I wrinkled my nose and pushed the green baize door open. And there was my bedroom, at the end of the hall and on the left.
There were six bedrooms up here, in addition to the maids’ quarters, and two washrooms. I hadn’t been surprised to find my own tiny bedroom squeezed into the corner beyond one of the lavatories: that was certainly Laetitia’s doing. Violet, Cecily, and Olivia had the three bedrooms across the hall, and then there was Wolfgang on the other side of the lavatory from me, and the duo of Reginald Fish and Dominic Rivers, who seemed to be bunking together.
The lights had been turned down low in the upper hallway, which I took to mean that everyone was where they were supposed to be at this point, or if not that, at least where they wanted to be. Two of the girls’ bedrooms were dark, so two of them were either asleep or—in Violet’s case—still out with Geoffrey. In the third, the light was on, and I could hear themurmur of voices as I tiptoed past. One male and one female, but too soft to make out words, or even whether they belonged to anyone I knew. I wouldn’t be able to tell Cecily Fletcher’s voice from Lady Violet’s, of course, but I’d probably be able to tell Dominic Rivers’s voice from, for instance, Geoffrey’s.
I was in front of my own door, and had my hand out to grab the handle, when there was the slight scrape of a doorknob somewhere on this level. I stopped where I was, torn between ducking inside my room quickly so I wouldn’t be seen, and wanting to discover who else was sneaking around after everyone else was in bed. That latter impulse won out, and I turned and peered down the hall for who was stirring.
There was a softclickas one of the doors across the hall opened, and a figure came out. The moon glimmered for a moment on fair hair, and my stomach dropped.
CHAPTER SIX
I suppose I should have—orcould have, at least—pretended that I hadn’t recognized him instantly. To myself, if to no one else. There were other men here with fair hair, after all. Christopher and Francis, Wolfgang, even the Honorable Reggie. I could have made a case for it being someone else.
Although Francis wasn’t going to come out of some unknown young lady’s bedchamber in the middle of the night, nor was Christopher. I certainly hoped that Wolfgang wouldn’t do. And at any rate, I had known who he was as soon as he slipped through the door, long before the light had had any chance to find his head.
He must have known I was there, too—or that someone was—because his shoulders braced before he turned to face the hallway. His eyes flickered for a second before they landed on me. I suppose I was more visible than I’d thought I was. Even tucked into the dark corner of the hallway, my ivory frock must have stood out like a beacon, much like Crispin’s head of platinum hair.
He breathed out. Relief, perhaps. “Philippa.”
He sauntered my way, and if he had been nervous earlier, there was no sign of it now.
“St George,” I retorted. Severely. Under no circumstances would I let him soften me up with my rarely-used given name.
Besides, it wasn’t as if I had any doubts as to what he had been up to. I’m not stupid. There was only one reason why the newly-engaged Viscount St George, notorious cad and philanderer, would have been in… was it Olivia Barnsley’s room? Most likely, if Lady Violet was in the garden with Geoffrey and Cecily Fletcher was entertaining Dominic Rivers—in the middle of the night.
Still, it was sobering to see the results with my own eyes. His hair was ruffled, as if someone had had her hands in it. He hadn’t bothered to do up the buttons of his shirt all the way, so there was a V of pale skin visible at the bottom of his throat where the ends of the bowtie dangled. And his neck sported what could only be a bruise. From someone’s teeth, no doubt.
I narrowed my eyes on it. “You had better do something about that before Laetitia sees it.”
He sighed. “Darling…”
“You’re vile,” I told him. My voice shook, and I hoped he knew that it was from anger and disgust, not anything else. “You’re… you’re…”
“Vile.” He nodded tiredly. “I know.”
“Betrothed!” I hissed the word at him. I was careful not to raise my voice, though. While I loathed both him and his behavior, I didn’t want to draw any more attention to his presence here than I had to. “You have a fiancée, St George. You have no business visiting other women’s bedchambers at night.”
“Laetitia’s under no illusions about this being a love match, Darling.”
“That’s beside the point! You committed yourself to her; you shouldn’t be coming out of Miss Barnsley’s room in the?—”
“Miss Fletcher’s room,” Crispin corrected.
Miss Fletcher? But she had been entertaining Dominic Rivers, hadn’t she?
Unless Nellie had got it wrong, of course, but I couldn’t imagine how anyone could have mistaken Dom Rivers for Crispin or vice versa. They looked nothing alike. They didn’t even sound the same. Rivers’s accent was a lot less elegant than Crispin’s Eton-educated vowels. Besides, Nellie ought to be able to tell the fiancé of the daughter of the house from a random party guest who looked nothing like him.
Perhaps Cecily had entertained them both.
“Ugh,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “Rekindling an old flame on the eve of your engagement party, St George? Lovely behavior.”
“It’s not what you think, Darling.”
“Of course not,” I said. “If I’m wrong, why do you look like that?”
He smirked. “Like what, Darling?”
I made a face. “Like you’ve had a close encounter with a vampire. One who decided to run her fingers through your hair before she sucked your blood.”
