“I didn’t bring her.” Prue had rushed out the door without thinking to bring Allie, the housemaid she was training to become her ladies’ maid, since Smith had left her to marry the coachman.
“That is unfortunate.” Lord Bain stroked his chin. “Mrs. Miller will assign a maid to attend you. We will talk again later.”
Prue could do nothing but thank him and leave the room. So, she was to be relegated to the bedchamber for hours, or possibly days, shut away from viewing what she already guessed was an unacceptable party for decent folk. It made her wonder what kind of man Lord Bain really was. A widower for some years, was he the respectable gentleman he purported to be? It was hard to imagine him living a life of debauchery. He seemed so mild and well-mannered. But who could tell, and what did she know about such things?
As she returned to her bedchamber, Lord Bain was pushed from her mind by a rakish man who had outrageously kissed her. Viscount Hereford, with his angular face and sharp cheekbones, might have looked like Satan himself but for his world-weary gray eyes.
*
Jack gave aregretful sigh, watching the young lady enter Bain’s library. He heard Bain greet her warmly before the door closed. She appeared to be on familiar terms with him, well acquainted enough to have come to his house without her maid or a woman chaperone, which wasn’t usual. He shrugged; it had nothing to do with him. Bain’s bacchanalia had yet to bear fruit, and Jack had long since tired of the party.
Still, the young woman intrigued him. Pretty girls did as a rule, and she was more than pretty, quite beautiful, in fact, her demure dress failing to hide her lush curves. She hadn’t offered her name but clearly was a carefully raised young lady who might have come from a wealthy or even titled family. So, she hadn’t been invited to Lord Bain’s house party to entertain the gentlemen. He’d enjoyed their kiss, brief as it had been, and would have liked to deepen it, to taste her. He ruefully rubbed his smarting cheek. For a slight woman, she packed quite a wallop. It was regrettable that she wasn’t what he had thought her to be. None of the courtesans here stirred his interest; in his opinion, that which came so easily to a man lost much of its charm. But this fresh-faced young woman was like a swan among the waterfowl. Her wide, sea-green eyes and abundant, flaming auburn hair might have prompted him to spend a few hours enjoying a dalliance. It stirred him to discover why she was here and what had caused the sadness and desperation he’d caught in her eyes.
He shook his head and cautioned himself to let it go. To become distracted now, when the villains might finally show their hand, would not only be unprofessional, but it would also be disastrous. Jack intended to ask Bain about her as soon as they had a chance to confer about information either of them might have gained from the assembled company. These men had been invited because of their strong belief that England needed change, and how they’d bragged about how they were the ones who would bring it: by inciting a revolution. Since France had become a republic, there were many who thought England should follow suit and rid itself of the monarchy, then replace the prime minister with a man of the same view. It was an outlandish plan, which could hardly succeed, but many lives might be lost if the culprits were not found quickly. Although in this assembled company, so far, Jack had found little of interest to him. He only hoped Bain had had better luck and the whole affair hadn’t been a complete waste of time. At least the highly enjoyable kiss had made it worth the journey.
Chapter Three
When desperation drovePrue from the bedchamber, she managed to navigate the corridors without encountering anyone other than a startled housemaid, her arms full of linens. She left the house through the conservatory and stalked the length of the rose garden until the trembling in her limbs, which had plagued her since her father had been shot, finally abated. But it was impossible to banish his image, flashing before her eyes, as he’d lain fatally wounded. Angry at being so helpless, she tried to order her thoughts and decide what was best to do. Tomorrow, she must face Roland, who she was sure would waste no time coming down from London.
There was nothing for it. She must leave tonight to search through her father’s papers for some clue to his assailant before Roland’s presence prevented her. She re-entered Bain’s house and made for the staircase, but a couple embracing midway up blocked her way. They took no notice of her. Prue gasped when the man ran his hand up the woman’s leg beneath her skirts and she giggled.
Her face burning, Prue swiveled and hurried back to the hall, searching for somewhere to conceal herself until they left. Laughter and the clink of glasses behind one door gave clue to the guests inside having luncheon, so she moved on. The next door she tried opened into an elaborately decorated salon with striped cream-and-gold wallpaper. Gilded mirrors and paintings hung on the walls. It wasblessedly empty.
With relief, she closed the door behind her and stood on the dense, red-and-blue patterned carpet, swallowing hard as hysterics threatened. She put her hands to her cheek. “Dear God! Is this a nightmare?” Her anguished plea sounded abnormally loud in the quiet room.
The rake, who’d had the effrontery to kiss her earlier, unfolded his long legs and rose from a grandfather wing chair where he’d been hidden from her sight. She shrank back when he strolled across the carpet to where she stood, reaching for the door latch, ready to take flight. His cool, gray eyes held her in sway, but he made no further move toward her. His expression was polite, as if they’d just met and the kiss had never happened. “You seem distressed, miss. May I be of help?”
“No, thank you.” Her face burning, Prue turned the handle. Wrenching the door open, she bolted along the corridor, only to cannon into a gentleman who smelled strongly of tobacco and spirits.
The man seized her, as if to steady her, but continued to grip her arms. “Where has this flower of womanhood appeared from?” he asked, his brandy-soaked breath making her blink.
“Let me go, sir!” Prue struggled to pull away from him.
He scowled, his fingers biting into her flesh. “No need to play the innocent with me. We’re all here to have a bit of fun.”
“Unhand the lady,” a deep voice said from behind them.
“No need for that, Hereford.” The man thrust Prue away from him. “Didn’t know she was yours.”
“I am no one’s!” Prue protested, seething with mounting rage. Who did they think she was? One of those women here for the men’s entertainment? Hadn’t they heard about her father’s murder?
The inebriated man shrugged and stumbled off toward the dining room. He entered to be greeted with drunken hoots. “No success with the ladies, Blenkinsop?” someone cried before the door slammed behind him.
Furious, while struggling to gather her wits, Prue forced a smile as she nodded to the viscount. He had helped her, after all, although it was doubtful his reason for doing so had been altruistic, and she hoped he would now leave her alone. Not waiting for his response, she hurried to the staircase. At least the passionate couple had left. The thought of spending a night under this roof made Prue shudder. She wouldn’t sleep a wink while the male guests believed her to be available for their pleasure.
“Allow me to escort you to your bedchamber.” Lord Hereford’s voice, low-pitched and masculine, struck a strange chord in her. His large hand rested on the banister behind her. Standing so close, she felt the heat of his body.
Was he sincere? Or was this an attempt at further familiarity? Could she believe him? Ask him to help her? How foolish it would be to put her faith in him or any stranger at this drunken revelry. A man who thought nothing of grabbing a strange woman and kissing her? She took a deep breath and hurriedly pushed away the memory. Trouble was, she doubted Lord Bain was prepared to offer any more help. It appeared he wanted to see the back of her.
Taking a sharp breath, she caught the scent of Lord Hereford’s musky soap. “No need. I know the way,” she said over her shoulder before running up the stairs.
He continued up behind her in a more leisurely fashion, while oddly, keeping pace with her. “It’s no trouble to ensure you arrive there safely.”
But would he? Prue didn’t wait to argue. She lifted her skirt and darted up the rest of the steps. Gasping, heart pounding from exertion and panic, she gained the landing. Shocked, she saw he was only a few steps behind her. Did he intend to force his way into her room? With a sharp breath, she swiveled to confront him. “Please! Do go away.”
Amusement flickered in his eyes. “Certainly, when you are safely behind a locked door.”
And you along with me?“It’s just down there.” She gestured vaguely, not at all sure that in her haste she’d entered the right corridor.
