“He complained of the heat and departed. Lady Peregrim’s affairs are always such a crush. I’m sure the air is dreadfully unwholesome.”
As if to prove the point, he dramatically flapped a kerchief. It wafted the scent of perfume up Graeme’s nose, making him bite his tongue to keep from sneezing.
The old gent scowled at him before turning to Sabrina. “Who is this person? You shouldn’t hide in corners with strange men, Sabrina. People will talk.”
“Father, we’re in the ballroom. Everyone can see us.”
“Still—”
“Let me introduce you,” she cheerfully interrupted. “Mr. Graeme Kendrick, I have the honor of introducing you to my father, Lord Musgrave.”
Graeme gave his best bow. “It’s an honor to meet you, my lord.”
A decidedly unhappy silence ensued.
“Sabrina, he’s Scottish,” Lord Musgrave eventually said.
“Yes, dear,” Sabrina replied. “As was Mamma.”
“The insalubrious Highland climate was the cause of your mother’s infirmities, as you well know. Scotland ruined her health.”
The Highlands might currently be all the rage, thanks to Walter Scott and his silly novels—but apparently not with Lord Musgrave.
“It can be a wee bit damp in the winter,” Graeme said, smiling. “But my brothers and I are healthy as oxen.”
“How many brothers do you have?” Musgrave asked.
“We are seven, my lord.”
“I take it you are not the eldest?”
“I am not, sir.”
That information was met with a disapproving sniff, a typical response from aristocrats with marriageable daughters. Impecunious younger sons best not lurk about their precious darlings.
“Mr. Kendrick’s brother is the Earl of Arnprior,” Sabrina explained. “Surely you remember that Lady Arnprior is well known to the king.”
As in, Vicky was old Georgie’s by-blow.
Musgrave eyed Graeme for a few more moments before adopting a doleful expression. “We must return home, Sabrina. I’m feeling most unwell.”
“Of course, dearest.” She threw Graeme an apologetic grimace. “Excuse me, sir.”
He gave her a slight bow. “Of course, my lady. Please think about what we discussed.”
Lord Musgrave let out an outraged huff, but Sabrina simply nodded.
As she led her father toward the ballroom exit, the old poop was clearly delivering her a scold. Good thing Graeme wasn’t courting the lass, because her dear old da would no doubt pitch a heinous fit. But Graeme had gotten through to Sabrina about Cringlewood, and that’s what counted—not fruitless imaginings of time spent with a woman he’d likely never see again.
Back to work, old boy.
His work was the only thing that mattered.
Chapter Five
Graeme’s sweep of the upper floors had included a visit to Lord Peregrim’s study to check on his lordship’s snuffbox collection. A burly footman was guarding the priceless trinkets, and the fellow had reacted quite poorly when Graeme snuck into the room. To escape a dustup, he’d acted like a drunken sot who’d lost his way to the water closet. He’d also crossed paths with Aden, who’d reported that he’d found nothing amiss.
He was beginning to think the entire evening was a wild goose chase, and although Aden wasn’t holding the lack of progress against him, it was still hard not to feel like a failure.
Again.
He mentally shook his head, impatient with that thought.
Taking the servants’ stairs down to the main floor, he’d just rounded the corner of the mostly deserted hall when a door that led to the terrace creaked slowly open. Graeme retreated back to the corner, easing out only far enough to keep an eye on the door.
A powdered head cautiously appeared and did a furtive check of the hall. Then the man, dressed as a footman, slipped through. He tugged his liveried coat into place and headed toward the front of the house.
Perhaps he was indeed a footman on legitimate business, and the furtive attitude was the result of an illicit encounter with a lusty matron out in the gardens. But Graeme had made a point of registering the faces of all the household staff, and he’d not seen this one. So unless the fellow had spent the entire evening servicing a string of ladies, it looked like the thieves had finally taken the bait.
