The blond standing in front of her bowed with an exaggerated flourish. “Good evening, m’dear. How clever of you to deduce we have turned ourselves about. Maybe you would be so kind as to assist us. We are looking for the card room.”
Olivia discreetly glanced around her. There were other guests in the gallery, but they were on the far end, closer to the saloon and the main staircase. Straight across, on the opposite corridor, she caught a glimpse of a couple but could not see them very well from her viewpoint. A large wooden post and her companions obscured her view. She cocked her head and noticed they were kissing.
In public, no less. Quite shameful.
Unfortunately, the passionate couple was oblivious to their surroundings. Olivia silently considered her choices. She could scream. Surely, she was bound to draw someone’s attention. Nevertheless, she was not positive her predicament warranted the humiliation.
“I confess, I have not visited the card room so I cannot offer much help.” She gestured to a point over the man’s shoulder. “You might appeal to someone in the saloon or any of the other guests strolling along the galley. And if not on this level, you could always head downstairs. Someone must know where the card room is located.”
Olivia flinched as the dark-haired gentleman with his hair tied in a queue touched her on the arm. “I have lost my taste for cards,” he told his companions. “Go on without me if you like, but I prefer to stay here. What is your name, my sweet?”
“Miss Lydall,” she said, and could have bit her tongue off for her honesty. She should have told the gentlemen that she was Mrs. Lydall. The threat of an angry husband would have cooled their ardor.
The blond leered and seemed unsteady on his feet. “Why stand on formality when we want to be friends. What is your given name?”
Enough was enough. “Some other time, perhaps. My companions are late, so I am returning to the ballroom.”
The man who touched her groaned. “You don’t want to go back there.”
“Stand aside,” she said in her firmest voice.
The gentleman with the loose dark hair exchanged a look with the blond. The three of men had come to a decision.
Olivia gasped as the two dark-haired men seized her arms. “What are you doing? Unhand me!” She struggled and looked for the couple on the opposite side.
Just her luck, the man and woman were no longer in sight.
She inhaled to scream, but one of the men covered her mouth with his hand.
“There is no need to invite anyone else to our private party,” the fair-haired gentleman sneered. “Let’s take her down the back stairs. Then we can—”
“Do absolutely nothing but release the pretty dove you have ensnared,” a stranger announced nonchalantly as he walked toward them.
“Who are you? Her father?” the blond said, his chest puffing with belligerence.
Olivia had never met him, but he was an older gentleman. As old as her father, or perhaps a few years younger. He had been fair in his youth, but age had darkened and silvered his hair. His face bore a discernible scar. It began near his left eye and traveled down his cheek. He was a striking figure in black, and his light blue eyes were merciless and cold as he surveyed the trio as if he were an avenging angel.
“I am not acquainted with the young lady,” the older gentleman said, his gaze narrowing on the hand covering her mouth. “Are you deaf, my young puppies? I told you to release her and step away.”
“Why would we leave our dear friend to your tender mercies, old man?” the young man standing behind her said.
Amusement curled the man’s lips. “If you don’t, I will take immense pleasure in proving to you that I have no mercy. I will start with you.” He raised his walking stick to point at the man who had silenced her. “Have you ever had your fingers broken one by one? How many snaps will it take before you cry and wet your breeches?”
The firm hand covering her mouth fell away.
Olivia wiped her mouth to rid herself of the taste of sweat and leather.
“These gentlemen are not my friends,” she said, noticing that her entire body was beginning to tremble. “Feel free to break as many skulls and fingers as you like, my lord. What’s left, we will surrender to the watch.”
“You are a fierce little creature, are you not?” her rescuer drawled. Some genuine humor surfaced in his pale blue gaze.
“You can’t take all of us,” the one with the unbound dark hair said.
Without warning, the older gentleman swung his walking stick low and swept the blond off his feet. He pressed the end of the stick into the young man’s throat as he choked him. “Do not allow the silver in my hair to mislead. I am a dangerous adversary. On second thought, be the drunken fools that you are and attack me. I promise you, I won’t show you any mercy.”
The blond rolled away and climbed to his feet. He rubbed his throat. Glaring at the stranger, he said, “We’re done. She’s yours, old man.” He nodded to his friends and they disappeared through the connecting corridor.
Her companion wore a grim smirk on his haggard albeit handsome face. He almost seemed disappointed the three young men ran off. His expression smoothed as Olivia locked gazes with her rescuer.
He stabbed the walking stick into the carpet with each step as he strode toward her. “So what am I to do with you, my pretty dove?”
Chapter Eighteen
It was an ingenious trap.
Thorn tried to straighten to end Lady Millicent’s kiss, but the single-minded lady snaked her other hand over his shoulder and around his neck to hold him in place. He had no desire to hurt her so he did not use his full strength to free himself from the lady’s clutches.
Unfortunately, her triumph only encouraged the chit.
He turned his face away. “Damn it all! Give a gent a moment to breathe, woman!”
Lady Millicent giggled, her eyes bright with joy and mischief. “I have waited too many years for that kiss, Lord Kempthorn.”
