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“There must be a trigger,” Angelo muttered, still keeping his voice low. “Some specific pressure point or sequence. If you would show me, Isolde. If you would trust me enough to reveal how you move through these passages. I will not reveal anything without your permission.”

Still no response. Angelo had not truly expected one, not with Lorenzo and Nicholas so near. It was a particular torment to be so close, yet held at a distance from the woman who was winning his heart. So powerless to approach her without explicit invitation.

He would have to wait until tonight. Would have to hope that Isolde appeared again, that she would be willing to share more of her secrets now that they had crossed the threshold of that first kiss.

The memory of her kiss sent warmth coursing through Angelo’s heart. He closed his eyes briefly, reliving the moment. The sweetness of it, the sharp intake of her breath, the way she had trusted him as if she had been waiting her entire life for that touch.

He wanted more. Wanted to kiss her again, to hold her properly without fear of her fleeing. Wanted to learn what made her laugh, what she dreamed about, what she desired from life beyond the shadows she inhabited.

But wanting and having were two different things. And until Isolde trusted him enough to reveal the full truth of her situation, Angelo would have to content himself with whatever scraps of connection she was willing to offer.

“Find anything interesting?”

Angelo started at Lorenzo’s voice, guilt flooding through him even though he had technically been examining the organ as instructed.

“Nothing obvious,” Angelo said, rising from his crouch. “The craftsmanship is extraordinary, but I see no hidden mechanisms or unusual features.”

Lorenzo nodded, looking disappointed but not surprised. “Gabriel reported the same. The organ appears to be simply an organ, however magnificent.”

They continued their examination for another hour, the three of them working through every visible surface of the Hall of Reflections. They tapped on mirrors, examined carvings, tested every decorative element for hidden functionality.

They found nothing.

Finally, Lorenzo called a halt, his frustration evident in every line of his body. “We are missing something. There must be a key we do not possess, a piece of information we lack. But I cannot determine what it is from visual examination alone.”

“Perhaps the organ expert Gabriel mentioned will provide insights,” Angelo suggested. “Someone with deep knowledge of the instrument’s construction might notice things we cannot.”

“Perhaps,” Lorenzo agreed, though he sounded unconvinced. “Or perhaps we are pursuing the wrong approach entirely. Matteo embedded clues in architecture and art across Britain. Maybe the answer lies not in this hall itself, but in understanding his broader pattern of work.”

Nicholas, who had been silent for some time, finally spoke. “Or perhaps the water damage that destroyed the musical notation was simply bad luck. Perhaps there is no way forward from here, and we must accept that the trail has gone cold.”

“No.” Lorenzo’s response was immediate and firm. “I refuse to accept that. There is always a way forward. We simply have not found it yet.”

His determination was admirable, but Angelo could see the strain it exacted. Lorenzo had invested so much, years of research, enormous amounts of money, his family’s reputation, into proving Matteo’s genius. The thought of failure after coming so close must be unbearable.

Angelo resolved to help however he could. Not just because Lorenzo was his friend, but because solving the mystery of Matteo’s puzzle might be the key to freeing Isolde from her self-imposed isolation. If they could uncover what she guarded, could understand the full scope of Grimsfell’s secrets, perhaps she would no longer feel compelled to hide.

It was a slim hope, but Angelo clung to it nonetheless.

Eventually, they closed the Hall of Reflections for dinner, each man lost in his own thoughts. Angelo ate mechanically, tasting nothing. His mind was already moving ahead to later in the evening when he might see Isolde again.

Tonight, he would ask her directly about the passages. Would request that she share what she knew about Matteo’s work, about the purpose of the Hall of Reflections, about the secrets her family had guarded for generations.

It was a risk. Pushing too hard might drive her away, might make her retreat into the passages where he could not follow.

But Angelo was beginning to understand that some risks were worth taking. That the potential reward of truly knowing Isolde, of helping her step into the light, was worth the danger of losing her entirely.

Tonight, he would take that risk.

And pray that his silver angel trusted him enough to share the truth.

CHAPTER 11

“A thousand vague and fearful conjectures haunted her mind, and she endeavoured in vain to arrange them.”

Ann Radcliffe

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