Griggs waited a long, thoughtful moment before answering. “It would depend on the carrots on offer, my friend.”
The second speaker coughed, muffled, as though using a handkerchief to dampen the sound. “I’m sure I could find something to tempt you.” He evidently made his move, for Griggs let out a woeful groan. “Check.”
Selina opened her eyes. Accustomed now to the dim light filtering through the cracks in the panelling, she saw Malcolm’s jaw tighten. He knew the second speaker, she was sure of it.
“Bribery?” she mouthed. Malcolm gave a tiny shake of his head, warning her not to speak. The hand that still rested on her back flexed subtly, the fingers curling. She could feel how angry he was.
Someone was trying to buy the Twynham election on Malcolm’s behalf, and he was not pleased to discover it.
But that did not explain why he had brought Selina here to listen to Mr Griggs and his unsubtle attempts at intrigue. She was Malcolm’s rival, wasn’t she? Why would he offer her an advantage she could never have discovered by herself?
“I admit that the idea is intriguing,” Mr Griggs was saying, but Selina did not hear his companion’s response.
Her attention was too consumed by the sudden, soft sound of feet coming down the passageway towards them.
Malcolm’s eyes flared wide. Without hesitation, he caught Selina by the wrist and pulled her further down the passageway, deeper into the dust-smelling darkness.
The footsteps, stealthy and slow, had almost turned the corner to their part of the passageway. Selina’s breath burned in her throat, Malcolm’s hand painfully tight on her wrist, her heart racing.
She had no good explanation for following Malcolm into the Whitby family’s secret passageway. None that would not be overridden by gossiping tongues keen to root out a scandal, anyway. She did not need Anthea’s talent for headlines to imagine what the papers would say.
Lady Selina Balfour—caught in the arms of the Duke of Caversham! Will her brother Loxwell call him out? Or is a wedding on the cards?
As Malcolm pulled her around a second corner, away from the intriguing chatter of the game room, she worried for a wild second that she was going to be sick.
But Malcolm moved gracefully, soundless as a shadow, and Selina did her best to match him. They stood together, connected by the pressure of his grip on her wrist, in cool darkness. Neither one breathing. Both straining to listen.
The footsteps stilled behind them. By Selina’s best guess, the interloper had paused just where she and Malcolm had stopped to eavesdrop on Mr Griggs.
Malcolm’s grip relaxed. She made out the silhouette of him covering his mouth with a hand, gesturing for silence, and rolled her eyes. As though she needed to be told!
She had far more to lose than he did if they were caught hiding alone together.
Malcolm took a careful step sideways and ran his hand along the wall beside them. Selina could not see what he was doing, but a crack of light formed a tall rectangle around him; the shape of a door. As he pushed it open, she saw that he was not covering his mouth to hush her.
He was biting his knuckle, trying not to laugh.
The nausea of their almost-discovery still roiled in her belly. She was tempted to slap him. If he had not looked so joyous, so suddenly young and carefree and debonair, rejoicing in his mischief, she would have done it.
The door let out a loud creak.
Malcolm’s face snapped from amusement to horror in a second. There was no time to run – no time to think. The stranger around the corner began walking towards them, his footsteps louder now, not bothering to conceal himself.
Selina knew her terror was written plainly on her face, but Malcolm’s did not reflect it. He seemed to know what to do on instinct – an instinct that probably did not bear careful examination. He whipped off his topcoat and flung it around her, covering her head, her shoulders, the top half of her dress.
Then he caught her in a crushing embrace and pressed her face into his shoulder.
Nothing but a linen shirt came between Selina’s lips and his bare skin. The scent of him was stronger here. It reached inside her, the way a strong glass of wine did, uncoiling tendrils of heat in her innermost places.
The nauseating fear was forgotten. Selina’s heart was pounding for an entirely different reason.
She pressed her hands against Malcolm’s chest, struggling to push herself free, but he held her tight. She felt his sharp intake of breath as the footsteps approached them, and finally understood.
Whoever had entered the passageway behind them could see them plainly. Or rather, they could see Malcolm, caught in an intimate embrace with a woman whose face he had covered with his jacket.
Selina let her body still. It took all her strength not to cry out when she heard what came next.
“Caversham!”
It was a pleasant voice, clearly that of a gentleman, with an all-too-familiar drawl that could not help but identify the speaker.
George Bonneville, Anthea’s husband. The latest but one addition to Selina’s ever-expanding family.
“Good evening, Streatham.” Malcolm’s voice was perfectly even. His arms, clutching her shoulders in the most unnervingly intimate way, did not tremble. In fact, he took the opportunity to stroke a teasing caress down her arm. “I see you were one of Whitby’s Eton chums, too.”
“Cambridge, actually.” George sounded faintly amused. “Sorry to disturb. Are you in need of the – er – the private corridor?”
Malcolm’s fingers curled around Selina’s elbow. She wondered if he knew that it would make her whole arm tingle.
She wondered further what he would do if she sunk her teeth into his shoulder by way of vengeance.
“We were just stepping out,” said Malcolm. He shifted, taking a look out of the doorway he had just opened.
