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—
Oh, no. They’d left the drapes pulled back.
Hyacinth grabbed Gareth’s hand and squeezed hard, as if that might somehow impart this knowledge to him.
Whoever was in the room took a few steps, then stopped. Terrified at the prospect of being caught, Hyacinth reached carefully behind her with her hand, trying to gauge how far back the closet went. Her hand didn’t touch another wall, so she wiggled between two of the gowns and positioned herself behind them, giving Gareth’s hand a little tug before letting go so that he could do the same. Her feet were undoubtedly still visible, peeking out from under the hems of the dresses, but at least now, if someone opened the closet door, her face wouldn’t be right there at eye level.
Hyacinth heard a door opening and closing, but then the footsteps moved across the carpet again. The man in the room had obviously just peered into the baroness’s bedchamber, which Gareth had told her was connected to the small office.
Hyacinth gulped. If he’d taken the time to inspect the bedchamber, then the closet had to be next. She burrowed farther back, scooting herself until her shoulder connected with the wall. Gareth was right there next to her, and then he was pulling her against him, moving her to the corner before covering her body with his.
He was protecting her. Shielding her so that if the closet door was opened, his would be the only body seen.
Hyacinth heard the footsteps approach. The doorknob was loose and rattly, and it clattered when a hand landed on it.
She grabbed on to Gareth, clutching his coat along the side darts. He was close, scandalously close, with his back pressed up against her so tightly she could feel the entire length of him, from her knees to her shoulders.
And everything in between.
She forced herself to breathe evenly and quietly. There was something about her position, mixed with something about her circumstance—it was a combination of fear and awareness, and the hot proximity of his body. She felt strange, queer, almost as if she were somehow suspended in time, ready to lift off her toes and float away.
She had the strangest urge to press closer, to tip her hips forward and cradle him. She was in a closet—a stranger’s closet in the dead of night—and yet even as she froze with terror, she couldn’t help but feel something else…something more powerful than fright. It was excitement, a thrill, something heady and new that set her heart racing and her blood pounding, and…
And something else as well. Something she wasn’t quite ready to analyze or name.
Hyacinth caught her lip between her teeth.
The doorknob turned.
Her lips parted.