“Take me to her.” He had no desire to be alone in a room with the vixen.
Hopkins appeared behind them, his breathless pants audible. “Sir, has … has Robert—”
“Yes, yes. I know about Miss Pearce. Follow me, Hopkins.”
They all marched into the drawing room, stood on the rug in the centre, shocked to find no sign of the injured Miss Pearce.
“Where the hell is she?” Matthew stabbed his finger at the empty chaise. “Where the hell has she gone?”
“But I don’t understand.” Robert scratched his head. “She was here a few minutes ago.”
With his heart pounding hard in his chest, Matthew scanned the room. “Well, she’s not here now.” He strode over to the window and searched behind the drapes, noticed the slight breeze coming from the gap between the sash and the ledge. Surely she’d not climbed out of the window? “Why the blazes did you leave her alone?”
You’d be surprised how helpful your staff can be when a lady feels unwell.
Miss Pearce’s words had come back to haunt him.
“Perhaps she felt better, sir, and wandered back to the ballroom.”
“Then let us go and speak to John.”
They returned to the hall.
“After Robert and Hopkins carried Miss Pearce to the drawing room, at any point did she return to the hall?”
“No, sir. Other than Mr Chigwell and Mrs Wilson, I’ve seen no one else.”
Hopkins cleared his throat. “I was in the ballroom at the time, sir. It was John and Robert who carried Miss Pearce into the room and made her comfortable.”
Matthew blinked and shook his head, somehow hoping it would solve the problem with his hearing. He shot around to face John. “Are you telling me you left the stairs unattended?”
The colour drained from John’s face until his pallor was ashen, an odd shade of grey. “Just for a moment. Miss Pearce injured her head. We couldn’t wake her. I … I couldn’t leave her lying on the steps. Robert struggled to carry her on his own.”
“Bloody hell!”
It was as though a hundred needles pierced his heart. He’d underestimated Lucinda’s skill for deception. All the signs had been there. Matthew pushed the footman aside.
Fists clenched he mounted the stairs, fearing what he would find.
Chapter 22
The sight of frantic couples darting around the garden like ghosts in the night, searching for an available place to conduct a liaison, gave Priscilla faith in Matthew’s ability to empty the house early.
She stood at the window, her palm pressed against the cold pane, waiting to catch a glimpse of her husband rounding up the rabble. Just the sight of him made her feel warm inside. Happy. Complete.
Love was like a sweet form of agony.
Whenever she thought about him her heart swelled so large it filled her chest. Her body tingled in his presence. She yearned for his company. Hungered for his kisses. Craved his touch.
A whimper left her lips.
He felt something too. Only time would tell if the flashes of emotion she noted in his eyes would develop into something more profound. But she could wait.
In her moment of contemplation, her thoughts drifted back to the card game. The rush of satisfaction, the pure sense of exhilaration when they’d beaten Lord Boden was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. It had nothing to do with winning back the vowel, with revenge or a desire to see the arrogance wiped from Boden’s face.
Matthew’s triumphant grin, his puffed chest and square shoulders, the confidence oozing from his pores, was worth the trauma of playing a dozen tense games.
The creak of the connecting door opening in the dressing room disturbed her reverie. From the ravenous look in Matthew’s eye when he’d left her on the stairs, she suspected he could not wait two hours without partaking in a little amorous activity.