Page 51 of If the Slipper Fits
A pounding on his door sounded alongside someone—Harrison?—calling his name in a frantic manner.
He strode for the chamber door, jerked it open, and found Harrison, fist elevated, mouth open, in the midst of bellowing Caden’s name. He was shirtless.
“Something’s missing from your attire. Give me a moment. I’ll think of it.”
“Oh, bloody ha ha. I’m half dressed because I’m having a wardrobe malfunction.”
“An interesting choice of words.”
“Literally, Thurgood. My armoire is jammed shut. Damned door won’t open. I gave a good yank and broke the handle clean off. I tried to pry the thing open ’til my fingernails practically tore off.” He held out his hands for inspection.
Caden huffed out a laugh. “Only you, Harrison. Give me a moment.” He slipped off his dinner jacket and hung it over the valet. “Between the two of us, I’m sure we can figure a way to free your clothing.”
For once, Harrison’s uniquely bumbling ways would work in his favor. He wouldn’t arrive downstairs so early he’d appear over eager. Women didn’t like that. Or so he assumed. Prior to Anna, he’d never had cause to test the theory.
Harrison trotted ahead. “I appreciate this, Thurgood. Shouldn’t take more than a moment with both of us working at it.”
Chapter Eleven
“Good God, have more guests arrived?” Wearing an expression that said she smelled something foul, Lady Wentworth swept through the open double doors into the grand parlor.
Anna followed close on her heels. One foot into the large chamber, and she shared her employer’s dismay. The din of excited voices and the warm, still air of an over-crowded room with windows closed against the elements seemed to engulf her. If only Lady Wentworth had not insisted she join her this evening.
“Anna, stay close.”
She shimmied nearer to her employer, eyes fixed on the back of her silver coiffure, more to avoid a chance collision of gazes with a certain handsome rogue.
Having no wish to torture herself further, she had quite made up her mind to avoid any run-ins with him tonight. Not that she supposed Caden would go out of his way to speak with her. Not if his curt attitude, somehow made all the worse by the kiss that had melted her bones—and not his—wereanything to go by.
Lady Wentworth’s steady swath through the crowd slowed to a sudden crawl in the center of the melee. Guests seemed to press in on them from every direction.
Anna chanced a furtive glance around. The candle-lit parlor teamed with party guests and flushed liveried footmen bearing flute-laden silver trays. The thick carpets, velvet drapes, and tapestry covered walls turned clinking glasses, conversation and laughter into an indecipherable roar.
Without meaning to, she strained her ears for Caden’s deep timbered voice, then, unable to resist, craned her neck, scanning for the taller-than-average, devilishly handsome man.
“Champagne awaits, Anna. This way.” Lady Wentworth shouldered more than one guest out of her way, only to draw to a complete halt as the milling people ahead of them congealed into a seemingly impenetrable wall.
“For pity’s sake,” she hissed.
Anna silently commiserated. She could not move in any direction without either knocking elbows with someone, trampling a lady’s skirts, or having hers caught under someone’s boot or slipper.
“I beg your pardon. Tight quarters here. Mrs. Jones, isn’t it? Lord Hardasher, at your service. We met earlier.”
In spite of the warmth resulting from the crush of bodies, goosebumps sprouted over her suddenly clammy limbs. A deafening rush of blood pounded in her ears, blocking out all other sound. Everyone, save the dark-haired lord standing entirely too close to her, faded into the background.
Anna forced her lips into a semblance of a smile. “Good evening, Lord Hardasher.” Though her rational mind knew she was perfectly safe, her breath turned choppy and her knees wobbled.
She must get hold of herself. Hadn’t Caden already given her the most likely explanation for the man’s interest in her? He was a rake. She was a widow and a servant at a house party, and thus, fair game.
He leaned down, eyes narrowing on her face—and all her self-assurances flew out the window. She could scarcely draw breath. With a sick certainty, she knew he recognized her.
“What lovely eyes you have, Mrs. Jones. Such an unusual shade.”
Anna lowered her gaze as if that could protect her from his scrutiny. “You’re too kind, my lord.”
“Anna, I see a way out. Come.” Lady Wentworth grasped her forearm with surprising strength, and dragged her forward.
“My lord.” Anna sent Lord Hardasher an apologetic smile as relief washed through her.
