Page 128 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘He is beckoning us,’ Lydia said. ‘Let us go at once.’

Ashford nodded, and made an immediate beeline for him, Lydia close behind until her arm was seized.

‘Phoebe!’

She was turned forcibly around with a hammy arm, to look into Sir Waldo’s face. His eyes, through his mask, were glassy with alcohol, something stronger than champagne on his breath.

‘Dance with me!’ he instructed.

‘Waldo!’ Lydia said, in her best, breeziest impression of Lady Phoebe. ‘Yes, of course – I should like nothing better, but I just need to—’

He shook her arm and she glanced desperately over her shoulder for Ashford, but he had disappeared into the crush of people.

‘You have been trying to shake me off all evening,’ he said. ‘But I should like to dance with my wife.’

‘Of course,’ she said, trying to extricate herself again.

‘Look at me when I am speaking to you!’ he said, with another shake, harder than the first, that had her mask slipping. She put a hasty hand up to halt its progress.

‘Stop.’ She tugged at his arm again. ‘You are making a scene.’

‘Let your mask off,’ he said. ‘I wish to look at you.’

‘You will ruin the magic of the evening! she hissed. ‘No!’

His eyes were narrowed with anger.

‘Do not tell me what to do,’ he began, reaching up with one motion to pull the mask from her face, then blinked. ‘Miss … Miss Hanworth?’

‘Sir Waldo,’ she said. ‘You appear to have mistaken me.’

‘I – I thought you were my wife,’ he said, rather stupidly.

‘Evidently,’ she said. ‘May I request you unhand me?’

He did not.

‘You were speaking like my wife,’ he said. ‘And … that is not the domino you were wearing earlier.’

‘You are drunk, sir,’ she said. ‘You know not of what you speak.’

Hurriedly, she placed her mask back on her face, in the vague hope that might confuse him further, but the fog was clearing from his eyes, now.

‘You wished me to believe it was her,’ he said. ‘Why? Miss Hanworth, where is my wife?’

‘How am I meant to know?’ she said, and she meant it to be airy, but he was still holding her arm, squeezing tightly, and his face was red with anger, and so she could not help the edge of fear that entered her voice.

He pushed her arm away firmly enough to cause her to stumble back, then he turned on his heel and stalked toward the door. Lydia craned her head to search for Ashford, but she could not see him or Pip. It was down to her, and her alone, to decide what to do now.

She ran after him.

Sir Waldo stalked purposefully through the rooms, cutting through the crowds as a knife through butter, whereas Lydia – smaller and so much less intimidating – had to weave and apologize her way through, losing precious seconds of her chase with every delay. She hoped that he might run upstairs, to look for his wife in her quarters, but no. With the instincts of a predator he was making directly for the stables, with such strides as Lydia almost lost sight of him.

‘Lady Phoebe!’ Lady Hesse tried to grasp her arm as she passed. ‘I must speak with you.’

Behind her, Lady Morton was hurrying through the crowd, too.

‘Go away!’ Lydia snapped, too harried for politeness.