on her dance card. Was she making notes again? Thank-you notes? He grimaced. Surely not. He wasn’t falling for that explanation again.
Hell, no.
Chandler stepped backward away from the door. She was alone in a private study. Clearly a place that wasn’t usually available to the ordinary guest. Should he let her know he was present?
Suddenly a thought struck him like lightning streaking across a dark gray sky. Chandler’s body went rigid. He didn’t want to believe what his thoughts were suggesting. But he couldn’t keep the idea from taking shape in his mind. Could Miss Blair be making notes about valuable objects in the house in preparation for stealing something?
He refused to consider that, but he couldn’t deny the possibility that she might be jotting down notes and relaying them to an accomplice. Things that might be easily taken out of a house without, anyone seeing them.
He didn’t want to consider it. But what else would she be doing in an area of the house where she shouldn’t be, for the second time, writing on her dance card? She had been making notes the first night he saw her. His mind continued digging up facts. Last night she refused to let Lady Heathecoute see her dance card.
No one knew much about her. She certainly hadn’t told him anything about herself. Damnation, he didn’t like the way things were adding up. He couldn’t believe she was stealing things from the homes, but she could be someone’s accomplice.
If that was true, it meant Millicent Blair, the beautiful young lady who had him mad with desire, was partners with the Mad Ton Thief.
***
Millicent rejoined the party feeling quite satisfied that she had written down enough gossip for Aunt Beatrice. She had filled the back of her dance card with notes and was in the process of trying to retie it to her wrist with one hand as she walked back into the crowded room. Most of what she had written had come from Lady Lynette. After just a few minutes with her new friend during the evening, Millicent had plenty of news for her aunt’s column.
She was surprised that Aunt Beatrice or the viscountess hadn’t already realized that Lady Lynette knew more gossip than any of the scandal sheets reported. Millicent supposed it was exactly what Lady Lynette had suggested. She was easy to overlook by everyone in Society because they all wanted to pretend she wasn’t around so they wouldn’t have to look at her birthmark.
It was such a shame. Lady Lynette was a lovely person and obviously starved for friendship. Millicent made a mental note to call on—
A bump from behind jolted Millicent forward. Her pencil and dance card went flying from her hand as she stumbled to catch herself from falling forward. Strong, heated hands grasped her upper arms and kept her from hitting the floor. She didn’t have to see his face or even hear his voice to know that it was Lord Dunraven who had saved her from tumbling onto to her face.
“My sincere apologies, Miss Blair.” The words were whispered close to her ear as the guiding hands turned her to face not her guardian angel who saved her from a spill to the floor, but her nemesis.
“Some ill-mannered oaf knocked me right into you. Are you all right?”
“Quite,” she answered breathlessly and smiled, realizing several people were staring at them and wanting to minimize the attention to herself.
“I didn’t mean to crash into you.”
“Of course, you didn’t,” she said, but could have sworn she didn’t see any real expression of regret in the depths of his blue eyes. For the first time she felt a distance in him.
He looked around the room. “I haven’t the faintest idea who the devil was so clumsy.”
“It’s quite all right. Really, I’m not injured and you don’t appear to be.”
“Not at all.”
“Good. Don’t give it another thought,” she said and immediately started searching the floor for her dance card and pencil. All she saw were polished boots, satin slippers, and the hems of dresses.
“Did you lose something? A piece of your jewelry?”
“No, no,” she said, determined not to panic. Instinctively she reached up and felt for her pearl earrings and necklace and found everything in place.
“I dropped my pencil and dance card.”
“Allow me to find them for you.”
“No, no. I’ll find them.”
But Chandler was already in motion. In a courtly manner, he asked men to watch their steps and ladies to move to the side. Within a few moments, he