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However, as she felt her way along the dark corridor of Lady Braxton’s London townhouse and the music grew fainter, she became increasingly conscious of the pounding of her own heart.
And when she turned into an inky corridor and stumbled over a large, unidentified object, the air left her lungs in a great shriek as she landed with a painful jarring of her wrists upon the
cold, hard flagstones.
“Good Lord!” came a disembodied young male voice in the dark before a groping hand located a piece of Katherine—a carefully arranged ringlet of hair—which caused her to shriek even louder when it was quite unnecessarily tugged. Whether this was to establish who or what she was, she had no idea, and perhaps neither did the tugger, for immediately a profound apology was issued before the groping hand was operating with complete abandon in the dark.
It found Katherine’s breast just as the voice said in tones of utter mortification, “Forgive me! Are you hurt? Take my hand. Really, I can’t apologise enough.”
Katherine had made one unsuccessful attempt to stand, but it was a struggle in her flounced skirt and multiple petticoats. She swatted away the supposedly helping hand and hissed something unintelligible—since unladylike language seemed less of an offence when she couldn’t see to whom she was speaking.
But when the disembodied groping hand entered her orbit once more, in fact brushing the bare flesh above her garter and getting in a good squeeze of her thigh flesh, her temper, which had never been one of her strong points, snapped, and she lashed out with a sharp slice through the inky air.
A loud yelp made her realise she’d perhaps been a little peremptory and certainly too violent in this unladylike action, and even though she felt disinclined to apologise, she did say, ungraciously, “I’m sorry I hit you, but a lady can only take so much of all this groping in the dark. I mean…what were you doing?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” came the response, now at ear level. In fact, she could feel the soft whisper of breath against her cheek, which made her step back, saying, “I asked first.”
“I was chasing a cat. Bending down, in fact. And then suddenly something crashed into me. Or on top of me.”
“That was me.”
“Of course it was you. There’s no one else here, is there?”
Katherine bridled at his tone. She was unused to being found at fault. “Then how thoughtless it was of you to crouch down where anybody could simply crash into you.”
The response was whip-fast and enragingly superior. “Anybody—or rather, anybody else—would be carrying a candle. I think I have every reason to be deeply suspicious of the motives of anyone who is not.”
“Well, you don’t have a candle. And I would suspect the truth of anyone hiding away in the dark, claiming they were crouching over an imaginary cat,” huffed Katherine, smoothing her skirts. “In fact, I’d wager there was no cat here at all. No, you were sneaking away from something, weren’t you?”
“And if I was, what business is it of yours? Whoever you are.”
Katherine could not imagine the audacity. “I could ask the same question. You certainly are no gentleman to speak to a lady in that fashion.”
“Since that lady hasn’t bothered to declare herself, I think I could be forgiven.”
“A gentleman would have declared himself first,” Katherine said hotly. “What were you sidling away from? There’s a noisy ball going on in the next room. If you were a gentleman, wouldn’t you be gallantly asking the ladies to dance instead of hiding in the dark? Perhaps there’s someone you’re afraid of seeing? A lady who has expectations of you behaving towards her as a gentleman would.” Katherine said this triumphantly before elaborating on her theme. “My guess is that you’ve given some poor young lady the idea that you’ll dance with her all night, and now you’ve changed your mind and are sneaking away.”
“And I’d suggest you’re trying to sneak away from a gentleman to whom you’ve already promised two dances. Meanwhile he, poor fellow, is searching for you vainly in the ballroom while you’re here making a mockery of him.”
“He can do that all by himself,” Katherine sniffed. “But I never promised him anything, and I never will.”
“Ha! I was right.” The anonymous young gentleman sounded very pleased with himself. “Well, I feel sorry for this chap without even seeing what you look like, miss. Poor fellow!”
“Poor fellow, indeed. George can pine til the cows come home. I’d even suffer talking to you than have to spend another five minutes with his sweating hands squeezing mine and his moon eyes boring into me…and his horrible, putrid breath choking me and his—”
“Poor George! I was just starting to feel sorry for him until you described the exact George I, too, am so at pains to avoid tonight.” The voice became more confidential, and the mood relaxed.
“Well, you have described my cousin to a very fine point.” Katherine laughed. “And if you are as well acquainted with him as you seem to be, then you obviously know exactly why I am here in the dark.”
There was a small silence. And then, “Your cousin?”
“Yes, my Cousin George.”
“George…who?”
“Lord Quamby’s son. Lord Quamby is married to my Aunt Antoinette who’s the sister of my mother who—“
“I know exactly who you’re talking about. And we’re talking about the same George!” The voice sounded stunned.
