Page 25 of The Viscount's Code
He followed Lord Embury into the study now, finding that the servants had put it mostly to rights, but even Anthony could tell that something was off. Lord Embury rushed to the desk and ran a hand down the side where the panel was hidden from which the book had emerged last time, though, of course, the desk didn’t give away its secrets with simply a touch.
He grunted as he began to lower himself to his knees, but Anthony held out a hand. “Allow me,” he said as he shifted underneath the desk, lying down beneath it before beginning to slide the panels into position.
“How did you know the code, anyway?” the earl asked, and Anthony grunted. “Hope.”
The earl said nothing to that, as it was then that the panel slid open – showing both books waiting inside.
“Thank the Lord,” the earl said with a whoosh of breath, and Anthony agreed with him. He could hardly imagine returning to Gideon, Cassandra and the rest of their friends with the news that their path forward had been blocked, that he hadn’t been able to keep the books safe for the short time he was supposed to be in possession of them.
“Who could possibly have arrived, unnoticed, in the middle of the day?” the earl asked, leaning back against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “There are enough servants around the manor that surely someone would have seen a stranger appear.”
“One would think,” Anthony said. “But consider all of the comings and goings. Food deliveries, the post, merchants. It would be easy to enter disguised. Hell, someone could even pretend to be a servant and walk through the house practically unnoticed, could they not?”
“I suppose,” the earl said with a heavy sigh.
“Have you any new staff?” Anthony asked, to which the earl raised his thick shoulders.
“If we do, I am not aware of it. I leave that up to the butler and housekeeper. My wife will advise if need be.”
“Perhaps look into it,” Anthony said. “In the meantime, we must be careful with the books.”
“When you’re not working on them, best leave them in the desk,” the earl said. “You have leave to enter my study when you need. Be sure that you are not followed or watched.”
“Of course.” Anthony said succinctly.
“Dinner will be served soon. I’ll return them to the desk now,” the earl said. To return the books to the desk, all that was required was to replace them in the recessed opening and shut the panel tight. The only way to open it was through the panels beneath the desk.
It was quite intriguing, and Anthony hadn’t taken the chance to properly notice it before. That seemed to be a pattern for him.
He turned to leave but stopped when the earl called him back.
“Whitehall.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve trusted you with my book, my home, and my daughters. Do not disappoint me.”
At those words, Anthony’s heart hardened. For he knew exactly why the earl had said it. It was a lot to trust him with, considering what he believed about Anthony’s father.
He turned and left without saying another word, but it was a stark reminder that he was not welcome here. He had no claim over Lady Hope, and he was best to do his work and then leave as quickly as possible.
To think he could do any different would only be fooling himself.
CHAPTER10
Hope hardly saw Lord Whitehall over the next week. He spent nearly all of his time with the books in the library, taking many meals in his rooms as he mulled over the code. The only time he took away from his work was usually at dinner, when he was nearly silent, speaking only when required and never looking in her direction.
Many times, she had paused outside the doors of the library, hesitating in the entrance, wondering if she should see if he was interested in her help or discussing what had caused him to completely close off to her – not that he had been overly open before.
But each time, she kept walking. She had no ties to Lord Whitehall besides those regarding this treasure hunt and their connection to Cassandra and Gideon. He had no reason to explain himself to her, and she knew from past experience that if she tried to push him, he would only turn into his usual surly self and make her feel worse.
If this is what he wanted, then so be it.
This morning when she walked by – as the library just happened to be on her path to the breakfast room – she heard a heavy sigh, and this time, she peeked within to see if she could discover just what had him so vexed.
He was sitting at his writing desk in the corner, the books spread out in front of him, his hands in his thick, dark hair which today was uncharacteristically unruly.
“Damn it,” he cried out, as he sat back away from the books and threw down his quill pen, which surprised her, for she’d have thought he would have been much more careful with the ink around the books.
