Page 84 of The Mistletoe Countess
Grace set her jaw and stood. Perhaps she should try and talk to it. After all, the ghosts she’d read about spoke fine English.
Without a sound, she crept down the hallway, shoe raised in defense. It really was a ridiculous notion. A shoe protecting her from some spirit of the dead almost had her giggling out of sheer terror.
Only the pale light of the moon lit her way, creating a chessboard path of dark and light against the carpet. Every swish of her shoeless foot against the floor, ever wisp of breath, even the thumping of her own heartbeat in her ears magnified. Another step placed her in front of the open door of Edward’s office. She pinched her eyes closed. Oh, let it be a lighthearted spirit, like the Ghost of Christmas Present.
With a deep breath, Grace squared her shoulders and crossed the threshold.
Streams of faint light filtered through the windows, bathing the study in its own spectral hue. Everything stood at haunted alert, poised in shadow and moon glow. Grace readied herself for a scream, but…the room stood empty. No ghost at all.
She lowered her shoe, scanning the vacant space. There were no other doors, no other means of escape except the door through which she’d entered. Her breath turned shallow, and she backed toward her exit, shoe raised again. Could this whole ghost thing be true?
“My lady?”
Grace screamed and turned to see a dark silhouette stepping from the hallway, a lit candle half revealing, half concealing a man’s face.
She was going to die!
“Are you all right, madam?”
The voice bled through her hysteria into recognition. “Brandon?” A rush of relief poured over her tense muscles, and she lowered the soleweapon. “Oh, thank heavens. I thought you were the ghost come back to exact its revenge.”
“Ghost, madam?”
“Yes, I saw her, or at least I think it was a her. And she must have been a ghost, because she entered this study and didn’t exit, and now”—she waved toward the room—“no one is here.”
Brandon tilted his head ever so slightly, looking at Grace as if he wasn’t quite certain what to make of her very logical testimony, and then stepped around her. The light’s glow washed over the furniture and bookshelves as he marched to the far corner of the room and touched the edge of one of the bookshelves. Grace stuck to his side, just in case some wailing wight bled through the walls again.
“As I thought, my lady. The door is ajar.”
As if by magic, Brandon pulled the bookshelf from the wall, revealing a set of stairs descending into darkness.
“A secret door? Behind a bookshelf?” She squeezed Brandon’s arm.
“That’s brilliant.”
“A servant’s entry.”
“Can we put one in my new room for a clandestine entrance to the library, perhaps?”
Brandon shot her a sideways glance. “Pardon?”
“Never mind.” She’d ask Frederick later. “Where does it lead?”
Instead of answering, Brandon disappeared down the stairs, Grace close behind. They descended one level, followed a narrow corridor, and exited into the Great Hall. She turned and noticed their exit door was covered with a tall portrait.
“How clever.” Her grin grew. “Now I don’t trust a single portrait or bookshelf in this house.”
Brandon bowed his head, his lips twitching again, as if he just might want to laugh. Maybe. She’d keep hoping. “Do you wish for one of the maids to escort you to your room?”
“Oh.” She looked up the dark, lonely stairway. “No, dear Brandon, I’m certain the maids are happy to remain in their beds.” She squeezed her palms together in front of her. “Besides, it appears our ghost only haunts the east wing.”
“You believe it’s a ghost, my lady?”
“Not really, but I mean to discover what it really is.”
Brandon released a long sigh. “I have no doubt on that score.”
“See?” She rewarded him with her biggest smile. “We’re getting to know each other so well, your confidence in me is growing.”
