Eleanor scanned the ballroom, but Charlotte’s dance partner, Julian West had also disappeared, no doubt into the garden, panting after Charlotte.
Very well, then. The situation now called for curses, and why should the ladies be denied the truly wicked ones?
Damn it, devil take it, and bloody hell.
This was all Lord Tidmarsh’s fault. If he hadn’t tried to tease her into a third dance, she’d have had her eye back on Charlotte before her sister finished dancing with the Marquess of Hadley.
Lord Tidmarsh, Julian West—why did it seem whenever trouble was afoot, some gentleman or other was always at the root of it?
Either some gentleman, or Charlotte, devil take her. What in the name of heaven had come over her this season? She disappeared into dark gardens with dubious gentlemen as often as Eleanor rejected offers of marriage.
If Charlotte must have a stroll through the garden, why couldn’t she have taken Hadley? But no, nothing would do for Charlotte but a stroll with Julian West, a rake of the first order, and worse, a handsome and charming one. Charlotte thought herself sophisticated, but she hadn’t any idea the sort of tricks such a man might pull from his sleeve.
Or his breeches, for that matter.
Eleanor might be a little fuzzy on the details regarding a gentleman’s breeches, but she knew enough to know a young lady didn’t disappear into a garden with a man like Julian West if she didn’t care to see him pull out something he oughtn’t.
She and Charlotte had become quite the notorious pair this season, and thetonhadn’t failed to take notice of it. Eleanor’s dismissal of Lord Tidmarsh wouldn’t help her cause, but Charlotte in particular couldn’t afford any more questionable behavior.
Julian West was questionable, even if he kept his breeches fastened.
Damnation. There was no help for it. She’d have to go after Charlotte. Again.
Eleanor stepped out onto the terrace and took a quick measure of the situation. A few couples wandered about, but she didn’t overhear any eager whispers, and none of the ladies had fallen into a shocked swoon. Charlottehadwandered off into the garden with Mr. West, but no one seemed to have taken notice of it yet. If Ellie could just find them, she could drag Charlotte back inside before anyone did notice.
All might still be well.
She hurried across the terrace, but froze before she could step into the garden. She spun around, one foot hovering over the damp grass, the hair on her neck prickling with awareness, certain she’d find curious eyes following her every move.
Nonsense.No one had even noticed her. What was it they said about suspicion haunting a guilty mind? But, dash it, why shouldshebe haunted? She’d done nothing wrong. Charlotte was the guilty one—Charlotte, and that blasted Julian West.
She entered the garden and melted into the gloomy shadows. Between Lord Tidmarsh’s unwelcome declarations and Charlotte’s disappearance, Eleanor had had quite enough of this ball, and she wouldn’t attend another without reinforcements. She couldn’t be expected to fend off suitors and guard Charlotte’s virtue at the same time, especially when Charlotte herself was so determined to discard it.
Goodness, it was dark. Far too dark for any proper young lady. Eleanor picked her way along, pieces of wet grass clinging to her hems. She peered over a low shrub and darted around a tree or two, expecting any moment to see a guilty couple spring apart, but the garden appeared to be deserted. Not even a giggle or a breathless sigh interrupted the silence.
Where in the world was Charlotte? How would she ever find her sister in this gloom without an obliging sigh or giggle to guide her?
Unless . . . Eleanor paused for a moment, listening. Was that a soft shuffle behind her? It sounded like the tread of booted feet on damp grass, but the moment she stopped, the sound ceased. She turned to look behind her, but all she could see were dense pools of darkness.
Oh, for God’s sake. She’d be better off returning to the ballroom. Perhaps Charlotte had come to her senses and returned by now, as well? Yes, yes, of course she had. Charlotte had grown rather reckless over the past few weeks, but even she knew better than to vanish in the middle of a ball with all thetongawking at her behind their fans.
Eleanor took one determined step back in the direction of the ballroom, but stopped again before she could take a second one. When had Charlotte ever letknowing betterstop her from doing precisely as she wished?
Damn it, devil take it, and bloody—slam!
She stumbled backward, stunned. What in the world did the Foster’s mean by planting a tree in the middle of a garden path? For pity’s sake, she might have knocked herself unconscious—
“I beg your pardon.” Two enormous hands came down on her shoulders to steady her. “Are you injured?”
Eleanor gaped at the row of buttons in front of her. A tree with an embroidered silk waistcoat? No, no. That couldn’t be right. Perhaps she was injured, after all. Had she concussed herself?
She shook her head to clear the dizziness. A silk waistcoat . . . trees didn’t wear silk waistcoats, but gentlemen did. Gentlemen like Julian West. But if he was here, where was Charlotte? Had she come to her senses and returned to the ballroom, or had Julian West hidden her in the garden somewhere?
“What have you done with my sister, you scoundrel?”
There was a surprised silence, then a low laugh. “Have you misplaced her, Lady Eleanor? That’s unfortunate, but perhaps we’ll find her in the shrubbery.”
Eleanor squinted into the darkness, her belly fluttering with sudden nerves. She recognized that voice, and it wasn’t Julian West’s.
