Margaret slippeda dressing gown over her night rail and then stepped into a soft pair of slippers. Tonight’s visit would be vastly different than that last time she’d gone to this particular chamber.
Hopefully, he had returned to the manor by now. She did not wish to think what he might possibly be doing if his chamber was empty.
With an odd sense of déjà vu, she checked the corridor and upon seeing no one lurking in the shadows, padded her way to his chamber for the second time since the house party had commenced.
Arriving, she realized she could not really knock. Anyone else was as like to hear her as the occupant. She turned the latch and slipped into the dark room. Again, she could see nothing.
“Sebastian,” she whispered. “Are you here?”
Nothing… except breathing. Soft snoring sounds, in fact.
She tiptoed to where she knew the window was located and then pulled the drapes open wide. There was just enough moonlight to barely illuminate the room. Ah… yes. He was here— sprawled atop the bed, still wearing the clothing he’d had on that afternoon—except for his jacket.
Even in his state of disarray, he was… marvelous to look at. Margaret sighed.
Eyeing the sinewy strength of his thighs and buttocks, she could not help but think that he was a perfect specimen of the masculine form… from a purely artistic point of view, that was.
She was never one to want to paint portraits, in fact, her talents did not lend themselves to them, but she would like nothing better than to have Sebastian Wright sit for her. Nude? She dismissed the idea, exasperated with herself.
“Sebastian,” she whispered.
“Grmph.” He shifted his legs slightly but otherwise didn’t move.
She walked quickly to the bed and leaned forward so that she might speak directly into his ear. “Sebastian, you must wake up.” She was not going to sleep a second until she located the ring.
“Brtinkfunkle…” A truly ridiculous response. “Goway…”
“Sebastian.” She placed her hand on his arm and shook him slightly. “I cannot find the ring! Did you bring it back with you?”
He surprised her this time by rolling over, a dreamy smile stretching his lips. “Maggie.” One hand reached up for her. “You came back.”
Despite his jug-bitten state, he tugged at her in a crude attempt to pull her into the bed with him and if it hadn’t been so high off the floor, he might have succeeded.
“I cannot find the ring, you addle pate.” She pushed away from him, alarmed that her inclination was to climb in beside him.
She wanted him; she wouldn’t be so hypocritical to deny that. But for now, she needed to locate the ring.
Sebastian remained motionless on the bed, eyes closed, but his obnoxious grin remained.
What to do now? Margaret pinched her lips and forced her eyes to search the room, almost as if she might find some clue as to where the ring might be.
Wardrobe, desk, chair, Jacket…
Wait.
With renewed hope, she snatched the jacket up and began rifling through any pockets that might have been sewn into it.
Handkerchief. Fine linen with what she supposed must be his family crest embroidered on one corner. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled. Spicy, clean. Much like the man who carried it around. She placed it on the wardrobe and resumed her search.
Pencil. Short. Practical. She set it beside the handkerchief.
Journal. The same one she’d seen him make a note in on more than one occasion. She flipped through it and without reading the contents, appreciated the small but tidy handwriting interspersed with various drawings of ships and unidentifiable contraptions that filled over half the pages. His diligence made her smile as she placed it atop the handkerchief and delved deeper into the same pocket.
A hairpin? One of her hairpins?
She blinked at it and then, setting it aside, moved to another pocket.
Here, she found a leather pouch, similar to the one she’d seen George with earlier. Perhaps he’d placed the ring in it for safekeeping?
