One by one, he slid each of the pearls free, then he replaced the letter opener in the drawer and bounded back down the corridor to the billiard room, the pearls clutched in his fist.
He snatched up Miss Thorne’s cloak and slid the pearls deep inside one of the pockets, then folded the cloak neatly over the back of the chair where she’d left it.
Then he stepped back, his breath rough, and closed his eyes.
Yes, this was right. The pearls belonged with her.
He turned to leave the billiards room but paused at the door and looked back over his shoulder. Perhaps it was risky, leaving a cloak with pearls in the pocket in Basingstoke’s billiards room, but if Miss Thorne missed the cloak and came back downstairs for it tonight, it would appear odd if it weren’t here.
So, there it would stay, until she came for it.
He blew out the last lamp, then turned and left the room, leaving the cloak draped over the back of the chair, the pearls like a tiny pair of secrets, hidden inside.
CHAPTER13
The Glorious Twelfth dawned with an unseasonable blast of cold air and a thick cover of menacing dark clouds that threatened a deluge at every moment, but the weather hadn’t dampened the company’s enthusiasm for the day’s sport. Footsteps had been echoing in the hallway outside Prue’s bedchamber door even before the sun rose, the servants scurrying about to do their masters’ bidding.
She stretched her aching limbs and rubbed a hand over gritty, burning eyes. She’d drifted to sleep in the wee hours of the morning after subjecting her pillow to numerous bouts of desperate pummeling, only to wake up to her humiliating defeat at billiards last night.
The Duke of Montford had held her in the palm of his hand from the moment he’d challenged her to a game in that deep, husky voice, right up until he’d pocketed the ruby earrings.
It wasn’t that he’d cheated her. It wasn’thisfault he could turn even the least susceptible lady’s knees to jelly with nothing more than that smoldering dark gaze of his. Really, all it had taken was a few quirks of those full, handsome lips, and she’d been as foolish as every other lady who sighed over his charms.
Well, perhaps notquiteas foolish. She hadn’t wagered anything she couldn’t afford to lose, but to think she’d had Thornewood right in the palm of her hand, only to see it slip from her fingers with one fumbled thrust of a cue!
It wasmaddening.
There was nothing to be done about it, however. She’d played her best, she’d lost, and now Lord Stoneleigh awaited. She glanced at the window, listening to the raindrops patter against the glass, the water trickling toward the sill in rivulets, and let out a sigh.
She didn’t love Lord Stoneleigh. She wasnevergoing to love Lord Stoneleigh. In fact, with every hour she spent in his company it seemed less likely she’d even grow tolikeLord Stoneleigh.
How in good conscience could she possibly marry the man? Didn’t he deserve a wife who loved him? Or at the least one who could tolerate his presence for more than five minutes at a time? It was true the man didn’t notice her aversion to him, but surely, he’d catch on after a year or two of marriage—
“Miss Thorne?” There was a brisk knock on the door. “Miss Thorne, are you awake?”
“Yes.” Prue struggled free of the coverlet she’d been hiding under and sat up, resting her back against the headboard. “Come in, Maria.”
The door opened and Maria bustled in with a tea tray balanced on her arm, a torrent of cheerful words already flowing from her lips. “Good morning, miss! It’s a wild one out there today, and as cold as a witch’s heart, too.”
“It doesn’t seem as if it’s put anyone off the shooting party. The entire house has been awake since dawn by the sounds of the commotion this morning.”
“Oh, aye, miss. The gentlemen are as eager as ever, though they’ll have a right time of it, in this weather. Here you are, miss.” She set the tray on the side table and hurried toward the wardrobe on the other side of the room. “Will you have your blue gown today? I think it’s your warmest—”
“No, that won’t do for scrabbling about in the bushes.” What a pity she couldn’t wear breeches, as she did at Thornewood! It would be so much more comfortable than dragging her heavy skirts about, but she didn’t dare push propriety quite that far. “I suppose I’ll have to have my riding habit, Maria.”
“Your riding habit!” Maria turned to stare at her, the blue day dress over her arm. “What, you mean to say you’re going toshoottoday?”
“Of course. It is a shooting party, isn’t it?” Why shouldn’t she shoot, if she wished to? She could handle a shotgun as well as any gentleman.
“But I . . . begging your pardon, miss, but ladies don’t shoot.”
“This lady does. I’ve accompanied my father and his friends on dozens of shooting adventures. I’m actually quite a good shot, Maria.”
“If you say so, miss.” Maria gave her a doubtful look, but she turned away to rummage through the wardrobe and came out with Prue’s rather worn riding habit in her arms. “Here we are.”
Maria helped her into her habit, then Prue sat at the dressing table and drank her tea while Maria brushed out her hair and pinned it in a heavy coil at the back of her neck. “Right, miss. That should keep it out of your eyes.”
“It’s perfect. Thank you, Maria.” Prue abandoned the empty teacup on the tray and turned to the maidservant with a half-hearted smile. Yes, she’d squandered her only chance to rescue her father from debt and her own prospects were grimmer than ever, but Basingstoke’s magnificent grounds awaited. That was something, at least.