The fake footman calmly paused to accept empty glasses from a pair of cup-shot dandies. Once the idiots wandered off, he dumped the glasses into a nearby potted plant and proceeded to the front of the mansion. Luckily for him, the entrance hall was busy with early departures, and the other servants too distracted to recognize an imposter.
The man slipped up the central staircase unnoticed, and Graeme slipped up after him. It was clear he was heading to the family bedrooms for a spot of productive pilfering.
Got ye, ye bastard.
Graeme retrieved the knife stowed in the specially designed pocket of his tailcoat. He usually carried additional knives in his boots, but these affairs demanded breeches and stockings and bloody awful dancing shoes, which meant few places to hide weaponry.
The footman reached the second floor, then ghosted down the hall toward the family suites. Graeme was taking the rest of the stairs two at a time when he heard a rush of footsteps behind him.
“Graeme!” hissed a familiar voice.
Cursing, he turned to see Vivien pelting up the stairs, with her silky skirts bunched in her hands and the large plumes on her head bouncing wildly.
“Not now,” he hissed back. “I’m working.”
“Never mind that. We’ve got bigger problems.”
“I just spotted one of the thieves. I’ve got to go.”
When he started up, Vivien yanked on his arm, almost tumbling them both down the stairs.
He made a grab for her. “You daft woman, what are you doing?”
“It’s Sabrina. She’s in trouble.”
“But she left with her father a half hour ago.”
“No, I just saw her leave the ballroom with Cringlewood, and I was too far away to intervene. I’ve checked the drawing room and the supper room, and she’s not in either.”
Graeme’s heart felt like it had slammed into a brick wall. “Where’s Aden?”
“I can’t find him. I just happened to spot you going up the stairs.”
Graeme cast a frustrated glance down the hall.
“I’m afraid Cringlewood will try to get her alone out on the terrace,” Vivien urgently added, “or even the gardens.”
“Dammit, I told her why she had to avoid him. She couldn’t possibly be that daft.”
Vivien’s eyes popped wide. “You told her about Ainsley?”
“Only in general terms.”
She slapped a frustrated hand to the top of her head, dislodging one of her feathers. “Sabrina would be infuriated by that, you idiot. She probably felt compelled to confront Cringlewood herself.” Vivien grimaced. “She wouldn’t even recognize the danger, she’s so self-confident.”
Like Ainsley had been, before her assault.
Graeme took Vivien’s arm and hurried her down the stairs. She glanced over her shoulder. “I could sneak up and see where the thief went, if you like.”
“Absolutely not. You need to find Aden, tell him I’ve gone after Sabrina, and say that one of the thieves is upstairs. He’ll know what to do.”
“I’m quite capable of . . . Oh, hello, Lord Fotherby,” she said as they all but ran over a portly gentleman huffing up the stairs.
The old fellow plastered himself against the banister. “Lady Vivien, goodness gracious!”
“Sorry,” she called back. “Graeme, dear, we’re attracting attention.”
“As usual.” He pulled her over to the butler, who regarded them with genteel alarm. “Lady Vivien needs to find her husband immediately. Help her do so.”
“Of course, sir.”
Graeme spun on his heel and strode toward the back hall, ignoring the splutters of the outraged
guests he pushed out of his way.
* * *
Sabrina ignored the thumping of her heart as she allowed Cringlewood to escort her from the ballroom. His lordship was famous for his handsome face and charming smiles, but now all she could see was the snake lurking beneath the polished façade.
If she had anything to say about it—and she had quite a lot to say about it—the snake would soon be slithering its way out of London, never to return. Sabrina intended to make it abundantly clear to the disgusting marquess that his days in the ton were over.
“How delightful that you decided to stay a little longer, my dear,” Cringlewood purred, pressing her hand. “I had assumed you had departed with your dear papa. Imagine my joy to discover that such was not the case.”
Sabrina resisted the impulse to yank her hand away. “As I mentioned a few moments ago, I believe we should have a little chat.”
His gaze turned wary, but then he graciously inclined his head. “How delightful. Shall we stroll to the drawing room?”
