Haunting Secrets

Eleven

Fear shook through Victoria's body. That blasted man had won again. She couldn't let him walk out of her room the second time without getting more answers.

She swallowed hard and wobbled to her bed to sit. After taking a couple reassuring deep breaths, she felt stronger. As her confidence returned, she knew it was time to confront him.

Retracing her route to the wall she'd found last night, she hurried on slippered feet. Where one hall met another, she peeked around the corner, making certain nobody lingered, especially the servants. She reached the familiar potted plant and pressed her hands against the wall until she located the seam.

Did she really want to enter his lair? This was the East Wing, the place she'd been warned about. The very area she was forbidden to enter, lest she and her maid be sent away. Ignoring her conscience, she pushed the wall as hard as she could. This time it opened.

Holding her breath, she peeked inside. A dim light shone through the long shadowed corridor. Although a cold draft swept over her legs, the promise of heat hung in the air.

Someone definitely occupied this area. Ghosts? Even if she believed in them, they were dead, so why did they need heat from a fireplace? No. It must be the irritating man who wouldn't stay out of her room.

She pulled the wrapper tighter around her neck and stepped into the shadows with only minimum light to show her the way. As her feet touched cold stone, a shiver passed through her. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to continue. This prankster must be stopped. Tonight.

The further into the wing she walked, there were stairs leading up. Although the stairs held shadows, at the top was lighter. Taking a deep breath, she placed her foot on the step. Remarkably enough, the steps didn't creak as she made her way up. The closer she came to the light, the warmer the air around her became and even the temperature on her feet didn't chill her any longer. Light brightened at the top of the stairs, revealing a large room.

Against the far wall stood a fireplace. Flames licked the stones in a gentle welcome. Scattered candles lent more light to the dungeon she'd entered. As she glanced around the room, she changed her mind about its definition. Dungeon didn't seem the appropriate word for this setting. This was someone's sanctuary, a place kept hidden from the rest of the world.

The scent of spice wafted through the air, raising memories of her father. He'd used to splash his face with this scent, and when he sat next to her while she played the pianoforte, his smell surrounded her. The image lightened the fear somewhat.

The chord of an organ's beautiful tone made her jump. She gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth.

In the far corner, a man with a deep purple evening jacket sat on the bench, his head tilted back, the ends of his black hair brushing the collar. Wide shoulders and his height captured her interest. Although he'd only visited her twice, she had his frame memorized.

Cotton dryness filled her mouth, making it difficult to swallow. She twisted her hands against her stomach. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath until it came out in a rush.

Behind the organ, the man stiffened. "Is someone there?" he asked without turning.

The deep timbre of his voice caused tremors to mix with the terror already running through her. Never would she forget that intense voice.

She cleared her throat. "You came to my room. I thought I should come to yours, as we never finished our conversation."

Cursing, he reached for a black scarf at the corner of the organ. "Miss Fawson, you shouldn't be here." He fastened the silk over his head to partially cover his face.