Twice Fallen Read Free Page B

doubt hundreds of years of use had compromised the shaft to the point where right now, at this point in all those centuries, it chose
this moment
to snap off in the lock.
    Slowly, she turned around—saying an inner curse no lady would utter aloud—and instead spoke as calmly as possible. “I think we are locked in.”
    “Oh?” At the distant end of the room, still standing there, negligently sipping his brandy, Lord Damien’s expressionwas too shadowed for her to interpret. “That’s inconvenient.”
    Inconvenient
? Maybe only inconvenient to him, but she really could not afford to be found in a barred room with an unattached male—and how the devil would they explain
why
the door was locked without mentioning Lady Piedmont’s advances anyway?
Or
their presence together in the private library of their host for that matter.
    “The key broke.”
    “Yes, I heard the snap. It causes a bit of a problem. I can easily pick a lock. But one cannot make the tumblers cooperate with a bit of metal lodged in them.”
    The calm tone of his voice caused her to think about lifting up the heavy volume of sonnets sitting on a nearby table and hurling it at his head. Instead she quelled the surge of panic and asked with admirable composure, “How are we supposed to get out of this room?”
    “A good question. The windows, I suppose, though I must say it appears to have started to rain.”
    What
?
    Sure enough, when Lily dashed forward and flung back the draperies, the leaden skies from earlier in the evening had decided to pelt down an early-fall deluge, water sluicing down the glass.
    Her inarticulate sound of dismay was both loud and heartfelt. Even without the barrier of a thorny row of roses under the window, she could hardly jump out and return to the ball soaking wet. Especially if anyone had observed her leaving in the first place; her murmured excuse for her departure a need for the ladies’ retiring room.
    Taking in a steadying breath, she turned, her hands clenching into fists in her skirts. “We need to do something.”
    “I find it curious you phrase it that way.” Damien Northfield still stood by the drinks table, his pose nonchalant. The dark elegance of his clothing suited him, for he was every inch the refined English gentleman.
    Except for those eyes. There was a certain watchful intelligence there that gave her pause. Perhaps even a hint of danger. She asked, “What way?”
    “We.” His smile was slight, just a glimmer of amusement. “You did not demand to know what
I
was going to do to solve our little dilemma. Most women would.”
    “I am not most women.”
    “Yes, I am getting that impression.”
    Was that derision or humor in his tone? She’d have to think about it later. Lily did not relish explaining to him why it would be so very unfortunate if they were caught together. “Lord Damien, I truly must get back.”
    “Let me take a look at the door.” He set aside his snifter—after draining it—and walked toward the other end of the room, taking a long tin instrument out of some sort of sheath in his boot in a deft motion. Then he knelt and in one motion slid it inside the mechanism. When after a few minutes he shook his head, she believed him, for he seemed entirely too proficient in what he was attempting to do to fail if it was possible to get the door open.
    “Maybe the rain is letting up,” she suggested, a little desperate, but the steady sound of the water lashing at the window indicated just the opposite.
    The duchess was going to have her head on a platter.
    “I am not sure I agree.” His tone was dry. “The window I do believe I can manage whenever you wish to exit, but right now seems a poor time. Give it a few minutes for the deluge to lessen.”
    A few minutes? She did not have a few minutes. Before long she would be missed, if she wasn’t already. She could claim a sudden illness. Lily detested lying, but there was also the issue of disappointing the duchess, so how to