Page 8 of Unraveled By the Duke
Celia closed the door as quietly as she could, desperately feeling for a key in the keyhole but not finding one. She pressed herself against the wall beside the door and bumped into something. Looking back, she saw a vase on a plinth, set into an alcove.
She could hear footsteps outside the door. Other doors in the hallway were being tried, opened, and then closed. The footsteps resumed. A man’s footsteps, drawing closer.
Celia’s breath came in panicked gasps. Her pulse was racing, heart hammering in her chest. There was no other way out of the room that she could see, and no one to help her.
The man looking for her meant her harm, if only to frighten her. But maybe he was capable of doing more.
Her hand tightened on the neck of the vase as the knob turned and the door creaked open.
CHAPTER 3
Alexander unbuttoned his coat as he tore through the crowd towards the door he knew would lead to Maxwell’s private quarters. He felt the eyes of those who had witnessed Lavinia’s astonishing behavior like hot pokers. He had already received enough negative attention. Enough gossip surrounded his name. He did not need more.
Whatever was she thinking? And why did she devote so much time to that woman? To Lady Celia. She has not lingered so long with any other person. Not even a duke. I thought she would have moved on by the time I returned, but she was still there. Blast her!
His sleeve was wet and dripping, the light-colored fabric stained red. He stripped out of his coat as he walked, folding it over his arm. Being in shirtsleeves like a servant drew even more eyes, and he was relieved to step through the door that led out of the ballroom.
He did not go directly to Maxwell’s rooms, knowing that his friend would be preening himself in preparation for his entrance.
I will not disrupt his grooming. The man takes such inordinate pride in it. He is a good man for all of that. No more shallow than most. And I do not care to return to that band of jackanapes too soon. A walk will calm me. And a glass of wine or two.
A servant was duly beckoned and instructed to bring wine to the library. Alexander waited there, running his eyes over some of the books in that room, acquired by Maxwell’s father.
The smell of old leather and paper, and the feel of the bindings beneath his fingers, soothed him. Such antiquity and wisdom were humbling. It made him think of his father’s collection, now sold and scattered. It brought a stab of pain.
Forgive me, Father. I did what I could to ensure that Hyacinth debuts and has the best possible chance at finding a husband. My investments will generate profit in time and keep my family safe, but Hyacinth does not have the benefit of time. I needed funds now. Forgive me.
The footman found him and handed him a bottle and a glass.
By the time Alexander was ready to seek out a fresh coat and return to the ball, he had half emptied the bottle. A potent burgundy that put the courage of the Dutch into him to face whatever he had to.
As he stepped into Maxwell’s private sitting room, he saw a dress on the floor beside the fireplace. Lavinia stood at the other side of the room, looking through a door and whispering to someone. She looked back when he entered, and her face fell. Just for a moment, before she recovered her composure and glided across the room to him.
“Your Grace, I have been trying to make amends to my dear friend Celia by helping her clean her dress. Wine must be dealt with immediately, and who knows how long it will take the servants to get to it. Where is your coat?”
Alexander realized he had carelessly tossed his stained coat over the arm of a suit of armor in the library.
“It is being laundered as we speak. I’m going to borrow one of Maxwell’s,” he said, pointing to the inner door.
“Oh, that is the door to the Duke of Larcher’s quarters?” Lavinia asked.
“It is,” Alexander replied.
Lavinia’s voice had suddenly risen, and Alexander wondered why. She glanced at the door she had been standing at when he had entered the room, and he followed her gaze. Someone was on the other side.
“Ah, then I fear I have misdirected the Viscount Darnleigh,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes and smiling girlishly. “He got lost,and I was certain that was a shortcut back to the ballroom. How silly of me.”
As if summoned, Darnleigh stepped through the door. He grinned insouciantly and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Not the right path at all, I’m afraid, Miss Dunnings. Ah, Your Grace! I seem to have gotten lost. Would you be able to direct me back to the ball?”
“The way back is through that door. Follow the sound of the music,” Alexander replied coldly, not appreciating the man’s attitude.
“My thanks,” Darnleigh said with a bow, before departing.
Alexander stepped out of the room shortly after and walked down the dark hallway towards the sliver of golden light under the door at the end. Opening it, he registered a brief movement beside him and then a blow to his shoulder.
He dropped to one knee, realizing someone had swung a vase at him, shattering it on impact. The door opened again, and he lashed out, his hand curling around an ankle. A silk-stockinged, slender, feminine ankle.
A thief? Who else would lash out so at someone entering a room? A female thief at that.
