The man smiled thinly, the expression not reaching his eyes. ‘I have not had the pleasure of meeting any of the Dashworth family prior to this evening and my name is not Arthur.’
Edward stepped back a pace. ‘You are not Arthur Moore? Are you sure?’ Edward realised he sounded like a buffoon, but he didn’t care.
‘No.’ The man glanced over Edward’s shoulder, his jaw tightening at whatever he saw there. Edward risked following his gaze and caught a flash of red at the edge of the dance floor. He was glad Kate was moving, but it wasn’t far enough away for his liking.
The man moved to step past him, but Edward shifted his body, blocking him again. ‘Are you sure you were not at Eton in 1808?’
‘No. 1797.’ The man was a good eleven years older than Edward, older than Tobias too.
The stranger’s eyes glinted and he tried to move past Edward again. The man was tall, but Edward was taller and wider. If it came to a fight, Edward would win. Not only was he stronger, he had three brothers. None of them would relish getting into a brawl in Lady Albrighton’s ballroom, but they would defend him. Edward hadn’t always been sure of that, but he was now.
‘Ah, what is your name then?’ He stood with his hands lightly hanging by his sides, leaning forward on the balls of his feet. To the casual observer he looked relaxed, but anyone watching properly would see he was poised to fight.
The other man’s eyes finally locked with Edward’s. Maybe he noticed Edward’s tone had changed or perhaps the man eventually clocked the way Edward was standing, but Edward saw the moment he realised he was facing an opponent, not a mistaken friend. He stepped back slightly. ‘My name is Michael Chorley,’ he said, his smile showing too many teeth. ‘My wife is a friend of Lady Albrighton. We do not come to London often, but Mrs Chorley wanted some new hats and whatever my wife wants, she has.’
‘Of course. I am sorry to have obstructed you. You look like an old friend of Glanmore’s, but now I see you are not him.’ Still he did not move out of the way, but the man did not try to get past him. ‘I hope you enjoy your short stay in London.’
Chorley nodded briskly before turning on his heel and striding in the opposite direction.
Chapter Nineteen
Lady Albrighton’s conservatory was dark, the only light coming from the moon that picked out the huge potted plants covering the majority of the space and cast long shadows over the tiled floor. Kate squeezed herself between two, her breathing sounding ragged in the otherwise silent space.
Michael Chorley was here, not just in London but in this house. He had been yards away from her when Edward had thrown himself bodily between them. How had he known she needed him? Had her brother told the Dashworth family about Michael? She had hoped he had not. She had wanted to put the man and what had happened with him behind her.
Heavy footsteps sounded outside the conservatory. A man’s definitely. And in a hurry too. Shrinking back, she pushed herself against the solid wall, her whole body trembling. If Mr Chorley found her here, she had no idea what he would do. She should have stayed in the ballroom where he would not have been able to make a scene.
The footsteps stopped and she heard the unmistakable sound of the conservatory door opening followed by the sharp snap of shoes on the tiled floor.
She held her breath, knowing her panicked breathing would otherwise give her away.
‘Kate?’ said a deep voice.
‘Edward,’ she replied, her knees almost giving way as relief swept through her.
‘Where are you?’
‘Over here.’
He didn’t ask again. His footsteps headed towards her.
‘Here,’ she said again as he grew closer.
‘Oh.’ he said when he saw her. ‘What are you doing in there?’
‘I am hiding.’ She would have thought that was obvious. ‘Emily said she hid behind plant pots at balls, so this seemed like as good a space as any.’
He didn’t try to tug her out or step closer to crowd her. Instead, he moved to another pot, slightly further away, and leaned on it, crossing his arms casually as if this were a perfectly normal thing to be doing. ‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’
She pressed herself tighter to the wall. ‘No.’
‘All right.’ He smoothed a hand over the edge of the pot nearest him. ‘What do you think she is growing in these?’
‘Pineapples.’
‘Oh, I have never had one of those. Have you?’
‘No, but I have heard they are delicious.’
