As Luck Would Have It (26 page)

“We should find Lady Thurston.”

“No.”

Sophie was surprised by the vehemence in Mirabelle’s voice. “But she needs to—”

“No,” Mirabelle repeated firmly. Then she sighed and stopped to face Sophie. “Please understand, Sophie. Lady Thurston is like a mother to me. She has done more for me…she means more to me than I could hope to express. I won’t say or do anything to upset her.”

Sophie considered that for a moment. “Whit then—”

Mirabelle gave a humorless little laugh and resumed walking. “Whit wouldn’t trouble himself over my concerns, except maybe to offer to buy the man dinner.”

Sophie refused to believe that, but now wasn’t the time to argue the matter. Mirabelle was understandably on edge, and a discussion of Whit’s sense of honor, or lack thereof, would only upset her further.

“Someone needs to make sure he leaves,” Sophie said instead.

“He’ll leave,” Mirabelle replied flatly.

It took a moment for Sophie to realize the full implications of that statement.

“This has happened before, hasn’t it?”

Mirabelle nodded without looking at her.

Sophie cleared her throat. “Last time…did he…how did you…?”

“I kneed him in the groin.”

“Oh,” Sophie replied, duly impressed. “Good thinking.”

A whisper of a smile passed over Mirabelle’s face. “Evie taught me. She learned it from one of the maids. Unfortunately, it’s hard to use that trick on the same man twice.”

Sophie had seen the effects of that particular maneuver once. It did seem the sort of thing a man would learn from quickly.

They stopped outside Mirabelle’s door. Sophie waited while Mirabelle retrieved her key and turned it in the lock. She paused in the motion. “Thank you for what you did tonight, Sophie.”

Sophie felt herself blush. She was uncomfortable in the face of such earnest gratitude. “It was nothing,” she replied in a falsely bright voice. “You would have done the same for me.”

Mirabelle gave a small laugh at that and finished opening the door. She waited until they were both inside, then turned back and relocked it. “I certainly would have tried,” she said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “But I’m afraid I haven’t your talent with cutlery.”

“You could learn,” Sophie offered, sitting down.

“I hesitate to ask after everything you’ve already done for me, but do you think you could teach me?”

Sophie grinned. “Absolutely. And if you’re so terribly concerned over being in my debt—which is patently untrue, mind you—I have just the solution….”

Mirabelle showed her a rarely used passageway out the back of the house. She agreed to spread the word that Sophie had the headache and should not be disturbed, then enlisted Evie’s help in bribing the stable hands to hitch Sophie’s team in secrecy, while Kate went in search of extra carriage lanterns. Sophie knew it would look silly, but she intended to have the carriage as brightly lit as safety allowed.

She was on her way to London within the hour.

Alex noticed Sophie’s absence almost immediately. When he first entered the ballroom, he had caught sight of her, dancing with Mr. Johnson and looking decidedly unhappy about it. Of course, in his opinion she never looked overly pleased with the attentions of her admirers—despite her show of smiles and laughter—but this time her discontent was evident for everyone to see.

Interesting. Perhaps she had finally come to her senses. He meant to ask her that very question tonight—
have you come to your senses?
She damn well better have. He’d spent the entire week watching her every move from a distance, hanging on every word she spoke in conversations with other people, analyzing every expression, every wave of her hand, and every inflection in her voice. He’d even sent Whit on a scouting expedition. Clearly, he needed either to resolve matters with her soon or check himself into Bedlam.

He’d watched her dance next with Mr. Holcomb, looking only slightly less perturbed by the notion.

An excellent sign, he decided. He’d give her another hour or two to come to him, and failing that, he would devise a way to throw the two of them together, accidentally of course. He saw no reason for her to know the full extent of his mental decline.

He’d lost track of her for a while after that. The Earl of Efford had engaged him in conversation, then insisted he dance with his niece, Miss Mary Jane Willory—a stunning young woman whose attractiveness was greatly diminished by her malicious nature. Following the dance, the girl had insisted on introducing him to her dear friend, Miss Heins, a slightly pudgy girl who, even under a demimask, was clearly plain and clearly
not
a dear friend. But Miss Willory had cooed over the
poor dear girl
who hadn’t danced all night, and if His Grace could only see his way to rectifying the matter, Miss Willory would take it as a personal favor.

