Page 1 of Lady Arabella’s Reluctant Hero

1

Lady Arabella Wycliffe's eyes slid toward the clock at the far end of the ballroom.

Twenty-six minutes left.

One minute less than the last time she'd stolen a glance.

Half past ten. The bench by the white roses.

The note was still where she'd tucked it that afternoon, folded small and pressed against the inside of her wrist beneath the seam of her glove. She did not need to read it again to know what it said. She'd memorized the words the moment she'd received the missive this morning and had been repeating them on a loop all day.

By the white roses. The question nagged. Had her blackmailer remembered her love of white roses or was this just a coincidental cruelty?

The garden doors were just to her left, and the urge to sneak a peek in that direction was so insistent, she nearly gave in. But instead, she forced her eyes back on Mrs. Marbury and told herself to keep them there.

It did not help, however, that Mrs. Marbury was telling another tedious tale about her son.

For three long weeks she'd been hearing stories about the dull-witted man, and tonight for the first time she wasn't required to feign interest. In fact, she hadn't sought out the other woman at all this evening, and it occurred to her now that there was no reason to prolong this agony.

Her job here was done.

"—and Charles was so pleased," Mrs. Marbury was saying. "He said over breakfast just yesterday that you were the most refreshing⁠—"

"Yes," Arabella said. "I'm sure he did."

Mrs. Marbury blinked at Arabella's flat tone. "Are you all right, Lady Arabella? You seem out of sorts this evening."

A wry smile tugged at her lips. Out of sorts? That was one way to put it. She forced a small smile. "It is warm in here, is it not?"

Mrs. Marbury looked surprised. "Is it? Well, I suppose it is, rather⁠—"

"You should rest, Mrs. Marbury. Look, there is a bench just there." She waved in the general direction of a seat, already moving past the woman she'd called a “dear friend” on more than one occasion these past few weeks. "I shall send my friend to fetch you a drink."

Arabella extracted herself before Mrs. Marbury could decide whether she had been dismissed or attended to.

She could breathe a little easier once she was away from the older woman's cloying perfume. But the nagging guilt wasn't so easy to leave behind.

But it's done now, she told herself. Her traitorous gaze slid toward the French doors before she could stop it.

It would all be over soon enough. He'd promised, hadn't he? Just one more job. One last false friendship and stolen secrets, and then she would be free.

The orchestra had picked up the pace of a particularly brisk reel. It set her nerves on edge, but her smile held. Twenty-five minutes.

She turned her head a fraction toward the garden doors. Was he already out there waiting?

When she turned back, she found herself rapidly approaching a group of young men and women who were laughing as Lady Stratton held court.

Formerly known as Cast-Off Clarissa, the new Lady Stratton was wearing emeralds and a dress that matched, but what was most irksome was her cheerful smile. Her charming husband, the Earl of Stratton, was beside her. And his aunt, the Dowager Duchess of Ashworth, was watching them both with smug satisfaction.

And she ought to be smug, Arabella supposed. Everyone had assumed Lady Clarissa would be the failure of the Season after her two scandalous rejections. Instead, she'd surprised them all by winning over one of London's most sought-after bachelors, who just happened to be the heir to a dukedom.

Arabella did not stop walking. She let her gaze skim over the happy couple and their doting aunt, and found herself staring instead at the man standing just off to the side. He was watching with an indulgent smile as Clarissa gestured wildly with her hands.

That would be her brother, Lord Alderton. Or half-brother, rather. Arabella had done her digging into Clarissa's family earlier in the Season. She hadn't necessarily needed to know the young lady's full lineage to accomplish the mission she'd been tasked with, but Arabella never did anything in half measures.

Not even ruin.

Lord Alderton was nursing a drink and looking like a man who would rather be anywhere but here.