“She accompanied Miss Conyngham to the library, I believe,” Fanny lied.
To her relief an old acquaintance chose that fortuitous moment to address the dowager and Fanny was able to slip away.
She was unprepared for the scene that greeted her in the Earl of Quamby’s ‘chamber beyond’. At first she could see no sign of Antoinette or Bramley. Nor did she immediately seek them out, such was her shock as she pushed open the double doors. The room was clearly for entertaining on a lavish scale, but for a purpose that Fanny could only imagine. Lit now by a series of candles in wall sconces, its lofty proportions disappeared into darkness.
But enough could be seen of the entwined limbs and glazed eyes of the Bacchanalian orgy wall murals reflected in a myriad mirrors that Fanny turned away with a gasp. This was not a room she should enter.
It was only when she heard weeping overlaid by Lord Fenton’s stern tones that she forced herself to venture in.
Following the sounds of a heated exchange between two men, punctuated by Antoinette’s sobbing, Fanny came upon them by the edge of a sunken area piled high with red and gold silk cushions.
Antoinette sent her sister a baleful look from where she sat hunched on a richly embroidered banquette. Mr Bramley and Lord Fenton angrily faced each other across her.
“I suppose this is your doing,” she sniffed.
Instantly, Lord Fenton came to Fanny’s defence. “With your best interests at heart, Miss Antoinette.” The glower he directed at her younger siste
r sent a vicarious thrill right through to Fanny’s bones. It was enormously comforting to see the man who’d imprisoned her in his arms two nights before read the two miscreants the riot act regarding the proprieties.
“Good God, Bramley,” Fenton railed at him. “Have you no concern for how damaging your rash overtures are to someone of Miss Antoinette’s lack of experience?”
Fanny watched, fascinated by the transformation. The sensual mouth and poetic eyes were hard with anger. This man was much more than just a brooding poet with the usual masculine propensity to notch up conquests without regard for consequences. Fanny was awed, as she would be by anyone who could wipe the cynical smirk from Bramley’s thuggish face.
Stepping forward, she addressed her sister sternly. “Antoinette, your absence will be noticed unless we return you immediately to the ballroom. Good evening, gentlemen.” Nodding coldly to Bramley, she pulled her sister up from her seat.
“No one would have missed us for five minutes longer,” Antoinette muttered as Fanny hustled her along the corridor.
“A lot of things that can’t be undone are done within five minutes. Are you such a fool, Antoinette,” Fanny asked under her breath, “that you would ruin your chances—and quite possibly mine, too—because that knave Bramley sees you as easy prey?”
Antoinette tugged her arm free of Fanny’s grip, her mouth sulky, as she stopped in the middle of the passage to face her sister.
“Bramley’s next in line to inherit from Lord Quamby and we all know Quamby’s never going to produce an heir. Why, Mama would be thrilled.”
Fanny shook her head, taking her sister’s arm again and hustling her once more along the corridor. “How credulous you are. Bramley is toying with you to avenge himself against me for rejecting his advances last summer. Now, here comes Lady Harwood. If I see you move out of her sight I swear I shall tell Mama everything.”
She was already turning, barely able to contain her impatience to thank Lord Fenton, when Antoinette gasped, “Oh Fanny, I’ve lost Lady Harwood’s bracelet—”
Fanny felt like throttling her. As their mother had predicted, Antoinette was well on track to doom the Brightwell family’s chances.
“Stay there and don’t move!” she hissed. “I’ll find it. It must have come undone when…”
Now was not the time to put her sister’s misdemeanours into words. Seething, Fanny returned to the large, immoral room, hesitating before the double doors. How could she venture, alone, into a room that would shock any well brought up young lady? Indeed, she had been shocked. The scenes had been disturbing.
Disturbingly compelling.
They filled her with strange longings she could not put into words.
Forcing her gaze downwards, she searched the gold laurel leaf pattern of the luxurious carpet for the lost bracelet, seizing upon it with relief. It was a pity, she reflected seconds later as she picked herself up after an undignified tumble down the three steps into the pit, that she had not paid more attention to the hazardous terrain.
Dismay turned to horror as she glanced down, smoothing her hands over her lovely, damaged gown. How could she possibly return to the ball when her skirt had all but been completely ripped from her bodice?
Chapter 4
With a determined squaring of his shoulders, Fenton forced his gaze away from his host’s tribute to lust. It was impossible to look upon such scenes and not become prisoner to almost uncontrollable impulses regarding thoughts of the lovely Miss Fanny Brightwell.
Who’d have thought that just a kiss would fire up the desire for so much more? Just those few exchanges on the dance floor had been enough to confirm that his initial interest had not been misplaced.
There was a wary pride to her that he found quite adorable. She thought she was doing such a fine job of appearing impervious to societal opinion but she was clearly desperately aware of its judgement. That’s why she was so wary of any allusion to their wicked encounter. Her lapse threatened to confirm all the aspersions anyone might have regarding the Brightwells.