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Lord Bo
lton found his fiancée and escorted Emma to the dance floor. Louisa stood against a pillar and watched the rest of the room. She supposed she must become accustomed to being a wallflower.
“Dance with me.”
A familiar male voice forced her to look up. Hoping for Harry but finding Ainsley dressed as Robin Hood, she replied, “I’m not dancing tonight.”
“Yes, you are,” he replied with a smile. “Now. With me.”
“How did you know it was me?” she asked.
“When Bolton danced with Anne Boleyn, it was perfectly obvious you were Guinevere.”
“Isolde.”
He shrugged and held out his arm to lead her to the dance floor. They joined in with the other dancers as the waltz began.
“Why are you dancing with me?” she asked. “I heard you recently came into five thousand.”
Dimples creased his cheeks. “I would never accept a bribe from a friend. Even if he has everything wrong about you and me.”
“So why the dance?”
“I would like you to go to the back of the gardens when this dance is over.”
Back of the gardens? “Why?”
“I need to speak with you alone and must not be seen or overheard.” He leaned in closer. “It’s about Harry.”
“What is it?” Worry line her voice. Did something happen to him? She wanted this waltz over immediately.
“After the dance. Now smile up at me like you and I are courting.”
“But we are not.”
“If circumstances had been slightly different, we might,” he commented with an arched brow.
As the dance progressed, Louisa scanned the room for Harry. This set was taking far too long. “Can you not give me a hint of what you need to tell me?”
He’d moved them toward the terrace doors and then off the dance floor. “Go now, while people are watching the dancers. I will join you in a few minutes.”
Louisa nodded and slipped out of the room and down the stairs. Torches lit the gardens, lending just enough light to see how many people were outside. Several people milled about, waiting for others or just getting a breath of air. The muffled sound of music filled the night. Finding a small bench in the rear of the gardens, she waited for Ainsley.
“Miss Drake, I need you to come with me and not ask any questions.”
She glanced up to see Simon Kingsley with his hand outstretched. “Why?”
“That is a question, my dear. Just trust me.”
“Trust the King of Hell? Oh, why not.” She took his hand, and they escaped from the gardens to the mews. A plain black carriage awaited them. “Where are we going?”
“Not to worry.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
He smiled over at her. “I realize that, but I did say no questions.”
He assisted her into the carriage and closed the door. She was alone in the carriage. “Kingsley!”
