One problem temporarily solved.
A sudden, thunderous applause matched the beat of Neville’s heart. The noise and commotion provided further cover for his actions. He dipped into his pocket, drew out a coin, which he then slipped to the man. Mrs. Cartwright had not noticed.
Neville glanced to the nearest light, one hanging just above the empty Royal box. Dancing flames inside the globe rose as if sorcerer-summoned, and the glow increased in pace with the swell of chatter and rustle of fabric.
He risked one last glance at the Eltenham box.
Willard was still there. At present, he was helping his mother to her feet. Millicent, already standing, appeared engrossed byWillard’s task. Neville suspected she was simply unwilling to acknowledge the young men in the box.
Good. He’d always known she was smart.
But still, he couldn’t be easy. Her posture was one of uncertainty. She held one arm straight and the other crossed over her stomach. And she was clutching her elbow so tight, indentations wrinkled long lines in her glove, obvious even from this distance.
He had a few moments of reprieve, but she was still in danger.
Willard had somehow separated Millicent from her gaggle of brothers-in-law, chaperones and sisters, a group more numerous than the most fecund of geese with their goslings. Such a feat could not have been easy. Neville doubted the blackguard would have put himself to the effort—unless he’d had a plan.
But nothing too improper had happened publicly—yet.
Just improper enough to inspire a flurry of Fleet Street cartoons on the morrow. Neville could see them now—Millicent at the center of a bouquet of young men, with painted cheeks and an exaggerated bosom. Her courtiers would be drawn with wide, oversized eyes, all fixed on her bounteous breasts.
Any male attention she received after tonight would be of the vile kind.
Damn Willard for exposing her in this fashion.
But such concerns were for the morrow. For now, Neville had to rescue her before she came to further harm. Somehow, he had to reach her, and he had to get her alone. And both objectives must be accomplished without placing her in greater danger, raising public alarm, or exposing her to actual ruin.
Pity he had no sword sharp enough to slice through such a Gordian Knot!
“Why, Mr. Mann,” Mrs. Cartwright said, “you look as if you are about to cast up your accounts.”
“There are privies if you need them, Gov,” added the fellow Neville had just paid to see Mrs. Cartwright safely home.
Mrs. Cartwright’s attention snapped to her side, studying the man with narrowed eyes.
“Fancy privies, too.” The man transferred a suddenly sheepish gaze to Mrs. Cartwright. “If you’ll pardon.”
Mrs. Cartwright inclined her head.
“You just stay here with us until your companion returns,” the man’s female friend added.
“If you must go, go.” Mrs. Cartwright sent Neville a quick, dark look. “But you’re sure to be too late.”
Not if he had any say. Neville angled his way toward the row’s end. He then raced down the aisle, twisting his body to pass both men and women alike. Moving with singular purpose, he ignored all protest and headed toward stage right. As he hastened, he racked his memory, searching for the details of the layout he’d learned on his private tour.
Instead of heading forthe chambre de la commode, he slipped into another room—one that he thought contained a passage to the stage. From there, he hoped he could get to the second level. And then…
He stopped short.
Neville certainly could not demand to speak with Millicent, not without raising undue notice. Especially dressed as he was now. The garments that had served as cover were now an impediment.Damn.
He could not command his way to the upper level. He wasn’t even “Lord Neville” tonight!
“I am sorry, sir, but you cannot be in—”
Neville glanced back to the man who’d spoken.
“What the devil?” The manager cried. “Nev? Is that really you?”