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For one split second, Tricia thought the man of her dreams, Thomas Jameson, had come after her.
But it was not Thomas. His cousin, Jonathan Jameson, had broken up the kiss between her and Lord Polk. Their voices were hauntingly similar.
“I beg pardon, Jameson,” Lord Polk said.
“Once I tell my cousin what you’ve tried to do, he will have your head, Polk.”
“He won’t care,” Polk said. “I saw him steal a kiss from Lady Patricia the day of his father’s funeral.”
Tricia’s hand went straight to her mouth as she gasped.
Jonathan scowled. “I should wallop you for making it sound like Lady Patricia is anything other than an innocent maiden.” He turned to Tricia. “Unless you care to admit that you and my cousin shared a kiss that day.”
Tricia’s cheeks were warm and fiery. “I admit no such thing. You are a cad, Lord Polk.”
Polk took a step back, his face red as a beet. But then his features softened, and he hung his head, sighing.
“I deeply apologize, my lady.” He offered a bow. “I was out of line and behaved abominably.”
Tricia simply nodded.
“Would you care to let me escort you back into the ballroom, Lady Patricia?” Mr. Jameson asked.
“I believe I should like that very much.” She took Mr. Jameson’s offered arm and strolled back toward the ballroom.
Lord Polk followed them briskly, entering the ballroom as if nothing had happened between Tricia and him.
Once in the ballroom, Patricia excused herself to powder her nose. She quickly exited, being careful to dodge out of the eyeline of Lord Polk. She needed more air, and she needed it without anyone in tow. And she didn’t need a bloody chaperone, either.
She sneaked out of the ballroom and walked through the foyer and down one of the hallways. She had been to this estate several times, but never had she had the chance to do any exploring. The Ashfords were known to have a lovely art collection, and though Patricia was more interested in the written word than in art, she would love to see it. It was also rumored that the Ashfords had a wonderful collection of musical instruments. No doubt Cameron had enjoyed seeing all of those. Patricia herself was not very musical. More interesting to her were the fine horses in the Ashford stables. Tricia was an expert rider, and she had a lovely mare named Mary.
Cam had laughed at her when she named her horse Mary. Mary the mare, he had said. Not too creative. Patricia hadn’t been trying to be creative when she named the animal. Indeed she loved the name, and should she ever be so fortunate as to bear a baby girl, Mary would be her name.
She strode along the hardwood hallways, sliding along to keep from tapping on the hard floor. Her guest room was on the third floor, and that was the highest she had ever been in this mansion. But the house did have an upper floor and then an attic on top of that. Tricia found herself curious, and so she decided to do a little discovery. Thomas hadn’t looked her way all evening, so why should she stay in the ballroom only to have to watch him dance with other ladies?
She’d return to the ball in a few moments’ time, but for now, she wanted to see the upper floor of the mansion on the estate.
Katrina was probably already in bed. Perhaps she should check on her little sister. She would do that on her way down.
She strode up the stairwell, again taking care not to click her heels. Servants wouldn’t be up here, not at this hour. But none of the guest rooms were on this level. Indeed, Tricia didn’t even know what would be up here.
And what she did find was a surprise indeed.
7
Thomas glanced toward Jonathan and Victor, who were standing close to the exit toward the foyer. Where was Tricia? He had been watching her with one eye all evening, and now that his mother had gone for a short repose, he wanted to find her.
Cameron should be looking after her, of course. She was his responsibility. But he and Rose were engaged in a conversation with Lily and the duke, so it was up to Thomas. He wasn’t sure why he felt such responsibility. There was nothing between Patricia and him. They had shared one smoldering kiss on the day of his father’s burial. It had been an escape and nothing more.
Yet Thomas hadn’t been able to erase it from his mind. Sometimes thoughts of his lips on Tricia’s plagued him all night, to the point where he tossed and turned among his linens, rising in the morning after having not slept at all.
He strode toward his cousin and friend. “Where is Lady Patricia?” Thomas asked.
“I don’t know,” Polk said.
“You were the last to dance with her,” Thomas accused.
Polk frowned. “Was I?”
