She followed.
After he’d slid both box and tome back into their places, he straightened, picked up the rolled map of the estate, then caught her gaze and arched an arrogant brow. “Logically, we should start with the house and work outward. Let’s begin in the basement.”
She met his eyes and smiled intently. “That sounds as good a place as any.”
Chapter 8
Armed with Antonia’s copy of the house plans, they consulted Blanchard and, under his aegis, ventured through the green-baize-covered door and down a set of stairs into the servants’ hall, beyond which lay the kitchen and a warren of other rooms.
“We’d like to start at the lowest level of the house.” Sebastian looked at Blanchard. “I assume the cellars are in use?”
“Indeed, my lord. If you will come this way?”
They followed Blanchard into the kitchen, where preparations for the evening meal were in full swing. The cook and her helpers saw them and froze, then downed tools and bobbed curtsies.
Antonia calmly smiled. “Don’t mind us. Do carry on.”
Blanchard led them down the long room, past the curious staff, and into a smaller storeroom. “The cellars are quite extensive, but we use only the nearer sections.” Blanchard halted and waved to a heavy door set into the wall at the end of the storeroom. “You will need these.” Blanchard turned to where lanterns sat on a bench and proceeded to light two. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”
Behind the butler’s back, Sebastian exchanged a look with Antonia. “This is one of those instances in which we’ll know what we’re looking for when we see it.”
Blanchard nodded, then turned and handed one of the lighted lanterns to Antonia. “If you would, my lord—the door’s not locked.”
Sebastian lifted the latch and swung the heavy door wide, noting as he did that not only was the door not locked, it didn’t even have a lock. Nor was there any sign of a bolt. Reaching for the other lantern, he frowned. “This door is never locked?”
“No, my lord. As long as I’ve been here, there have been no locks or bolts on it, and, indeed, we’ve never seen the need.”
Sebastian raised his brows. “What about Ennis’s wines and spirits?”
“Ah—they are stored in a room in the cellars, and that door is locked. The wine room is to the left at the bottom of the stairs.”
“Just so we’re thorough, might we have the key to that door?” Antonia asked.
“Of course, my lady.” Blanchard hauled out a key ring and started searching through his many keys.
Two minutes later, armed with the key to what Blanchard had assured them was the only locked door in the cellars, Sebastian led the way down a long flight of worn stone steps.
“Judging by the dip in the middle,” Antonia murmured, “these date from medieval times.”
Sebastian grunted. The atmosphere in the cellar was cool, but not damp; the air smelled musty, but not oppressively so. Beyond the area lit by their lanterns, the darkness was absolute.
He stepped off the last stair and halted. He raised his lantern and played the beam around, illuminating a collection of stores arranged on wooden shelves, along with a group of wooden crates holding apples and root vegetables. Swinging the beam to the left, he saw the locked door. “Let’s try the wine room first.”
“Yes—oh!”
He spun in time to catch Antonia—or rather, to bodily break her fall. She’d lost her footing and pitched forward. She slammed into him, breast to chest; instinctively, his free arm clamped about her, and he clutched her close.
His senses rioted; valiantly, he beat them down. Her eyes, wide and shadowed in the diffused light, locked with his. For several heartbeats, they froze—both intensely aware, the air around them inexorably heating…
He forced in a tight breath. With it came some semblance of control. Moving slowly, he bent his knees and set her on her feet, then he released her and forced himself to take a step back.
“Thank you.” She sounded breathless. She smiled apologetically at him. “These half-boots are new, and the soles are still slippery.”
He swallowed a grunt. The front of him felt aflame, not just with heat but also with longing.
He stepped around her to the door to the wine room, slipped the heavy key into the lock, turned it, then pushed the door wide. He shone his lantern into the space, then led the way in.
Wine racks were arranged in four rows stretching down the long, narrow room, forming two aisles, each with bottles stacked on either side.
“Look.” Antonia gripped his sleeve. She’d directed her lantern toward the room’s far end. “Barrels!” Twenty or more barrels were stacked end-out against the rear wall.