His gaze locked with hers. “Because there hasn’t been a night that’s gone by since the last time we were together at Clayton’s house that I haven’t wanted to come to your bedchamber.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Lord Copperpot’s London Town House,
14 October, 1814
Perhaps Beau shouldn’t have said what he’d said to her in the coach two days ago. He’d wanted to kick himself afterward. Marianne hadn’t said a word. She’d just taken a deep breath and turned to stare out the window silently.
Regardless, what he’d said that morning had been nothing but the truth. An uncomfortable truth, perhaps, but one that he’d finally decided he needed to admit. If they never spent the night together again, it wouldn’t be because Marianne didn’t know how he felt. He wanted her. He’d always wanted her. He wanted her even now.
They’d ridden the rest of the way to the next coach stop in silence, and once they’d arrived, Beau had surreptitiously changed spots with the maids and hadn’t seen much of Marianne since…until tonight.
The ball was in full effect before he met her at the servant’s staircase on the fourth floor so that they could travel downstairs together. Guests had begun arriving a bit after eight o’clock, and it was nearing ten before Marianne appeared.
No longer clad in her blue maid’s dress, tonight Marianne wore a simple white sarsnet gown, one entirely unlike any of her others. Small embroidered flowers graced the neck and hemlines. Her bright hair was caught up in a chignon, and her blue eyes sparkled.
Apparently, she’d forgiven him for his remarks in the coach, because tonight she gave him a warm smile.
“Good evening, Mr. Baxter,” she said with a laugh as she curtsied to him.
“Miss Notley,” he replied, bowing in kind. He offered her his arm. “You are breathtaking. Would you care to attend a ball with me this evening? From a distance, that is?”
Her smile was gorgeous, and when she reached out and placed her hand on his sleeve, a tingle shot up Beau’s arm. He’d always thought she was lovely, but he’d never seen her like this before. Wearing a pretty gown, fresh-faced and smiling, as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
Most of the other servants were down in the servants’ hall, either preparing food and drink to take up to the ballroom, or—if they had no duties for the ball—talking and laughing with each other. Beau was able to escort Marianne down the staircase to the second floor at least without running into any other servants.
The moment they arrived at the door to the second-floor corridor where the families’ bedchambers were, Marianne pulled her arm from his sleeve and nudged open the door a few inches. She peeked out.
Apparently, the corridor was empty, because she quickly said, “Follow me.”
She led him about a quarter of the way down the hall until they came to a small door that didn’t look like the others. It appeared to be a utility door.
“What is this?” Beau whispered as Marianne wrenched the door handle to open the obviously stuck door.
“Not many people know about this place,” she whispered back.
“How did you find it?” he asked.
Her tinkling laughter followed. “I’m a spy, remember? I’ve scoured every conceivable part of this house.”
Beau smiled and shook his head. He had to stoop down to follow her through the short doorway. When the door closed behind them, they were enveloped in darkness. The strains of music from the ballroom met his ears.
“Marianne?” Beau whispered.
“Just a moment,” she whispered back.
He heard the scratchy sound of a flint being struck beside him before a blaze of light brightened the space. Marianne had lit a candle in a holder on a small table near the door.
The candle illuminated a portion of the musty, cramped space. There was some old furniture against the walls, but otherwise, the small room was empty. Marianne lifted the candle and Beau had to continue to duck as she led him through the tiny room, and into an even more narrow, dark passageway. The music grew louder as they moved through the small corridor.
When they emerged at the other end, they were in a room that wasn’t much larger than the one they’d left. A rickety wooden chair sat at the far end of the space and the strains of a quadrille were even clearer than before.
“Over here.” Marianne made her way to the questionable-looking chair.
Beau followed her again and once he was standing next to the chair, he could clearly see that there was a small window-like space cut into the paneling, covered with wooden slats, which afforded a view of the entire ballroom. Looking directly down, he saw that the musicians were beneath them.
“From the ballroom side, this is covered with wallpaper, you don’t even notice it,” Marianne explained, pointing to the slats. “But you can see nearly everything from here.”
