Read Online The Marquess by Patricia Rice - Free Book Online

monster anywhere. The game of
hiding from him grew a little thin. Blanche was right. She would just have to
appear on the doorstep and say O’Toole had sent her.
    Unfortunately, unless she showed up in the bedraggled and
filthy gown she’d worn while clinging to the carriage, she would have to
appear in one of the unfashionable and outdated gowns from the attic wardrobes.
Men might not know a great deal about ladies’ attire, but even Effingham
would suspect something if she arrived in that French gown with no carriage in
sight.
    Her mind nibbled at the puzzle as her feet found the places
on the stairs that didn’t creak. She’d worked out the progression
over these last nights: first step to the right, second to the center edge,
third to the inside left. She thought it much like learning a dance routine,
but the next to last step was a little tricky. Her legs had some difficulty
reaching from the right side of one tread to the far left side of the next.
    She winced and grabbed the wall as her slippered foot slid
on the tricky step. She froze, waiting for the monster’s heavy footsteps
to come running. He had not gone out once in all these nights but lay awake
waiting to catch her. Didn’t the man have any social life at all? What
did he do for women? All men kept women in her experience, except for the ones
who were a little strange. The Monster of Effingham might be odd, but she
didn’t think him the type to dislike female companionship.
    Surprised when she heard no rush of running feet, she
shrugged. Perhaps he’d finally given up the game. She meant no harm.
Surely, he understood that by now. She’d tried showing him by decorating
his chamber. Now he could sleep in comfort instead of on the narrow sofa in his
study.
    Not that he’d slept in the bed yet. If he had any
brains at all, he should have known he would put an end to her best escape
hatch by sleeping in the room where the secret passage ended. Perhaps he grew
bored with the game also.
    Deciding no one had heard her misstep, Dillian gently pushed
open the door at the bottom of the staircase. Her tallow candle blew in the
draft through this back hall, but it illuminated no hulking giant in the
shadows.
    That was an unfair description, she thought as she slipped
down the hall in the direction of the kitchen. Effingham didn’t really
hulk. The monster stalked these halls with a certain flair and elegance. She
rather liked the swashbuckling sight of his cloak billowing out behind him as
he raced down the stairs in an effort to cut her off. For a man so tall, he
moved gracefully. She wished, just once, she could dance with a man like that.
    Dillian blew out the candle as she stole through the kitchen
doorway. The cook slept as lightly as her employer. She didn’t wish to
disturb her sleep any more than necessary. She just wanted to see what
delicious fare she could scavenge from this night’s dinner. She wondered
idly if Blanche could steal this cook away should she ever return to her proper
place.
    “Aha! Caught you!”
    A large shadow materialized from the hidden alcove behind
the stove, directly in her path. Dillian gasped, dropped the candle, and fled
down the corridor beside the pantry.
    * * * *
    Gavin cursed as he ran after the ghost and saw nothing but
closed doors. He stopped and listened, but he could only hear himself
breathing. He’d been so damned close...
    She was just a slip of a thing. She couldn’t possibly
outrun him. Unless he wanted to believe in ghosts, she had to be hiding behind
one of these doors.
    He opened the shutter of the lantern he carried and threw
its beam into the first doorway on his right. A closet of cleaning equipment.
He could see no possible hiding place in there. He crossed the hall and threw
open the next door. An empty chamber, no doubt intended for some lower servant.
The same with the next one. Cursing now, he continued down the hall. She had to
be here somewhere.
    Gavin swung around at a loud groan and creak