A Kiss With Scandal (Scandals & Secrets 4) (2 page)

C
harlotte stumbled
into the ladies’ retiring room, grateful no one else occupied the space. Her breath puffed as her lungs struggled to pull in enough air. Plopping into one of the stuffed stools, she stared at her reflection in the oversize mirror, her cornflower eyes wide, her cheeks leeched of color. She pinched her skin, but it did little to add life.

A maid brought her a cool glass of water in offering, and Charlotte accepted it, drinking the chilled beverage in one gulp.

“Would you like another, my lady?”

“No.” Charlotte cleared the lump in her throat. “No, thank you.”

“May I help you with your hair?”

Charlotte swiveled back toward the gilded mirror, wincing at the mess of golden curls. She’d be lucky if half her pins were intact. How had that happened? Had she pulled on her hair on the way back? “I would appreciate it.”

“Of course.” The firm tugs from the maid’s ministrations helped ground her in the present.

Her hands fisted in her lap, and her palm smoothed over silk. Her mouth gaped at the ungloved hand.
My glove
. She gasped. She lost her glove. How could she have been so careless? She couldn’t return to the ballroom without it.

But she couldn’t go back to the room she had left it in either. She
wouldn’t
.

Her stomach turned as her mind replayed what she’d overheard.

She wanted to run home, curl in a ball, and forget everything that had happened. But she couldn’t leave. No matter what happened, she had to stay. She might not know who she could trust, but two people had murdered someone and gotten away with it. Lord Barnsal may have been an old man with no family, but he meant something to someone. It was her duty to figure out who the people from the room were. To do that, she’d have to converse and dance with as many peers as possible until she recognized their voices. She might not get another opportunity like this again. Whoever they were, she was sure they were here tonight. She couldn’t say that for subsequent gatherings.

She shuffled her feet and cleared her throat. “I, um, seemed to have misplaced my glove.”

“Oh, well, there are extras you can have. Lady Leatherby keeps them stocked in case a glove tears or is soiled. I could fetch a pair, if you would like.”

“Yes, please. How thoughtful of her ladyship.”

“I’ve always thought so.” The willowy maid patted Charlotte’s styled hair. “There. That should hold much better now.”

Charlotte shook her head, testing the strength of her new pins. “It’s perfect. Thank you. I will dance with confidence.”

“Very good. I’ll go fetch those gloves.”

Charlotte nodded, focusing back on the mirror. Her color had improved. Even her lips were rosier. Her eyes looked haunted though, changing the color from a rich blue to something deeper. Something darker. That same darkness swirled within her chest. Nothing could change what she’d experienced. She had to move forward, and be grateful whoever had been in that room had never seen her. No one would ever know what she’d heard.

She’d left her glove there, but it was impossible that someone could figure out who it belonged to. Every lady in attendance wore similar gloves.

The maid delivered the snowy garments, and Charlotte whispered her thanks as she tugged them on. Slipping from the room, she gulped deep breaths, forcing herself toward the ballroom, to face the crowds, to find a murderer.

The heat from too many bodies in one room hit her as she stepped onto the crowded floor. It was a crush tonight, as no one would dare miss a ball at the Leatherbys’. The orchestra played a brisk quadrille, but its chords were muted by the roar of conversation.

She stepped around a portly gentleman. “Excuse me.” She nodded politely, working her way to where she had last left her mother. She had to be around here somewhere.

She nodded to Lady Howard as she passed, hoping the plump matron wouldn’t pull her in for further conversation. She wasn’t so lucky.

“My dear Lady Charlotte, do come over here and offer us your opinion!” the woman shouted, and the crowd around her shuffled at the breach in etiquette.

Charlotte groaned, but stifled the sound. Lady Howard wasn’t mean-spirited, but conversation with her was less than pleasant because she attempted to rule the
ton’s
gossip ring.

Steeling her shoulders, Charlotte joined the group. “Good evening.” Charlotte squeezed between two pale-faced debutantes she had recently been acquainted with, but could not recall their names.
Drat
.

