Page 9 of Escape of the Bridegroom (Escape #2)

I t began well. When she entered the ballroom on her husband’s arm, a few heads turned but she intercepted no obvious stares of contempt.

They’ve got used to me , she thought optimistically. And perhaps Wolf was right that the altered gown worked for her. She thought it more likely that his magic with her hair distracted attention. This time she had let herself enjoy the sensation of his fingers moving over her sensitive skin, threading the pearl necklace through the elegant knot pinned high on her head, from where one thick sleek rope of hair fell to her shoulder, just nestling at her collar bone.

“I would never have thought of that,” she had told him in wonder.

“I had the idea when I first saw you in the dress and some of your hair had come loose.”

It was, of course, marvellous that he should take such pains with her. It was equally important that her appearance, over which she had never laboured before, did not let him down. She had to at least look the part of a baroness.

And she began to hope that between them, they had managed that first hurdle. Lady Grandison smiled at her with kind approval. Her husband, Sir John gently squeezed her gloved fingers and told her she looked charming.

Lady Bab Martindale rustled over to them almost at once. “I love your gown,” she said with what appeared to be genuine envy. “You must give me the name of your dressmaker.”

The ballroom, already lit by chandeliers even though it was not yet quite dark, and decorated with a riot of fresh flowers and young orange trees in pots, smelled a little like a hothouse. But since the rain had obligingly vanished, a pleasant draught of air circulated from the open glass doors to the terrace. The exquisite scents of the summer flowers drifted in the air.

It felt almost magical, particularly when, as soon as the music began, Mr. Martindale invited her to dance. Eve began to enjoy herself. She had no time even to sit down afterward for she was claimed by Lord Sanderly. Thoroughly happy to be dancing, she did not mind at all that both gentlemen were clearly obliging their friend, Lord Wolf.

More surprising was the honour of being chosen by their host, Sir John Grandison. “Very glad of the chance to make your acquaintance properly,” he said kindly as he led her into the set. “You must notice everyone’s curiosity to meet the lady who finally tamed the Wolf!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t,” she said seriously. “Everyone seems to like him as he is.”

Sir John’s lips twitched. “A novel approach for a bride.”

“Well, I am practical. I could not change him if I wanted to.”

“He is a good man,” Sir John said, “as well as excellent company.”

That gave her a pang, because although she had indeed enjoyed the merest taste of his company, she knew that was all he would ever bestow upon her. He did not love her and never would, because that twelve thousand pounds would come between them more surely than other women like Mrs. Archer.

The dance parted them and brought them back to turn together.

“And whatever rumours you may hear, despite being no saint, he was never rakishly inclined,” Sir John murmured. “In fact, I always thought him a little lonely.”

This was such a novel view of her popular husband that she danced in silence, mulling it over.

Aristocrats on the verge of poverty married money. Lord Wolf never had until Patrick forced the issue, although in all probability he’d known he would have to eventually. He had not the luxury of falling in love and choosing a poor bride. And so he probably eased his loneliness with unattainable women like Mrs. Archer, or with others who did not or could not expect marriage. A form of defence, a guarding of his heart while finding only the semblance of true human contact. His genuine feeling all went into friendships. Men liked him for that reason. Women liked him, probably, for the challenge of touching his heart.

And this was all pure speculation which achieved nothing. She could most help him—and herself—by enjoying the evening and being agreeable to those friends.

She danced with Sir Ralph Lawrence, and a young man whose name she had forgotten, and by then realized with awe that at least as far as partners were concerned, this was her most successful dance ever. Miranda, her father, and her aunt, would be stunned. It seemed there were some benefits to being a baroness.

Best of all, she had just parted from the nameless young man to make her way back to her seat—she had decided to sit out the upcoming waltz and rest—when she almost bumped into her husband.

It was so unexpected—since the ball had opened, she had only laid eyes on him over a distance—and she was so pleased to see him, that she smiled without reserve.

He seemed surprised, too. Certainly, his breath hitched before he said lightly, “At last. The lady in demand.”

“Everyone has been so kind!”

“Is that what you think? Is it kindness if I ask you to waltz with me?”

“Well, no, for husbands and wives are not meant to dance with each other, are they? Besides, I have never waltzed with a man before.”

