"Never mind that now. I need to have a few words with you. Follow me to my office," Dalrymple said in peremptory tones.
Ambrose saw no choice but to obey. As he passed by Johnno, the waterman gave him a sympathetic nod. Ambrose followed his supervisor, preparing for things to go from bad to worse.
* * *
"I hope you are not finding us dull, Lady Draven. Perhaps it is just that our company is... different from what you are accustomed to?"
Marianne's attention snapped back to the drawing room. To the circle of ladies sitting on the little gilt-backed chairs, their expressions tinged with scorn. For the past hour, she'd been subjected to relentless condescension; fortunately, she'd been too busy plotting her next move with Pendleton to pay them much mind. Faced with a direct question, however, she needed to reply.
"Different? In what way do you mean, Lady Castlebaugh?" she said with feigned innocence.
The middle-aged duchess gave a brittle laugh. "I merely meant to say that you must be unused to being surrounded by the gentler sex. 'Tis well known that you are popular amongst the gentlemen, my dear."
Coy looks spread around the circle, and one of the ladies, a petite, newlywed countess, turned bright pink.
Marianne returned the duchess' smile. "'Tis a problem, I'm afraid." She gave a flick to her skirts, noting the envious way several ladies eyed Amelie Rousseau's latest creation: the color of tender leaves, the airy muslin fitted sleekly to Marianne's upper torso before cascading into an unexpected celebration of tiered flounces. "Then again," she drawled, "I'd say 'tis a better problem than the opposite... but for that I must solicit your opinion,dearLady Castlebaugh."
Several of the ladies tittered. The little countess fanned the air with rapid strokes.
"I certainlycannotspeak to that," Lady Castlebaugh snapped. Despite her distinctly horse-like features, Her Grace's vanity was well known. "Any timeIspend in the company of gentlemen, however, falls within the bounds of propriety and good taste."
"Of course, my lady. Would I suggest any different?" Marianne waited a heartbeat. "And speaking of good taste, I've heard it said that your newest groom is rather... delicious."
Lady Castlebaugh's narrow cheeks turned scarlet as gazes flew to her. Marianne smiled placidly. It always paid to know theon-dit; in this case, the duchess' penchant for bedding servants followed a tiresomely predictable pattern.
Truly, Marianne had no use for this meaningless drama; she had important matters to attend to. She got languidly to her feet. "I declare, all this talk of gentlemen makes me want to search them out. I wonder where they have gone?"
Strained silence filled the room. Then the young countess spoke up. "I think they are in the billiards room," she volunteered shyly. Marianne was surprised to note the sparkle of admiration in the other's gaze.
"Put a bunch of gentlemen in a room, and they must knock their balls together," Marianne said with a sigh. "I suppose I will go interrupt their manly endeavors."
She gave a mock curtsy before departing the group. Behind her, she heard the countess' gurgled laughter, which was quickly stifled by a reprimand by Castlebaugh, the old bat.
Alone in the corridor, Marianne made her way towards the billiards room. She paused outside the doors, listening to the rumble of masculine conversation. Satisfied that they sounded sufficiently occupied, she moved on. She turned right and headed unerringly to Pendleton's study. Her heart galloped as she looked this way and that. No guests or servants were nearby: a rare opportunity.
She tried the beaded knob, but it did not turn. Plucking a jeweled hair pin from her coiffure, she set to work on the lock. The hair pin had dual purposes: it would serve as a tool for entry and an alibi. Pendleton had given her a tour of the house earlier. If he happened upon her in the study, she'd simply say that she'd lost her hair ornament and had returned to look for it.
The lock clicked, and, with another quick glance around, she slipped inside. Her eyes travelled over the baroque grandeur of Pendleton's private sanctuary. Wealth and influence saturated the gilt and velvet, the antique furnishings that had been used to entertain visiting monarchs over the centuries. Goose pimples dotted her skin. The man who owned this room had power at his disposal... and was not one to cross lightly.
But if Pendleton had Rosie, then woe be it to him.
With determined steps, Marianne made her way to the imposing desk. The globe atlas on the blotter rattled as she yanked on the top drawer. To her surprise, it slid open. A quick rummage through each of the drawers revealed why: there was nothing out of the ordinary within.
Blowing out a breath, she surveyed the room.If I were Pendleton, where would I hide my secrets?She went to the pair of large portraits hanging on the wall opposite the desk. The elegant, fashionable poses suggested the work of the popular society painter, Sir Thomas Lawrence. One frame portrayed her host posed with his arm upon a Greek column; the other showed his mama, a stern-faced dowager, sitting beneath a weeping willow. Running her hands along the edges of the heavy frames, Marianne found no obvious mechanisms, no hidden cache behind the paintings.
Dash it all, there has to be a clue in the study. Something hiding in plain sight...
Her gaze returned to the globe on the desk; she suddenly recalled one that a shopkeeper had tried to sell her.Inside is a hidden compartment, my lady, a safe for your fine jewels.Going over, she crouched so that she was eye level with the sphere. She examined the markings on the papered surface, her fingers tracing over the lines. Her pulse sped up as she encountered a faint, nearly imperceptible groove along the Tropic of Cancer. She continued rotating the globe until her index finger landed against a notch. A locking mechanism of some sort.
She inserted her hair pin... and the door opened behind her.
"What are you doing in here?"
She jerked away from the globe, spinning around to see Pendleton in the doorway, staring at her with cold eyes. Her heart gave a panicked lurch as he shut the door behind him and came toward her, his features carved with menace.
"M-my lord," she stammered.
"What in blazes are you doing in my study?"