“I thought perhaps the terrace. It’s quite stuffy in the house, and I noticed some of the guests availing themselves of the cooler air.”
Interest sparked in his eyes, which made her grind her back molars. Now he looked positively smug.
Though Sabrina needed a quiet spot to say what she needed to say, she wasn’t fool enough to go off alone with the brute. Lady Peregrim’s terrace was always popular during her summer parties, especially with the younger guests. There, they could chat with their chaperones close by, yet still have a bit of privacy.
“A little fresh air will be just the thing,” the marquess agreed in an oily tone.
The spacious terrace could be reached from the hallway, and they came out at the far end, where shallow steps led down to the gardens below. It was a little more private, but well within sight of the ballroom and its open French doors.
The terrace was illuminated only by light streaming from the ballroom and a few lanterns placed on wrought-iron tables. Sabrina blinked to clear her vision. When it cleared, she had to swallow an oath.
There were only two other people there—a couple who quickly scampered down another set of stairs into the darkness of the garden.
Drat and double drat.
Cringlewood chuckled. “A stroll in the garden under the moonlight. Perhaps we should do the same.”
“What an inappropriate suggestion,” Sabrina said in a clipped tone.
“Really? You agreed to meet me in the park the other morning. By yourself.”
“I brought my maid, in fact. And might I add that you never showed up.”
Immediately, she wished she could recall her stupid words. Because of course he would assume she was annoyed that he’d stood her up.
The flash of his white smile confirmed that.
After spinning on her heel, she marched along the balustrade until she was near the first set of open doors. Then she turned to face him and practically jumped out of her dancing slippers. He loomed so close he was virtually on top of her.
Snapping open her fan, Sabrina inserted it between them.
“That’s why you’ve been so cool to me,” he said. “You’re annoyed that I failed to meet you. I simply assumed you wouldn’t show, given the dreary weather that morning. Clearly an error on my part.”
When he leaned in closer, she slid sideways. “Not true at all, sir.”
He let out a dramatic sigh while eyeing her breasts. “What a fool I was not to anticipate such innocent eagerness.”
“It was not eagerness but stupidity. And please cease looming over me in that annoying fashion.”
The marquess studied her for a moment before stepping back. “It seems I have behaved unforgivably on two counts. First, by suggesting that we meet privately. And then, even worse, by failing to appear.”
“I am most grateful that you failed to show.”
“Of course, you’re concerned about rumors of scandal,” he said. “Your father would be quite shocked. He might even think you have designs on me.” His smile turned lewd. “Lucky me.”
“That is a disgusting suggestion,” she indignantly replied.
Cringlewood suddenly plucked the fan from her hand. “You’re growing rather heated, darling. Why don’t you let me fan you?”
Sabrina yanked the fan back. The conversation was not proceeding as anticipated.
“Sir, if you do not step away, I will scream.”
He seemed genuinely surprised for a moment. Then his gaze turned chilly. “I do not take kindly to foolish games, my dear. One wonders why you invited me out here in the first place.”
“Not to flirt or encourage unwelcome attentions, I assure you.”
“I see. Then you’ll forgive me if I excuse myself. But do not think I will forget your shabby treatment, my lady.” He flicked her a contemptuous glance before turning to leave.
“I know what sort of man you are, Lord Cringlewood,” she flung after him. “Now, you will leave town, or I will make sure others know, too.”
He spun around. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”
“You abuse women and take advantage of them. I intend to stop that.”
He stared blankly at her for a moment before barking out a harsh laugh. “Ah, Kendrick was gabble-mongering, I see. Well, my girl, I was the injured party in that affair. Ainsley Kendrick is little better than a whore, and her husband is a grub who was only after her fortune.”
She shook her head. “You are positively delusional, Lord Cringlewood.”
