The Nude (full-length historical romance) (19 page)

What was a poor rogue to do? He’d danced with most of the young chits at least once. Several of the approving papas had approached him in conversation, prodding him for information about his state of affairs and intentions.

“There you are, my lord,” a tender voice said just as a silken fan swatted his arm, sending Severin nearly leaping out of his skin.

He turned around and stood chest-to-chest with Lady Dashborough’s more than ample bosom. She stepped closer, brushing up against him. “My word,” she said, a sly grin adding a new dimension to her pretty features, “you are jumpy tonight.”

“Am I?” he asked, taking a step back. “I suppose I am.” Lady Dashborough’s youngest, Lady Constance, had been shamelessly pursuing him all evening. He prayed her mama wasn’t planning to plead a case for her. He simply wasn’t interested in naive young ladies . . . or marriage.

“I’ve heard rumors that you are especially skilled at pleasing women, Lord Ames.” She placed her hand on his arm, letting her fingers stray to his bare wrist. “These young girls populating this ball must surely bore you.”

Severin let out the breath he was holding. “I have a great admiration for experience and knowledge, as I am sure you understand.”

“Yes,” she purred. “I, too, feel the same way.” She traced a gentle circle over the sensitive skin on the underside of his wrist. Her gaze strayed to her diamond bracelet as it brushed against his skin. “I also generously reward talent and skill.”

That diamond bracelet could pay his living expenses for a month. Her offer was becoming very tempting indeed. “I see.” He ran his tongue over his lower lip as if tasting a succulent fruit. “A midnight rendezvous? A sharing of experiences?”

“Yes, my lord. I would enjoy that.” She slipped a key into his hand. “Midnight, then.”

He discreetly pocketed her key. “Would you care to dance?” he asked, offering her his arm.

She gave him a calculating glare. “I think not,” she said, and then turned and sashayed away.

Severin leaned against one of the Doric columns he’d been hiding behind and smiled as he watched her dress sway around her full hips as she walked. A relationship with the wealthy Lady Dashborough could prove most lucrative.

“Oh Sir Donald, you are so very funny.” He heard Lady Constance’s high-pitched voice and cringed. The young woman’s sweet laugh tinkled in the air. He peeked around the column and watched as Sir Donald maneuvered Constance toward the terrace. The young man took her hand and raised it to his lips, turning her palm up. He nudged her glove and kissed her bare skin. “You, my love, must be the most beautiful woman in all of England. The other ladies present tonight all look like wilted flowers compared to you.”

A woman gave a strangled cry from the opposite side of the column. She then charged into Severin, nearly knocking him over.

“Do pardon me,” he called irritably after her as she raced across the ballroom and up the staircase.

Who in blazes was that gel
?
Lady Lauretta
?

Severin remembered then—he’d seen Lady Lauretta and Sir Donald together at Dionysus’s now infamous art exhibition. What had that silly Lady Olivia said to him about the pair?

Oh dear . . . the Baneshire family had been expecting an engagement announcement before the end of the Season. Who could tell what mischief a broken-hearted girl could find for herself when in such a state? Concerned, he followed Lady Lauretta through the darkened hallways of the maze-like Purbeck Manor. Her virginal white dress appeared to glow in the gloom. She looked more like an ethereal specter than a woman in solid form. Her light whimpers and stifled sobs made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

He picked up his pace and turned a corner only to confront an empty hallway. Not easily discouraged, he systematically opened doors in the hall, peeking into the dark rooms.

A clock somewhere within the house began chiming. Severin slowed his step as he counted the hour.

It was midnight and Lady Dashborough, wearing a very expensive diamond bracelet, was in her chamber waiting for him. He should go to her and leave Lady Lauretta to her grief. But as he opened one last door he heard a muffled sob. With a sigh, he pulled out his handkerchief and smoothed it in his hand. Lady Lauretta was in desperate need of a few kind words and gentle reassurance. And, it appeared, he was the only one around to give that to her.

“Please, my lady, do not cry over that bounder,” he said softly. “No man is worth those lovely tears.” He crossed the threshold into the narrow portrait gallery and closed the door behind him.

Elsbeth wrung her hands until they stung. Nothing was amiss, she assured herself. Just because Lauretta was absent from the ballroom and Charlie, also unaccounted for, had stalked away from her earlier in a thundering rage shouldn’t mean that she needed to disintegrate into a leaky watering pot while stranded in the middle of the dance floor.

But what if Charlie had lured Lauretta away? What if—?

She shook her head. Fretting never solved a crisis, real or imagined. What she needed was action. And help.

She quickly found Olivia sequestered in a corner with the illustrious Beau Brummell, discussing—of all things—the troubles of importing fashionable fabrics from France because of that troublesome war.

“Olivia,” she said as she pried her cousin from the sofa’s plush cushion, “go straight up to our apartment and see if Lauretta has hied herself off to bed.”

“But-but I’m—” Olivia twisted out of Elsbeth’s grasp so she could turn her gentle, albeit shocked, expression back toward Brummell.

“Heed me, Olivia, and do as you are told.”

Olivia paled a degree. “Is something wrong?”

“
Wrong
?” Elsbeth squeaked. “Of course not. Why would you ask such a question?” No matter what, she couldn’t let the other guests suspect that Lauretta might be alone with a gentleman; she couldn’t let another scandal darken the Baneshire door.

Olivia turned and stared at Elsbeth, her eyes grew wide. “Oh dear,” she said and then uttered a polite excuse to Beau Brummell before rushing from the ballroom.

