Imogen laughed. “True.”
Mercy looked out over the crowd. Frowning, she took a few steps forward and craned her neck, searching with renewed focus. “Um. Do you see Grace anywhere?”
“Ahh.” Imogen joined Mercy in her efforts and scanned the dance floor. “I am certain . . . well, she was just here. Perhaps she went to the ladies’ retiring room.”
“I don’t see Amos either.” And that made her stomach cramp uncomfortably.
Imogen clearly agreed. She nodded swiftly. “You go search the gardens. I will check the ladies’ room.”
They parted and went their separate directions even as Mercy told herself she was being silly and overly suspicious. Grace would not be so foolish as to be lured outside by a gentleman. True—Amos Blankenship might be young and mildly handsome and perceived to be the biggest catch in all of Shropshire—at least before the duke’s son arrived in town—but Grace would not be so reckless and throw caution to the wind in such a manner.
Mercy exited the crowded ballroom through one of the French balcony doors. A few people lingered on the expansive veranda, but none were Grace or Amos Blankenship.
Grimacing, Mercy held up her skirts and descended the curving steps that led down into the lush gardens. The darkened parkland was an ideal location for assignations. The grounds were extensive and there was many a dark corner or hedge or cluster of trees to offer cover for romantic liaisons.
She walked slowly, cautiously, peering into the shadows, not wanting to overlook anyone. Nor did she want to startle anyone either. Inconspicuous was the goal. It would not do to attract attention. No one need be alerted that she was out here searching for her rogue sister.
A hand clamped on her shoulder and the beginning of a scream escaped her before she had the sense to cut it off and kill the sound in her throat.
Chapter Fifteen
Mercy pressed a hand to her pounding heart to keep it from escaping from her chest and spun around to face Silas Masters.
“Mr. Masters,” she exhaled heavily.
“Silas,” he corrected.
“You gave me a fright.”
He gave a nod that could be construed as an apology, and then dove into: “What are you doing out here?”
“Just taking some fresh air. It was a bit crowded inside.”
He nodded slowly. “Yes. It was.”
She looked back out at the garden, anxious to continue her search.
“Are you . . . looking for someone?” he asked.
She snapped her gaze back to him, wondering how he knew. Was she so obvious? What had she given away in deed or expression?
Rather than answer him, she turned a question of her own on him. “What are you doing out here?”
“Following you,” he replied without shame or pretense.
She blinked. “Oh.” That was disconcerting. Had he been watching her that closely? She thought she had been the only one doing the watching. If she had not been so distracted tracking him and his movements through the packed ballroom, she might have not lost sight of her sister.
“You do realize that people out here are engaged in trysts of an intimate nature?”
That was the entire issue. Her total concern. The reason she was out here at all. “I realize that, yes.”
He nodded in the gloom. “Is that why you are out here then?” A beat of silence followed the question. “Have you a rendezvous planned with a gentleman?”
She pointed at herself. “Me?” Her voice squeaked out the question, her astonishment undeniable.
“Yes. You. This is your home. Your familiars are here. Your neighbors. It is not so unbelievable to consider there might be someone in your life here. For you. Someone you wish to meet out here.”
Is that what he thought? That she would jump from him to someone else so soon? Absurd. She laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“How am I ridiculous? I can attest firsthand to your significant wiles.”
That only made her laugh harder. Her wiles? “Well, I assure you. No one else can. Not here or anywhere else.”
Did he not see her relegated to the far walls with the rest of the unmarriageables? Ancient widows and spinsters. She was the consummate wallflower. Wiles, indeed!
Even in the gloom, she noted the easing of his shoulders at her words. His body relaxed as though he had been holding his breath. He had been tense. Because of her? Why? Because she had potentially been meeting someone out—
She sucked in a sharp breath. No. Certainly not.
He could not be . . .
“Are you . . . jealous?” She sounded just as she felt—incredulous.
The question rang out absurdly on the air between them. Astonishingly absurd.
No one had ever felt such a sentiment on her behalf. Naturally. She was a spinster. She would have had to have a romantic attachment or entanglement and there had been nothing—er, no one—like that in her life.
“Me? Jealous?” He scoffed. “Now who is being ridiculous?”
“Oh. Forgive me. I did not mean to offend.” Mirth still pushed at the edges of her voice though. She took a sobering breath. “If you would excuse me. I was only . . .” Her voice faded as she remembered her task. He had distracted her. His presence always had a way of doing that, but she felt a jolt of shame at being distracted from being a good sister and locating Grace.
“What were you saying?” he pressed. “Why are you out here?”
“If you must know—” She sighed. “I was looking for my sister. I thought she might have stepped outside.” She supposed she could trust him with one more of her family’s indignities. He knew most of their secrets by now. What was another one to keep?
“She is out here?” He looked around and even though she could not read his expression in the shadows, she perfectly gathered his thoughts. She easily detected the judgment in his voice. He, too, thought it was highly suspect and ill-advised for Grace to be out in this garden. “Well. We shall locate her.”
We?
She put the thought into words. “We?”
He continued in the direction she had been walking when he had first startled her. Walking ahead of her, he nodded. “Yes. I will accompany you.”
“I do not think that is necessary—”
He glanced back at her and she heard a smile in his voice as he called over his shoulder, “You say that often, you know? Now come along. Let us find that sister of yours so we can feel better and enjoy the rest of the evening. That is necessary, is it not?”
His usage of “we” this time gave her pause.
So we can feel better . . .
Did that mean he cared about her sister? Was he also worried? She stared thoughtfully at the dark shape of his back before moving to catch up with him.
They proceeded side by side, the sounds of the house party a distant buzz on the air.
“Are you enjoying the party then?” she queried.
It felt like someone should speak into the silence.
“It is a pleasant affair.”
A pleasant affair. A perfectly polite response.
“A little different from your London parties, I imagine.”
“Yes and no.” He paused a beat. “No matter the event, a country soirée or raucous night at the gaming hell . . . everyone is playing a part at these things.”