Atlantis Betrayed by Alyssa Day Page B

later, considering how lovely the housekeeper’s niece is,” Hopkins said, stepping forward to take her bag.
    Fiona decided she’d had enough to deal with for one night and chose to put this latest problem aside. Far aside. Perhaps for the next ten years or so, or at least the next few months, until Sean grew out of it or switched his affections to the housekeeper’s niece.
    “Nice pajamas,” she said, managing a grin. He still wore his perfectly creased jacket, shirt, and trousers. “Do you sleep in that outfit?”
    A shadow crossed his face, probably at her pathetic attempt to force a bit of lightness into her voice. “Well, then? How did it really go?”
    “It could have been better,” she admitted. “We have a bit of a problem.”
    Hopkins narrowed his eyes, but she just shook her head. “Upstairs. When we’re in my office.”
    “I see. That big of a problem,” was all he said, before leading the way into the house.
    “Oh, my dear Hopkins. You have no idea.” As she followed him through the house and up the wide staircase to her second-floor office, she wanted to laugh but clamped her lips shut against it. She was afraid if she started, the edge of wildness racing through her would come out in hysteria, and one thing a lady must never do was succumb to hysteria. Her grandfather had told her that often enough, generally while brandishing his cane through the air and terrifying the servants. Odd that he’d never addressed the issue of a lady going to prison for the rest of her life. That lecture might have come in handy right about now.
    As she trudged up the stairs, her thoughts returned to the mystery man. Whatever he was up to, she hoped—quite illogically—that he was safe.
    “We’re going to have to put something in that space, you know.” Hopkins indicated the empty space on the wall where her grandfather’s portrait had claimed pride of ownership on the landing.
    When she was a little girl, she’d always thought the eyes in the painting followed her around. Frankly, it had felt like that now that she was an adult, as well. That’s why she’d finally asked that it be taken down, ostensibly for cleaning. It felt wrong to tell her staff that a painting “creeped her out,” as Declan would say. Not very ladylike. It sat in the attic now, draped, where her grandfather’s dead, painted eyes couldn’t glare down at them all anymore. As far as she was concerned, it could stay there forever.
    “Something with tiny kittens and butterflies, perhaps, and a motivational slogan such as ‘Hang in there, pussycat,’ ” Hopkins continued, his voice drier than ever.
    She laughed and stumbled, almost missing the step. “What on earth are you talking about?”
    “Just checking in to see if you were listening. We do need to hang something, though. The bare space is too dramatic and invites questions. Perhaps another deceased family member with a slightly less dour countenance?”
    She shivered. “Not likely. How about you, Hopkins? We’ll have your portrait done. You can even wear the sheep pj’s.”
    His un-butler-like snort sounded as it reached the second floor. “Yes. I’ll put that in my planner straightaway. Shall we say Tuesday of never?”
    She caught up with him and put a hand on his arm. “I’ll tell you more, later. But with Declan, I’m going to . . . play it down, shall we say.”
    He stopped walking and stared at her in silence for a long moment, then finally inclined his head. “As you say. He’ll never be off to university if he thinks his big sister is in danger. He’s quite protective of you, you know.”
    “He’s not the only one,” she said, flashing a sudden grin.
    She started off again, but this time he caught her arm. “ Are you in danger?”
    Fiona bit her lip, thinking about how to respond. Finally she went with truth. Always easiest to remember. “I might be. This time, I really might be.”
    The door to the last room on the right of the warmly lit hallway