"In that case, I wondered if you'd care to join us for a supper party next week. Harteford has made a new acquaintance,"—the briefest of pauses betrayed the marchioness' intention—"a very nice gentleman by the name of Mayberry. He's an earl and quite handsome…"
As Helena waxed on about the earl's attributes, Marianne wondered when she and her friend had switched roles in their relationship. Not so long ago, it had been Helena who askedherfor advice in the matters of love and romance; now the happily married marchioness saw fit to do the dispensing. And it nettled Marianne's pride.
"Thank you, but I am capable of finding my own gentlemen," she drawled, cutting the other off. "Trust me, there is no shortage."
"I know that, of course. You are ever so popular, Marianne. 'Tis only…" Helena flushed, yet her shoulders drew up. "I wonder if you are trulyhappy. And if your reluctance to settle down has something to do with your past. Whenever I ask you about your marriage to Lord Draven, you clam up."
Though Marianne resisted, Draven's nasal, angry tones sliced through her, sharper than any crop:This is your fault, you worthless bitch! I've never had this problem before. Beneath your beauty, you're nothing more than a dirty cunt. Well, you had best employ your whore's tricks or you shall never see your Primrose again…
Her hand trembled slightly as she smoothed her skirts. "Suffice it to say, I have no desire to call any man my lord and master again. Please, Helena," she said icily, "let us move onto a less tedious subject."
The marchioness's shoulders fell, hurt sliding across her soft features.
Stifling a sigh, Marianne said in gentler tones, "In point of fact, we have more pressing matters to discuss. How is our young Miss Percy faring?"
A few days ago, Helena had apprised her of their mutual friend Miss Persephone Fines' entanglement with a scoundrel named Gavin Hunt. Marianne regretted any inadvertent part that she'd played in the fiasco. She'd considered herself a mentor of sorts to the feisty Percy, and when Percy had come to her for advice on love, she'd given it freely. She hadn't known, however, that the object of the spirited miss' affections was Hunt, a notorious gaming hell owner who turned out to be a nemesis of Harteford's.
Lud, could the plot thicken any further?
"The dear girl seems to be doing better now," Helena said, though she sounded far from certain. "Her mama should be arriving at any minute, and I must ask you not to mention the matter. Poor Mrs. Fines has been beside herself with worry. Imagine—Percy getting mixed up with some riffraff from the stews!"
Marianne's brows lifted. "Yes, imagine that. Falling in love with a man from the rookery."
"That's not what I meant," Helena said with a huff. "Besides, Harteford may have been born in that unfortunate place, but he is in every way a gentleman. Unlike this detestable fellow Hunt. Why, I'd like to... wring his neck for planning to hurt Percy, not to mention Harteford!"
Amused, Marianne took in the spots of color on her friend's rounded cheeks. "I misspoke earlier. You're no Mother Hen, my dear, but a tigress when it comes to your own."
The arrival of the new guests forestalled further discussion. Mrs. Anna Fines, a kindly bespectacled lady of comfortable years, was escorted by her son Paul, a handsome blond rake near Marianne's own age. Helena's butler arrived with refreshments, and soon polite conversation mingled with the tinkling of silver tongs used to serve the bite-sized pastries and sandwiches. Marianne hid a yawn as Paul Fines did his utmost to flirt with her.
Wearying of the scene, she readied to take her leave. At that moment, however, Helena's husband, the Marquess of Harteford, came barging into the drawing room. Following at his heels was another man, equally large and rather brutal looking due to the scar that ran from cheek to jaw. Marianne's brows climbed.
Clearly, things are about to get interesting.
After introducing the stranger as none other than the infamous Gavin Hunt, Harteford said abruptly, "Percy may be in danger. I'll explain all later. First we must locate her—where is she?"
"Hatchard's," Anna Fines said. "Mr. Kent went with her and planned to bring her here afterward."
At the mention of the policeman, the conversation faded to the rushing of blood in Marianne's ears.Kent might come here... today?Tingles tiptoed up her spine; she chided her own foolishness. She'd already taught Kent a lesson, and matters were settled between them. If she saw him, she would treat him with coldpolitesse. And, if he was as smart as she suspected he was, he'd stay out of her path.
The door swung open—it had been doing that a lot this afternoon—and Kent entered with a rapid stride. His keen gaze took in the room, latched upon her face. The spark of surprise across his features was quickly snuffed by the grimness of his expression. Then he spotted Hunt, and his lean frame went rigid.
"What are you doing here?" Kent demanded.
"Where is Percy?" Hunt shot back.
Marianne gripped the strings of her reticule as a premonitory chill touched her nape.
Raw emotion flashed in Kent's remarkable eyes... shame?
In a hoarse voice, he said, "She has been taken."
* * *
In the hallway outside the drawing room, Helena said, "Heavens, poor Percy at the mercy of kidnappers! Who knows what these enemies of Mr. Hunt are capable of? If anything happens to her—oh, I do wish I could help!"
"Don't overtax yourself, dearest," Marianne said. "In your condition, you'd be more hindrance than help. Harteford would be mad with worry over you—and you know he needs his concentration in this instance."
Helena bit her lip and nodded. Her hazel eyes glimmered with anxiety.
