Chapter Twenty-Three
Julius leapt from the carriage before it stopped rolling. The moon had emerged from the clouds, and the shadow of St. Katherine’s bell tower slanted across the front of Simon’s. The footman at the front of the club hurried to open the door but wasn’t fast enough. Julius ran into it, leading with his shoulder, and burst through.
He ignored the flare of pain that shot through his arm and raced to the meeting hall where the debate would be held. A crush of men formed a barrier. Pushing his way through, Julius kept his eye out for any flash of muslin. An untidy bun of mahogany hair. Anything feminine.
Men joked and jostled each other, obviously growing impatient for their night’s entertainment. Julius cursed. Amanda could be five feet from him and he wouldn’t see her. He forced his way to the raised stage, pushing men aside, ignoring their shouts of displeasure.
Jumping onto the wood planks, he searched the crowd. No Amanda. No Lady Mary. He breathed deeply through his nose. He needed to think. Amanda was most likely in a waiting room, and there was nothing for him to worry over.
Dunkeld entered the room and made his way to the stage. The throng of men parted before him like waves before a frigate. Size had its advantages.
Climbing the stairs at the side of the stage, Dunkeld asked, “Do you see them?”
A boyish face Julius recognized jogged after Dunkeld. Bertie beamed and stuck a hand out to Julius. “I’m glad you could make it. We’re just about to get started, just as soon as we find our debaters.”
Julius’s fist involuntarily clenched, and Bertie winced. Releasing the young man’s hand, Julius took a step closer. “What do you mean? Where’s Miss Wilcox?”
Bertie flexed his fingers. “Well, I’d left the women in the back study, but they must have wandered away.” His eyes lit up. “Oh, look, there they are now.”
Julius spun and saw Lady Mary holding the arm of Hanford as he led her into the room. The marquess stopped and said a few words with one man, slapped the back of another.
Julius leapt off the stage. He hit the back of a squat man in garish orange pantaloons and bounced off.
Dunkeld steadied him with a hand at his shoulder. “Allow me.” The Scotsman started forward, and bodies either jumped out of the way or were tossed aside like yesterday’s newspaper.
Julius followed in the path his friend created. But when they reached Hanford, Julius stepped around Dunkeld and into Hanford’s space. “Where is she?”
Hanford rounded his pale blue eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Miss Amanda Wilcox.” Planting his feet wide, Julius gripped the lapels of Hanford’s coat. “You will tell me where she is right now.”
Lady Mary’s gaze darted between the two men. “We left her in the back room.”
“She isn’t there now.” Julius shook the man, and was pleased when Hanford let out an unmanly squawk. “Where. Is. She?”
Bertie rushed up to them. “Julius! You can’t manhandle the marquess in the middle of our club.”
Dunkeld placed a palm on the young man’s chest. He glanced back at Julius. “He’s right, you know.”
Smiling grimly, Julius said, “Then you’ll have to excuse us. Lady Mary, please stay here.” Pulling Hanford on to the tips of his booted toes, Julius strode from the room, dragging the flailing man behind him. He headed down the hall to one of the smaller smoking rooms and kicked the door open. He flung Hanford onto a low-lying settee.
Dunkeld closed the door behind them. He jiggled the handle and frowned. “You broke the lock.”
Someone pounded on the door. “This is supposed to be a friendly debate,” Bertie yelled through the wood.
With one hand pressing the door shut, Dunkeld grabbed a low bureau and dragged it to block the frame. “That should give us plenty of time.”
“Time for what?” Hanford jerked on his cravat and pushed to his feet. Julius shoved him back down. Bright red blotches darkened the marquess’s face. “I demand you tell me the reason for this impertinence.”
Julius cracked his neck. “You already know the reason. I’ve asked you twice. Don’t make me ask a third time.”
“This is about Miss Wilcox?” Hanford pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. “Lady Mary and I left her in the sitting room. I know nothing further.”
“Horse shit.” Dunkeld crossed his arms over his chest, the wool of his jacket’s sleeves pulling taut across the biceps.
“I agree.” Julius bent over Hanford, placing one hand on the man’s knee, the other on his shoulder. The thin silk of the man’s pantaloons provided no protection. Julius dug his thumb into the nerve on the inside of his leg.
Hanford yelped and tried to jump off the settee.
