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She narrowed her eyes. “You’ll be right here?”
“Of course.”
“Very well.” With a sigh, she handed him her glass and accepted Leasham’s arm.
As soon as they stepped away, a footman approached holding a silver tray.
“Lord Sedgwick?”
“Yes?” Ramsey stared at the folded white parchment with his name on it.
“This came for you just now, my lord.”
Ramsey lifted it, broke the seal, and scanned the contents. With an oath, he shoved the parchment into his coat pocket set the champagne on the tray, and strode away.
—
Dreadful man! Gabrielle thought as she stepped and then hopped to the gavotte. Leasham’s hand in hers was wet with perspiration, and her other hand was held by a man she did not know and who had been only hastily introduced. She hadn’t paid attention because she’d been searching for Sedgwick.
Oh, she’d known he wouldn’t stay where he was! And now she had no idea if he remained at the ball or if he’d left to return home. It was far too early. Diana and Cressy would still be at his residence. She had promised to keep him at the ball until midnight. It was barely quarter past eleven now.
The gavotte seemed interminable, and it was twenty to twelve by the time she extricated herself from Leasham. He had insisted she make a circuit of the ballroom with him, and Sedgwick was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he was in the card room, she thought as she made her way out of the too-warm ballroom and into the supper room, narrowly avoiding being spotted by Violet Cheever and Miss March. She ducked hastily into the room and out of sight. The servants were setting out food, as the meal was to be served at midnight. But other than the servants, the supper room was empty. Most of the guests were enjoying the dancing. She hoped Violet and Miss March were dancing.
Gabrielle wasn’t certain where the card room was located, and she stepped out of the chamber and eyed two doors, both closed. Just then Lady Blakeney opened the door on Gabrielle’s right. The two women curtsied, and Gabrielle cursed inwardly. Diana would be even angrier when she realized that not only had she missed viscomte Marsan, she’d also missed seeing her idol.
Known as the “cleverest woman in all of Europe”—and after her marriage to the rich but insipid Sir Percy Blakeney, one of the most fashionable—Lady Blakeney certainly lived up to her image tonight. She was dressed in a short-waisted classical gown that was sure to become quite the fashion, and her red-gold curls, lightly dusted with powder, were tied at the nape of her neck with a large cream bow. She looked at once charming and beautiful.
“Lady McCullough, is it?” Lady Blakeney asked. Her voice was sweet, like the tinkling of a bell, and Gabrielle knew this was because she’d trained it for years on the stage. She’d been an actress in France before her marriage, and some said she harbored revolutionary sympathies.
“Yes, Lady Blakeney. How good to see you.”
“And you. Where is your friend Lady Diana? I do so enjoy her wit.”
“She is at home tonight, my lady. But I will tell her you asked after her.”
Lady Blakeney pressed her hand into Gabrielle’s. “Yes, do.” She looked about the deserted corridor. “Are you looking for someone?”
“The card room, my lady.”
Lady Blakeney smiled. “It’s this door. Go right inside.”
“Thank you.”
Lady Blakeney opened the door for her, which surprised Gabrielle, but she entered and immediately thought there must be some mistake. This was not the card room. It was dark and quiet. It must be the library. She turned to exit and inform Lady Blakeney of her mistake, but the door closed in her face, and when she tried the handle, it was locked. Something behind her rustled, and Gabrielle stilled. Oh, please, God, don’t let it be a rat! She had nightmares about being trapped in rooms with rats.
“A moment of your time, Lady McCullough,” a voice said from the far side of the room. It was a man’s voice and low as though in disguise. “No, don’t turn around.”
Gabrielle froze and shivered when new fear skittered up her back. “Who are you?”
The man chuckled. She could hear him moving and thought he might be standing near the heavy draperies. She surmised that behind the draperies French doors opened onto a terrace. Since the door before her was locked, the French doors were her only escape. She was trapped. Was he one of George’s creditors? How had he gained entrance to this ball? And how would she get away? If she had a little light, she could pick the library’s lock, but her eyes had yet to adjust to the gloom in the dark room.
“I think the better question,” the man said, “is who are you?”
She frowned. He made no sense. “You know who I am. You said my name.”
“I know quite a bit about you, especially your particular skills.”
Dread pooled in the pit of her stomach, and a bead of perspiration worked its way slowly down the back of her neck. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said slowly.
