Merciful heavens!Willard had planned for them to get caught.Betrothed, indeed.Millie gritted her teeth. She would wager he hadn’t spoken of marriage to Adrian at all.
“I say! Is that Willard!? What’s he doing, lads?”
She cast a panicked glance over her shoulder.
Willard was making his way through the crowd, grabbing every dark-haired young lady, one right after another, and forcing them to face him. She’d never thought he’d be this obvious in his pursuit. Was he mad? She almost did not recognize him—his mouth and his eyes were both grotesquely distorted by wrath.
She tightened her grip on his knife, then resumed weaving her way back through the crowd in the direction she’d just come. She chose a lady with generously sized skirts to use as a shield while Willard seized yet another lady’s arm. Then, she scooted him by quickly without his notice.
She’d survived yet another close encounter. Now, however, she was heading away from the lounge, away from the stairs, away from safety, dash it all!
But surely there must be another way out of the theater?
Obviously, she could not trust the public to keep her safe. Willard didn’t care if he made a scene. Her only chance was to find a place to hide herself for a time. Hide and think.
And the only place in this direction was the royal box. Although the royal box would likely have a second egress. Private stairs, perhaps, on the other side…?
She peered through a group of people toward the box’s ornate entry. Though empty tonight, the box was guarded by a very large, impassive man.
Quickly and carefully, she closed Willard’s knife and then slipped the thing into the hidden slit in her dress where she’d tied her reticule. A blade certainly was not going to help her make her case for assistance. Then, she approached the guard with a panicked smile.
“Please, sir. I urgently—”
“Miss Wainwright?” he queried, glancing over her shoulder.
She frowned. “Yes…”
“Hurry.” He stepped aside and indicated she should pass. “And don’t you worry. No one else will get through. Only you and Lady Sarah are expected.”
Lady Sarah?Millie hadn’t even known Lady Sarah would be here tonight, And why would they be expected?…Whyandby whom?
“Lord Willard?” She asked.
“No, Miss,” the guard replied.
For now, anyoneNot Willardwould have to be enough.
She ducked between the curtains shielding the entrance and into a chamber that wasn’t, as she’d expected, the box proper, but a receiving area. Just before the guard closed the door andplunged her into complete darkness, she glimpsed a second to her left, likely leading to the box, and one straight across, which could be the second exit. Holding her arms out in front, she made her way across the room. But her progress came to an abrupt halt. She’d stumbled into something large. Something male. She inhaled, intending to scream and then…
Bergamot. Clove. Leather.
Immediately, she recognized the scent.
“Neville?” Confusion suspended her reaction. “Is that you?”
“Thank heavens!” he exclaimed in a whisper.
Definitely Neville.
“Good God!” His hands came down on her shoulders. “You had me frightened!”
With a gentleness at odds with his tone, he gathered her into his arms. She hadn’t realized just how cold she’d become. He, on the other hand, was warm. Warm as the lambskin blanket in Adrian’s curricle.
She’d been panicked. Frantic, even. Neville sounded as if he’d been so, too.
Inexplicably, his concern left her reassured.
If her horror, her fear had been real, then so was this sudden, comforting quiet. This darkness. This wordless recognition. This bond born of long acquaintance. SheknewNeville. Herbodyknew him, too.