Page 40 of Rakes & Reticules
“Why, yes, I have.” She pressed a hand to her chest and blinked at him. “How remiss of me.”
His lordship bent over and, wheezing like a winded racehorse, retrieved the scrap of fringed cloth. Once he’d returned it to Siobhan’s care, he extended his arm. “Shall we?”
Her heart beating a frantic staccato, she placed her fingertips atop his forearm.
He mustn’t detect her reluctance.
“What part of Ireland do you hail from, Mrs. McKinney?” He took a circumventive route toward the room’s perimeter—in the opposite direction of the refreshments.
“Outside Dublin, my lord.” At least that was true.
“Ah, there you are.” Wearing a broad smile, Lord Darius approached. “Forgive me for deserting you, Mrs. McKinney and for imposing on you, Lord Huxley.”
“I quite enjoyed myself,” Siobhan lied.
Huxley gave her the willies.
“It was no imposition at all.” Huxley puffed out his jowly cheeks. “I enjoyed Mrs. McKinney’s company immensely. Will you return tomorrow, dear lady?”
Siobhan exchanged a glance with Lord Darius.
“I should like to very much.” She gave the viscount a coy smile. “But only if you shall also be here, my lord.”
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, she piled it on thick.
A familiar dark head across the room drew her eye.
Fletcher had returned.
Lady Huxley had not.
What did that mean?
Did Siobhan want to know?
He spoke to guests as he weaved his way toward them.
“Huxley.” Fletcher nodded. “Your lady requests you take her home. She’s developed a megrim.”
“Of course she has,” Huxley grumbled, not the least sympathetic to his wife’s plight. “Never knew a woman to suffer so from headaches, and half an hour later, she fully recovers.”
He bent over Siobhan’s hand and placed his thick, moist lips on the back of her glove.
She barely suppressed a shudder of revulsion.
“Until tomorrow, Mrs. McKinney.”
“I look forward to it, your lordship.”
Once out of earshot, Fletcher murmured, “Meet me in my office in fifteen minutes. I have acquired some rather interesting information.”
CHAPTERNINE
De la Chance – Fletcher’s office
Half an hour later
Sitting on the gold brocade sofa, Fletcher rotated the whisky glass as he stared into the fire, one leg crossed over the other. The interlude with Samantha Huxley hadn’t been unproductive, although he’d need more time with her before she confided in him.
