Page 67 of Wedding the Widow

“Except I will be gone. How will you explain that?” Perhaps it could work, but only if their secret passage remained secret.

“I won’t need to. How could I know anything? I wouldn’t have had contact with you for four days.” In the waning light, he caught a flash of her teeth as she grinned. “I will, however, advance the possibility that the footman who has been bringing your meals must have forgotten to lock the door at some point.” She bent to tie the tail end of the sheets to the leg of her bed, then straightened. “Time to go, brother.”

Impossible situation. However, the tug of his heart to go to Elizabeth had to win out. Their future would be dashed to pieces if she married this Lord Robert. Georgie, on the other hand, might be able to play innocent and avoid the worst of their father’s wrath. An abominable risk, but one he had to take.

“Go immediately and take the linens back, then shut the panel and wedge something behind it so it won’t open from my side. If they don’t discover the passageway, you may be all right.” He pulled on the rope, but the bed outweighed him by a hundred stone at least.

Time to go.

The wind whistled through the open window, cutting through his coat and making him shiver. It would be a cold ride through the freezing temperatures of the night. At least the horse would be warm beneath him. “Wish me luck, bran face. I’ll come back for you as soon as I can.”

“Wait.” She scurried back into the passage.

Jemmy groaned. It would be midnight before he was away.

“Here.” Georgie had returned with the blue wool blanket from his bed. “So you don’t catch your death.”

With a grateful smile, he slung the blanket over his shoulder, its warmth immediately shielding him from the frigid air. “And you took it from my room, so nothing will be missing from yours. As I said, genius.”

Georgie smiled and hugged him. “Go save your damsel in distress. Just be careful!”

He nodded and grasped the rope. “I will.” Peering into her eyes, he said simply, “I love you, Georgie.”

“I love you too. Now go, before I freeze.”

Barking a laugh, he eased himself up onto the windowsill. The sensation of nothing beneath his feet was strange and disconcerting, not at all pleasant. Grasping the sheet-rope in a death grip, he wrapped it around his hand and lowered himself carefully below the sill.

The wind buffeted him immediately, blowing his blanket away. It sailed off like a kite without a tail. He paid it no mind, his sole focus was on not falling to his death. His arms strained to take his weight as he tried to stop himself from plummeting down the rope. Glancing up, he brushed his foot against the wall, finding a purchase in a small crevice that decades of wind had carved out. He leaned back and planted the other foot. Could he walk down like this?

Easing one foot down a few inches, he adjusted his grip on the rope and lowered himself slowly. The other foot slid down, and the ground came closer. Foot by foot, he descended as darkness fell. At last, he ran out of rope with about ten feet to go. Clinging to the knot tied to the candlestick, attempting to avoid bashing his head on it, Jemmy took a deep breath and released the rope. He dropped to the frozen ground, the shock reverberating up his legs in painful streaks. Pins and needles shot through his feet, and he dove forward but remained standing.

Immediately, he looked up to see the sheets and candlestick rising rapidly. At last they disappeared altogether, and his sister’s slender, white hand, stark against the dark stone, waved him away before she shut the window with a bang.

The light had gone to deep purple in the shadow of the castle, but he located the dark blue blanket quickly enough. Pulling it around his body, he savored its warmth and hurried to his left toward the stables.

Chapter 25

Deep twilight cloaked Jemmy by the time he reached the main stable block, where his own horse, Pharaoh, was kept. Gripping the blanket against the cold, he inched along the gray stone wall surrounding the stables, head cocked for voices from within. If he could catch one or two under grooms, he might be able to buy their cooperation and their silence.

Moving slowly, he raised his head to peer into one of the curious round windows cut into the stone. The only person in sight was a young groom, sitting astride a bench, polishing a harness. Perhaps good fortune would shine on him after all.

Inching toward the door, he listened but heard no conversations. He eased the door open and popped his head around the door frame.

The young groom, barely twelve years old if he was a day, glanced up, then jumped to his feet, his hat immediately in his hand. “Beg pardon, milord. What can I do for you?”

The lad’s flushed face with serious eyes gave Jemmy hope anew. “Where are the other grooms, lad?”

“They’re all gone in for their tea, milord, but I can run fetch ’em for you right quick.” He started to bolt toward a door along the wall to the right.

“No, no need, lad.” Jemmy eyed the door the boy had started for. “I’ve come to get my horse. Thought I’d ride down to the Whyte Harte for a pint or two.”

“Very good, milord. D’ye want me to fetch me da for ya?”

Jemmy had already sized the boy up as a sturdy, eager sort. “I’d wager you could saddle him for me, couldn’t you, lad?”

“Oh, yes, milord.” The boy’s brown eyes shone with pride. “I know how to do it right quick, I do. Which horse is yours?”

“Pharaoh. The roan stallion.” Jemmy could see the horse just two stalls down. “That one there, sticking his nose over the stall door.”