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Sir Lionel answered him, his words almost equally distinct. “Indeed I do, son.”

Baines looked at Judith, and she stared back in astonishment while her uncle continued complaining about some obligation involving a magistrate, a horse and an inconvenient luncheon.

“Good heavens,” she whispered.

Baines leaned nearer the wall. “You can hear everything.”

“Apparently. Can they hear us?”

“I sincerely hope not.”

His smile told her precisely what direction his thoughts had taken, and Judith glared until he had the grace to continue walking.

Behind the study the sound carried almost as clearly. The passage then descended three steps, turned sharply and widened into a shallow recess where the masonry had been altered during some forgotten renovation.

Baines stopped and lowered the candle. “Look at this.”

Scratches marked the wooden frame beside a narrow, concealed panel, and Judith needed only a glance to know they were not old. The exposed wood remained pale beneath the dark varnish.

Baines crouched, and Judith knelt beside him as he examined the lower edge of the panel.

“There is ink here.”

A black smear marked the wood.

Judith’s heartbeat quickened. Someone had been here recently.

“Hold the candle.”

She took it while Baines ran his fingers carefully along the floorboards and then reached towards the narrow gap between the wall and skirting. When he straightened, a scrap of paper no larger than two fingers rested between his thumb and forefinger.

He unfolded it carefully.

Only three words remained legible.

Western road. Cavalry⁠—

Judith stared at them. “That was Pembroke’s version.”

“Part of it.”

The passage no longer felt like a childhood curiosity. Someone had stood precisely where she stood now, listening through the walls of Blackthorn and recording conversations intended to remain private. More importantly, someone had recorded the false information closely enough to preserve the substance of Pembroke’s version before combining it with the others.

Baines folded the scrap and slipped it inside his coat as a sound came from the corridor above them. They both looked towards the linen cupboard as footsteps approached.

Baines extinguished the candle, and darkness swallowed them before the outer cupboard door opened. Light appeared faintly around the edges of the concealed panel, followed by the unmistakable rustle of linen.

Without speaking, Baines caught Judith’s hand and drew her backwards into the shallow recess.

There was scarcely room for one person and certainly not two. Judith’s back met the cold stone wall while Baines attempted, with very limited success, to fit the rest of himself into the space without pressing his full weight against her. One hand braced beside her head and the other found the wall near her waist, leaving the breadth of his chest almost flush against hers.

Every useful thought Judith possessed deserted her. His breath stirred the hair near her temple, while one of his thighs rested against the folds of her skirts. The darkness deprived her of the ordinary protections of expression and distance, making her acutely conscious of every point at which his body touched hers.

From beyond the panel came another rustle of linen and a soft mutter. A maid, Judith thought. She ought to identify the voice and consider whether the woman knew about the hidden panel. She ought to be thinking about the scrap of paper inside Baines’ coat and the proof that someone had been using the passage. Instead, she was thinking about his mouth. The realization was intolerable, particularly because the slight change in his breathing suggested that Major Baines might be suffering from a similar failure of concentration. His head lowered fractionally, and Judith’s breath caught before he stopped. Even in the darkness she knew he was looking at her, just as surely as she knew what he wanted to do.

The footsteps moved away, yet neither of them moved immediately. Judith could hear her own heartbeat with embarrassing clarity, and she suspected he could as well. His thumb had somehow come to rest against the inside of her wrist, not moving, merely touching the pulse that was doing its best to betray her.

At last the corridor door closed and silence returned. “She has gone,” Judith whispered.