He blinked. “With a horse?”

She laughed at the ridiculous image. “With my sister.” Miranda had thought the dance was fast, so naturally she had wanted to learn.

“Perhaps you would risk it with a mere husband? Since we are newly married, I daresay the arbiters of fashion might forgive us.”

She peered at him. “Are you serious?”

“Rarely. I see I shall have to invoke husbandly authority.” He offered his arm.

With a funny little twinge of anticipation, she laid her hand upon it.

Few unmarried girls had taken to the floor, although Harriet Cole was there with Lord Sanderly. Most of the other women were smart young matrons like Mrs. Archer.

Eve actually jumped when Wolf took her into his arms. Inexplicably shocked, her eyes flew up to his.

“Too grim?” he asked ruefully.

She shook her head, lost for words. In truth she felt overwhelmed, especially once the dancing began and she had to pay such attention to the movements of his body. Following his lead was easy, novel, and then exhilarating, for although they were so close, they barely touched except in the clasp of their hands, which was usual enough. Admittedly there was the circle of his arm at her back but that was light, respectful. The hardest seemed to be her fingers on his shoulder for if she slid her hand just a little higher it would be around his neck...

She was afraid nerves at such intimacy would make her stumble, but in fact, focusing on the steps and the rhythm distracted her until she relaxed and found the courage to say what had to be said.

“Your words this afternoon were gracious and kind,” she blurted. “I need to tell you that there is much I regret, too. Not least my own temper. I did come to beg the use of your house for the orphanage, but also, I meant to punish you for what I perceived as your rudeness to me.”

“You had some cause,” he allowed. “I’m not surprised you despise me.”

“I don’t. I never did. That is the other thing I need to tell you. Before we can really begin again as friends.”

She could not quite read his expression.

“It is you who are gracious,” he said, and turned just a little too fast.

With the air cleared of her most immediate anxieties, she relaxed further and, it seemed, so did he, for by the end of the dance they were bantering, and her heart was so full she felt it might explode.

Oh yes, she loved him. And more than that, there might even be hope for their friendship. She had no right to ache for more.

***

A IDAN’S WIFE WAS PROVING to be something of a revelation tonight. Her spontaneous smile when they had met had been unexpectedly dazzling, the admission that she did not truly despise him surprisingly welcome. He was learning that there were layers to her. Even if her efforts at rapprochement were merely to make her own life easier, he could hardly blame her for that. If they both tried, he might even enjoy having her in his life.

It would have been too gauche to give into his impulse to keep her for the supper dance too, so he let her go with a bow, and deliberately turned away rather than watch her go.

“Help me out, Wolf,” Mrs. Eldridge said, taking his arm. “Pretend we are engaged for the supper dance or I will be obliged to spend the next hour or more with Wriggley. The boy has hands everywhere.”

“Shall I have a word?” Aidan asked frowning, for although Mrs. Eldridge was hardly a close friend, she was a widow and his chivalrous instincts were aroused. A woman was entitled not to be mauled. Besides, she had once been connected to Snake, whom he counted a friend.

“No, no, just protect me with your presence! Don’t worry, you need not actually dance with me. Would you care for a breath of air instead?”

“Actually, I would.”

They walked together toward the open French doors to the torch-lit terrace and the garden beyond, whose main paths were prettily lit with lanterns. The fresher air was pleasant on his skin, the mild breeze stirring his hair very welcome. Since the supper dance was beginning, the terrace was quiet.

“I’m afraid you must forgive my subterfuge,” Mrs. Eldridge said. “I was afraid if I did not appeal to your chivalry you would not come. And someone needs a word with you very badly.”

Damnation, I walked into that one . As Mrs. Eldridge released his arm and flitted away, Helena emerged from the shadows.

He turned abruptly back toward the house.

“Don’t go,” she pleaded. “I do need to talk to you. I need to apologize and know we are friends, so that I might have the strength to move on.”

He paused, for he had never heard her so serious. Uneasily, he began to wonder if her heart had been more engaged in their affair than he had assumed.

Guiltily, now, he turned back to face her. “There is no need to apologize. We had fun, Helena, and I will always remember you fondly.”