His shoulders hunched, Thorn managed to partially straighten up, which dislodged the young woman’s fingers from the nape of his neck. Her fingers clawed down the front of his evening coat until she could only grasp at the edges.
“You cannot wander off without me.” She tilted her head to the right. “We could go someplace private.”
The lady was feverish in her excitement as she pursued him to an alcove. Thorn was used to being the hunter, not the quarry, when he engaged in amorous pursuits. He found himself hesitating, as he had known Lady Millicent for half of his life and his family and hers were neighbors. He was truly conflicted on his course of action. His mother and Gideon had warned him on separate occasions that the young lady was harboring an infatuation for him, and he had dismissed their concerns. Nothing would happen between them unless he had decided to pursue her. He had not expected her to declare her passion for him so aggressively.
Espying a connecting corridor behind him, he walked backward until he had crossed the threshold of the curtain-framed doorway. “I am flattered, Lady Millicent, but you must release my coat at once.”
All the better for me to flee the damn woman’s clutches, he thought with some amusement. Never had he been brought so low by a lady’s cunning. He knew Rainbault, Chance, and St. Lyons would laugh until their ribs ached when he recounted the tale later.
He grabbed her wrists and pushed downward. “For god’s sake, strive for a little dignity. Anyone could come upon us at any time.”
Lady Millicent pouted. “You have always held yourself at a distance. It concerned me that you might think I was beneath your regard. I never considered that you might be shy.”
Shy? The insult could not be borne. Thorn was tempted to wipe the word from the lady’s mind, when it struck him that was precisely what she wanted him to do.
“Very clever.” Thorn scowled at her. “How many gentlemen have fallen for that ruse?”
Confidence filled her light brown eyes as she stroked the gold cording that tethered the dark gr
een curtain to the door molding. “Countless,” she said, and tugged one of the ends. The knot released and the curtain fell, concealing half of the doorway. “Gentleman and their pride, you know.”
Ah, yes, pride. It was the downfall of too many men.
“Is this more private?” Lady Millicent strolled to the other side of the doorway.
“No!” Thorn raced for the dark green drapery still tied up to stop her from releasing the other gold cord.
But Lady Millicent tugged, and the cording gave way. “Oh dear, what shall we do?” She fluttered her eyelashes. “I have a thought.”
“Behave yourself,” Thorn scolded. He grabbed the loose cord from her hand and moved to the other side. “Does your father know you have turned into such a brazen minx?”
He gathered up the fabric and concentrated on tying the cord.
“My father adores me,” the young woman said, slipping her arm around his waist.
“Stop it,” he said through clenched teeth. He gave her a weak push so she would remove her nimble fingers from his waistcoat pocket. “You are embarrassing yourself.”
Lady Millicent’s expression darkened. “If you tell my father, I will just tell him and Mama that you lured me upstairs so you could seduce me,” she threatened.
“Tell him.” Thorn glanced right and then left to see if anyone had noticed the young lady’s antics. “See how far that gets you. If the man has any sense, he will lock you in your bedchamber for a month.”
No one was nearby, which was a blessing. Lady Millicent was preparing to throw a tantrum, which seemed fitting for his lousy evening. Activity from the other side of the gallery froze him in place.
Miss Lydall was the last person he expected to encounter as he admired the art displayed in Lady Purles’ gallery. Even at a distance, he recognized her curly chestnut hair. She was pulled back by someone, and he lost sight of her behind one of the large wooden posts. There was some sort of disagreement between an older man and three young rakes who surrounded her.
“Are you listening to me?” Lady Millicent said, her voice rising.
“Quiet,” Thorn commanded and ignored Lady Millicent’s pain-filled gasp.
Thorn watched with increasing distress as the older gentleman used his walking stick to take down one of the men. Angry words were exchanged, and the three young men left Miss Lydall alone with the older fellow.
Lady Millicent finally noticed the squabble that had captured Thorn’s attention.
“Who is it? The lady seems familiar.”
Her companion glanced over his shoulder, and Thorn forgot to breathe. It was Lord Norgrave. What mess had Olivia Lydall stumbled into this evening?
Thorn cursed. Was the young woman mad? She was leaving the gallery with Norgrave!
He wasn’t aware that he was walking away from Lady Millicent until she said his name.
“Where are you heading? Do you know that couple?”
“Return to the ballroom,” he said, dismissing her. His gaze was fixed on the empty doorway that Miss Lydall had walked through with the marquess. “If I hear about you practicing your wiles on another hapless gentleman, I will speak to your father.”
“You would not dare!” She stomped her foot, furious that he was abandoning her.
“Go!” he shouted over his shoulder.
Lady Millicent cried out, and her footfalls confirmed that she was obeying him.
With fury simmering in his blood, he made his way to the other side of the gallery.
Thorn did not know what Miss Lydall had done to intrigue the old scoundrel, but he intended to put an end to it.
* * *
“I am fine,” Olivia said, touched by the gentleman’s concern. “I am not prone to hysterics or fainting, so you do not have to fuss over me.”
