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“Perhaps you are overheated. It is infernally warm in here.”

She shook her head and then regretted it, since it made her feel as if she were underwater. “I never feel this way after dancing, and I’m accustomed to dancing several sets without pause.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps out in the country but not in London. The air is stuffier and dirtier, if you haven’t noticed. Come, my dear, I shall take you out to enjoy some of that ‘fresh’ city air.”

“I don’t know . . .” She tried to look around him for Megan or Céline but couldn’t manage it around his broad chest.

He began leading her toward the door. “I think some fresh air first, and then if you aren’t feeling better, I’ll send a footman to look for Mrs. Phillips and let them know you are indisposed.”

“I’m so sorry. I feel such a nuisance. Perhaps something I ate . . . although I began to feel . . . funny before . . .” Her words sounded
slurred, and it was taking too much effort to form them, so she allowed herself to be led out of the supper room. In truth, she didn’t care where he took her as long as it was away from everyone, somewhere she could sit and the world could stop spinning.

She was hardly aware of where she was going until the cooler night air hit her face. She took in great gulps of it, smelling its whiff of coal smoke, refuse, and greenery. She had no idea where she was since the night was so dark. The torchlight flickered and wavered in the distance. Maybe she was in outermost space among the stars, though she couldn’t see any stars in the murky sky.

Instead of leading her to a bench, St. Leger kept walking, his arm now around her shoulders to steady her.

“May . . . may I . . . sit . . .” Those simple words had caused too much effort to form in her brain, she was hardly aware if she’d uttered them except that he murmured close to her ear, “In a moment, my dear.”

Then she heard something like a latch of a door or gate, and then his voice, more commanding but still low.

She was being led up a step. The sway of something—was it a coach?—and finally, blessedly, she was able to sink down on a seat.

Her body immediately slumped to the side. The smell of leather reached her nostrils. The next moment she heard the sharp voice of St. Leger then a more forceful swaying of the seat she lay across. Then he was beside her again, propping her against him, his arm once more around her.

“There, you will feel better in a moment.”

Besides the dizziness within herself, there was more movement. Was she in a carriage? Was that the clop-clop of horse hooves? How had she gotten here? She brought a hand to her head and felt a thick strand of hair tumbling across her neck and shoulder. She must appear a fright.

She giggled at the thought. What mattered was not how she looked but that she wouldn’t be sick in front of this elegant
gentleman. What he said about champagne—there was sweet and . . . dry . . .

“W-where are we . . . going?” she mumbled. As if in a dream, she felt her words were not coming out so as to be understood.

“Someplace where you will feel better,” he murmured against her temple, smoothing her skin with his fingertips. The rhythmic movement eased her for a while. Her eyelids felt heavy. Her head felt heavy. With a slight pressure of his hand, her head easily dropped against his chest.

17

L
ancelot craned his neck to look into every nook and cranny of the ballroom, which was beginning to fill up again as couples returned from the supper room.

Every time he had seen Miss Barry this evening, she seemed to be with St. Leger. The man had taken her in to supper, and he had departed the supper room with Miss Barry leaning on his arm.

Lancelot’s disquiet grew as he continued scanning the ballroom and saw no sign of Miss Barry. Where had St. Leger taken her? He pictured her once again in St. Leger’s arms in a secluded garden.

His conscience smote him as he remembered his own conduct. But he knew his kiss had not been premeditated. It had been broad daylight where anyone could have seen them. But more importantly, Lancelot had made clear the next day that his intentions were honorable. That Miss Barry had spurned him in no uncertain terms was beyond his control.

“I would never consider marrying a vicar.”

Her words still hurt as much as when she’d uttered them. They’d shocked him too. With them she’d repudiated her own father and all Lancelot valued most.

She’d intimated that St. Leger had also proposed.

The thought didn’t sit well with Lancelot. Yet that would be
preferable to Lancelot’s suspicions about St. Leger. His instincts continued to tell him a man with the proper intentions wouldn’t take a young lady out to a dark terrace and embrace her.