“Then you do not hate me for my jealousy?”

In his mind he had called it spite. Fresh shame twinged. “I could never hate you. But my duty is to protect my wife.”

“I understand,” she said with a humility he had never heard in her before. “Would my own husband had a fraction of your proper feeling.”

“I’m sorry, Helena. I know things are difficult for you. I...I do wish you happiness.”

“It just can’t be with you, can it?” she said sadly.

He shook his head and she thrust out her hand. He took it. They stood thus in silence for a few moments. He had owed her more than simply riding away from her as he had this afternoon, and he hadn’t even known it.

She raised sorrowful eyes to his face. He remembered how beautiful he had once thought her. Her fingers clung to his.

“Then let us kiss and part,” she whispered, stepping hesitantly closer. Her eyes flickered over his shoulder, as though making sure they were still alone.

Aidan did not really want to kiss her, but it was easy and familiar. The strength of her response took him by surprise. For several moments, she plastered herself to him, her arms tight around his neck, her mouth fused to his.

Eventually, he reached up to break her hold on his neck, but she released him quite suddenly.

“Thank you,” she said fervently. “Goodbye, Aidan.”

He found himself scratching his head as he watched her retreat into the ballroom. Foolishly, he had once imagined that he knew women, but it seemed now that he would never understand them.

***

E VE SAT IN HER QUIET corner, actually glad to be alone when Harriet skipped off with Sir Ralph for the supper dance. She still felt confused, almost dreamy, after her waltz with her husband. She guessed she would not have many such memories and so she wanted to savour it, to recall every touch, every word, and then store it all away for the difficult times when pain and loneliness might eat her up.

I will be his friend, and I will make him comfortable. He will never know.

“Lady Wolf?”

Eve blinked.

Mrs. Eldridge, the beautiful widow, stood before her, smiling. “I am the bearer of a most secret message,” she said, dropping into the empty chair next to her. She lowered her voice, her eyes dancing with fun. “Your husband requests a most unfashionable assignation with his lady, out on the terrace. Don’t tell anyone!”

And she swept away again. Eve, who half-expected it was a trick to make fun of her, rose and walked casually to the terrace door. The fact that Mrs. Eldridge walked in the other direction gave her hope that the message was genuine.

She slipped outside and glanced to left and right—and there stood a couple in a most passionate embrace. The torchlight glared down on his fine, handsome features. It was quite clearly her husband, kissing Mrs. Archer.

Only the pain of her own fingers digging into the skin over her heart enabled her to jerk away from the unbearable sight. And yet she should have expected this. It was a taste of her future, now that she had learned to care.

Blindly, she walked back into the ballroom, pride plastering a faint smile to her lips, a smile she could not maintain. She had done her duty for the day and could bear no more.

She skirted the dance floor, unaware with whom she exchanged nods, and climbed the stairs to the main part of the house. The front hall still blazed with light, although it was blessedly empty. She climbed the staircase, past the first landing where she could hear someone moving about, and on up to the floor above. She turned into the passage, refusing to give in to her stupid weakness before she reached his room.

This time, I will stay awake until we leave... By then I will have risen above my own idiocy. I will ...

She opened the door and went in.

A man bent over the chest of drawers from which he appeared to be throwing things to the floor. He straightened and stared at her.

She stopped dead. “Who are you? What on earth are you doing?”

And then blinding pain crashed into her head and she was falling through a whirlpool of dizzying darkness.

A rough, aggrieved voice from a great distance demanded, “What did you do that for, numbskull?”

“She was about to scream,” said another at a much lower pitch. “Besides, look at her, she’s got diamonds all over her.”

Something tugged at her. She could not even whimper, let alone scream.

The lower voice swore. “Take her with us.”

“Jonty’ll kill you!”

“Not with all these diamonds, he won’t. Besides, she ain’t dead yet, but she might well be by the time anyone finds her. If we don’t want to hang, we take her to a doctor.”

“Oh, aye, it’ll do her the world of good to be thrown out of a window and bumped over a saddle!”

When she drew in her breath to scream, agony sliced through her brain and the world went completely silent.

