I’m tangled in Nicolas’s arms and legs, tight against him, which is a lovely place to be caught, and it is only when that odd sensation prickles again that I force myself to lift my head.
I peer around the room. It is empty, of course. I locked the door when I entered, and while I did teach Edmund how to open locked doors—a lesson I may regret—he would never do it to sneak into Nicolas’s room, however curious he might be about our “pirate” guest.
The door is closed, and the house is silent. I decide I am imagining things, and I lay my head down on Nicolas’s chest, only to have that sensation slide over me again, urging me up. With a sigh, I extricate myself from his embrace and move to the edge of the bed. I peer around. All is silent and still.
I am about to crawl back into bed beside him when motion flickers near the door. I tense and glance over. Nothing is there.
“Hello?” I say. “If there is a spirit in the room, I would ask that they make themselves known, please.”
Another flicker, as if a spirit is trying to do as I asked but is unable to materialize. Before I can speak again, the shape comes clear enough for me to make out a human figure. The figure of a man. I catch the barest glimpse of features and blink in surprise.
“Lord Thomas?”
The figure disappears. I get to my feet, pulling my discarded gown around me, and walk to the spot. It is empty, and the ghost does not reappear, but I am certain it was Lord Thomas.
“Miranda?” Nicolas croaks from the bed.
I tell him what I felt and what I saw. Then I say, “I think it is Lord Thomas, attempting to find us but unable to pass over. He must know his son’s men tracked us to Thorne Manor.”
Nicolas sits up. “While I would like to say it can wait until morning, I suppose we should not ignore the poor man. He was quite distressed last evening.”
“Mmm. I agree that I would also like to ignore it, but I would also prefer he not materialize in our bedroom while we are naked in bed.”
“Agreed.” Nicolas reaches for his shirt. “Shall we see how easy it is to pop back to my world? If it is as simple as it seems, we can assure him we are well and promise to return on the morrow.”
That sounds like a reasonable plan, and so we find the rest of our clothing and make ourselves decent for Lord Thomas.
I writeout a note for Rosalind, explaining that we have crossed over and that we should be back when they wake, and if not, to convey my apologies to Edmund. We will return as soon as we are able. I write the note while Nicolas is dressing, and then I find another gown in the travel bag I’d hidden here, a plain traveling dress that will better suit the eighteenth century.
We tiptoe down the hall and into the office. I take Nicolas’s hand, and we hurry to the stitch. This time, I feel the pull of it when we reach the right spot. The room flickers, and footsteps quick-tap down the corridor.
Bronwyn calls quietly, “Miranda? Is that you? There’s something—” but before she can finish, we are in the eighteenth century.
Nicolas glances back over his shoulder, as if Bronwyn could still be there. “Was that Lady Thorne? It sounded as if she wanted to speak to you.”
I am about to agree and suggest we return when Lord Thomas appears through the wall, his eyes wide with alarm. When he sees us, he wilts with relief.
“I have been searching for hours,” he says. “Wherever were you hiding?”
“There’s a secret passage,” I say. “We were beset by your son’s men.”
“Yes, I know. I followed them here, but it is not always easy to travel in this form, and I arrived too late to warn or help you.” He looks at Nicolas. “Where is the satchel?”
“In the passage,” I say. “We have discovered pages that will prove useful. They confirm that your son is trying to take over Hood’s Bay, forcing out the fishermen and smaller shipping companies, with his eye on making it a port to rival Whitby.”
Lord Thomas seems to fade, his shoulders slumping. “I admire his ambition. I only wish I had imparted a sense of righteousness along with it. Dare I ask how dire the situation might be? I want to help the people of the bay, but I do not wish to see my son hang for his ambition.”
“It will not come to that,” I say firmly. “We only wish to use the papers to force him to stop his campaign against the people.”
And, if possible, to trick him into doing or saying something that will prove he ordered Andrés’s death. I won’t say that to Lord Thomas. However disappointed he may be in Norrington, the man is still his son, and he does not need to know the truly reprehensible thing he has done.
“Now,” I continue. “I can assure you we are fine and safe in our cubbyhole, and so if you will allow us to return, we can continue poring over the pages and—”
“No.” He jumps forward with alacrity. “I was worried about you, but that is not why I have been haunting this house all night. They have taken my granddaughter.”
“Emily?” I stiffen.
“My son ordered his men to take her into their custody. He knows she aided your escape, and the mad child...” He shakes his head. “She did not deny it. I thought I was going to rip a hole between the worlds, shouting at her to lie. She is a woman of honor, and she told the truth with her chin high.”