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As the young gentleman drew closer, Venetia turned on her heel and hurried out of the saloon. She could not endure more supposed merrymaking when her heart was so wounded.
She made it into the passageway with less grace than she might have managed had her eyes not been blurry with tears. In fact, she all but stumbled into the small withdrawing room some way down an adjoining passageway before she realized her mistake and had to hold her breath and pray she’d arrived unnoticed.
Fortunately, Lady Quamby and the gentleman…good lord, was that really Signor Boticelli the dancing tutor with the fall front of his pantaloons unbuttoned, and her hostess with her breasts exposed?
Venetia had to blink rapidly, first to clear the tears, and then to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.
Of course, she should have been alerted by the moans and squeaking of the settee upon which they now lay, and, if she had, she’d have got no further [BH1] than the screen which partly exposed them. The room was one she’d never been in, and no fire had been lit in the grate, so it was unlikely they’d be disturbed, Venetia supposed. But…
She was deeply shocked. Fortunately, the couple was so involved in their lover’s tryst that they were insensible to the soft tread of her dancing slippers as she made the most judicious retreat she could.
With heart thundering, she hurried back toward the saloon, stepping into the library on the way to catch her breath.
A small fire was dancing in the grate, lending it a cheerful air, and, to her relief, the room was unoccupied. The strains of the orchestra sounded through the walls, and she closed her eyes, imagining what she was missing.
Sebastian’s arms about her as he twirled her around the room in a waltz?
She sighed. That would have been perfect.
If only...
The clock above the mantelpiece chimed the hour, causing Venetia to leap out of her reverie. Warming her hands by the fire in a deserted library was not how she’d intended to spend her unusual reprieve from her role as Lady Indigo’s handmaiden so, reluctantly, she straightened and headed back into the passage.
Confronted by the long length of the dim, carpeted space, she felt suddenly nervous when she saw the young man who’d earlier pursued her to dance, coming toward her.
She shouldn’t be alone in this rabbit warren of corridors. Sebastian claimed he’d been tricked by circumstance and Venetia knew that, for a young woman to be alone—anywhere—courted danger.
Avoiding him by turning back into the corridor from which she’d originally come, she squinted at the sound of a gasp at the far end.
It was difficult to see properly due to the fact that only a few candle sconces lit up this part of the house, but she could just make out the form of a young woman in the process of exiting from one of the withdrawing rooms.
In fact, the very withdrawing room where Venetia had come upon Lady Quamby and Signor Botticelli.
Miss Reeves?
The girl was hurrying very fast, and as she neared, Venetia could see the shock on her face. In fact, she was sobbing, as if she’d been personally affronted by the activities of her hostess and the dancing master.
Venetia pressed herself against the wall. She had no wish to speak to Miss Reeves.
Yes, no doubt she was upset at coming upon such a disturbing sight. But it was not as if Miss Reeves were an innocent virgin who had no idea that such activities didn’t have consequences.
And when Venetia glimpsed Sebastian, heading toward her from the saloon, she walked past him with her head held high.
“Venetia, I’ve been looking for you!” he said, taking her hand, but she shook it off.
“I can’t talk to you alone here, Sebastian.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I think your duty is to comfort the very distressed Miss Reeves, who,” she added pointedly, “might not be in such a disturbed state if you had behaved a
s you ought.”
***
More than a little puzzled, Sebastian watched Venetia disappear down the passage and into the saloon.
What had Sebastian’s behavior got to do with Miss Reeves?
He was about to go after her when he heard his name and, turning back, saw Miss Reeves leaning back against the wall of one of the antechambers a little farther up the passage.
“Mr Wells! Oh Mr Wells!” she cried, coming toward him.
