Emilia Featherstone-Willet crept along the second floor gallery. The slight rustle of her clothing seemed very loud to her nervous ears. The servants had long since retired and the thick walls blocked the outside night sounds. The contrast with the moonlight pouring in the windows made the darkness beyond the railing seem endless.
It also silhouetted her body through the thin material of her gown. Her breasts were of modest size but high and well rounded. Her legs were long and graceful. She loved to dance but didn't often find the opportunity. Her hair was dark, her eyes brown, and complexion slightly darker than was fashionable. Altogether she was an attractive though not extraordinary young woman of three and twenty.
The silence was past creepy and well into ominous. The silver and ebony dagger she held hidden in a fold of her skirt was the only comforting thing about the situation.
Experience and education had taught her that her goal was either high or low. Tonight she'd try the tower and then tomorrow the cellars if necessary. Hopefully, her cover as a dilettante architectural historian would provide her with enough time and access.
She was regretting her decision to dress in character. Barefoot, wearing only a thin nightgown, an Egyptian scarab on a velvet choker and her hair loosely braided and tied with a ribbon, she certainly appeared innocent and unthreatening but if things went sideways.
She tried to push that uncomfortable thought aside and concentrate on her job. The arched opening of the tower stairs loomed out of the dark. The circular staircase climbed into the gloom lit only by the old slit windows. Gingerly she placed a foot on the first step and began her ascent.
Beyond the inner edge of the steps was a lightless void that opened directly to the foundation of the tower. The long fall would be an ignominious end to her mission. Carefully, she held her hem above tripping level and brushed her right hand along the wall as a guide. The arcane dagger stayed in her left where she'd been explicitly and repeatedly told it must.
The stones were cold against her feet and hands. The chill raised goosebumps on her bare arms and crinkled her nipples. The brush of the silky fabric covering them was pleasant but distracting. Emilia paused to listen and catch her breath. Nerves and the climb were making her pulse rapid.
The deep silence remained but a faint musky smell came to her. Not pleasant or unpleasant, she struggled for a word to describe the odor. Disturbing, she thought, that's the best I can do.
The door at the top of the stair was open just a crack and she cautiously peered into the room. The bright light streaming through the large windows made the shadows impenetrably dark. She regarded them with suspicion.
Slowly she swung the door open enough to let her slip inside. Just as she stepped into the room two gloved hands seized her upper arms from behind and hustled her forward. Strands of hair escaped from her plait and drifted across her face. She wanted to try a quick thrust with the dagger but her arms dangled unresponding at her sides.
A well-bred voice spoke against her ear. "It would perhaps have been better, for you, if you had remained in your room. I am, however, delighted to find you here. I am Lord Damon."