She half-expected the gentleman to then pursue the three gentlemen who had cornered her, but he seemed content to let them escape. Instead of escorting her to the informal parlor, her avenging angel guided her to a pleasant alcove that included a sofa and several chairs. It was a cozy little area with large potted plants and brass wall sconces to provide lighting for the three paintings that hung from the three walls.
It was perfectly respectable to sit here with her male companion, since anyone who walked down the wide corridor could see them.
He handed her a glass of wine. “A few sips to calm the tremors in your hands.”
Olivia held up her hand and stared at it. “See? I am made of sterner stuff, my lord.”
“So you are.” Her companion nodded with approval, then sat down in one of the chairs. “If you had possessed a walking stick when those scoundrels had approached you, I wonder if you would have required my assistance at all.”
“I was absolutely weak with fright,” she leaned closer to confess. “No, I will not diminish your part in my rescue. Nor should you. I owe you my life.”
He seemed mildly bemused by her statement. “I am old enough to let you believe it. I am honored that I could be on hand when you required assistance.” He sipped his wine. “Do you have family here? Did you slip away from your chaperone to flirt with your favorite suitor?”
Olivia giggled. “No, it was nothing like that.” At his encouraging nod to continue, she said, “My father has not arrived in Town as of yet, though I do expect him any day now.”
“Who is your father?”
“Lord Dewick,” she readily answered. “Are you acquainted with him?”
He tapped the edge of his wineglass as he mentally tried to connect the name with a face. “I believe I have encountered the gentleman once or twice.” He frowned. “If your father isn’t here, then you are attending the countess’s ball with your mother.”
“My mother died when I was young,” she said, wishing she could remember the lady. The sadness she felt was more for her father’s loss than her own. Eager to change the subject, she added, “Actually, I am attending the ball as Lady Norgrave and her daughter’s guest this evening.”
The gentleman gaped at her in disbelief. Before she could question his odd behavior, he slapped his hand against his outer thigh and laughed. Her revelation amused him immensely.
“Are you acquainted with Lady Norgrave and her family, my lord?”
“Aye, I know the lady well,” he said, his light blue eyes glinting with intent and something akin to delight. “Permit me to introduce myself. I am Norgrave.”
* * *
Thorn rushed into the corridor. Dread flooding his body as he realized none of the ladies present were Miss Lydall. Turning left, he headed for the nearest closed door. He did not bother to knock. He strode in, not caring who he disturbed.
Chance whirled halfway around and glared at him. Tempest was sitting on the sofa. Thorn did not have to step into the informal parlor to note that she had been crying.
“Forgive me, cousin,” Thorn began, not bothering to conceal his agitation. “St. Lyon and I—”
“Later,” Chance said. “This is not a good time.”
“Is something wrong, Thorn?” the young marchioness asked as she stood. In spite of her misery, she appeared eager for a distraction from their argument.
“It’s Olivia,” Thorn said, then added at their blank looks, “Miss Lydall.”
Chance scrubbed his face with his hand as he struggled to hold on to his temper. “Has something happened?”
“There was some sort of confrontation that involved three gentlemen. I was too far away and didn’t see everything—”
Tempest came up to him. She looked so miserable, Thorn intended to have a few private words with his cousin.
“Why were you not with her?” she asked.
“I was unaware Miss Lydall was here,” Thorn said, his concern for the lady mingling with his increasing annoyance. He had a few words for her as well about wandering about London without her family and friends looking after her. “If Lady Millicent hadn’t kissed me—”
Chance’s eyes widened. “Since when have you been interested in Lady M
illicent?”
“I am not,” Thorn growled. “The lady lured me upstairs under the pretense of discussing her betrothal.”
“To you?”
Thorn scowled at Tempest. “No. Forget about the betrothal.”
“I would like to hear more about the kiss. Do you not agree, Tempest?” Chance held out his hand, and there was an indecipherable message in his eyes that was meant for his wife.
Thorn had been forgotten.
The marchioness nodded and she walked to her husband. Her fingers brushed the palm of Chance’s hand, and then he pounced. He grabbed her hand and pulled her against him. She buried her face into his chest as he wrapped his arm around her waist. He murmured something to her and she nodded.
Chance kissed Tempest on the top of her head and held her tightly.
“I clearly am intruding on something private, so I will take my leave,” Thorn said. He needed to find Olivia.
“Wait, cousin,” Chance called out. “We are the ones being rude.”
“Did Miss Lydall run off because she saw you kissing Lady Millicent?” Tempest asked.
“No. Forget I even mentioned Lady Millicent. The kiss meant nothing.” Thorn inhaled and strived for patience. “This isn’t even about the three gentlemen I saw speaking with Miss Lydall. I am worried about the gentleman who chased them off. She strolled off with him before I could reach her.”
“We haven’t seen her, Thorn,” his cousin said.
“Did you recognize the gentleman?” At his nod, she asked, “Who is it?”
“She is with Lord Norgrave.”
Tempest paled as Chance’s expression turned grim.
Meeting Thorn’s gaze, the marquess said, “We will help you find her.”
* * *
Thorn, Chance, and Tempest exited the informal parlor and stepped into the corridor.
Waiting for an Earl Like You Page 18