Page 77 of Lady Arabella’s Reluctant Hero

"The Dark Walk," Blackwood said to John. "If Pierce pulled her off the main promenade, that's where he'd go. It's poorly lit and the crowd thins out. Good place to have a private conversation."

They split up. Blackwood and one man toward the north entrance, John and the other toward the south, where the path forked near the Hermit's Walk.

The Grand Walk fell away behind him and the lamps grew sparse. The music faded to a distant thread. Masked faces drifted past, maddeningly anonymous. But none were Arabella. Masked or not, he'd recognize Arabella.

He pushed through the crowd, scanning every figure, every shadow. A woman in a blue domino. A couple arguing in whispers. A man in a harlequin mask smoking near a tree.

No Arabella.

He went deeper. The path narrowed, the trees pressing close. The lamps here were barely more than guttering candles.

And then…

He heard her voice.

Faint and muffled by the trees. But he knew it the way he knew Lucy's laugh or the sound of his own front door. So deeply familiar it registered before his conscious mind even caught up.

He did not pause to think before he moved straight toward it.

26

Nothing had gone as planned.

Which, Arabella supposed, was becoming something of a theme in her life. But this particular deviation from the plan was considerably worse than the others, because Pierce had her by the arm and they were deep in the Dark Walk and no one knew where she was.

She'd arrived at Vauxhall with Thea, who had insisted on escorting her despite Arabella's protests. She'd left Thea at the entrance and had walked toward the supper box on the Grand Walk where Pierce had agreed to meet her, her mask in place.

She'd made it perhaps thirty paces before a hand closed around her elbow.

"Not there, my dear." Pierce's voice had been right at her ear. "I've made other arrangements."

And before she could react, he'd steered her off the Grand Walk and into the shadows. The music and the lights had fallen away behind them, along with any illusions of safety she'd been clinging to.

The lamps were sparse and the path wound through dense plantings that blocked the moonlight.

Pierce walked beside her with the easy confidence of a man who knew these grounds well.

Of course he did. He would have scouted the whole of Vauxhall before tonight. He was thorough, she'd give him that.

She gasped when he gave her arm a sharp tug when her steps slowed.

She was frightened. She could admit that.

But she was also furious with herself for being frightened, which oddly helped. She'd known what she was walking into tonight. Even with Blackwood and the duchess and all their carefully laid plans, had she really believed it would be as simple as that?

Nothing with Pierce was ever so easy.

They'd moved so far from the crowds, she wondered if they were even in Vauxhall Gardens anymore. And Pierce kept dragging her deeper into the shadows.

"You've been busy." His tone was conversational. Friendly, even. "Tell me, what business do you have with a dowager duchess?"

Her mouth went dry. So. He'd been following her.

Was she truly surprised?

She kept her voice steady. "I don't know what you mean."

"Since when did you become such intimate friends with the Dowager Duchess of Ashworth that you rush to see her the moment you return to town?" When she didn't immediately answer, he continued in that easy tone. "Interesting woman, from what I hear. Very well connected, and inordinately curious about me of late."