Alex had done his best to aid the mortified Miss Heins, claiming that the favor would be hers to him, that he would settle for nothing less than a waltz, and that he could think of nothing better than to pass the time until then in her company. Miss Willory had been suitably abashed and taken herself off, leaving Alex to make stunted conversation with the nice but painfully shy Miss Heins.

Fortunately, a waltz was struck up almost immediately. His gentlemanly duty of dancing at least once a night with a wallflower thusly dispatched, Alex had taken a turn about the room looking for Sophie. And came to the unsettling conclusion that she had disappeared. He’d searched the entire ballroom, the terrace, the garden, and finally sought Evie for the purpose of checking the ladies’ retiring room.

Which is when Evie told him, “Sophie’s headache returned, she’s gone upstairs to her room.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Evie had never been particularly
good at dissembling. She always tensed one corner of her mouth slightly at the fib, causing her scar to pucker a bit at the edge. And now that he thought of it, he hadn’t noticed her or Mirabelle in his search either. She must have just returned to the room.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Evie returned his searching look with an assessing one of her own, cocking her head slightly to one side and furrowed her brow. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” she finally asked.

Alex actually jerked in astonishment. Love?
Love?
He hadn’t even thought about love. Was he in love with Sophie? He was fond of her of course, cared for her, admired and esteemed her. Certainly he desired her more than any woman he had ever met. But was he in love with her?

“I can see that you are,” Evie murmured, and it took Alex a second to realize she was answering her own question, not his. “You’ll want to check on her of course, and I think, in the end, she might like that as well. But don’t bother requesting additional assistance in the matter. I’ve given my word.”

Alex didn’t bother asking for an explanation to that somewhat cryptic statement. Evie’s pointed tone told him enough.

He reached Sophie’s room as quickly and quietly as possible. She wasn’t there, of course, but he’d had to look. He sent a maid for Whit, then began searching for clues to where she might have gone. With every item he encountered, a picture of Sophie entered his mind unbidden. Her dancing blue eyes peering over that fan. Strands of dark hair peeking out from under that bonnet. Her full and delightfully expressive lips smiling as she danced with him in that gown. Her slender hands in those gloves. The swell of her breasts…

“This is a very bad sign.”

Alex looked up to find Whit in the doorway. “I don’t think so,” he said calmly. “All her belongings are here and…how did you know Sophie was gone?”

“I didn’t. I was referring to the fact that you are rifling through a young lady’s personal belongings. Have you
completely
lost your mind?”

“It’s possible. At the moment, however, it is the least of my concerns. Sophie has disappeared.”

Whit sobered immediately. “Are you certain?”

“Yes. Unless you ran into her on your way up here?”

Whit shook his head. “Any theories?”

“Evie knows something, and I think Mirabelle might as well. Question them, and Kate too if need be. I’ll speak with the staff.”

Mirabelle walked along the book-lined shelves in Haldon’s library and let the smell and feel of aged leather and polished wood comfort her. She loved the library. She loved everything about Haldon actually, but the library was her favorite. The library at her uncle’s estate, a paltry collection compared to Haldon’s, had the added disadvantage of being connected to her uncle’s study—a room she avoided like the plague.

Here, however, she could amble about to her heart’s content. She could chose from thousands of books on every conceivable topic. She could read until her eyes gave out from the strain.

She ran her finger down the spine of a particularly large tome. This was what she needed to take her mind off to night’s events. She pulled the book from its space on the shelf and turned to leave.

“Hello, imp.”

Mirabelle dropped her book and spun around with a gasp to find Whit leaning casually against the library door—watching her with an intensity that sent tingles up her spine.

“What the devil are you doing here?” she snapped in an attempt to hide her discomfort.

Whit shrugged and moved toward her with a careless grace. “Same as you, I imagine, just came in search of a little light bedtime reading.”