Elsbeth wondered what her cousin had read in her frozen expression. No, she shook her head and forced a brittle smile. She could not lose herself to paralyzing fear, not now. Things were different when it was just her, and she could collapse like a simpering rag doll after her husband flew into one of his heartless rages. But now Lauretta and Olivia both depended on her, and Lord Baneshire, foolish man, had entrusted her with his children’s safety.

Charlie. And Dionysus. Or were they two names for the same man? Damn her husband, damn his friends. They seemed to always be at the root of her troubles. Even now when, by all rights, she should be free from them.

Until death, the marriage vow had proclaimed, not beyond.

“Pardon me.” She reached out and latched onto the arm of a rather flustered Lady Dashborough as the lady rushed by. “Have you seen Charlie . . . um, I mean Mr. Charles Purbeck, the younger Purbeck, I mean.”

“Men!” Lady Dashborough exclaimed, as she shook off Elsbeth’s hold. “This blasted ball has misplaced more men than I care to acknowledge. If you happen upon Lord Ames, you can tell him that
he
needn’t come looking for
me
. Good evening.”

“What was that all about?” a deep voice whispered in Elsbeth’s ear, sending her senses reeling into a dizzying spin. She dug her fingers into her palms and walked away from the spicy scent she now associated with Lord Edgeware. He was one complication more than she could handle at the moment.

Two iron-willed hands curled around her arms and twirled her around until she was forced to stare into his shimmering black eyes. Fear tickled the back of her throat.

“Elsbeth?”

“You are not a man I must bow to,” she said sharply. There were too many men haunting her life already. She didn’t need another. “You have no hold on me. You don’t own me, my lord. You cannot hurt me.”

His frown deepened. “I merely hoped to assist you. Forgive me if I have offended,” he said softly. At that, she could only blink. He’d done it again. By acting in the complete opposite manner than she was accustomed from a man, he’d thrown her and the whole ghastly situation off balance.

“Lauretta is not in the bedchamber. I cannot imagine where she has disappeared to,” Olivia blurted out as she hurried over to them, which Elsbeth dearly wished she hadn’t. She was hoping to keep Lauretta’s disappearance private.

“Am I interrupting something?” Olivia asked, as her gaze landed on Edgeware’s hands and how they were trapping Elsbeth’s arms.

“Not exactly,” Edgeware said and cleared his throat. He let his hold slip away, leaving Elsbeth feeling cold, as if she missed his touch. Which didn’t make any sense, and was completely beside the point. She needed to find Lauretta, not fall under this man’s spell. He was, after all, the one who assisted a bounder like Dionysus and a villain like Charlie.

Lawks, it had to be Charlie behind Lauretta’s disappearance! He was punishing her. She was certain of it.

“Charlie,” she said, her gaze frantically searching the ballroom for a glimpse of that devil. “Where is he? Don’t try to protect him, Edgeware.”

The doors leading out to the gardens were open. She gathered up her skirt and started toward them. Any number of unspeakable horrors could befall an unsuspecting young lady in an unlit garden. Lord help her, Charlie would pay dearly if he harmed her sweet, innocent Lauretta.

“What’s going on?” she heard Edgeware ask from behind her.

“Lauretta’s gone missing,” Olivia replied. “Elly must be worried my fool sister has gone and done something rash. She believed herself in love with that milksop Sir Donald, you must know.”

Edgeware grunted. “And what has Charlie to do with this?”

A shiver traveled up Elsbeth’s spine. The worrying edge in Edgeware’s voice and the undeniable fact that he was determined to follow along continued to unsettle her.

“I cannot imagine why she’s searching for Mr. Purbeck. Perhaps he has seen Lauretta?”

“Doubtful. Our most accommodating hostess, Lady Waver, wished to accompany her daughter home. I sent Charlie to escort them in my carriage. He’s been gone for a little over an hour and I don’t expect he’ll return before for least another quarter hour.”

* * * * *

Elsbeth stopped abruptly and turned back around. Her eyes sparkled with an angry brilliance rivaling the purest blue sapphires as she stared fixedly at Nigel. “If not Charlie, then who has stolen my Lauretta?” she demanded.

Stolen Lauretta? She’d suspected Charlie, harmless Charlie, of debauchery? But why? Charlie had claimed to be so chummy with her—like brother and sister. Could these accusations of abduction be sparked by a growing romantic attachment?

By a womanish jealously?

“Well?” she pressed. “This is your house party, Edgeware. Whom should I suspect?”

He mentally ticked off the names of the male guests in his head. Sir Donald had been seen leading the lovely Lady Constance into the gardens. George and his brother were still in the ballroom. Severin was—for the life of him, Nigel could not remember the last time he’d seen Severin.

“Severin, what are you up to
?”

“Lord Ames?” Elsbeth gasped, and looked ready to throw daggers.

Damnation, he must have said the last aloud.

“I assure you, Lord Ames is as trustworthy as they come.” She didn’t appear convinced. Wringing her hands again, she made a beeline toward the stairs that led toward the center of the house.

Nigel gave instructions to a nearby footman before following after her. Soon, nearly half the manor’s staff were discretely searching the serpentine halls for Lady Lauretta and Lord Ames.

It would only be a matter of time before one or both of them would be found. Nigel caught up to Elsbeth and told her just that. Even so, she insisted on forging ahead with her own search. In the shadowy light of Purbeck Manor’s back staircase, they formed an unspoken partnership. Together they searched, methodically opening doors along a rather long and dimly lit hallway. With each step, Elsbeth’s shoulders bound up tighter and tighter.