Walking Heartthrob

Chapter 46 Captain Hook's Not a Jolly Roger

"Wait, Lys, we go in through the back door." Daylen took my duffle bag containing my gown from me and guided me away from the front steps which I'd put a foot on to climb. I looked bewildered.

"Back door? But you practically own the place, why do we have to enter like cat burglars?"

"Trust me, it's better to face my father after his guests arrive. That'll give him a reason to guard himself around you." Golly, Daylen's dad sounded like a piece of work.

"Quiet now," Daylen whispered, sneaking me in through a kitchen door. Thankfully, it was empty. Once inside the welcoming warmth, we shook off our coats from the sprinkling of snow that flecked them and I looked around. At least the kitchen was cozy, though I bet the rest of the house wasn't.

"No army of cooks and caterers or anything?" I asked.

"Father always brings in caterers from outside for his parties," Daylen explained. Hmph, Gwan was less generous, making Bealey do most of the work...

"My room is on the third floor, we'll have to take the tunnels to avoid being seen before necessary," Daylen continued with me through the kitchen, like we were criminals here to ransack the place. I halted in my steps.

"Whoa, back up. We have to take the what?" I asked in surprise.

"Tunnels, Lys. My father's house is full of them, nearly all old manors in London are."

"But this place looks so—upscale!" I exclaimed. "Doesn't even look old. And what do people need tunnels for, to hide skeletons or something?"

"No, to get away from family members they loathe, or have affairs in secret," Daylen said dryly, "and this house has been remodeled a lot. Now come on," he whispered with impatience, "I don't want us to get caught!"

"Okay, okay, I'm coming." I followed Daylen out quiet as a mouse through a dim and deserted but well decorated passage, covered with paintings and lush red carpets. When we reached the end, Daylen stopped in front of a panel.

"Oh, don't tell me—" I began, guessing what he was going to do. He pressed the panel and it slid back, then he pushed it to the side and a door's width of a gaping space opened in the wall.

"I knew it," I said with a smirk.

"Knew what?" Daylen asked.

"That you were gonna do that. I've seen it like a hundred times in movies." Daylen gave a tiny smile.

"Well done, Miss Sherlock, now we'd better get moving." Taking Daylen's hand, I trekked through the dark, chilly tunnels of the house, occasionally climbing up flights of stony stairs. It felt like we were in an adventure, hunting for hidden treasure in a time far from the present. Brits sure had a great sense of adventure, building places like this. Though I did wonder about Daylen's ancestors who must have crept through these tunnels once long ago—what furtive, illicit acts did they carry out using them? I voiced my thoughts to Daylen.

"Like I said, Lys, the Griffiths were known for their extra-marital affairs," Daylen replied, and though I could not see his face in the dark, I heard the repulsion in his voice. "A great-uncle of mine hid his mistress here from his wife and a cousin twice removed had several paramours she used to sneak in here. Even my grandfather's brother divorced and remarried but still took thrills in keeping mistresses half his age. It's a damn accursed way to live. My father continues the bloody tradition to this day."

"But you're not like that, Daylen." I squeezed his hand tenderly, feeling the pain and loathing in his voice. I heard him heave a heavy sigh.

"No, Lys, I'm not. I don't ever want to carry that mantle of shame and sin forward. I have you to love and to love only you." I felt him draw closer to me, his warm breath circling my neck despite the chillness emanating from the walls. His hands wrapped around my waist and he leaned me back against the wall nestled in his embrace, his forehead resting on mine.