Tempt Me at Twilight (The Hathaways #3)(33)

And Michael, with a blonde woman on his arm.

They all stared at Poppy and Harry in shock.

Had the angel of death appeared at that moment, complete with black wings and a gleaming scythe, Poppy would have run to him with open arms. Because being caught on the balcony kissing Harry Rutledge was not just a scandal . . . it would be the stuff of legend. She was ruined. Her life was ruined. Her family was ruined. Everyone in London would know by sunrise.

Dumbstruck by the sheer awfulness of the situation, Poppy looked helplessly up at Harry. And for one confusing moment, she thought she saw a flicker of predatory satisfaction in his eyes. But then his expression changed.

“This might be difficult for us to explain,” he said.

Chapter Ten

As Leo made his way through the Norbury mansion, he was privately amused as he saw some of his friends—young lords whose debauchery had put even his past exploits to shame—now starched and buttoned up and impeccably mannered. Not for the first time, Leo reflected how unfair it was that men were allowed to get away with so much more than women.

This business of manners, for example . . . he had seen his sisters struggling to remember hundreds of inane points of etiquette that were expected of upper-class society. Whereas Leo’s main interest in the rules of etiquette was how to break them. And he, as a man with a title, was unfailingly excused for nearly anything. Ladies at a supper party were criticized behind their backs if they used the wrong fork for the fish course, while a man could drink to excess or make some off-color remark, and everyone pretended not to notice.

Nonchalantly, Leo entered the ballroom and stood to the side of the triple-width doorway, surveying the scene. Dull, dull, dull. There was the ever-present row of virgins and their chaperones, and clusters of gossiping women that reminded him of nothing so much as a hen yard.

His attention was snared by the sight of Catherine Marks, standing in the corner and watching as Beatrix and her partner danced.

Marks looked tense as usual, her slender dark-clad figure as straight as a ramrod. She never missed an opportunity to disdain Leo and treat him as if he had all the intellectual prowess of an oyster. And she was resistant to any attempts at charm or humor. Like any sensible man, Leo did his best to avoid her.

But to his chagrin, Leo couldn’t stop himself from wondering what Catherine Marks would look like after a good, thorough tupping. Her spectacles cast aside, her silky hair loose and tumbled, her pale body released from the contraption of stays and laces . . .

Suddenly nothing at the ball seemed quite so interesting as his sisters’ companion.

Leo decided to go bother her.

He sauntered to her. “Hello, Marks. How is the—”

“Where have you been?” she whispered violently, her eyes flashing furiously behind her spectacles.

“In the card room. And then I had a plate of supper. Where else should I have been?”

“You were supposed to have been helping with Poppy.”

“Helping with what? I promised I would dance with her, and here I am.” Leo paused and glanced around them. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

He frowned. “How can you not know? You mean to say you’ve lost her?”

“The last time I saw Poppy was approximately ten minutes ago, when she went to dance with Mr. Rutledge.”

“The hotel owner? He never appears at these things.”

“He did this evening,” Miss Marks said grimly, keeping her tone low. “And now they’ve disappeared. Together. You must find her, my lord. Now. She is in danger of being ruined.”

“Why haven’t you gone after her?”

“Someone has to keep an eye on Beatrix, or she’ll disappear as well. Besides, I didn’t want to draw attention to Poppy’s absence. Go find her, and be quick about it.”

Leo scowled. “Marks, in case you hadn’t noticed, other servants don’t snap out orders to their masters. So if you don’t mind—”

“You’re not my master,” she had the nerve to say, glaring insolently at him.

Oh, I’d like to be, Leo thought in a quick, angry flush of arousal, every hair on his body standing erect. Along with a certain feature of his anatomy. He decided to leave before her effect on him became obvious. “All right, settle your feathers. I’ll find Poppy.”

“Start looking in all the places where you would take a woman to compromise her. There can’t be that many.”

“Yes, there can. You’d be amazed at the variety of places I’ve—”

“Please,” she muttered. “I’m feeling nauseous enough at the moment.”

Casting an assessing glance around the ballroom, Leo spied the row of French doors at the far end. He headed for the balcony, trying to go as fast as possible without appearing to be in a hurry. It was his cursed luck to be snared in two separate conversations on the way, one with a friend who wanted his opinion of a certain lady, the other with a dowager who thought the punch was “off” and wanted to know if he’d tried it.

Finally Leo made it to one of the doors and slipped outside.

His eyes widened as he beheld an astonishing tableau. Poppy, clasped in the arms of a tall black-haired man . . . being watched by a small group of people who had come onto the balcony through another set of doors. And one of them was Michael Bayning, who looked sick with jealousy and outrage.