How to Catch a Sinful Marquess - Amy Rose Bennett Page 0,9
retort that if her aunt or cousins stopped sniping, she might be able to get a word in.
She opened her mouth to speak, but then Prudence cut in. “She probably hasn’t, Mama.” Her cousin fiddled with the lace on the edge of her sleeve with her sticky fingers as if to emphasize that she could wear fine things and make them mucky with impunity. “Nothing worth listening to, at any rate.”
Olivia drew a deep breath, praying for patience. “I . . . I was attempting to rescue Lady Charlotte’s c-cat—” she began, but then Aunt Edith waved a dismissive hand.
“I’m in no mood to hear your incoherent attempt to produce a pitiful excuse,” she returned in a waspish tone. “As punishment, you shall be confined to your room for the rest of the afternoon and evening with only bone broth and bread for dinner. And keep that horrid cat in there with you. I’m sure she makes me sneeze.”
* * *
* * *
Peridot had disappeared.
Twilight was rapidly descending, and Olivia couldn’t find the cat anywhere in her bedchamber, the upstairs gallery, or indeed any of the rooms she could access on the upper floors. After checking every possible nook and cranny for the last half hour, frantic didn’t even begin to describe how she felt.
If her search downstairs proved fruitless, Olivia determined she must also venture outside even though a dreary mizzle now veiled the back garden. It was not the sort of weather a cat would brave voluntarily, but nevertheless, Olivia would be remiss not to look farther afield.
Fastening a serviceable cloak of dark blue wool around her shoulders, she hurried from her room. She couldn’t bear to think that anything terrible had happened to Peridot, especially if she’d crossed paths with Felix. If her horrid cousin had harmed one hair on Charlie’s cat’s head . . . A thought-robbing mix of resentment and fear suddenly flared inside Olivia, and she stumbled on the sweeping stairs leading to the main hall. Placing a trembling hand on the smooth oak bannister, she paused and attempted to control her rapid breathing, to quiet her panicked thoughts. She wouldn’t be able to search anywhere, if she fell down the stairs and did herself an injury.
As her breathing calmed and her racing pulse slowed, Olivia became aware of how remarkably still and quiet the house was. Nearly all the servants were at dinner—Bagshaw and Mr. Finch included—and her uncle, aunt, Prudence, and Patience had gone to see some melodrama or other at the Royal Coburg Theatre.
But not Olivia.
Not that she really minded all that much. There could be worse fates than lounging in her window seat as she read all about Miss Catherine Morland’s adventures in Northanger Abbey with a purring Peridot by her side.
Well, at least Peridot had still been with her when one of the maids arrived with Olivia’s dinner tray. It wasn’t until she’d finished her bone broth that she’d noticed the sneaky puss had yet again absconded from the room. As much as she enjoyed Peridot’s company, she would send the cat back to Hastings House as soon as she found her. For her own sanity and Peridot’s safety, she had to.
Crossing the parquetry floor of the main hall with rushed steps, Olivia headed toward the drawing room, quietly calling the cat’s name. The French doors led out to the terrace—
The murmur of voices followed by a low male chuckle floated across the hall.
Felix. Oh no.
Olivia recognized his horrid, mocking laugh immediately. And he was in the drawing room with someone else. Another gentleman, by the sound of it. She halted, torn between her need to find Peridot and the overwhelming desire to avoid her cousin.
Should she question him about whether he’d seen the cat? She didn’t want to, but if he’d done something to Peridot, she was certain he wouldn’t hesitate to gloat about it. He was an arrogant braggart after all.
But then again, there were other places to look.
She ducked down another hall. The door to her uncle’s private study was ajar, and all was silent now save for the uneven tattoo of her heartbeat in her ears.
Perhaps Peridot had slipped into the study. “Here, puss, puss,” she called softly as she pushed through the door into the apparently deserted room. “Here, P-Peridot.”
The soft glow of several lamps and the fire illuminated her uncle’s mahogany desk, a large glass-fronted bookcase, a pair of leather wingback chairs, and a window seat flanked by crimson velvet curtains.