This was bad indeed. No one sought Griston’s company intentionally.
“Don’t worry. She didn’t speak with him long. But I’ve yet to see her again. Ah, there is her friend, Lady Maudsley.” Brock angled his head toward French doors leading to the terrace. “Perhaps she stepped outside. It’s stifling in here.”
Lady Maudsley was a tall, attractive woman with deep-set amber eyes. Dark hair, piled high on her head, made a striking sight against the deep red of her gown. Her smile was always bright. Too bright.
Thorne found her annoyingly cheerful. At times, her cheer was completely inappropriate. He’d never been able to pinpoint the exact reasoning for his conclusions, just that, on occasion, she seemed to try too hard. Unfortunately for her, the entirebeau mondeknew her husband couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Even bound tightly together at his backside the man would manage to maul some unsuspecting maiden. The man was twice his wife’s age and a menace to any young female within a five-foot range. Age-appropriate not required.
Thorne cut his way through the crowd in the woman’s direction, Brock close on his heels. “Lady Maudsley,” he said, bowing slightly.
“Lord Kimpton.” He winced at her elevated volume. Her glance slid to Brock, and her smile faltered. Recovering quickly, she murmured, “My lord.”
Brock took her gloved hand and unleashed a wolfish grin that turned her cheeks a decided red. “Lady Maudsley, you look ravishing.”
She jerked her hand from him and, ignoring Brock, shifted her attention back to Thorne. He was sorely tempted to remind Brock to keep his cock in his breeches. The girl was married, for God’s sake, even if the bastard was a notorious cuckold.
“I’m surprised to see you here, my lord. Lorelei was certain you were engagedelsewherethis evening.”
“Was she?” He scanned the ballroom once more.
“Yes. I believe she mentioned aspirations more in line with Lord Maudsley’s.” Surprisingly, and thankfully, she’d lowered her voice. His gaze bolted back to her and narrowed. Her usual exuberant expression was carefully blank.
“So you’ve seen her, I take it?”
“Indeed I have.” She gave a slight incline of her head. “If you’ll excuse me, Lord Kimpton, Lord Brockway. A good evening to you both.”
Before he could blink, Lady Maudsley was weaving her way straight toward Griston.
After a long and harrowing night, Thorne pushed his way through the door of his chamber, waving away Dante, his valet. Lorelei had effectively managed to evade him the entire evening.
Lady Maudsley showed an intelligent bit of sense, having not wasted much time with Griston, twelve minutes to be exact, before managing her escape from the ballroom. From the shadows, Thorne had followed her as close to the retiring room as he dared, where he was almost certain Lorelei was hiding. Neither one had emerged. He should know… he’d waited until the early morning hours to see.
On stealthy steps, he stopped at the closed connection that led to Lorelei’s room. He should kick the door down—demand his rights as a man. As her husband. Persuading her would likely take only a matter of moments. He knew her every weakness. A light stroke to her neck, a whisper in her ear, and she would be his even without skilled hands and hot kisses. Unfortunately, the moment their exhilaration ended, so would a life based on trust and hope.
Still, he clasped the knob and turned.Locked.Well, that clarified Mr. Chubb's presence and did nothing to stifle his frustration.
Thorne was not without weapons of his own. He’d won her over with charm before; he would do so again. And with a fortnight on his side, he’d have her crawling to him—if he was lucky enough to find that confounded brother of hers. She would come to him of her own free will, and he would welcome her with open arms. And, pride be damned, he… he…
Tossing. Turning. Tangled. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
Lorelei clawed at the slippery walls beneath her fingertips, cold and damp. Through miles and miles of dark, narrow corridors, she fought her way to the sobbing child. Yet the closer she came to the child, the more the air asphyxiated her.
Ahead, the flame of a single candle flared. She burst through the archway and… froze. Rowena Hollerfield hovered over the grand white wicker bassinet, draped in ivory tulle. She reached in and lifted the small infant, and his cries fell away. No! No, it could not be. Yet there she stood, cooing at the tiniest, most delicate being.
Her features were difficult to make out, but as Miss Hollerfield slowly turned, her head raised high, looking straight down an autocratic nose. Her elegant black hair, glittered with diamonds, and was arranged to perfection. Creamy white arms held out the baby where he dangled precariously. “Would you care to hold him?” Her voice was husky with sensuality.
Lorelei gasped. “Don’t. Don’t drop him.”
Miss Hollerfield’s full bright red lips parted, filling the chamber with laughter, her arms dropping, releasing her hold. The child tumbled free.
Lorelei dove for the bundle. “No!”
She shot up to sitting, her night rail drenched.Nightmare.Dear God. It was only a nightmare. Moonlight streamed across her chamber through sheer linings that covered tall, sashed windows. Pulse racing, she darted from the bed, ripped a lining straight from its rod, and fumbled clumsily with the window latch. Finally, the window gave way, and she fell over the sill and heaved in the cold night air.
As the rushing blood in her ears subsided and her breathing regulated, Lorelei drew back into the room, rubbing the chill from her arms.
The knob on the connecting door twisted.
“Well? What time did he return home?” Virginia Maudsley demanded.
