That is, assuming that he was ever allowed inside the house.
He and Rock had been standing at the foot of the steps leading up to the manor, reins in hand, waiting for a groomsman or a footman to acknowledge their arrival for several minutes.
At this point, neither seemed very likely.
“You realize that we look like fools.” Rock said dryly, leading his horse to the edge of the drive, where he could lean against the side of the wide stone steps to the door of the house. The black seemed to sense his master’s disapproval, pawing at the ground once with an impatient snort.
“We cannot look like fools if we do not have an audience to label us as such. She did not want us here today. She likely doesn’t have servants posted.”
Rock leveled Nick with a frank look. “I see that your insistence upon saving women who are capable of taking care of themselves remains fully intact.”
Nick ignored the words, tossing his reins to the Turk and starting up the stairs, two steps at a time.
Rock followed his movements, curiosity getting the better of him. “What do you mean to do?”
Nick turned from his position in front of the wide oak door with a wry smile. “Why, I mean to do what any good gentleman would do in this situation. I mean to knock.”
Rock crossed his arms over his chest. “This should be entertaining, if nothing else.”
Nick raised the large metal doorknocker and let it fall with an ominous clang, trying to recall the last time he had used a doorknocker.
Before he could entertain the question, however, the door opened. For a very brief moment Nick thought it had done so on its own, until he looked down into a pair of familiar brown eyes, set in the face of a young boy. A young boy with a face covered in what looked suspiciously like strawberry jam.
Nick was not entirely certain how to proceed under such circumstances, but, before he could say anything at all, the child took matters into his own hands.
The door slammed shut as quickly as it had opened.
“THERE’S A MAN AT THE DOOR!”
The screech was loud enough to carry clearly through the thick oak, and Nick, surprised, turned to look back at Rock to confirm that it had all taken place as he thought.
His friend was quaking with deep, rumbling laughter.
“I see you are going to be a great help.”
With a final chuckle, Rock raised one hand in solidarity. “I assure you, once you have breached the castle defenses, I shall throw my full support behind you.”
Nick turned back to the door and, after a long moment of consideration, pressed his ear to the oak, as though he might be able to hear what was going on behind it. Rock let out a bark of laughter at the action, and Nick waved him silent, almost positive that he could hear frenzied whispers coming from inside the house.
Stepping back, he reached once more for the knocker, but was interrupted before he could use it. “Milord?”
He turned to find a tall, lanky boy in wool breeches, white shirtsleeves, and a dirty green waistcoat turning the corner from the side of the house. The boy wore a cap low on his brow, and Nick had a brief moment of questioning why the servant had not removed the hat before he realized that nothing about this estate seemed to operate normally.
“We are here at the invitation of Lady Isabel.”
The boy had reached the foot of the steps, and he paused. “Weren’t you supposed to come tomorrow?”
Ignoring the insolent behavior—when had he ever been questioned by a servant?—Nick replied, “We are here now.”
“You won’t find her inside.”
“Is she not at home?”
The boy leaned back on his heels, considering his words. “She is at home … but not inside.”
Nick began to feel his temper fray. “Boy, I am not interested in playing games. Is your lady in? Or not?”
The servant smiled then, a wide grin that seemed entirely unservantlike. “She is not in. She is out. On top of, more like.” The boy pointed up. “She is on the roof.”
“She is on the roof.” Surely Nick had misunderstood.
“Just so,” the groom said. “Shall I call her?”
The question was so bizarre that it took Nick several seconds to process its meaning.
Not so Rock. Unable to contain his own wide smile, the Turk said, “Yes, please. We should very much like you to call her.”
The boy stepped back to the opposite edge of the drive, cupped his hands around his mouth, and called, “Lady Isabel! You have visitors!”
Nick stepped back from the house himself then, Rock at his side, horses in tow. He stared upward, uncertain of what might come next, unwilling to accept the possibility that the lady he had met earlier in the day would have any reason to be on the roof of her ancestral home, three stories above the ground.
Far above, a head poked over the edge of the house.
It seemed Lady Isabel was, indeed, on the roof.
Dear God. The woman had a death wish.
The head disappeared for a moment, and Nick wondered if perhaps he was hallucinating. When it reappeared, he found himself disappointed that the whole afternoon was not a figment of his imagination.
“You were not supposed to arrive until tomorrow.” The words carried down to him. “I am not receiving.”
Rock gave a little bark of laughter and offered, “It appears we have found a woman who does not consider you so irresistible.”
Nick cast a sidelong glance in the direction of his friend. “You are not helping.” Turning resolutely away from Rock, he called up, “It seems a good thing I came today, Lady Isabel. It appears you may need saving again.”