Page 4 of Lord Trafford's Folly
Julius noted when they reached a shadowed corridor leading away from the main hall. Placing Aunty Gertrude’s arm with care on that of her husband, Julius murmured an excuse and stepped away.
“It is time to go.”
Abbott, who was still staring toward the head of the line, was slow to comprehend that the statement was directed at him. Julius peered at him with a questioning look, wondering what had Abbott so riveted, before bobbing his head toward the dim side hall. He did not want to gaze in the same direction and attract any undue attention to their imminent disappearance.
Abbott appeared reluctant to leave the line, but followed him away. Soon they stood together in the low light of the library in silence.
“Do you have any notion how ridiculous you look in this—” Abbott threw his hand out at Julius’s gold coat.
“Now, now, Little Breeches. There is no need to tell Banbury stories … I am unduly handsome in my brocade, which we both well know.”
Abbott snorted in frustration.
Julius narrowed his eyes at the taller man. Not that Julius was small in stature, but Abbott and his father, Viscount Moreland, were formidable. “Did a certain young woman capture your eye out in the hall? You seemed rather bemused.”
Abbott looked away, unwilling to discuss what—or who—had caught his attention.
“IsAuntynot surprised at our departure? I thought you were to catch up?” Abbott’s sneer was a thin attempt to shift the subject.
Julius grinned, amused by the obvious ploy. “Auntywill quite forget she saw me tonight by the time she reaches the head of the line. She and Uncle are quite easily distracted these days, and I saw an opportunity to proceed with our plans.”
“What is the plan?”
“I think I shall wander about and gather information while you search Smythe’s office.”
Julius could see Abbott wished to argue about the roles Julius had assigned. Sneaking through a gentleman’s privateplaces was not an honorable pastime, but they were both aware that Julius was better at subterfuge.
There were six men to investigate, but Smythe was the man at the top of their list. He was the heir to a baron, which made him a promising suspect because the murdered Baron of Filminster had been seated with other barons the day of his murder.
There were whispers of Smythe selling off assets in the clubs, and Filminster had pointed out that a suspect with some sort of financial difficulty could be driven to a passionate act, such as murder, if the late baron had threatened his future inheritance.
Abbott relented. “I will meet you in the ballroom when I am done.”
Julius nodded. “Have fun, Little Breeches. You might learn interesting things when you search through a man’s private belongings.”
Abbott frowned, but before he could respond, Julius left him to his devices.
He circulated the ballroom to participate in numerous dull conversations, all the while contemplating their host. Smythe was embroiled in a discussion in the corner with several older gentlemen, not providing an opportunity for Julius to engage him in discreet discourse. Looking about, Julius examined the guests for someone who might illuminate Smythe’s circumstances until he could approach the gentleman directly.
Thirty feet away, Julius spotted Lord and Lady Astley, along with other haughty members of their set, exiting to take air on the terrace. The ballroom had grown stuffy from the warm summer night.
Julius dashed after them. Lord Astley was the perfect individual to pump for information, and would be unsuspecting as an acquaintance to Lord Snarling himself.
Stepping outside behind them, Julius nearly walked straight into the now-frozen crowd of guests. He halted abruptly and lifted his head to see what had riveted their silent attention. His jaw fell open.
Bad show!
Abbott had his arms around a young woman, framed by the full moon. Worse—he had his tongue down her throat!
This is what comes of being wound so tight!
The other heir had taken leave of his senses. The embracing couple disengaged, their movements cautious, and Abbott stepped forward as if to shield her from the gaze of scandalized guests.
Assessing her unique height, Julius realized with a growing sense of horror who the young woman was. Smythe, the future lord they were here to investigate, had a daughter of marriageable age. And Abbott had compromised her—the offspring of their prime suspect!
Damned idiot!
Abbott’s expression was bemused in the light spilling out from the ballroom, but he was sobering up with haste when he took in the crowd of guests who were now agog, staring at him as if he had sprouted a second head.