“We’re so glad you joined us.” Lady Howard glanced around the circle that comprised the rest of her audience. Lady Pembroke had married an earl several years earlier, and Charlotte only felt pity for the man. The woman was a viper. The other, Lady Rose, had been out in society longer than Charlotte and was considered on the shelf. Although Charlotte could not fathom why a twenty-three-year-old was considered past her prime. Women she knew still had children well into their thirties. It was absolute rubbish.

Lady Norland, the recently widowed countess, shifted nervously next to Lady Pembroke, shrinking her shoulders and successfully deflecting the group’s attention. It must be horrible to be so shy. Lord Buckley had accidentally bumped into the woman at the Grovers’ ball last week, and the widow almost fainted from the unintentional contact and resulting attention.

“I’m happy to join the group.” Charlotte eyed the misfits one more time.

Lady Howard lowered her voice. “Lady Pembroke and I were discussing who the catch of the season was, and there seems to be some debate. I think the Marquess of Huntly at the top. What is your opinion?”

All eyes shifted to Charlotte, and she forced back a groan. This is what was so important? Figuring out who was the catch of the season? Just another bickering match between the two women? For heaven’s sake, she’d just been in the presence of two murders. Who gave a fig whether one man was a better catch for a husband or not? “The Marquess of Huntly is without a doubt a great catch,” she said noncommittally before scanning the crowd. Where were her parents?

Lady Howard harrumphed. “Yes. But that wasn’t the question, dear. Is he
the
catch?”

“Yes. Yes.” Lady Pembroke flicked her fan in annoyance. “What of the Duke of Devonshire? He outranks the Marquess.”

“But he doesn’t have nearly as much income,” Lady Howard said.

Lady Pembroke smiled, her lips curving sharply. “But he’s handsome. A handsome duke counts for something.”

Such malice. Charlotte’s heart skipped a beat. Could Lady Pembroke be the murderess? She listened to the woman continue to argue on the Duke of Devonshire’s personal attributes, but couldn’t decide if her voiced matched the woman from the room or not.

Charlotte’s head buzzed as Lady Norland timidly joined in the conversation, agreeing with Lady Pembroke’s opinion on the Duke of Devonshire. Lady Howard’s face flushed. Time to step in. “What of Viscount Lawrence?” Charlotte asked.

Lady Howard brought her fan to her pursed lips. “Viscount Lawrence? Why, yes. He is a superlative gentleman, isn’t he?”

Lady Pembroke’s mouth opened before closing into the thin line. Lady Norland and the other ladies nodded in agreement. A little thrill shot through Charlotte at having bested the group. “Title, wealth, and looks. One cannot do better than that.”

“I agree,” Lady Norland murmured with a small smile, her brown eyes twinkling behind spectacles.

Charlotte returned it. Viscount Lawrence might be the catch of the season, but capturing his attention was nearly impossible. He’d never shown interest in any particular girl. Oh, he was courteous, a gentleman through and through. But either he wasn’t looking for a wife or hadn’t seen anyone worth noticing. She’d gotten used to that fact long ago.

Fire sizzled in Lady Pembroke’s gaze, never one to lose graciously. “And is that whom you have set your cap for, Lady Charlotte?”

Laughter tinkled from Charlotte’s lips, wiping the smirk from Lady Pembroke’s face. “I’m afraid I haven’t set my cap for anyone.”

“Oh, but you should!” one of the pale-faced ladies said.

What was her name?
“I should? Whatever for?”

“You’re more likely to accomplish something when you have a goal.”

Lady Howard nodded encouragingly. “Well said, Lady Patricia.”

Lady Patricia Stout.
Someday Charlotte would improve her memory for names.

Lady Pembroke flicked her fan. “Well, if I were you, I wouldn’t waste picking one in particular. At your age, a girl doesn’t have much time to waste.”

The ladies beside her gasped, glancing from Charlotte to Lady Pembroke. Charlotte’s face shuddered. Her jolt of anger would never be seen, would never be gossiped about. Lady Pembroke was a vicious gossip with no true friends. She deserved pity, but that amount of care was beyond Charlotte. The best she could do was not give the woman another thing to toss her way.

The hairs stiffened on the back of Charlotte’s neck. She was being watched. She could feel it. But by whom? Sweat moistened her skin, but she didn’t glance behind her.

Lady Norland’s eyes shifted over Charlotte’s shoulder, and her throat swallowed convulsively. “I think someone is looking for you.”

