Page 51 of Rakes & Reticules
Siobhan searched the ballroom for Fletcher’s men.
Chandler slipped from the ballroom.
Not good. Not good at all.
She straightened, uneasiness turning her stomach.
A pair of plump matrons had crowded onto the bench she sat upon. Heads together, they gossiped and tittered endlessly. Siobhan eyed the wall she’d been sitting along earlier, but guests occupied those chairs.
Lord Darius had yet to return as well.
Another shudder rippled down her spine, leaving her chilled, and a knot formed in her lower belly. Even as she considered disobeying Fletcher’s directive to stay put, Lady Huxley reappeared at the entrance.
So she hadn’t sneaked off to meet Fletcher, after all.
With a furtive glance, the viscountess angled her head toward the suspicious gentleman loitering near the doorway. After a disinterested glance around, he strolled nonchalantly after her.
Siobhan bit her lower lip as she flashed cold, then hot, then cold again.
“My dear? Are you quite well?” One of the matrons squinted at her. “You appear most pale. Perhaps you should lie down in the retiring room for a spell.”
The other woman eyed the sliver of bench Siobhan sat upon with open envy. “We could save your seat.”
Take it, you mean.
She was as subtle as a highland cow mincing down Bond Street wearing the crown jewels.
In that instant, Siobhan made her decision.
“Yes. Perhaps you are right.” She stood, and after making certain Fletcher, Lord Darius, or one of the many guards on duty wouldn’t come charging across the floor to scold her, she carefully picked her way toward the door Lady Huxley disappeared through with just enough of a limp to put off anyone asking her to dance but not so much that she drew others’ concern.
Once outside the ballroom, she drew a deep breath and tried to determine what to do next.
Movement and a flash of scarlet farther along the corridor decided for her.
She would follow her ladyship and see what the woman was up to.
With a swift, stealthy glance around to ensure no one watched her, Siobhan lifted her skirts and hurried in the same direction sans her limp.
No one intent on meeting her paramour for an assignation—in this case, Fletcher—did so accompanied by another man—a scoundrel from Siobhan’s amateur assessment who portended no good.
A swift peek over her shoulder revealed none of Fletcher’s men followed her.
She skewed her mouth into a small grimace.
So much for not being left alone.
Her heart hammering so hard the organ threatened to escape the confines of her chest, she passed several closed doors, including the room reserved for ladies, before peeking around the corner.
Empty.
Forehead puzzled, she took several steps into the vacant passageway.
Where had the viscountess gone?
Had she slipped into the ladies’ retiring room after all?
Siobhan glanced behind her.
