“Ah.” An excellent way of conveying the problems that might arise if either of them approached her again.
A bit more searching and they finally spotted Harlowe.
“What a surprise it is to see you here,” Samantha said when they reached him. She deliberately chose to exclude the words ‘pleasant’ or ‘welcome’ and failed to muster a smile.
Harlowe’s expression remained equally neutral while she and Adrian greeted his companion, Baron Midhurst. The older gentleman had taken over Viscount Carver’s duties as home secretary after corruption charges related to Adrian’s trial prompted the viscount to flee the country.
A notice had been sent to every British embassy calling for assistance with his immediate return so he could stand trial. As of yet, there was no indication of where he was or what had become of him.
“I see congratulations are in order,” Midhurst said. He directed a pointed look at Samantha’s stomach.
“When are you due?” Harlowe asked, his voice flat — devoid of emotion.
Samantha did her best to ignore the anger beginning to simmer beneath her carefully crafted façade. “In two to three months.”
“We’re both overjoyed,” Adrian added, his palm settling firmly against the base of her spine to offer support.
Ignoring his comment Harlowe told her, “You never came to check on Hazel, or simply to see how Holly and Tara are faring.”
“I’ve been occupied with other things,” she replied though the truth was she loathed the idea of returning to Clearview House.
Whether Harlowe realized this or not he said, “They might have welcomed a letter, at the very least.”
“Had I received one from them I would have responded. It would seem they’ve been just as busy as I, however.”
Irritation finally flickered in Harlowe’s eyes as he held her gaze. She became aware of Midhurst shifting position, felt Adrian’s thumb stroke her back, and finally managed to make her lips curve.
“Well, we’d best not keep Lady Heathbrooke waiting,” Samantha said.
Harlowe flinched. “The marchioness has returned from Italy?”
“No,” Samantha informed him before telling Midhurst, “Enjoy the rest of your evening, my lord.”
With nothing more left to be said, Samantha strolled off with Adrian, whose hand remained a steady assurance against her lower back.
“I think I need some fresh air now,” she told him, her path already aimed at the French doors leading to the terrace. “The heat in here is unbearable. I’ve no idea how you can stand to be dressed as you are.”
“The alternative would probably raise a few eyebrows,” he muttered.
Amusement chased away any lingering annoyance from her encounter with Harlowe. Getting outside and escaping to a dark corner with Adrian would improve her mood even further.
She quickened her pace and weaved past the guests who stood in her way. The doors were only a few feet away. She was almost there, ready to pull them open so she could step into the crisp night air.
Her palm connected with the door handle. Adrian’s hand at her back urged her onward.
And then someone screamed.
15
Adrian turned, seeking the woman who’d caused the disturbance. Her scream had come from the right, where an arched doorway flanked by pillars led to the game room. Numerous guests were crowded there, making a fuss.
He glanced at Samantha, saw that she shared his need for answers, and grabbed her hand. Together, they crossed the dance-floor where frozen couples remained, unsure of what had occurred. With the music no longer playing, the chatter seemed louder — a drone of annoying sounds.
“She says someone’s dead,” a man declared.
“Who?” someone else asked.
“What do you mean, dead?”
