“No,” said Cecilia. Her single word was so loaded with doubt that Beatrice had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.
“I will step closer to you, Miss Cecilia,” Destry said. He must have, for Cecilia moved closer to her sister. A moment later Cecilia made a sound of distress, and began a dance of frantic movement. “Something just brushed my hand.”
“I’m sure it was only the tip of my scarf, Miss Cecilia,” Lord Destry said. “It’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Your scarf? It was your scarf?” She was almost crying and then, with what Beatrice knew was a supreme effort, Cecilia went on. “Then perhaps you are standing a little too close, my lord.”
Mrs. Kendrick’s laughter echoed back to them and Beatrice relaxed a little. “Think of us as a troop of soldiers, Miss Brent,” Mrs. Kendrick called out. “We are made comrades by the unknown, determined to protect one another no matter what happens.”
“I was thinking,” Beatrice said, “that we are like a group of children who have very mixed feelings about this adventure but are reassuring ourselves of a nice treat at the end.”
“No, we are adults who are playing and frightening ourselves in the process.”
“You are marvelous, Miss Cecilia,” Jess said from his position directly in front of them. “Cutting right to the truth of the matter.”
“Let’s move on,” the countess ordered kindly.
“Ladies,” Jess turned and whispered to the sisters, “I wager a guinea that Miss Wilson screams first.”
Neither of them had a chance to accept or decline the wager before an unfamiliar masculine voice echoed along the passage and they all froze. It was heavily accented. German, perhaps.
“Dr. Frankenstein,” the voice called out in a macabre bass. “Help me. Help me. Help me.” The last was a long drawn-out wail that did, indeed, make Katherine Wilson scream.
While the voice chilled Beatrice to the bone, she was rational enough to find amusement in the theatrics.
Then someone ahead of them stumbled, and the reaction echoed down the line. Beatrice lost her footing on the descending path and wrapped her arms around Lord Jessup so she did not fall or push him into Miss Wilson who was in front of him.
Jess wrapped his hands around hers as they cinched his waist, her face pressed into his back. Surrounded by darkness, she could barely see, but she could feel his breath sharpen, the muscles in his back ripple. She wished there was more light and that they were face-to-face so she could raise her eyes to his and see what he was thinking, whether he was as aware of her as she was of him.
Instead she pulled her arms out of his grasp with a whispered, “Thank you, my lord. I only needed a moment’s support.” Then wished she had come up with something a little more flirtatious.
“And here I thought you were flirting with me.”
“No!” she protested. “I was afraid that if I fell, others would, too.”
“How thoughtful,” he said agreeably.
She didn’t have to flirt; he was good enough at it for both of them. She pressed her lips together, not that anyone could see her smile.
They moved forward once again, but now they could hear someone crying and Lord Crenshaw’s voice, reassuring but edged with frustration. “Calm yourself. It’s only a party game.”
Lord Jess reached forward and put his arm around Miss Wilson’s waist. “Forgive my impertinence, Miss Wilson, but close your eyes and hold on to me. Think of being in a meadow or some other large open space. Let your imagination go there and we will be in the dining room in just a moment.”
How kind of him, Beatrice thought, his thoughtfulness pushing her interest in him one notch higher. Maybe he used teasing and flirtation as a way to hide his more generous nature.
I want to know this man better. I want to know what he thinks, how he sees the world, how I would fit into his arms, and what his kiss is like. It was a truth she would keep to herself for now.
A few more steps, a turn around a sharp corner, and a glowing light announced the end of the trail. Within a minute they joined the party at the back of a room, lit with the same flambeaux in tall stands. The ladies stood apart from the gentlemen and took a moment to shake out their skirts The gentlemen brushed off their sleeves, though there was no sign of dust or insects.