Page 29 of A Mistletoe Masquerade

'Has Lord Danescroft seen her?' Rowan queried.

'I cannot find my grandson, either. Oh, I wash my hands of them! There is no helping young people these days. And you, young man-you run along at once. Doors shutting by themselves, indeed-do you think I was born yesterday?'

'No, ma' am,' Lucas said with a meekness which earned him a painful rap over the knuckles with her lorgnette.

'Humbug. Go and make yourself useful and find Danescroft. You, too, Lady Rowan. See if you can find Penelope while you are about it.'

'Yes, ma'am,' Rowan said.

She had managed to pin her hair back up with that dexterity that always amazed him in women, and now came to stand by his side, looking, he was amused to see, as if butter would not melt in her mouth.

'I shall expect to see the announcement of your nuptials very soon,' Lady Rolesby said abruptly, making them both jump. 'And if I do not I will have a word with your father, young lady. He is back in Town-without, apparently, any notion of where you are. Now, off with you both.'

'Old witch,' Rowan said with a chuckle. 'I nearly expired with embarrassment when she rattled the door handle.' Papa was back! Was it possible to be any happier? He was going to love his son-in-law.

Beside her, Lucas snorted with amusement. 'You'd have done more than that if I'd yielded to your blandishments and joined you on the sofa.'

'I suppose you are going to become tiresomely honourable and not lay a finger on me until we are married?' Rowan sighed. It was torture not being able to touch him. She just wanted to stroke him, reassure herself that he was real.

'Of course. I will be a pattern book of respectability. But then, I do not intend having to wait very long. If I

go up to Town tomorrow to speak to your father and get a licence, what do you say to a Twelfth Night wedding?'

'Oh, yes!' Rowan tried to realise that this was truly happening-that her utterly unsuitable love was about to become her completely suitable husband. 'Where?'

'Is your Town house open?'

'It can be. St George's Hanover Square, then-?' Rowan broke off. 'Lady Smithers? Yes, thank you, I feel much better now. Something I ate, I think. Quite. Have you by any chance seen Miss Maylin? No?'

They passed on, scanning the room.

'Oh. Lord, where can she have got to?'

Lucas was nodding and chatting, his eyes running over the crowd crammed around the walls now the dancing had begun.

'Where's Will? Never mind your pea-brained friend.'

'She is not pea-brained!' They passed a door leading to the conservatory. 'Let's look in here. She might have escaped for some peace and quiet.'

'May as well. At least I can kiss you in here,' Lucas observed, making cold shivers run deliciously up and down her spine by kissing the nape of her neck as she dodged around a potted palm.

'Shh, there is someone in here already.' She tiptoed forward, conscious of Lucas on her heels, and parted the fronds of a large fern.

A tall, dark man had a young woman locked in his

arms, kissing her ruthlessly. She had no chance of escape but hung, tiny and fragile in his arms, as he ravished her mouth. There was no mistaking that gown of blonde lace and pale amber silk. She had fastened it herself that evening.

'Stop it at once, you brute!' Furious, Rowan launched herself out of the shelter of the fern, tugging on Lord Danescroft's sleeve.

'Madam!'

'Rowan!'

'Lucas!' Lord Danescroft pulled himself together first. 'I do not know who you are, ma'am, but my fiancee and I-'

'Fiancee? Penny, you do not have to do this-'

'Will, for heaven's sake think! This is the rest of your life you are-'

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