It was Freddy. Trembling, she flung herself at him and fell into a tight embrace.

“Are you all right?”

Nearby, Greggson moaned, and in the corridor footsteps clattered. Freddy was wise to whisper. Greggson wasn’t unconscious.

She snuggled against his shoulder, relishing a warmth no man had ever offered her. Freddy had rescued her. He’d risked much—Greggson was a dangerous man.

Murmurs in the corridor grew closer, and Greggson groaned more loudly. She untangled herself and stepped back. “Go. Papa’s coming, and Greggson is coming to.”

Greggson stirred, and Freddy stepped toward him.

She grabbed his arm and tugged him along toward the servant’s door.

“Go,” she whispered.

“No. Your father—”

“Will protect me. Us.”

His dark gaze melted her, heat uncoiling deep within her. Freddy had honor, and courage, and strength. He’d saved her, and now she must save him.

“Us?” The word whispered through her, their lips almost touching. “Tilly—”

Cloth rustled as Greggson stirred.

“No.” She shook her head. “Here.” She handed Freddy the single taper she’d been carrying. His own brace of candles rested on the sideboard near the servant’s passage. He was lucky Greggson hadn’t spotted him.

Gloved fingers cradled her cheek, spiking more warmth.

“I’ll be right here, on the other side.”

She nodded and pulled the door closed on Freddy’s boot. Papa’s footsteps moved closer, but Greggson’s arms and legs were moving as well.

One serving tray remained, laden with cutlery. She grabbed a sharp knife just as the corridor door opened, admitting her father and Lord Farnsworth.

Papa froze, the lamp he held lighting his features, his gaze landing upon the knife in her hand. “Tilly?”

She let out a long breath and followed his line of sight to her trembling hand.

Freddy peered through the slit in the door opening, anger still quaking inside him. How dare Greggson touch the lass?

It wouldn’t happen again. He’d see to it, just as soon as he had a moment alone with the maw-worm.

“Tilly,” Sir Newton said again, and there was astonishment in the older man’s voice. “Whatever has happened, my dear?”

The voice grew louder as the Squire approached.

“What is going on here, Greggson?” Sir Newton asked sharply.

“Mr. Greggson surely stumbled,” Tilly said. “In the dark. We didn’t know you’d left and when we returned, you’d put out all the lights on the table except those.”

“That’s quite a stumble.” Farnsworth must have drawn nearer, as his voice carried more clearly. “I’ll fetch you a brandy, Greggson, though perhaps you had more than enough wine to have hit the wall so handily.”

“Thank you,” Greggson said. “Actually, I fear I must have a private word with you, Sir Newton.”

“A private word? Tilly, where is the footman?”

Freddy held his breath, waiting for her reply.

“I sent him to alert the stables. Mr. Greggson wanted to leave before the rain worsens and I thought perhaps you would wish to return safely home also, Lord Farnsworth.”

His heart lifted. She was not just lovely, but smart to boot and she could work her away around the truth without telling an outright lie.

“I fear I must talk to you tonight, sir,” Greggson said, clearing his throat.

The hair on Freddy’s neck rose as his fists clenched.

“You see,” Greggson said, “Miss Fenwick and I—”

“Saw the ghost,” Tilly blurted out. She reached for her father’s hand tugging him towards her.

“The ghost, my dear?”

“Yes, Papa. I hesitated to say it. It was the most astonishing thing.”