Then they were gone, before Annabel could even blink.
“Are you all right?” Lord Ardmore asked her, spinning her around and smiling, even though all his money and his ring were gone. His voice didn’t have a trace of disquiet in it…it was the same husky, compelling Scottish burr that—
She snapped her eyes shut. “Your clothes!” she moaned.
His hands dropped from her shoulders and she heard his deep voice say, “Throw me my pantaloons, Glover.” At the same time, the door slammed open on its hinges and she heard men running heavily in the corridor. But her hands didn’t fall from her eyes until she heard the acid tones of Lady Blechschmidt in the corridor, demanding to be told the explanation for all this.
Annabel dropped her hands. Thankfully, the earl had his pantaloons on. He was just pulling on a shirt, though, and she couldn’t help noticing that his chest looked like that of the statues of Roman gods she’d seen in the British museum at Montagu House, all rippled with thick muscle, narrowing to a taut waist. But white, still marble looked very different from golden skin, dusted with the faintest shadow of hair—
He looked over at her, and she felt a blush rising in her cheeks. Then his shirt came down over his head, and Lady Blechschmidt’s coachman walked into the room, saying, “They’ve caught two men downstairs with some rings and such.”
Annabel swallowed. It was over. Almost. Lady Blechschmidt was staring at her, and there was a pucker between her brows. “Just what are you doing in these chambers, young woman?” she said. There was an icy tone in her voice that made Annabel shiver.
But she raised her chin. “We paid a visit—”
Lady Blechschmidt broke in. “We?”
Annabel gasped. “Imogen! Imogen, are you all right?” She ran back to the door that led to Lord Ardmore’s bedchamber and flung it open. The room was empty. The door of the wardrobe slung open, the arm of a shirt hanging from the shelf. The drawer of the little writing desk had been thrown to the floor.
There was only one possible place for them to be. She fell to her knees and lifted the heavy counterpane that hung to the floor on three sides of the bed. “Griselda? Imogen?”
Sure enough, something was moving in the darkness. “Annabel, is that you?” Imogen squeaked.
“Come out, darling, it’s all over.”
A second later Griselda and Imogen scrambled out.
“What happened?” Imogen cried, at the same time that Griselda looked down at herself and realized that she was covered with dust and bed fluff and stray cotton from the mattress. Her shriek was far louder than Imogen’s question.
Lady Blechschmidt appeared in the doorway in a moment. “Lady Griselda!” she said, coming to a stop so quickly that the earl bumped into her from behind.
“Is everyone all right?” he asked, looking over Lady Blechschmidt’s head into the room. “You weren’t hurt, were you?”
“All right!” Griselda said on a rising shriek. “Of course I’m not all right, you—you nincompoop! Look at me! I was due at Lady Penfield’s ball hours ago and—and just look at me!” A dust curl hung from her pelisse button; she was covered with a thin layer of whitish-brownish dirt, and there was a huge smudge on one cheek where she had clearly rested it against the floor.
Mr. Barnet entered the room behind the earl. “You!” Griselda said, pointing at him with a rising shriek. “This is all your fault! How dare you allow robbers into the room when we were there. How dare you!”
“They had a gun at my back,” Mr. Barnet said, nervously rubbing his hands together.
“I’ll have your position,” Griselda said, advancing on him. “I’ll have your position due to the extreme uncleanliness of this hotel, if not for putting myself and my wards into extreme danger.”
“But precisely what were you and your wards doing in a gentleman’s chambers at this hour of the night?” Lady Blechschmidt inquired. “I should not have expected such behavior of you, Lady Griselda.”
“Nothing untoward!” Griselda said, turning away from the hapless Mr. Barnet. “I find it hard to believe that you would even imply such a thing after our long years of acquaintance.”
“Since I was responsible for halting the robbery in midprogress,” Lady Blechschmidt observed, “I believe that I am owed a reasonable explanation.”
“You are owed nothing,” Griselda said magnificently. “If you cannot respect me enough to accept without a second’s thought that I would never involve myself in an injudicious action, then we are friends no longer!”
“My carriage broke down on the way to the ball,” the earl said, stepping forward. “Lady Griselda and her charges merely escorted me to the hotel, when we were caught by armed men.”
Lady Blechschmidt looked at him. “I know who you are,” she said slowly. “You’re that Scotsman who made such an exhibition of yourself on the dance floor. You are—or were—considered something of a catch.”
He bowed. “At your service.”
She turned back to Griselda. “While I have the utmost sympathy for your plight, Lady Griselda, and particularly for the deplorable state of your clothing at the moment, I just wish to note that the presence of these young ladies, one of whom”—she nodded toward Imogen, who was trying to brush dirt from her pelisse and only making it look worse—“created a scandal but two nights previous with this particular man, is suspicious. That’s all I shall say about it. I shall make no suppositions, I shall simply—”
She faltered and stepped back as Griselda advanced toward her. Normally Griselda resembled a lush female angel rather than an avenging Archangel Michael. But at the moment her face was so chilly that it would have taken a stronger person than Lady Blechschmidt to withstand her. “Emily Blechschmidt,” she said through clenched teeth, “if you ever say a word about this evening, or if one of your servants ever murmurs something to a friend, there will be hell to pay!”
Lady Blechschmidt tittered nervously. “Well, I hardly think that I would say anything, but as for the servants, you know what—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Griselda snapped. “Your servants are as well trained as mine. You will ensure that they say nothing, if you please!”
“I certainly don’t know why you’re taking this so much in affront! Naturally, I shall caution the servants to share nothing of this unusual evening. I shall particularly direct them to ignore the fact that Miss Essex was in the company of the earl, who was disrobed, while you were ensconced under the bed in quite a separate room!”
But Griselda’s eyes were narrowed. “What were you doing here?” she demanded.
“I?” Lady Blechschmidt said indignantly. “Why, my coachman dashed up here to rescue your friends from these ruffians, and—”
“What are you doing at Grillon’s Hotel?” Griselda’s voice was much calmer now, but still remorseless, and Annabel, tightly holding Imogen’s hand, thought she saw the shadow of a smile. “You are due to Lady Penfield’s ball, just as I was.”
“I have been to Lady Penfield’s ball, and a pitifully thin affair it was. I left with a headache.”