Page 5 of The Broken Marchioness
Deciding that maybe Dorothy and Stephen had taken a break from the busyness of the ballroom, she stepped away, intent on searching all the other rooms for a sign of them.
To her relief, there was no sign of Lord Wetherington either.
Maybe he has not come tonight?
In the end, she left all of the busy rooms, turning her back on them and retreating to the upper corridors of the building.
She must be somewhere; she has to be.
A wild idea took hold of her that it was possible Dorothy and Stephen had taken a carriage home just as Frederica was arriving. They might have passed one another in the street and not known about it. If that was the case, Frederica wasn’t going to give up now. She would search every chamber in this building, and if she still had no luck, she would return to Dorothy’s house and ask for her again.
Frederica stood alone in a corridor, quite alarmed when she realized just how alone she was. If Lord Wetherington made an appearance now, she would be isolated, vulnerable, and she was certainly not going to give him the chance to come near her with that disgusting stench of cologne and those eager chapped lips again.
At the far end of the corridor, she caught sight of a shadow. Someone was moving up the stairs. They were far too short to be either Dorothy or Stephen. Whoever it was would surely look Frederica in the eye as she was the only one in this corridor.
If it is someone I know, they will send up the alarm to my parents!
Frederica backed up as far as she could in the corridor.
To her left, another smaller spiral staircase appeared, tucked away behind a door which had been left ajar. Frederica bolted toward it, hurrying up the steps on her toes as soundlessly as she could.
In this top corridor, it was even darker, but at least now, she was completely alone. She leaned against the wall, catching her breath for a minute before she set off again down the corridor. It was so dark that she could only see by the trace of moonlight through distant windows. She ran her fingers along doors, opening them a little to peer inside and search for her friend. They were completely empty.
Sighing loudly, Frederica made her way back down the corridor again when she heard it.
A floorboard creaked under someone’s foot.
Frederica’s heartbeat became erratic, thundering so hard in her chest now that she could not possibly calm it, no matter how much she tried to soften her fast breathing.
She turned sharply around, staring into the corridor, but it was completely empty. With her heartbeat slowly returning to normal, she laid a hand on her chest.
I am going mad; that is all. I think there is movement in shadows.
Trying to persuade herself that her mind was playing tricks on her, she turned and walked down the corridor again, intending to return to the staircase and climb down to the floor below. If she couldn’t find Dorothy soon, then she would leave, sneaking out just as she had crept into the building.
Then that floorboard creaked once again.
This time, terror took over her so much that Frederica froze. She couldn’t even turn around to look at who had made that noise.
Someone was behind her. Their presence was unmistakable now, for their tall figure blocked out a lot of what little moonlight there was in this corridor.
Someone touched her. She was so shocked and unprepared for it that she couldn’t move as the hand inched across the side of her waist and to the flat of her stomach. Someone was embracing her from behind.
It didn’t matter that she couldn’t smell that familiarly disgusting cologne. The mere chance that this might be Lord Wetherington made her act on instinct.
Lifting her foot, she stamped down hard on the person’s toe, then she turned and raised her hand, slapping them firmly across the cheek. The loud slap of skin against skin was shocking in this quiet where the only noise was the distant sound of music and chatter.
“Bloody hell,” a voice cursed. It wasn’t the voice she had expected. It most certainly wasn’t Lord Wetherington who had put his arm around her. “What was that for?” He was so busy rubbing his sore jaw that it took him a second to turn his head to look at her.
Her own shock was clearly mirrored on his face, those blue eyes growing wide.
It was Dorothy’s brother.
“Lord Padleigh?” she muttered.
CHAPTERTHREE
“Lady Frederica?” Allan couldn’t think straight as he stared at his sister’s friend.
