To Philip, the taste reminded him of a blend of spiced rum and inferior brandy.
Mrs. Cumbersome picked up the pitcher and refilled her glass.
“We called itrack punch. ‘Waiter, more rack punch,’” she called out to the memory of a server from her youth.
Philip nodded. He imagined he might be equally in trouble with the magistrate for his sister becoming inebriated as well as for losing his daughter. A cold sweat broke out between his shoulder blades.
“This setting is more pleasurable than a ballroom,” Mrs. Cumbersome blurted looking around at those who were dancing nearby. “Don’t you agree?”
He couldn’t help wondering how a woman with a brain could tolerate the tedious job of watching over another adult female. It was probably more exciting if one were the chaperone to a troublesome minx, although such a stressful task didn’t sound appealing either.
Luckily, Miss Bright had been cooperative and obedient so far. He should stop worrying, except for the first time in his life, thinking of his deal with Sir William, Philip could appreciate what it would be like to have a daughter. Worse still to have a beautiful one with wicked rakes like himself around.
“Have you seen Miss Bright?” Philip asked again. After all, this was her aunt’s main task.
At last, Mrs. Cumbersome set down her glass with a thump, focused her watery gaze upon his, and frowned as she caught on to his concern. Her face paled to a distraught pallor of bloodless white.
“Oh dear,” she said. “I thought my niece was with you.”
He clenched his fists at his sides. Miranda hadn’t returned to the table even to tell her aunt where she was going.
“She slipped away in the darkness,” he replied, unable to temper his annoyance while he scanned the dance floor as the first most likely place to find her. Suddenly, he was on high alert as if on the battlefield trying to spy the enemy over the next ridge.
“I think you ought to return to the proprietor’s house and look in the ladies’ retiring room. Perhaps our meal disagreed with her,” he suggested.
“Yes, I shall at once. My brother will be most displeased with both of us,” she announced, hurrying off across the grove with a wobble to her gait.
Philip growled in frustration. He hoped Mrs. Cumbersome didn’t pass directly through the owner’s house and fall into the Thames. Moreover, she would have to recall the painting of the milkmaids to return to the correct supper box.
Then he discharged her from his thoughts entirely for the more important matter of finding Miranda. Perhaps she’d gone to the Prince’s Pavilion since she had expressed an interest in the Shakespearean-themed paintings.
Endearingly, she’d seemed as excited by the view from the recently built, iron-crafted Regent Bridge as she had by the famous Cascade, and by everything she encountered. He liked that about her. She hadn’t a jaded bone in her attractive body. But curiosity was a dangerous thing for a young woman alone at Vauxhall. If she was at the Pavilion, then she was safe. Better he should search the worst possibilities first.
With that in mind, he headed down the Grand South Walk since that was where he’d last seen her. Hurrying farther from the well-lit Grove toward the now-deserted fireworks tower, he came to the darker sections of the Pleasure Gardens where no young lady should be.
Passing couples who were looking for secluded spots, they turned their faces when he went by. A few times, he had done the same thing with willing and savvy minxes, never considering a chaperone might be anxiously searching — or if he had thought about it, he hadn’t particularly cared.
“Selfish bastard!” Philip muttered, knowing more than he should about the best places for privacy in public areas.
Half hoping he didn’t find her anywhere in the vicinity but also hoping he did, because the suspense of not discovering her whereabouts was fraying his nerves, he inspected the large walnut tree with its cover of hanging branches. He peered behind a statue and even under a small decorative bridge. If one were tucked beneath it, those strolling over couldn’t even tell. In his hunt, he found lovers in two places but not Miss Bright.
Ten heart-pounding minutes later, he spied her. While she was not with Lady Harriet and her friends this time, nor was she being debauched and ruined.
To his disbelieving eyes, she was entirely alone in the last place she ought to be, the Dark Walk.
Fury clouding his judgment, he snuck up on her, grabbed her by the arm, and spun her about to face him. She shrieked, stumbled, and fell against him. Feeling relief mixed with his anger at how she’d put herself in harm’s way, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her close.
“Dammit all, Miss Bright!”
“You frightened me,” she said against his chest, and her body trembled.
“Good! You deserved it. You frightened me first and for a much longer time.”
Resting his chin atop her head, he simply held her, hardly able to believe his luck in finding her safe. Unless...
“Why are you in this place? Did you come with someone? Has anyone approached you or touched you?”
She leaned back in the circle of his arms. In the dim moonlight where there were no oil lamps, she gazed up at him, looking like any number of desirable women he’d had in this or another dark garden. Except she was Miss Bright, and for some reason infinitely more alluring
