curtsy. ‘You are too kind, sir. I would that I could commend you for the same.’
‘Well done, mademoiselle. A hit, I acknowledge it.’
She was forced to laugh. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, please call me Serena. I can’t bear to be on formal terms. In any case, it’s absurd, to have been grovelling about amongst all this dirt and cobwebs and still to call each other Mr Lytton and Mademoiselle Stamppe, a name I find rather strange, even if it is my own.’
‘I’m honoured. Serena is a beautiful name, and I’d be flattered if you’d call me Nicholas.’
‘Papa named me for serenity, although I’m not sure he got it quite right. But thank you, Nicholas.’
She pronounced it in the French way, leaving off the last consonant, making awareness curl in the pit of his stomach. There was something inherently sensual about her, made more so because he could not make up his mind whether or not she intended it. Nicholas. It was like a caress.
‘I take it you don’t favour this room yourself,’ Serena said, looking around her, oblivious of his stare. ‘I’m not surprised, it’s quite depressing.’
‘I agree,’ Nicholas replied, dragging his mind back to their conversation. ‘To be honest, I’ve never been enamoured of the idea of taking over the room of a dead parent. Rather off-putting, I would imagine, especially if one had company. As if one was being watched at a time when one would particularly wish not to be observed.’
Serena gave a startled gasp. ‘There was no need to be so blunt! I thought only that the room was oppressive. What you do—or don’t do—in your own bedchamber is none of my business.’
‘Not yet.’ Giving her no time to respond to this challenge, Nicholas grasped Serena by the elbow and headed towards the door. ‘That’s the last of the hiding places I remember for the present. It has obviously escaped your notice, but it is long past noon, and I am ravenous. I asked Hughes to set out a luncheon for us downstairs, but before you sit down, my lovely Serena, you should know that you have smut on your nose, so I will direct you to a room where you can clean up, and I will see you as soon as you have done so. Don’t keep me waiting lest I faint from hunger.’
Turning her by the shoulders, he pointed Serena in the direction of a doorway down the long corridor and strode effortlessly down the stairs towards the breakfast parlour.
After lunch they engaged in a few more hours of fruitless searching before Nicholas judged it time to call it a day. ‘There’s always tomorrow,’ he said brightly. ‘Rest assured I’ll rack my brain for more ideas to occupy us then.’
‘You don’t sound overly disappointed by our lack of progress,’ Serena said suspiciously. ‘In fact, you sound quite pleased.’
Nicholas flashed her a seductive smile. ‘The longer it takes, the more grateful you are liable to be.’
‘As I said earlier, Mr Lytton, you take far too much for granted. Right now, what I would be most grateful for is the comfort of my bed. It’s been a long and tiring day, I must return to my lodgings.’
‘Then I insist you let me send a servant to accompany you. After all, we wouldn’t want any aspersions to be cast on your reputation or intentions, now would we?’
‘No, Mr Lytton,’ Serena conceded with a smile, ‘we most certainly would not.’
‘If I never see another Tudor rose before I die I’ll be happy.’ Serena was perched precariously on a window seat in the formal dining room at Knightswood Hall the next day. ‘My fingers are aching from tapping and prodding and poking at panelling. I’m beginning to think this is a wild goose chase.’
After hours of searching they were no further forward, but although she knew she should be concerned, she was finding it very hard to fret. Her father had created this situation, giving her no option but to keep company with a man whom she was almost certain was a rake. The world would surely