Page 13 of Kiss the Scoundrel Farewell
Her eyes widened, and she smiled. The manservant’s mouth fell open. Was their family’s reputation as dire as his mother had said? He’d thought she exaggerated.
“What will you do with her—him when he’s captured?”
Simon couldn’t help the smile that curved his lips, making the older woman chuckle. “I shall make him pay dearly for his deceit.” He added a wink for good measure.
“Have you been following his misdoings for long?” asked the manservant with red hair and big brown eyes, studying him behind her mask.
“Yes, and the villain has been cleverly evasive, but tonight I’ll change that.” If you will only help me.
“I believe we shall set a trap for the traitor,” said Elizabeth, tapping her ruff with her fan. “Meet us in the garden in an hour. We will stroll by the fountain. Wait for us there.”
“Yes, ma’am. This treason shall end before the sun rises,” he said with a gallant bow.
Poor Kitten would be discovered this night. He had misjudged her. She was as likely a courtesan as he was a musketeer. Laughter bubbled up his throat, and he let out a guffaw, and another, when passersby turned to stare. His slippery paramour was a widow of the ton. He would discover her identity, then pursue her like the knights after the holy grail.
Margaret waited in the retiring room, nodding to other women as they entered. She pretended to be interested in a loose thread from her jacket. Why was he here? Because he belongs here. I am the one out of place.
He would continue his pursuit, so what should she do now?
Run!
She had no carriage, and she couldn’t leave Lady Wyndam without a word.
Think, think, think.
Her stomach roiled with the possibility of discovery. Meg decided to remain calm, seek out Lady Wyndam, and plead a megrim. The gracious lady would allow Meg to use her carriage to return home. Or she could discreetly beg Florentia’s help.
With a deep breath and an inner rally for courage, Meg reentered the ballroom. How long had she been gone? At least a half hour. Maybe more. She gazed up at the ceiling, praying for strength, the candle-lit chandeliers turning into hundreds of tiny stars above her as she blinked back tears. Her greatest fear was causing any embarrassment—or worse, scandal—for her friends. She had never understand the adage, Misery loves company. Why would someone wish their own misfortune on a loved one?
When she returned, a waltz was playing. To her relief, the source of her anxiety was on the dance floor with a fairy of some sort. Meg hastened through the crowded room and found her friends.
“My lady,” she addressed Lady Wyndam, “I must leave.”
Her excuse fled her brain, and she blurted, “He is here, and I am afraid I will only cause scandal for you both if I remain.” Her palms were beginning to sweat, so she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“I knew there was a good reason for you to abandon us,” the countess said with a smile. “Which one is he?”
“The musketeer dancing with the winged creature.”
To her surprise, Lady Wyndam grinned. “I thought so.”
Meg blew out a long breath. The countess would understand the urgency of the situation. “I don’t want you to feel the need to leave on my account. If I could borrow your carriage, the driver will be back in plenty of time to bring you home before midnight.”
“Why not meet him?” asked Florentia. “You could twist the situation into a game, one which you have decided to quit.”
Meg shook her head. “No. I couldn’t?—”
The orchestra finished the last straining notes of the dance. She saw the couple moving back into the crush. Her eyes met his.
He grinned.
She swallowed.
“I believe he’s spotted you,” said Florentia. “Whatever shall we do?”
Did Tia sound… flippant? No, not possible. She was Meg’s oldest and closest friend. She understood Meg’s reason for the charade, and her resolve for never again being under a man’s thumb. But it had all become much too dangerous.
“I will send for the carriage,” decided Lady Wyndam, “but he will certainly come this way. Let us retreat into the garden.”
