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“I will enquire which of them it is. Many were hired on to help with the party, my lord.”

“Yes, I am well aware,” he said grimly, for he had seen the accounts. “Have him sent here to speak with me without delay.”

Raine bowed and left.

It was he, however, not the footman who returned more than a quarter of an hour later. The footman in question—Davis—could not be located and seemed, in fact, not to be at Bellthorne at all.

Whether this was something to rejoice over or cause for concern, Archie could not tell.

He dressed for dinner, keenly aware of the moment Miss Prescott reentered her bedchamber, for the muffled sound of footsteps and voices was impossible to ignore.

He timed his own departure from his room to coincide with hers, and she started at the sight of him.

The anxieties that had gripped Archie since last seeing her faded. “Am I so hideous?”

“Most hideous,” she said with a shy smile and pink in her cheeks. They began walking, and she looked ahead. “Were you able to welcome the new guest?”

“Yes,” he said. “The footman escorted me there like a convict to ensure it.”

“It must have been someone important.”

“Yes, I fancy so,” he said vaguely, for he had no wish to speak of Miss Orston. “What did your brother have to say?”

“Nothing. He lost track of me in the garden. He and Millie—Miss Hollis—had wandered and were obliged to seek refuge from the storm elsewhere. When he returned to the house, he came in search of me. He was relieved to see me safe and warm.”

Archie did not immediately respond. Safe and warm was an interesting way to put it. Warm was certainly accurate, as he could attest to. But safe…

Archie could have wrung his own neck. He stopped mid-stride and turned to her. “Miss Prescott, I⁠—”

“Dalmeer!” Lord Potsworth waved from down the corridor.

Archie grimaced and held Miss Prescott’s gaze. “I wish to speak with you. It seems the conversation must wait, however.”

She nodded, then left Archie to listen to Potsworth drone on about upcoming bills to be discussed in the House of Lords. His mind wandered, caught between a kiss in the conservatory and the damage he had done Miss Prescott in those euphoric moments.

Fifteen

NELL

Nell’s eyes had never been so rebellious as they were at dinner.

No matter how much she corralled them to her plate, they would return to Lord Dalmeer.

Miss Orston’s arrival had required a shift in the seating arrangements. Nell had since learned that she was not only strikingly beautiful but the daughter of a viscount. Whether this connection merited seating her a mere two spaces from the earl was the question.

Nell had no trouble identifying whose decision it had been.

Neither, from her pouty looks, did Miss Caldwell.

Lady Dalmeer seemed very pleased indeed, her eyes veering to her son nearly as frequently as Nell’s did.

Nell should not have felt it in her heart whenever Lord Dalmeer smiled at Miss Orston or Miss Orston laughed at something he said. But feel it she did.

It was ridiculous. Nell was ridiculous.

The happy result of Miss Orston’s arrival, however, was that Mr. Fowell had been shifted across the table from Nell rather than at her side. It was a relief not having to converse with him directly, but twice she had found him watching her.

The women retired to the drawing room, and Nell’s gaze caught with the earl’s as she filed out of the room with Millie.