Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,149

explain the difficulties of writing sermons that inspired his parishioners to change their ways. Or rather, appearing to listen, for all he could think about was Dorothea’s smile.

Chapter Five

It was unexpectedly easy to flirt with Cecil—and what fun! How kind of him to worry about Mother’s reaction, but nothing could be done about her. Dorothea must simply get on with recovering the St. George medallion.

What had got into Papa, to take it from the place where it was securely hidden and put it in Edgar’s hands? Legend said it brought victory to whomever held it. She didn’t know whether it really had special power, but belief mattered a great deal in the case of holy relics.

By the time the ladies withdrew from the dining room, she was ready with the excuse of fetching her knitting. The gentlemen were safely downstairs, passing around the port, and with luck all the servants would be elsewhere, too.

When the others went into the drawing room, Dorothea hurried upstairs. The staircase and corridor were lit by sconces, and bedroom candles were ready on a table on the landing. She lit one, glanced both ways, and turned right instead of left.

Resisting the urge to tiptoe, she trod softly to the first door—Lord Restive’s—and peered inside. Welcome darkness greeted her. She went boldly through, as if this were her Mother’s chamber from which she meant to fetch a shawl. If she were caught, her excuse would be that she had turned the wrong way and become confused.

She went first to the bedside table. The drawer contained The Romance of the Forest, a few partial sheets of foolscap, and several keys. No medallion.

A table by the window held a travel desk. It was locked. She hurried back to the bedside for the keys, and with trembling hands tried them one by one. At last one worked, but the desk contained only paper, pens, penknife, ink, and a pounce box. Drat!

She gazed about. The door to the right must lead to his dressing room. Perhaps he had put the medallion with his jewelry. If she weren’t so nervous, she would have thought of that first. She was at the door when she remembered to lock the travel desk and return the keys to the bedside table.

She had just reached the dressing room door again when soft footfalls penetrated from the corridor, halting close by. Heart thudding, she slipped into the dressing room, pushed the door almost shut, and peered through the crack. Lord Restive’s door opened and light shone in. She pushed the dressing room door to and looked frantically about.

There were a couple of clothes presses, coats hanging along one wall, some shelves, a dressing table with a jewel case, a door leading to the passageway, and another to what must be Lord Wellough’s dressing room—and nowhere to hide. More footsteps made the decision for her. She would have to search later. She hastened across the room, snuffed her candle, and went into the passageway, closing the door behind her. She stopped to catch her breath and turned.

Cecil Hale stood only a yard away, looking like thunder. “What the devil are you doing here, Miss Darsington?”

The instant the words were out, Cecil regretted them.

Dorothea drew herself up, the picture of affront. “I beg your pardon?”

“I apologize for my language, but you should not be here. Your chamber—all the ladies’ chambers—are in the opposite corridor.”

“Is that where I went wrong?” She was definitely flustered. “I counted the doors—I think Mother’s is the second, but—” She pressed a hand to her heart and shuddered. “Then I realized this is a gentleman’s dressing room.”

“Lord Restive’s.” Cecil did his best not to narrow his eyes at her. He had no good reason to disbelieve her; one might easily take a wrong turn in an unfamiliar house, and an innocent lady would be understandably upset at finding she’d entered a gentleman’s dressing room—particularly if she heard someone in the bedchamber it adjoined. “Don’t be alarmed. It’s only his valet.”

“Thank heavens no one saw me but you,” she said breathlessly. She swept past him and hurried off.

He continued to his own bedroom, pondering the night ahead. It was the devil’s own luck that Lord Wellough had suddenly arrived a day earlier, displacing him from the ideal situation next to Restive’s suite. Perhaps he could drug Wellough and eavesdrop from his dressing room. Or hover down the corridor to see if someone sought to speak privately with Restive in the middle of the night—or, more