Page 40 of Sinfully Daring

“Where?” he gritted out.

“The library,” Price’s friend supplied helpfully. “That’s what you said, wasn’t it, Humphrey?”

“Yes, the library,” Price replied, glaring at Sebastian with loathing.

Sebastian wondered at the vitriol in that icy glare but did not stop to consider it further, too afraid the young woman would meet her ruin if he did not hurry. Giving Price one last satisfying shake, he left the blackguard slumped against the wall and hurried into the grand house. Thankfully, he met a stream of servants, loaded trays in hand, on their way out to replenish the refreshments.

“Which way to the library?” he demanded of a young man who was trailing a little behind the others.

The fellow gawked at him before pointing to his right. “See that door on the left? Take that and then the third door to the right. Follow the corridor to the end and turn right, and then right again. Then take the next left and then the door right in front of you, the library door is at the far end of that room.”

Sebastian groaned, remembering now what a bloody maze Dern was from having visited once before. Committing the instructions to memory, he hurried on.

Matilda kept her smile firmly in place whilst Miss Dudley gushed about how simply divine everything was. The food was divine, the gardens were divine, Matilda herself was divine, oh, and her daughter? Simply divine.

She was such a sweet lady, a spinster of middling years, that Matilda bore with her patiently though she was dying to find her husband. She hadn’t seen Lucian in over an hour, and she knew he hated these affairs. If possible, she had hoped to let him persuade her to slip away and do something dreadfully scandalous with him somewhere secluded, but she would need to find him first. With one ear still on the conversation, she kept her eyes on the crowd, before noticing that wretched creature, Miss Hatchet. For reasons Matilda could never fathom, she was often in company with Miss Dudley, but unlike that kind-hearted lady, Miss Hatchet was a dreadful tattlemonger. Miss Hatchet was now speaking with Lady Hargreaves. Their bent heads dipped close together, both speaking urgently, no doubt having found some dreadful piece of gossip to devour. To Matilda, as beautiful as Lady Hargreaves may be, and as bright and lovely as her sky-blue gown was, the two of them resembled nothing more than carrion crows, picking over some poor, unfortunate creature.

Miss Dudley paused in her effusive praise as a little shriek of apparent dismay emanated from Miss Hatchet, though it sounded more like delight to Matilda.

“Oh, no, the poor child, and her a duke’s daughter! She’ll be ruined, of course.”

Matilda’s heart leapt with fright. “Who? Who will be ruined?”

“Oh, I told you not to tell anyone,” Lady Hargreaves said, with such patently false ingenuousness, Matilda’s hand itched with the desire to slap her.

“Who?” Matilda demanded, her voice frosty with dislike now.

Miss Hatchet paled and put up her chin. “It appears Lady Rosamund has been ill advised enough to speak privately with Lord Kilbane.”

“Preposterous!” Matilda said at once. “She would never, never do such a thing.”

“I saw her enter the library not five minutes ago, and a tall, dark-haired man slipped in after her a moment later. It looked like the marquess to me,” Lady Hargreaves replied, her eyes full of malice.

Oh, the horrid woman was up to something. This was her revenge on poor Rosamund for daring to be friends with her husband, and Matilda did not doubt Miss Hatchet, the biggest gossip in England, was not the only person she had told.

“Stay here,” Matilda commanded, hurrying back to the house, but the wretched women would not stay put, following her at a run, eager for the drama to play out.

Praying that she could find a servant, or better yet, Lucian or one of her sons to keep them at bay before she reached the library, Matilda rushed on.

Rosamund perused the titles, trying to choose as quickly as she could. The trouble was there were so many good ones, but Cat had mentioned something about The Devil and the Maiden, the new book by the scandalous and anonymous author of The Ghosts of Castle Madruzzo. Now that would give her an entertaining afternoon. After a fruitless ten minutes of searching, Rosamund gave up, remembering her promise to her brother not to dally. Unable to choose between The Fall of the House of Usher by Edgar Allan Poe, and The Captain’s Daughter by Pushkin, she gathered up both. The House of Usher was only a short story, after all, so she ought to manage the two of them. Pleased with her selection, Rosamund had turned to leave when one of the two doors into the room burst open and slammed shut again.

Scanning the vast library, his expression fierce, was Lord Hargreaves.

Rosamund was so shocked she dropped the books with a squeak of surprise.

“My lord!” she exclaimed, staring at him.

Hargreaves started and spun to face her. “Rosamund! My God, where is he? Where is the blackguard?”

“B-Blackguard?” she queried, perplexed.

He paled, his expression changing from fury to terror in an instant.

“Oh, no,” he murmured, before spinning around and grasping the door handle just as a definite, snick, indicated the turning of a key. Hargreaves tugged at the door. “Open this door, Adelia!” he bellowed, pounding on the thick oak.

Adelia? Rosamund’s heart thudded with alarm.

“The other door,” she cried, picking up her skirts and running to the door at the far end of the library.