“No, you’re delusional if you think anyone will believe such nonsense. Although you accepted the tale readily enough.” His lips curled into a sneer. “I begin to wonder about your relationship with that Highland moron. Perhaps Lady Sabrina is not so innocent as she would like the world to believe.”
Sabrina had to swallow her anger before she could reply. “You are a vile man, and I will do whatever I must to make sure everyone knows it.”
“I think not. I can ruin your reputation in an instant, just like I can ruin Lady Ainsley’s. In fact, I will enjoy doing exactly that.”
“And I will be having a chat with the king about your disgusting conduct. Perhaps you have forgotten that His Majesty is my godparent, and that my father is one of his oldest friends? You will no longer be welcome at Court or anywhere else once I am finished with you.”
The marquess stood like a block of marble, as if fused to the flagstones. But his eyes blazed with hatred.
Sabrina snapped her fan shut. “Therefore, I suggest you leave town as soon as possible, sir. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
When he suddenly lunged, Sabrina reacted instinctively and leapt to the side. Cringlewood fell heavily against the stone balustrade, almost toppling over the rail.
“You bitch!” He righted himself and reached for her.
“Don’t touch her, ye bastard!” Graeme Kendrick, in all his Highland glory, charged toward them.
When Cringlewood jerked round to face Graeme, Sabrina made an instantaneous decision. She rammed into Cringlewood, shoulder-first, knocking him over the balustrade.
“Ouch,” she yelped, surprised by pain that shot down her arm.
Graeme reached her, a broad-shouldered giant radiating masculine ire. Sabrina had to resist the urge to throw herself into his arms.
Don’t be a ninny.
He briefly cupped her cheek. “Sabrina, are ye all right?”
She flexed her arm and then shook it. “I gave myself quite a jolt.”
His calloused fingertips brushed over her shoulder with a surprisingly gentle touch. “Och, ye daft girl. There was no need to hurt yerself.”
She managed a smile. “Your brogue becomes quite marked on occasion, I’ve noticed.”
He let out a snort. “Aye, you’re fine. Yon idiot, however, may not be.”
They both peered over the considerable drop into the rosebushes below. The groans drifting up became curses, suggesting a decidedly hard landing.
&n
bsp; Graeme’s expression turned rather stern. “Sabrina, what were you thinking, coming out here with him? And knocking him over the railing? Not helpful, lass.”
“But you were going to mill him down, were you not? Surely brawling on the terrace would have been even less helpful, for my reputation and yours.”
His mouth twitched sideways. “Point taken, I suppose.”
The noises from below suggested Cringlewood was attempting to free himself from his thorny prison. Graeme peered again over the balustrade.
“Stay here while I go check on the bastard,” he said. “Better yet, go back inside.”
Sabrina had no intention of complying with that instruction. For one thing, she suspected Graeme might take the opportunity to exact further punishment. While she sympathized, it was best not to draw any more attention to the scene. A quick glance around showed her that they’d been lucky so far. She’d like to keep it that way.
She picked up her skirts and followed him down the curving, shallow steps into the night-shrouded garden. Graeme came to a quick stop, and Sabrina almost collided with his brawny form.
“Do you never listen to anyone?” he asked.
“When I decide it makes sense, I do.”
“Going back inside would make a great deal of sense.”
“If I do, you’ll no doubt commence brawling with his lordship, and that will cause more unwanted attention.”
Graeme muttered something under his breath.
“Or you might even kill him,” she added, remembering Graeme’s apparent fondness for stowing knives on his person.
“Killing’s too good for that bas—that bounder.”
“It would not be good for you, however. Or for Lady Ainsley, I suspect.”
“Good of you to remember that now,” he sarcastically replied.
He headed down the steps, Sabrina in his wake.
A wide grass path ran parallel to the bushes. It was easy enough to locate Cringlewood, since he was still making an unholy amount of noise as he thrashed his way out of the dense shrubbery.
“A little less commotion might be appropriate, Lord Cringlewood,” Sabrina said in a disapproving voice. “If anyone comes outside, they’re bound to hear you.”
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