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He glanced about the room. Everyone was engaged in lively conversation or a game—they wouldn’t be missed right away. And if he went up to the hostess now, with Miss St. Quinton on his arm, there was no telling what might ensue. Likely, something far more scandalous than simply having a footman share a discreet word about her departure.

He led her down the corridor and to the stairs, where she wavered on the landing. He grimaced and strengthened his arm. “Hold tight to the banister, hm?”

“But why must I, when I’ve your arm?”

He bent his mouth to her ear, dropping to a whisper. “Because, you’re ape-drunk.”

She scoffed and, instead of putting her free hand to said banister, thwacked his arm with it. “I most certainly am not.”

“This is an argument for the drive,” Rafe said, picking up her slapping hand and placing it on the glossy oak railing. “Now hold tight.”

Mercifully, she kept quiet while their outer garments were brought out and Chenoweth was sent for. If the footman who assisted them thought their pairing strange, he didn’t show it. There was a chance he was just good at his job and had mastered the art of appearing stoic, but something in the quietly domestic interaction gave Rafe a little thrill. Like maybe this one person didn’t look at him and Miss St. Quinton together and immediately see them as ill-matched.

He arranged for kind regards and apologies to be given to their hosts and her so-called chaperone, and made it exceedingly plain to the footman that he would be hiring a hackney home for himself—knowing, all the while, it was an expense he couldn’t afford. Not when he had to hire one to take him all the way to Greenwich tomorrow night.

“Chenoweth,” he called once they were outside, the Bancrofts’ door latched behind them. The coachman was waiting in the street below. “Could you give me a hand?”

“Certainly.” He padded up the stairs. When his eyes landed on Miss St. Quinton, they grew wide. “Deary me.”

“Good evening, sir,” she said, taking Chenoweth’s proffered arm. “I am much obliged to you for driving me home. I was having a dreadful time of it.”

Chenoweth’s shoe scraped against the step when she deposited her full weight into the men’s arms. “Much—much obliged, miss,” he said, readjusting his hold on her.

The whole ordeal would’ve been a far sight easier had they been able to hoist her up and put her into the carriage themselves. When she finally got there herself, Miss St. Quinton pressed into the squabs and nuzzled the velvet cushions with her cheek. Rafe waited until he was sure no one from the house was looking and ducked in after her, sighing when the door finally closed.

“What was it you said?” she asked groggily.

“What?” He had let an assortment of muttered curses fly from his lips the past few minutes, and none of them he cared to repeat with clarity.

“You said something which angered me.”

The carriage rolled forward. “Ah, yes. I said you were ape-drunk, and you are.”

“Perhaps I am … a trifle disguised.”

He was helpless against the impulse to laugh. God, what a terrific mess—and yet he was glad to have been there for her, and glad to be gone. Trouble followed this one, it seemed.

She grew quiet in the corner, and he took a deep breath. He could hardly wait to get back to his warm bed and surrender to sleep. He needed all the rest he could get before tomorrow.

The carriage slowed to a stop a few minutes later, and his drunken travel partner lifted her head. “Where are we?”

“I’ve brought you home, of course.” He edged toward the door.

She began grumbling, but the sound was drowned out by Chenoweth opening the door. He smiled, his eyes darting between them. “There be no need for worry, miss. Just a bit of steps, and I say as we’ve all had the muzzy head afore.”

Miss St. Quinton sank her head back into the corner. “I said no.”

“No to what?” Rafe asked quickly.

“I’m not going home. Not like th-this.”

“I’m afraid you have to.”

She didn’t respond, just settled more firmly into the corner. He looked to Chenoweth, whose smile had given way to wide-eyed staring. What in hell do we do? Rafe mouthed.

The coachman shrugged. “Can’t take she along with us, to be sure,” he whispered loudly.

“Then leave me in the square,” she said.