Father.The word, the casualness with which it was spoken, knocked the breath from Percy. It was the first time she’d called him by that name. “You’re not wrong, daughter.”
She gave a careless shrug, her gaze occupied on a point at the opposite side of the dancing floor. “If you will excuse me, I must save Mina from an annoyingly persistent young man who won’t stop trying to convince her to dance the waltz with him.” Lucy had taken no more than two steps when she stopped abruptly. “Oh, there’s Hugh.” Her head canted subtly to the side as if she was seeing something she’d never noticed before. “The way Hugh is looking at Mina . . . Is he—?”
“Yes,” Percy supplied. It had only been a matter of time before Hugh made himself obvious to all. Poor lovestruck lad.
Lucy snorted. “Well, that won’t work.”
“Why is that?”
“For starters, she is too good for him. And, second, he wouldn’t be the sort of fellow to catch her interest.”
“No?” Percy asked. He enjoyed his daughter’s certainty. “Hugh is handsome, wealthy, and will be a duke someday.” Based on those qualities, Hugh was exactly the sort of fellow that ninety-nine percent of the female population would snap up in an instant.
Lucy shot Percy an exasperated look. “If we could find a Doctor Frankenstein to reanimate Sir Isaac Newton, that would be Mina’s type.”
“Who? Sir Isaac Newton? Or Doctor Frankenstein?”
Lucy tapped a pensive finger to her chin. “In truth? Either, methinks. She does love a man of science. Now”—Lucy began to move away—“I must save her from Hugh.”
With that, his daughter was gone, and a country squire and his good lady had stepped into her place. They quite carried the conversation without Percy—all he need do was nod and offer an aristocratic smile at the appropriate moment—as he scanned the tent for . . .
At long last, his patience paid off.Isabel.On the periphery of the tent, speaking to Miss Fox. Before he knew what he was doing, he was taking hurried leave of the squire and his lady and crossing the dancing floor, unheedful of the couples swirling around him. It was the shortest distance to Isabel, that was all. “The newly wed,” he heard at his back on an indulgent laugh.
Before Percy could reach Isabel, or even snare her attention, she was on the move, threatening to disappear into the falling night.
Blast.
He’d been a fool to let her out of his sight these last few hours. Even if she had a plan—especiallyif she had a plan—he wasn’t about to repeat the same mistake.
The raucous cacophony of the festivities fell behind him as he strode across the terrace. Squinting into the darkness, he caught only fleeting glimpses of Miss Fox’s white muslin dress ahead as Isabel and Miss Fox entered the trail that led into a dense copse of oak trees. Dogged, Percy followed, his feet guided by instinct and the murmurous susurration of low, feminine voices. He stepped off the path and slowed his step, ears attuned, but the voices had quieted. Then a third voice sounded.Montfort.
Ahead, the trees thinned, and he spotted two figures in the clearing. Isabel and Montfort, facing each other like combatants. Where was Miss Fox—?
“Shh,” he heard. Not fifteen feet to his left, she stood, palm extended, silently exhorting him to stop.
Percy gave his head a snappish shake, his feet continuing forward. He cared not for the exasperated glare she shot his way. He wasn’t about to leave Isabel alone with Montfort. A snippet of their conversation carried on the light breeze.
“’Twas I who was to summon you.”Montfort.“What is it you want?”
Noisily, Percy began crashing through the underbrush, giving Isabel and Montfort fair warning that a third was joining their party. Isabel’s gaze rounded on him. “Percy, you shouldn’t be here.”
For his part, Montfort’s mouth curved into the semblance of a smile, his cold eyes untouched and unsurprised. Percy saw in those eyes what he’d known all along.
This situation was about him and Montfort.
Any damage to Isabel would be collateral, in Montfort’s distorted mind.
“Couldn’t keep away from your new bride? And you, my dear”—Montfort turned to Isabel—“you had me worried. I thought you’d gone and fallen in love with yourhusband. But here you’ve done your duty and led the lamb to the slaughter.” His spidery smile landed on Percy. “Well, lamb might be a stretch. More of a wolf, I suppose.” He shrugged. “Women, perfidious creatures.”
Percy stopped at Isabel’s side. Nerves radiated off her in visceral waves as she retorted, “I don’t think we women have the market cornered on perfidy.”
Montfort took the verbal blow in stride. “Cheswick?”
Baron Cheswick emerged from the copse behind Montfort, looking not at all his usual hale and hearty self, but rather sheepish and contrite.
“What does he have to do with any of this?” Percy asked, the answer occurring to him before he’d finished the question. Rumor had it that Cheswick’s gambling had procured him a small press. Percy would wager his last farthing a scandal sheet was one of its publications. TheLondon Diary, in fact.
“Here is the thing, Bretagne,” Montfort began. “Your activities as the Savior of St. Giles can no longer be tolerated. I know you’re bored, my boy, but I cannot allow you to carry on. Whitehall could have found a use for you. But you’ve gotten in the way of business important to the Crown one too many times.”