“Pardon?” she asked, but she didn’t really need an answer. She only needed a moment to calm her heart. There was no way the unknown villains could be after her. Not yet.

The ladies shifted away, allowing more room for the person who came for her.

Lady Pembroke sniffed, glaring.

Holding her breath, Charlotte turned, her heart thumping. Her eyes widened.
Not Viscount Lawrence. Not right now.

Sugar lumps!

D
erek scanned
the rows of dancers, searching for a lady missing a glove. He sipped a glass of champagne, hovering along the edge of the room. If the lady had returned, she must have replaced her glove.

He set his empty glass on a tray. One of three possibilities would have occurred. Either the lady returned home, which would be difficult to track down unless one of the servants noticed the missing garment, or she happened to bring a spare. Which he doubted. His sister, Lady Victoria, had prepared for war when she entered society, but he doubted even she had brought extra gloves with her. There was one other option. He just hoped it would bear fruit.

With the lone glove tucked safely in his pocket, he exited the room and headed toward the one place men shouldn’t wander during a ball.

The ladies’ retiring room.

He glanced over his shoulder, studying the empty corridor. Causing a scandal was the last thing he needed tonight.

He crept toward the door, rolling his eyes when he heard two women arguing about which of them would marry the Marquess of Huntly.

Good luck with that, ladies.
Derek had it on good authority that Huntly had vowed never to marry again after the disaster of his first marriage. Derek couldn’t blame the man. If he’d found his butler in his wife’s bed, there’d be hell to pay. It was a shame, however, that the lady had died in a carriage accident with that same butler, while fleeing her husband.

Just when Derek couldn’t take another word from the two, they rejoined the gathering and their pursuit of unsuspecting men.
Gah!

He knew women thought of him that way. As simply a man to hook and marry like some sort of prize. It insulted him, even if that was the way society worked.

He closed his eyes, channeling all his concentration toward his ears. Soft footfalls whispered in the room, but there was no other conversation. One person.

Peeking through the doorway, he confirmed the presence of one lady’s maid.

“Excuse me,” he said, loosening his posture and tossing a sheepish smile to the woman who jumped a foot into the air. “Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you.”

Regaining her senses, she curtsied. “My lord, is there something I can do for you?” Her eyes shifted around the brightly lit room, and he knew what she was thinking. He wasn’t supposed to be there. His presence in this feminine place was forbidden.

“Yes.” He smiled to her again, clumsily searching through his pockets. He pulled out the glove. “I came across this lost glove, and I hoped you could assist me return in returning it to its rightful owner.” The maid’s shoulders relaxed, and he took another step into the room. “I’m sure missing this garment caused an upset to the lady in question, and I hate to think of a lady in distress over such a matter.”

“That is kind of you, my lord.”

“Could you tell me if a lady came in here missing a glove?”

“Unfortunately, I just arrived and relieved the last maid of her duty. She would have replaced any such missing garment.”

Annoyance speared through him, but he kept a smile on his face. The unwanted delay to his investigation wasn’t this woman’s fault. “I had not known Lady Leatherby was so generous as to supply her guests with such amenities.”

Her head bobbed. “She is very generous. She keeps a stock of gloves, pins, perfume, and…”—she blushed—“many other items a lady might need.”

Very generous, indeed. “May I speak with the last maid? Perhaps she could give me a clue as to the owner of this garment?”

The cap on the maid’s head jiggled as she shook her head. “She’s gone home for the night, but you could come back tomorrow. I’m sure she would be able to answer your questions.”

Damn. This investigation has turned into a nightmare. With every minute that passed, he was in more jeopardy of losing his witness. He nodded firmly.

“Oh, wait, my lord. I almost forgot.”

Derek’s eyes locked onto hers, losing the nonchalant air he had wrapped around himself. It was the scent of blood he’d searched for.

The woman blushed. “I’m sorry I did not think of this sooner. We keep a list of donated items and whom they were given to. Lady Leatherby keeps clear records for what goes out.”

“Very prudent. May I see this list?”

“If you will wait just a moment, I’ll fetch it for you.”

“Thank you.”

When the woman disappeared into the next room, satisfaction hummed through him. He’d been right to come here.