* * *
Pip'sfirst impulse was to follow him. After all, she knew where he was going and why. She could intercept him. Warn him.
Except that he wouldn't believe her. Not unless she walked in on him in the act of searching for the plans. There was no question it was Beau the men had been talking about. Pip had long since known of Beau's involvement in a group set on protecting the crown. Her own brother Alex was in the same group, who had long since been dubbed Drake's Rakes. And Alex had just been here on much the same mission.
Neither of them knew she knew, of course, even though years ago she had tried to tell Alex. Pip decided that that made her all the more vital to Beau right now. After all, Alex had left the house party along with the other Rakes who had been here, so Beau needed someone to watch his back. And only Pip had seen his enemies make their plans this evening. Only she could protect him from his enemies.
She hoped.
Putting on her most credulous expression, which had always served her well when she wished people to underestimate her, she turned to follow him past the swaths of crimson silk that hung from the chandeliers and camouflaged the corridor.
She had almost made it out of the ballroom when Lizzie's mother, the duchess, stepped in front of her.
“Dearest Pip,” she said with a gentle smile, her hand on a short, pudgy gentleman's arm. “I haven't seen you dancing.”
Biting back a protest, Pip halted. “Oh, I have been, your grace. But the Princess of Wales wished a word.”
“And now Mr. Larson has expressed a desire to make your acquaintance. I am quite certain he would enjoy a boulangère with you.”
Blast. The last thing Pip needed. Mr. Larson had the look of a man who would be difficult to shake off. And she simply did not have time.
“When I return if I may, Mr. Larsen,” she said. “Right now, I'm afraid I have need of the women's retiring room.”
And a man couldn't very well argue with that.
Mr. Larsen's dim brown eyes widened at her solecism. “Oh, yes. Quite. Indeed.”
Before the duchess could protest, Pip had slipped past.
Thank heavens Ripton Hall had become something of a second home while her parents were in Russia, because Pip knew it like the back of her hand. Not only did she know exactly where the library was, she knew how to route herself to camouflage her intended destination.
The place was immense, three hundred years of ducal excess built around the cloistered square of a once-proud Cistercian abbey. The public rooms were to the south, with the ballroom on the ground floor and the dining room and card room a floor up, a corridor away from the family rooms and the duke's private library. So it was a quick trip up the stairs and along the corridor, nodding to strolling guests, smiling at well-known footmen as if she were simply heading to the retiring room, which was just around the corner.
She had just turned that corner when several women stepped out of the retiring room. Drat! Since there was no other reason for her to be in the hallway, she smiled and nodded.
“Oh, Pip, dear,” one of them trilled, and Pip braced herself for the inevitable venom. “I haven’t seen Viscount Drummond dancing with you tonight, have I?”
Pip smiled back just as sweetly. “You have not seen me dancing with him for a year, Susie. Which you would know if you were usually invited to the same parties we are. Your aunt brought you, did she?”
Susie’s face grew mottled, and she swept past, pulling her skirts away from Pip’s. Which suited Pip perfectly. Just so no one questioned her actions, she entered the retiring room and spent a few moments behind the screen. It was taking too long, was all she kept thinking. She would be too late.
The other women who had shared the room with her left in a chattering group, and Pip reemerged to make the last turn to the library.
There was a light under the closed door. Pip's heart sped up even more. She took one last look down the brightly lit corridor to make certain that no one was paying attention and turned the handle.
She had hoped to see Beau inside, so she could warn him. It would be even better, of course, if he were already gone, but she was honest enough to admit she would be happier if she could be of some help. She eased the door open and slipped through.
Beau was there, all right. He was standing by the desk with folded papers in one hand and a gun pointed right at her heart in the other.
His expression went hard, and he lowered the gun. “What in God's name do you think you're doing?”
“I don't think those papers are real,” she said, easing the door closed behind her. She could see that the desk was perfectly tidy and the walls seemingly untouched. She had no idea where he had gotten the papers, but he had obviously hidden his entry. “We have to leave.”
“I don't know what you're talking about—-”
“The plans, Beau, whatever they are. You cannot take them. They will know it is you looking for them.”
He shoved the pistol into a drawer and the papers into his jacket. “I’m not. I've copied—” His head came up, and he was scowling. “What are you talking about?”
