“Lady Carlisle, what—” Hereford began.
“Not here,” she hissed, glancing nervously over her shoulder. She guided them behind a towering arrangement of hydrangeas, where they wouldn’t be overheard. “I need you to help me prevent a catastrophe.”
“What sort of catastrophe?” Miss Thornton asked, pointedly keeping the flower arrangement between herself and Hereford.
Charlotte wrung her hands. “I don’t care what it takes,” she declared. “Something must be done before my baby raccoons destroy Lady Jersey’s new bonnet and Andrew finds out! He was vehementlyopposed to bringing the creatures, but I snuck them in.”
“Baby what?” Hereford asked at the same moment Miss Thornton said, “Oh, Charlotte.”
As if on cue, two masked faces peered out from beneath a refreshment table, their little hands already sticky with stolen treats. Hereford couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, earning himself a withering look from the hostess.
“Now, I must return to the party and pretend to be completely at peace while you and Lord Hereford capture the beasts.”
“Me? Why me?” Miss Thornton looked around, clearly hoping to nominate someone else for the task.
“You have a soothing way about you, Amelia. The kits will believe you to be their mama and follow you. Don’t worry. You won’t be alone in this. Lord Hereford will gladly help. Won’t you, my lord?” With a pat on Amelia’s shoulder and a meaningful smile at Hereford, Charlotte disappeared to maintain the facade of a normal garden party.
Hereford watched Miss Thornton as she studied the raccoons, noting the slight furrow in her brow as she no doubt calculated the logistics of chasing after them with her injured leg. Something uncomfortable stirred in his chest again. Before he could examine the feeling too closely, he forced himself to adopt a tone of casual amusement.
“I could assist, but I admit I’m not keen on the idea.” He deliberately avoided looking at her. “I find them quite entertaining and wouldn’t mind a bit if they gnawed on every bonnet in this room.”
The lady shot poison darts at his face.
*
Amelia noticed howhandsome the marquess looked with the sunlight drenching his face in a warm glow, the top of his head forming a golden halo, even while she glared at him.
“Do you believe they would end there, my lord?” she asked evenly to the man who was avoiding her gaze. “Once they’ve finished with bonnets, they shall come after the shiny buttons on your coat. Charlotte has entertained me with the ways the kits can wreak havoc.”
“Is that so?” he said, still not looking in her direction. “That sounds like a nightmare. Where did they come from anyway?”
“Charlotte rescued the orphans in America but couldn’t find anyone to look after them during their time away. So, she brought them here, but they’re far cleverer than anyone had anticipated.”
A shriek from the garden drew their attention. The Duchess of Rutland was standing on a chair, brandishing her parasol at a third raccoon that had apparently developed a fascination with her silk shoes.
Amelia was startled by Hereford’s sudden movement, deftly stripping a nearby table of its tablecloth.
“Right then,” Hereford turned to Amelia while tying the two ends of the tablecloth around his neck. “I assume you have a plan?”
“Why would you assume that?”
“Because you always have a plan, Miss Thornton, usually one involving my public humiliation.”
She ignored the jab. “The raccoons are attracted to shiny objects and sweets. If we could lure them away from the guests…”
“We’d need something particularly enticing, but I don’t think Lady Carlisle would appreciate me brandishing her tureen for the creatures.” His gaze fell on her hair pins, glinting copper in the sunlight. “Those would do nicely.”
“I’m not sacrificing my hair pins to rescue the Duchess of Rutland’s shoes.”
“No? What about to free the Countess of Carlisle’s new Wedgwood tea service?”
They both turned to see one of the raccoons investigating the delicate china with dangerous curiosity.
“Charlotte will murder me,” Amelia muttered, already reaching for her pins.
Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders as she pressed them into Hereford’s hand. She was startled to see him frozen, his usual quick wit and easy smile nowhere to be seen. Instead, his blue eyes traced the cascade of her chestnut hair, following one particular curl that had fallen across her collarbone. The intensity of his gaze made her skin prickle with an awareness she’d never felt before.
“Don’t lose them,” she said, clearing her throat.
