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Victoria took Withington’s arm, silently thanking the Lord that he hadn’t abandoned her. The thought sparked another, and another, until her mind was a maelstrom of possibilities. By the time they located Papa, she had it all worked out.
To firmly entrench herself in Cavendish’s affections would require time. Time alone with him, if at all possible. She needed a decoy to throw her bloodhound of a sister off the scent—and Withy was the perfect decoy.
“Completely preposterous!” scoffed her father to his peers. “We simply don’t have the manpower to enforce it. I don’t have to tell any of you how thinly spread we are already, what with the damned French and Spanish both giving us trouble—and now rumors of more brewing in Austria.” His jowls quivered as he shook his head in denial. “We cannot afford another war.”
“Hello, Papa!” Victoria exclaimed the moment he paused for breath, effectively cutting her sister off. She stretched up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek in a blatant parody of Amelia’s action earlier that evening.
He frowned. “You know never to interrupt me when I am in discussion. This had better be important.”
She smiled prettily. “I wanted to ask you if we might—”
“I apologize for the intrusion, Papa,” interrupted Amelia smoothly, talking over her. “I grew concerned for Victoria when I couldn’t find her earlier. When I finally managed to locate her, there was a feverish look about her. I was worried that she might be takin
g a chill.”
Victoria’s temper flared as her sister coughed and proceeded to stare pointedly at the front of her formerly modest gown.
Their father’s scowl grew positively thunderous as the reason for their impromptu visit became clear. “Ah. Yes. You did complain of a chill earlier, Victoria. I trust you’re not taking ill?”
His solicitous tone didn’t fool her one bit, though it appeared to deceive everyone else. “I’m perfectly well, Papa,” she cooed. “Sweet Amelia has kept watch over me like a guardian angel, and Lord Withington has been most chivalrous, as well—a veritable knight in shining armor. Oh! But how dreadfully rude of me! Papa, this is Marquess Withington.”
“At your service, Your Grace,” said Withington.
“So you see, there is no need for concern,” Victoria cut in. “I’m delighted to say that I am quite my hale and hearty self.” She breathed deeply and smiled, the action eliciting several chuckles of appreciative agreement from her father’s associates, whose gazes were glued to her chest. She knew she was the picture of robust health—especially from the waist up. As bosoms went, hers was quite nice and she knew it.
The chuckles died out into sputters and coughs as her father’s face bloomed with angry scarlet patches. “Well, ahem. Just see to it that you do not overly exert yourself, daughter. I should be greatly distressed if you were to take ill. I was of half a mind not to even allow you to attend tonight, but you asked so prettily that I hadn’t the heart to refuse. Pray, do not make me regret my leniency.” He dismissed her with a fierce glare.
She knew she’d come very close to crossing the line with him, and pressed no further. Instead, she looked to Withington who, based on his expression, was now wondering what the devil he’d gotten himself into. “Lord Withing—oh, I mean Withy,” she said, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “I should very much enjoy another dance. If you don’t think it would be looked upon as improper, that is?” Please, please, please…
After a tense moment, he acquiesced. “I would be most honored, Lady Victoria.”
She breathed again.
A sharp crack rent the air, and she looked over at Amelia. Her knuckles were white where they gripped the carved ivory handle of her favorite fan. She had just broken it. Her stare was absolutely glacial.
Victoria ignored the warning. “Oh, you are my chivalrous knight!” she trilled, hauling on Withington’s arm and all but dragging him away. They found their places on the dance floor and waited for the music to begin. She could tell he was on the verge of fleeing.
At last, the allemande drew them close enough to converse. “I can’t explain right now,” she hissed, pausing a beat longer than required, “but if we can find somewhere private, I promise to tell you everything!”
He nodded.
Her sister’s stony face flashed by at every turn, and Victoria knew there would be hell to pay later tonight. Just when she was about to give up all hope of escape, she spied the Earl of Scarbrough approaching Amelia from behind.
Her spirits lifted. The new earl was a friend of Papa’s, and quite keen on Amelia. Unfortunately her sister had pronounced him unsuitable, as his brother, the previous earl, had committed suicide earlier that year. According to her, she wanted “no part of any family with a history of such acute mental disturbance.”
It was just another excuse to avoid marrying.
When Amelia turned to answer him, Victoria grabbed Withington’s hand and yanked him out of the line. “Hurry! We have five minutes at most before she manages to extricate herself.” She did not stop at the edge of the dance floor. Nor did she stop at the doors. Instead, she continued down the steps to the gardens and broke into a run, tugging him along. “Come on!”
“But—”
“There isn’t time!” There it was just ahead: the entrance to the labyrinth.
He saw it, too, and began to slow. “My lady, I don’t think this is—”
“I shall explain everything, only come along!” Pulling with all her might, she dragged him in.
TURNING CORNER AFTER corner, she led them deeper into the maze. Only when she was satisfied they were beyond the view of the house did she finally halt.
