Read Online My Scandalous Viscount by Gaelen Foley - Free Book Online
Authors: Gaelen Foley
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wondering what had happened to her.
Or maybe not. She glanced uncertainly at the clock on the wall. What time is it, anyway? A quarter to midnight. The play would be ending soon.
Her head began to pound as she wondered how to explain this to her family. She braced herself on the back of the nearest gaudy chair, then closed her eyes until the wave of dizziness had passed.
No, she couldn’t think about that right now.
In a little while, she told herself, she would come up with some clever explanation to account for her absence and her shocking appearance. For now, she had only a small sliver of time to investigate the mystery of that secret doorway before he returned.
The knight of the needle.
She giggled, blood loss and brandy making her silly. Hastily retying her stays, pulling her gown up, and fastening it as best she could behind her back without the help of a maid, she went over to the bookcase and studied it, tapping her lip as she tried to figure out how it worked.
She experimented by poking around at a few of the books and knickknacks on the shelves, but nothing happened until she laid hold of an unobtrusive bookend—a small bronze head of some past king.
The clue came when she tried to pick it up; it wouldn’t move. It was attached to the shelf, and that didn’t make any sense.
Then she found that she could twist it: The bookcase clicked forward from the wall. She drew in her breath and gripped the edge of it, pulling it open slowly, fascinated.
It was heavy, disguised in front with shelves full of real books, but it swung forward like an ordinary door.
Carissa peered into the darkness beyond, her heart pounding. A dark passageway about two feet wide led off into the inky blackness in both directions.
Oh, I cannot wait to tell Daphne about this!
She dashed back to fetch the oil lamp, turning it up to its full illumination. Then she held it up into the darkness and leaned in to have a look.
A secret passageway stretched in both directions. She peered this way and that, a frisson of excitement tingling down her limbs. I wonder where this goes.
She glanced over her shoulder at the closed parlor door. No sign of Beauchamp yet. He must be sewing stitches on himself, poor man. Then she paused to gnaw her lip a bit in guilt to know that no one was helping him the way he had helped her.
Oh, well, she quickly concluded, shrugging to herself. He seemed supremely self-sufficient, not the sort who’d want a woman fussing over him.
More importantly, he would be back at any minute. If she wanted to continue exploring—which of course she did—this would likely be her only chance. She took a deep breath. Just a peek.
Ever so cautiously, she stepped through the mysterious open doorway of the bookcase, leaving it open behind her to avoid any mishaps.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t stopped to contemplate the workings of hidden weight-triggered mechanisms, and as soon as she placed her weight on the first floorboard past the threshold, the bookcase-door swung shut behind her.
And locked.
She whirled around with a gasp to find herself entombed inside the wall. With a gulp, she lifted the lantern, trying to find the latch or whatever to open the thing again.
She spied a simple handle like that on a drawer. But when she pushed it, the bookcase wouldn’t budge.
“Come on!” she whispered, trying to jiggle it free, but nothing happened. Lifting her lantern higher, she scanned all around the door and noticed above her eye level an odd little brass plaque set into the wall.
It had a dial in the center with numbers encircling it like the face of a clock. Her eyes widened, and her heart sank as she realized what it was. A combination lock. You had to know the code. “Oh, no. No, no, no!” she whispered, her fingertips alighting on the center dial—but she stopped herself from turning it and yanked her hand away.
She might only trigger some other bizarre mechanism.
Calm down, she ordered herself,
Or maybe not. She glanced uncertainly at the clock on the wall. What time is it, anyway? A quarter to midnight. The play would be ending soon.
Her head began to pound as she wondered how to explain this to her family. She braced herself on the back of the nearest gaudy chair, then closed her eyes until the wave of dizziness had passed.
No, she couldn’t think about that right now.
In a little while, she told herself, she would come up with some clever explanation to account for her absence and her shocking appearance. For now, she had only a small sliver of time to investigate the mystery of that secret doorway before he returned.
The knight of the needle.
She giggled, blood loss and brandy making her silly. Hastily retying her stays, pulling her gown up, and fastening it as best she could behind her back without the help of a maid, she went over to the bookcase and studied it, tapping her lip as she tried to figure out how it worked.
She experimented by poking around at a few of the books and knickknacks on the shelves, but nothing happened until she laid hold of an unobtrusive bookend—a small bronze head of some past king.
The clue came when she tried to pick it up; it wouldn’t move. It was attached to the shelf, and that didn’t make any sense.
Then she found that she could twist it: The bookcase clicked forward from the wall. She drew in her breath and gripped the edge of it, pulling it open slowly, fascinated.
It was heavy, disguised in front with shelves full of real books, but it swung forward like an ordinary door.
Carissa peered into the darkness beyond, her heart pounding. A dark passageway about two feet wide led off into the inky blackness in both directions.
Oh, I cannot wait to tell Daphne about this!
She dashed back to fetch the oil lamp, turning it up to its full illumination. Then she held it up into the darkness and leaned in to have a look.
A secret passageway stretched in both directions. She peered this way and that, a frisson of excitement tingling down her limbs. I wonder where this goes.
She glanced over her shoulder at the closed parlor door. No sign of Beauchamp yet. He must be sewing stitches on himself, poor man. Then she paused to gnaw her lip a bit in guilt to know that no one was helping him the way he had helped her.
Oh, well, she quickly concluded, shrugging to herself. He seemed supremely self-sufficient, not the sort who’d want a woman fussing over him.
More importantly, he would be back at any minute. If she wanted to continue exploring—which of course she did—this would likely be her only chance. She took a deep breath. Just a peek.
Ever so cautiously, she stepped through the mysterious open doorway of the bookcase, leaving it open behind her to avoid any mishaps.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t stopped to contemplate the workings of hidden weight-triggered mechanisms, and as soon as she placed her weight on the first floorboard past the threshold, the bookcase-door swung shut behind her.
And locked.
She whirled around with a gasp to find herself entombed inside the wall. With a gulp, she lifted the lantern, trying to find the latch or whatever to open the thing again.
She spied a simple handle like that on a drawer. But when she pushed it, the bookcase wouldn’t budge.
“Come on!” she whispered, trying to jiggle it free, but nothing happened. Lifting her lantern higher, she scanned all around the door and noticed above her eye level an odd little brass plaque set into the wall.
It had a dial in the center with numbers encircling it like the face of a clock. Her eyes widened, and her heart sank as she realized what it was. A combination lock. You had to know the code. “Oh, no. No, no, no!” she whispered, her fingertips alighting on the center dial—but she stopped herself from turning it and yanked her hand away.
She might only trigger some other bizarre mechanism.
Calm down, she ordered herself,
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