Lancelot circled the ballroom as these thoughts dashed about his brain like a fly looking for an outlet. He reentered the supper room, his glance never still. But few people lingered. Waiters moved about, clearing away the remains of food and setting chairs right.

He returned to the ballroom. With a sigh of relief he spied Miss Phillips standing with Captain Forrester.

The captain smiled broadly. “I haven’t seen you dance all evening. We must find you a partner.”

He tried to smile but couldn’t manage it. “You haven’t by chance seen Miss Barry?”

Miss Phillips looked sympathetic. “Not since supper. By the time we came in, she was sitting with Mr. St. Leger and his party. When we had finished, she had already left. Céline and I did find it strange she had not sought us out to go into supper, but since she sat with a group, we thought she would be all right.”

“Yes, I saw her then too,” he said distractedly. “But I have been looking for her since they left the supper room and have not seen either of them.”

Miss Phillips bit her lip. “Perhaps she is in the retiring room. I could look for her if you think it’s necessary.”

Captain Forrester gave him a keen look from under his dark blond brows. “Is this St. Leger a decent sort of chap?”

Lancelot hesitated to say anything in front of Miss Phillips. Better he allow them to believe he was only a jealous suitor. But he needn’t have said anything. The captain seemed to understand and turned to Miss Phillips. “Why don’t you search the rooms set apart for the ladies? Marfleet and I can find Mrs. Phillips and inquire of her. If she hasn’t seen Miss Barry, we’ll scout outside a bit. Maybe she needed some air. We can meet in a few moments at the entrance of the ballroom.”

Miss Phillips nodded, a frown furrowing her brow.

“Thank you,” Lancelot said to the captain when they parted from Miss Phillips.

“No need. So, this fellow’s a bit disreputable?”

Lancelot nodded grimly. “Let us just say he is not the marrying sort, to my knowledge. But he usually does not interest himself in respectable young ladies.”

They searched for Mrs. Phillips as they spoke in undertones.

“Why Miss Barry, do you think? Her dowry?”

“No—none to speak of. All I can think is that she has little protection here in London, only Lady Beasinger, an impoverished widow.”

Captain Forrester nodded.

They approached Mrs. Phillips, who sat with some matrons in a quiet parlor. When she saw their serious faces, she excused herself.

“Is something the matter?”

They told her and she began to move toward the ballroom. “Let me help you search for her.”

“Miss Phillips will rejoin us at the entrance there. We’re going to search outside.”

A quarter of an hour later they met again. Lancelot’s gut tightened in worry when he saw Miss Phillips and her sister-in-law standing alone.

“No sign of her?” he asked.

Mrs. Phillips shook her head, glancing at each of them in turn. “You didn’t find her either?”

“No,” Captain Forrester answered tersely. “We’ve looked both in the front and back of the house. We even asked your coachman if he’d seen her. Nothing.”

Lancelot didn’t want to speak but felt he must say what he found most significant. “We’ve seen no sign of St. Leger either.” He squared his shoulders. “I’m going to inquire of the footmen if they saw any couple matching their description leaving.”

Up to now they had been discreet in their search.

Mrs. Phillips drew in a sharp breath. “You don’t think—”

She left the thought unspoken, but Captain Forrester said, “It’s too soon to know what to think, but we must locate Miss Barry without delay.”

Lancelot addressed Mrs. Phillips. “Perhaps if you pleaded fatigue, you can make your excuses and depart. If the captain will make inquiries of some of her dance partners with the excuse that you are leaving, I can ask some of the servants for any information.”

When they agreed to this plan, Lancelot went in search of the footmen. He questioned the porter, all the footmen, and even the butler to no avail. He began to question the coachmen and grooms loitering outside with their owners’ carriages, but no one had noticed a lady and gentleman leaving. It would be too common a sight to cause undue notice.

His alarm growing with each passing minute, he finally descended the service stairs to the kitchen area, where he was able to get information from a kitchen maid.

“I saw a gent escorting a young lady out the back way,” she told him.

After giving her some coins for her trouble, he raced outside to the mews. When he flashed some coins to a stable hand, the man grunted. “Seen a lady and gent leave from here.” He jutted his grizzled chin down the alleyway leading out to the main street.

