anyone in the ballroom wondered where he'd gone. By the time Pomeroy arrived to begin his questioning, the letter had been well hidden.
I crossed the room, pulled open a bookcase door, and began examining the books.
Most of the leather spines were uncreased and unbroken. The pages on the few I pulled out likewise were uncut. When a man bought a book, the pages were still folded into sixteen- page signatures; many signatures made up a book. One used a paper knife to cut each folded bundle open so that the book could be read. Some men purchased libraries for the look of them rather than for intellectual pursuit; often pages of entire collections remained uncut.
In one of these books, unread by the inhabitants of the house, must lay the secret Brandon was willing to go to the gallows to protect.
'Help me,' I said. I began pulling out books and opening them.
Lady Breckenridge's cinnamon and spice perfume touched me as she came to assist me. I was close-so close. Her slender hands touched mine as she pulled out books and copied my movements.
The books in the silver-gilded room yielded no secrets. Anxiously, I shoved the last book back into the shelf and hobbled back to the gold-leafed room. Only a dozen books decorated a bookcase here-I searched those and found nothing.
There were four more rooms along this corridor. Lady Breckenridge and I looked through every book in each of them. By the time I'd slit open the last book, I'd found nothing. My leg was hurting, and I wondered if my suppositions were wrong. But they felt right-seemed right. My vision of Brandon's actions had been so vivid.
I sank down on one of the chairs, in too much pain now to stand.
Lady Breckenridge stopped before me and smoothed a strand of my always unruly hair. 'Are you well?'
'No, I am disgusted,' I said. 'The bloody thing must be here. I know Brandon. He would have hidden it. He would not have risked Pomeroy finding it.'
Lady Breckenridge's cool fingers felt good. She rested herself on my lap and continued to stroke my hair.
I did not want to push her away. My head ached from speculating, and her presence, her touch, soothed me. I closed my eyes.
'I am not a man of complex thought,' I said. 'In the army I solved problems as they came to me. I did not sit in a chair and contemplate them.'
'You were a soldier,' she said, her voice low. 'Not a general.'
'What the generals decided after sitting back and contemplating was often foolhardy. They could not solve problems that were right in front of them.' I opened my eyes. 'Neither can I, it seems.'
'You are working your way through lies.'
'I know. The only person who has not lied to me is you.'
Lady Breckenridge smiled a little, her red lips curving. 'Are you certain?'
'You never hide your opinions.'
'That is true. I was brought up to be demure, which I was until I married my foul husband. Then I realized that a demure and timid lady won nothing. But I did lie to you, Gabriel.'
'About what?'
She reddened. 'About why I helped Louisa Brandon the night of the murder. I told you I did it because she was your friend. That was not entirely true.'
I fixed my full attention on her. 'No?'
'I helped her because I wanted to observe her. To learn what sort of woman had won your adoration.'
I studied Lady Breckenridge in silence. Her eyes held a defiant light, but behind that defiance lay-worry?
'It is not adoration,' I said.
'Is it not?'
She challenged me. She wanted truth. I was not certain what truths I could give her, because I was confused about truth these days myself.
One thing I knew was that she was warm, and that her touch delighted me in ways I had not known for a long time.
'No,' I answered. 'It is not. Admiration, certainly. And friendship.'
'And love,' Lady Breckenridge said.
'Love.' I touched her face. 'But not love that is covetous. I would see Louisa happy, but I do not need to possess her.'
She looked unconvinced. 'Gentlemen often express admiration, when in truth they mean desire.'
'Your husband might have done so. My desire lies along another path.' I drew my finger across her lips.
Her eyes still held caution. 'I can never be this paragon you admire. No matter how I try.'
'I do not want you to be. I want you to be witty and acerbic and blow smoke in my face when I am stupid and soothe me when I am hurting. You have proved excellent at all these things.'
She dropped her gaze. 'From the beginning I have made a complete cake of myself for you. That you do not despise me amazes me.'
I regarded her in surprise. Lady Breckenridge had always seemed a woman who did exactly as she pleased for reasons of her own.
'You make me long to be tender,' I said.
She looked up at me. In that moment, when her eyes met mine, I knew that I'd never in my life met a woman like her.
'We do not have time to be tender,' she reminded me. 'We must find your colonel's letter so that you may save him from the noose.'
Thus, Colonel Brandon, even imprisoned, reached out to make my life difficult.
'Yes,' I said. 'But damned if I know how I will do it.'
Lady Breckenridge slid from my lap and pressed a kiss to the crown of my head. 'You will find a way, Gabriel.'
I gave her an ironic look. 'I am pleased at your faith in me.'
She took my hand and helped me to my feet. 'If Colonel Brandon did not leave the letter in a book, then we must look elsewhere.'
'He did,' I said with conviction. 'I know he did.'
I thought glumly that in truth, a servant must have found it, had not realized what it was, and destroyed it.
As I studied the room again, I noted that the paneling in one corner did not fit quite right. Closer scrutiny showed that a door had been cut into it, probably one that opened into the servants' passage behind the walls. No attempt had been made to completely hide the door, but the paneling had been fashioned to make it unobtrusive. Few would pay attention to it until the servant came through with tea or to lay the fire or whatever his or her particular duty might be.
I ran my fingers down the edges of the paneling until I found a piece of gilded molding that moved. The designer had cleverly used the molding to conceal the door's latch. I pressed the latch, and the door swung smoothly toward me.
I looked inside at a narrow passage with plastered walls lit with sconces. A footman, hurrying through on some errand or other, saw me and started, his eyes going wide.
'I beg your pardon,' I said to him.
The footman regained his composure, changing from human being to well-trained servant in the space of a moment. 'Sir?' he said coolly. 'May I assist you?'
'Yes.' I motioned with my stick. 'Where does this passage lead?'
'To the ballroom, sir. And in the other direction, to the stairs to the kitchens.'
'Do all the rooms have access to this passage?'
'Yes, sir.' I heard the Of course they do, in his voice.
'May I look?'
His brows climbed. 'It is no place for a gentleman, sir. Or a lady.'
'Even so. Please show us.'
The footman gave me the same look a put-upon colonel had when wives new to the regiment requested a tour of the army camp. Lady Breckenridge and I did not belong there, the look said. This passage was the servants'