***

A IDAN FELT RATHER GRUBBY after his encounter with Helena, so he did not at once look for his wife. He presumed she was dancing and was glad for her sake. Only as everyone went in to supper did Harriet and Snake stop him.

“Where is Eve?” Harriet asked. “We agreed to have supper together.”

“Wasn’t she dancing?”

“No, she sat it out.”

Aidan looked about him and stopped Sir Ralph Lawrence. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen my wife?”

“She left the ballroom a while ago. I didn’t see her come back.”

“I’ll go to the cloakroom and make sure she’s well,” Harriet said.

For some reason, Aidan felt uneasy, which was foolish. At least Harriet was not long, although she returned alone.

“The hall footman saw her go upstairs. I think she has gone to bed.”

Aidan blinked, annoyance rising to the fore. “In the middle of the ball? Was she ill?”

“The footman did not think so.”

Damn the woman, doesn’t she know how rude she’s being? Can she not behave properly for one wretched evening? Even as the thought rushed through his brain, he was aware of how ridiculous it was. That he should reproach anyone for—or even notice—improper behaviour!

After all, he had just let his ex-mistress kiss him.

Awareness of his own shortcomings only fed his wrath. “Give my apologies to Lady Grandison if I don’t come back,” he said curtly to Snake and strode out of the ballroom and upstairs.

On the first floor landing, he heard sounds coming from the dimly lit gallery. Which was odd. No one had reason to be there just now. The servants were all busy with the ball. On impulse, he went to investigate and pushed open the drawing room door.

A lantern lay on one of the exquisite marquetry tables. By its light, an ill-dressed man was throwing things out an open window.

Burglary!

Outraged, he was about to stride across the room when he froze in sudden blinding fear.

Eve.

If there were others, if she had encountered them... He could not risk being delayed by a fight with this ruffian, who didn’t even seem to have noticed him.

He pounded back along the gallery, uncaring what noise he made, and took the next flight of stairs three and four at a time. His blood ran cold when he saw all the half-open doors. The burglars clearly had been along here, looting jewels and money, no doubt, while the guests and their hosts were all busy at the ball.

A well-planned game, then. Not that he cared right now. He burst into his own room, all but skidding to a halt.

At first, he sagged with unspeakable relief, for his wife was not there. Nor was anyone else. But he did not need to turn up the lamp to see that drawers had been pulled out and upended, and that the window stood open. The burglars had certainly been here...

He strode to the window and peered down, but there was nothing to see on the ground. Deep scratches in the paintwork of the sill showed where some kind of hook might have anchored a rope for the ruffians to climb up, or to lower their loot. He heard the distant crunch of feet on gravel, though he could see no one. He turned back into the room, dread warring with hope.

“Eve? Are you hiding? It’s only me.”

No answer greeted him. But his heart was in his mouth as he opened the wardrobe door and looked under the bed. There was nowhere else for her to hide here.

He strode to the bell pull and tugged it repeatedly. And that was when he noticed the blood on the floor.

Swiping up the lamp, he turned it up and crouched down, his heart beating with fear. It was definitely blood, an alarming little pool of it. Please God, don’t let it be Eve’s ...

And then, mercifully, his practical nature took over.

He marched along the passage calling her name, to no response, until he reached the banister, when he leaned over and shouted to the footman below, “Fetch Sir John! The house has been burgled and Lady Wolf is missing!”

He leapt down the stairs, even faster than he had gone up and bolted out of the front door. Snatching up one of the picturesque torches from its wall sconce, he marched around to the ground beneath his bedchamber window.

There were no dents to show where objects had landed—they must have used a cushion of some kind to preserve the stolen goods. But there were several clear footprints in the muddy ground. Two people, he reckoned, had climbed up this way. And come down again. And one set of prints, pointing away from the house, was much deeper than the same set that had approached it.

His blood chilled.

By then, the alarm in the house had clearly been raised, but the thieves had gone.

“What is it?” Sir John asked beside him.

“They’ve taken my wife,” Aidan said bleakly.

“You can’t know that,” Grandison objected. “She could be anywhere in the house. The servants are already looking, and I’ve sent for my constables. Come in and—”

“They’re getting away,” Aidan said impatiently. “Lend me a lantern and a pistol? I’m going to saddle my horse.”