“Did you glimpse their faces at all? I mean, did they appear to you as a young couple or an older couple?”

“Oh, young for certain, sir. The lady appeared a bit unsteady on her feet as if she’d imbibed a bit too freely o’ the punch.” He chuckled with a shake of his head. “The gent had ’is arm around her, steadying her like.”

Lancelot’s stomach lurched. “How long ago?”

The man removed his cap and scratched his head. “A half-hour ago, mayhap less, mayhap more.”

Lancelot gave the man the half crown and turned away, his insides feeling scraped raw. Could it have been St. Leger and Miss Barry?

He remembered the man’s description. The lady appeared unsteady. Had she drunk champagne again, enough to make her foolish enough to leave alone with St. Leger? What could she have been thinking?

Fear clawed at his throat even as anger threatened to obliterate his reason. If St. Leger dared lay a hand on her—

He found the others standing together at the entrance to the ballroom. “Have you found out anything?” Mrs. Phillips asked.

He stepped closer with a glance around to assure he was not being overheard. “A young couple left in a carriage parked in the mews perhaps a half hour ago.”

Miss Phillips stifled a gasp, but Mrs. Phillips maintained her steady gaze. “Just about when supper was over. Do you think it could have been St. Leger?”

He chose his words carefully. “I must assume it was since we haven’t found them anywhere.”

“Then we shall have to track them down.”

He had already thought what best to do. “Madam, I think you should go home with Miss Phillips. Everyone will assume Miss Barry has left with you. You mustn’t overtire yourself,” he added without embarrassment. As a vicar and missionary, he was accustomed to addressing topics others would find unmentionable in polite society.

Before she could protest, Captain Forrester said, “Marfleet is right. I will go with him to search for Miss Barry. Perhaps you will find her home when you arrive.”

Mrs. Phillips shook her head. “She wouldn’t have left without informing me.”

Miss Phillips spoke up. “Do you think she could have gone to Lady Bess’s instead?”

“She had plans to spend the night with us. She would not have changed anything without informing us.”

Lancelot hadn’t wanted to mention the other thing, but now found himself forced to. “A groom told me the lady appeared . . . unsteady on her feet.”

Both females turned wide eyes on him. “She appeared unwell?” Mrs. Phillips asked.

He hesitated before nodding. “Perhaps she was too unwell to make her way to you.”

“Then St. Leger would have informed me—if he was any kind of gentleman,” Mrs. Phillips said between her teeth. She looked at him directly as if coming to a decision. “Very well, I shall call for my carriage. If you could send word as soon as you know anything. We shall be up. If you find her, you must bring her to my home straightaway . . . before any harm is done.”

“Don’t worry, either of you. We shall find them. Come, I’ve already called for your carriage.”

After they had seen the ladies off, Lancelot said to the captain, “I’m going to talk with some of St. Leger’s set and see if I can find out where his lodgings are.”

“I already inquired of them. None had seen her since they sat together at supper.” He frowned. “I couldn’t help noticing a bit of reticence on the part of a couple of them. That fellow—Cubby, I think they call him—and another one, Layton. Do you wish me to accompany you?”

“Better not. We need to be as discreet as possible. I fear already we’ve probably raised people’s curiosity.”

“I shall call a hackney if you wish.”

“I shall be with you directly.”

Lancelot made his way through the ballroom. He spotted Cubby standing with Layton.

They nodded to him. Both men seemed to observe him with
amusement. Lancelot gritted his teeth, praying for a civil tone of voice. “A word, if you please,” he managed in a low tone.

They moved apart with him.

He didn’t bother with a preamble. “I need to know where St. Leger takes his lightskirts.”

Displaying no surprise at his question, Reggie Layton flipped open his snuffbox and took a minuscule sniff before looking at Lancelot again. “You will pardon me if that is not a question I choose to answer lightly. Point of honor, you understand.”

Lancelot gave him a level look. “When it involves a young lady, it no longer becomes a point of honor to hide his haunts from someone concerned with her welfare.”

“Perhaps you should ask his man.”

“A valet will hardly divulge his master’s whereabouts to an outsider.”