It's In His Kiss

armadio. It would have been a scrivania.”

“It still has drawers,” Gareth muttered, pulling them open to inspect the contents.

“There’s something about this piece,” Hyacinth murmured. “It looks rather Mediterranean, don’t you think?”

Gareth looked up. “It does,” he said slowly, coming to his feet.

“If she brought this from Italy,” Hyacinth said, her head tilting slightly to the side as she eyed the cabinet assessingly, “or if her grandmother brought it on her visit…”

“It would stand to reason that she would know if there was a secret compartment,” Gareth finished for her.

“And,” Hyacinth said, her eyes alight with excitement, “her husband wouldn’t.”

Gareth quickly set the desk to rights and returned to the curio cabinet. “Stand back,” he instructed, wrapping his fingers around the lower lip so that he could pull it away from the wall. It was heavy, though, much heavier than it looked, and he was only able to move it a few inches, just far enough so that he could run his hand along the back.

“Do you feel anything?” Hyacinth whispered.

He shook his head. He couldn’t reach very far in, so he dropped to his knees and tried feeling the back panel from underneath.

“Anything there?” Hyacinth asked.

He shook his head again. “Nothing. I just need to-” He froze as his fingers ran across a small, rectangular outcropping of wood.

“What is it?” she asked, trying to peer around the back.

“I’m not certain,” he said, stretching his arm a half inch farther. “It’s a knob of some sort, maybe a lever.”

“Can you move it?”

“I’m trying,” he nearly gasped. The knob was almost out of his reach, and he had to contort and twist just to catch it between his fingers. The lower front edge of the cabinet was digging painfully into the muscles of his upper arm, and his head was twisted awkwardly to the side, his cheek pressing up against the cabinet door.

All in all, not the most graceful of positions.

“What if I do this?” Hyacinth wedged herself next to the cabinet and slid her arm around back. Her fingers found the knob easily.

Gareth immediately let go and pulled his arm out from under the cabinet.

“Don’t worry,” she said, somewhat sympathetically, “you couldn’t have fit your arm back here. There isn’t much room.”

“I don’t care which of us can reach the knob,” he said.

“You don’t? Oh.” She shrugged. “Well, I would.”

“I know,” he said.

“Not that it really matters, of course, but-”

“Do you feel anything?” he cut in.

She shook her head. “It doesn’t seem to be moving. I’ve tried it up and down, and side to side.”

“Push it in.”

“That doesn’t do it, either. Unless I-” Her breath caught.

“What?” Gareth asked urgently.

She looked up at him, her eyes shining, even in the dim light of the moon. “It twisted. And I felt something click.”

“Is there a drawer? Can you pull it out?”

Hyacinth shook her head, her mouth scrunching into an expression of concentration as she moved her hand along the back panel of the cabinet. She couldn’t find any cracks or cutouts. Slowly, she slid down, bending at the knees until her hand reached the lower edge. And then she looked down. A small piece of paper lay on the floor.

“Was this here before?” she asked. But the words were mere reflex; she knew it hadn’t been.

Gareth dropped to his knees beside her. “What is it?”

“This,” she said, unfolding the small piece of paper with trembling hands. “I think it fell from somewhere when I twisted the knob.” Still on hands and knees, she moved about two feet so that the paper caught the narrow shaft of moonlight flowing through the window. Gareth crouched beside her, his body warm and hard and overwhelmingly close as she smoothed the brittle sheet open.

“What does it say?” he asked, his breath dancing across her neck as he leaned in.

“I-I’m not sure.” She blinked, forcing her eyes to focus on the words. The handwriting was clearly Isabella’s, but the paper had been folded and refolded several times, making it difficult to read. “It’s in Italian. I think it might be another clue.”

Gareth shook his head. “Trust Isabella to turn this into a fancy hunt.”

“Was she very crafty, then?”

“No, but inordinately fond of games.” He turned back to the cabinet. “I’m not surprised she would have a piece like this, with a secret compartment.”

Hyacinth watched as he ran his hand along the under-side of the cabinet. “There it is,” he said appreciatively.

“Where?” she asked, moving beside him.

He took her hand and guided it to a spot toward the back. A piece of wood seemed to have rotated slightly, just enough to allow a scrap of paper to slide through and float to the ground.

“Do you feel it?” he murmured.

She nodded, and she couldn’t be sure whether she was referring to the wood, or the heat of his hand over hers. His skin was warm, and slightly rough, as if he’d been out and about without his gloves. But mostly his hand was large, covering hers completely.

Hyacinth felt enveloped, swallowed whole.

And dear God, it was just his hand.

“We should put this back,” she said quickly, eager for anything that forced her mind to focus on something else. Pulling her hand from his, she reached out and turned the wood back into place. It seemed unlikely that anyone would notice the change in the underside of the cabinet, especially considering that the secret compartment had gone undetected for over sixty years, but all the same, it seemed prudent to leave the scene as they had found it.

Gareth nodded his agreement, then motioned for her to move aside as he pushed the cabinet back against the wall. “Did you find anything useful in the note?” he asked.

“The note? Oh, the note,” she said, feeling like the veriest fool. “Not yet. I can hardly read a thing with only the moonlight to see by. Do you think it would be safe to light a-”

She stopped. She had to. Gareth had clamped his hand unrelentingly over her mouth.

Eyes wide, she looked up at his face. He was holding one finger to his lips and motioning with his head toward the door.

And then Hyacinth heard it. Movement in the hall. “Your father?” she mouthed, once he had removed his hand. But he wasn’t looking at her.

Gareth stood, and on careful and silent feet moved to the door. He placed his ear against the wood, and then, barely a second later, stepped quickly back, jerking his head to the left.

Hyacinth was at his side in an instant, and before she knew what was happening, he’d pulled her through a door into what seemed to be a large closet filled with clothes. The air was black as pitch, and there was little room to move about. Hyacinth was backed up against what felt like a brocaded gown, and Gareth was backed up against her.

She wasn’t sure she knew how to breathe.

His lips found her ear, and she felt more than she heard, “Don’t say a word.”

The door connecting the office to the hall clicked open, and heavy footsteps thudded across the floor.

Hyacinth held her breath. Was it Gareth’s father?

“That’s odd,” she heard a male voice say. It sounded like it was coming from the direction of the window, and-