He bent down and scooped up the book at her feet. “
Amphibian Wildlife in the New World
? Obviously we differ in our definition of ‘light.’”

“Among other things,” Mirabelle pointed out, snatching the book away. “What do you want?”

“Oh, I think you know what I want,” Whit drawled, giving her a smile that held no warmth. “Answers.”

Mirabelle didn’t see any reason to pretend she didn’t understand. With another man, she might have feigned innocence, or at least made an attempt to be reasonably civil. But this was Whit, he would never buy the former, and he wasn’t worth the bother of the latter.

“Well, you’ll not get them from me. Now leave before someone walks in here and—”

“I’m not leaving until you tell me where Sophie has gone.”

“Why don’t you ask Evie and Kate?” she asked scathingly. She could tell by his scowl that he had already explored that avenue and had met with similar reticence and she sent him a small mocking smile. “I see. Fine.
I’ll
go.”

Brushing past him, Mirabelle stalked to the door and grabbed the handle. It didn’t turn. She tried again.
Locked.
She wheeled back to face Whit.

He dangled the key mockingly in front of her. “Perhaps I should have been a little more specific.
We’re
not leaving until you tell me where Sophie has gone.”

“You’re mad! Any number of people may have keys to the library. You’ll ruin me!”

Whit shrugged again. She stomped toward him.

“Give me that blasted key!” she hissed.

“Start talking, or we stay here till someone else lets us out. Your decision, imp.”

“You bloody arrogant, heartless ass!”

“You have a rather colorful vocabulary, I dare say you don’t limit your literary pursuits to the topic of zoology.”

“For the last time, cretin.
Give. Me. The. Key.
”

“Where. Is. Sophie?”
Whit stepped closer to her with every
syllable until six feet of glowering male towered over her. It was a blatant attempt at intimidation, and another woman would have instinctually stumbled back in fright. Mirabelle didn’t budge an inch. Instead, she gripped her book with both hands and smashed it squarely into Whit’s face. The result was a thoroughly satisfying smack and a long colorful stream of expletives.

Whit stumbled back, howling and holding his nose. “What the devil is the matter with you?” he bellowed. At least, she thought that’s what he bellowed. His voice was starting to sound a little funny. No question of the volume, unfortunately.

“Hush!” she whispered furiously. “Someone will hear you!”

“I thud bwoody well hope tho!”

“Quiet! You spoiled little…” A scrapping in the hallway cut her off. Dear God, someone had heard the noise. She glanced frantically around the room. Whit still held the key. He had it pressed against his face which he now held up toward the ceiling in an effort to stanch the flow of blood from his nose.

“Are you going to give me the key or not?”

“No!”

More noise from the hall. Voices. Mirabelle panicked. Fighting back wasn’t an option this time. There was no place to hide in the library. The tables were too high, the chairs too low, and the lighting too good. Dropping her book, she ran to one of the windows and threw it open. It was a good drop down and there was some sort of shrubbery at the bottom.

“Whad are you doing, imp?” Whit still had his head tilted up and he was eyeing her down the length of what would normally be his nose, but was now two bloody hands and a key.

A rattle sounded at the door. “What the…It’s locked. Simmons, give me your key.”

Mirabelle sincerely hoped the hedge below wasn’t rose-bushes.
She sat down on the sill and swung her legs over the edge.

“Miwabelle, no!”

With a whoosh she was gone.

Twenty-one

A
lex was having difficulty with the staff. He was certain several of them were hiding something, but no amount of bribing, threatening, or cajoling could break their silence. He was grumbling about the disadvantages of staff becoming too secure in their positions when he caught sight of a bedraggled-looking Mirabelle entering the downstairs servants’ hall. She, in turn, was mumbling something about the advantages of staying in bed some mornings.

“Mirabelle!” he called to her back.

He thought perhaps she groaned, but couldn’t be certain.

“Where is she?” he demanded immediately. There was a chance Whit had already spoken with her, or that he already knew, but—

She turned and offered him a strained smile. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”