Bronwyn Scott's Sexy Regency Bundle (69 page)

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Pickpocket Countess

someone had passed by the door. Someone had deliberately come

for him or for Jack. He'd heard the sound when he'd risen from his chair.

Mentally, Brandon replayed the conversation in his head, trying to decipher what might have been overheard and how it might have been perceived. It was a risky conversation to fall into the right hands. The mention of his 'supposed plan' and mention of The Cat would raise eyebrows if the person knew enough-someone like Cecil Witherspoon or St John.

'I think we had better head back to the ballroom before anyone takes our absence seriously,' Brandon suggested. 'If someone did overhear anything damaging, our quick return should put paid to any suspicion that we're running a conspiracy.' He also hoped he would catch a glimpse of those who were mingling in the corridor closer to the ballroom. Perhaps the eavesdropper hadn't had time to get too far.

'You might not have heard anything either,' Jack reminded him as they rose. 'It is just as likely that a branch scratched the window. It is easy to develop paranoia when you keep secrets.'

'I would like to think that is all it was,' Brandon conceded, eager to get back to the ballroom and back to Nora's side. He didn't like the notion of leaving her alone in close proximity to Witherspoon, although she was more than capable of handling him.

Brandon breathed easier as he and Jack gained the brightly lit dance floor. No suspects presented themselves in the harmless crowds mingling in the corridor outside the ballroom.

Jack was probably right, the sound he'd heard was a branch brushing the windows. Jack clapped him on the shoulder and melted into the crowd, instantly adopting his foppish demeanour as he effortlessly insinuated himself into a group of people.

Brandon scanned the room for Nora, looking for the rich green gown amid a sea of reds and pinks. He could not find her. He quartered the room with his gaze and tried again. The

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dress, the diamonds and her above-average height should have drawn his gaze immediately, let alone the fact that he was always aware of her presence.
She wasn't in the room.
He forced himself not to panic. There were any number of places she might be. She could be strolling on the terrace or sitting in the refreshment room. She could be in the ladies' retiring room.

She could have been the one strolling down the corridor and
overheard your conversation,

Jack's cynical diatribe.

That brought Brandon up short, his panic renewed. What would Nora think if she had heard Jack about the plan?

Would she realise Jack was wrong? There had never been a plan. He loved her and meant to marry her. But The Cat was not used to believing the best of people. He had to find her fast before she did something that severed their relationship completely.

Affecting a casual stroll, Brandon moved through the ballroom towards the terrace doors. He nodded to those he knew as he double-checked the clusters of people chatting on the sidelines. He studied the dancers whirling past on the floor in a country polka.

He slipped out the doors to the terrace. His perusal didn't take long. The evening was cold and few people braved the weather to walk the wide verandah. The lanterns were lit in the garden beyond the terrace, but it, too, was virtually empty.

Brandon mentally checked the verandah off his list of possible places. The retiring room would be harder to check since he couldn't obviously go in.

Brandon returned inside and climbed the elegant walnut staircase to the retiring room. He motioned to one of the young ladies he knew and asked her to check for Nora. Even as he asked, Brandon knew it was futile. Already his search had taken the better part of twenty minutes. If she was in the ladies'

room, she wouldn't still be there. The young lady returned and confirmed his thoughts. Nora wasn't there either.

Pickpocket Countess

Back downstairs, he beckoned to Jack and informed him of Nora's disappearance in a low voice. When Jack's survey of the card rooms turned up nothing, Brandon sought out the Squire.

'Lost your wife already?' The Squire laughed at Brandon's pensive expression. 'You're in luck. She left half an hour ago.

Said she had a headache and didn't want to your fun. She

took the carriage and was going to send it back for you.' The Squire scratched his head. 'I assumed you knew. The plan seemed so organised. I thought the two of you must have agreed on it together.'

Brandon suppressed the dread that rose in him. It seemed deuced odd that Nora would leave without joining him first when she knew he'd gone off to speak with Jack on business that concerned them both. He would have thought her curiosity would have compelled her to wait before leaving, no matter how her head felt.

The headache bit niggled at him too. Nora was the halest person he knew. She scaled trees, wielded weapons and ran around the countryside at night. That was not the behaviour of someone prone to evening-ending headaches. It all confirmed what he'd intuitively

earlier. She had been the one in

the hallway. She'd overheard Jack's damning remarks. What a cad she must think him, a man no better than her late husband.

'She must have heard us

Brandon said as the Squire

moved off to mingle with another group. 'She felt fine when I left her after the first dance. You and I weren't gone more than a half-hour.'

'Try not to appear agitated,' Jack counselled. 'Witherspoon is

over here.' With that, Jack laughed a bit too loudly and slapped Brandon's shoulder as if they'd shared a grand joke. Witherspoon looked away in disgust. 'He doesn't like me much.' Jack pouted.

'No one of a puritanical nature likes you, Jack. You're too

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idle.' Brandon grimaced. 'Let's go check on my carriage. It may have returned.'

Brandon shoved his hands in his trouser pockets as the footman brought the bad news. His carriage was still missing. 'There's been plenty of time for it to come back,' he mused out loud.

Jack nodded.

Brandon paled as the last vestige of hope slipped away that perhaps Nora had left for other reasons. The idea that she believed he'd manipulated their relationship to protect the mill and to put The Cat out of action sickened him. If she'd heard that, she would bolt. 'I have to find her and explain, Jack.'