Chapter 1 #2
“I’ll write it out for you before you leave,” Minerva answered, taking another sip, clearly unaware that she’d interrupted a seduction. “Oh, this really is our best batch yet.”
She finished her glass and this time, helped herself to another, splashing more outside the cup than she served into it. She giggled and glanced up at him, seemingly surprised to see him still standing there. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Did you want some, too?”
“I don’t ever drink punch,” he warned her.
“There’s always a first time. But there’s a bottle of claret in the library, hidden behind the door just for you, Mr. Stonebeck. Well, do excuse me,” she said. “I must mingle.”
She giggled again as she went on her way to join another group.
He stared after her a moment, wondering what had put Minerva in such a jolly mood tonight. This was not how she usually behaved in London. Clearly, she wasn’t holding a grudge for his lack of compliments, either.
Minerva was usually as quiet as a mouse, preferring to keep to herself when her brother’s friends came around his town house.
Arranging dinners and such and ensuring no one was forgotten.
But it was a long-awaited house party, and she might as well enjoy herself for once, especially after all the effort she must have gone to.
Frederick escorted the clinging widow to the pianoforte when she finished her glass of punch, while he offered even more praise. His chances of sharing the widow’s bed seemed almost a certainty. Perhaps as soon as tonight, too.
At the pianoforte, he dutifully turned the pages as others joined them around the widow, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Humphrey Chase watching them from a distance. He seemed rather stupefied to have lost the race already.
Come on, Humphrey, move your heavy feet and do something to claim your lady before I can. The night is far from over.
But then Frederick heard a commotion—and saw Minerva doubled over completely, laughing uncontrollably. She seemed unable to stop for some reason.
At her side was a grinning Thomas Moore, watching her every move.
Frederick frowned at the scene playing out. Moore wasn’t usually that funny, nor had he ever been interested in her. But he was openly admiring the deliciously rounded curve of a bottom that the woman had innocently thrust toward the room at large.
Minerva struggled upright, pulling herself up using Moore’s sleeve.
When she fell against his side, Frederick groaned.
Behavior like that could see the woman married to the man or ruined. Moore would not make Minerva Chase happy—in bed or out of it. He was too fond of the ladies to ever give up the chase for just one.
Moore lured Minerva away toward the refreshment table and picked up the punch ladle.
That would make it Minnie’s third…no, her fifth glass of punch tonight.
His eyes widened as he realized that something must have been done to the punch to make her behave that way.
Frederick hurried across the room to intercept the laughing pair, snatching the ladle out of Moore’s hand immediately before he could ply her with more. “I’ll take that.”
“Oh, Mr. Stonebeck! Are you going to take my advice at last and give it a try?”
“I want a taste first,” Moore protested, leering at Minerva’s bosom.
Frederick was not amused by Moore’s leer or Minerva’s intoxication. Or by the fact that, despite taking the ladle, Moore had the nerve to dunk two glasses straight into the punch bowl and serve one to the waiting woman.
In fact, the glass ended up so overflowing that Minnie slurped up the excess with unladylike enthusiasm. She looked at Frederick, clearly unwell, and fluttered her lashes, too. “Well? Are you going to wet your lips?”
To anyone else, in any other situation, that might be misconstrued as an invitation to be alone with her and Moore. However, Minerva Chase was an innocent, and she had no idea the way men heard things or even likely how they behaved.
There would be no Minerva and Moore alone anywhere, if Frederick had his say. The lady needed rescuing before it was too late. Minnie had no idea the punch had been spiked—but Moore did, judging by his smirk at the spinster. Either he had done it himself, or he knew who had.
Frederick discreetly moved toward Moore, putting himself closer to his friend to whisper, “You and I need to have a word in private later.”
“Oh look, someone else might get something in private sooner,” Moore whispered back, nodding to the room behind them. “Your luck has turned.”
Frederick glanced over his shoulder to find Humphrey Chase had taken his place beside the widow at the pianoforte.
Frederick wasn’t terribly unhappy about that, of course.
He could easily afford the loss of twenty pounds, and since Chase was occupied, Frederick had more pressing concerns—like getting Minerva out of the room.
It was imperative to remove Minnie from the vicinity of the punch bowl and the room at large before she embarrassed herself, and explain what had happened to her.
Since Humphrey Chase was finally engaged in flirting with the widow, it fell to a friend to look out for the only innocent lady in the room.
He sent Moore away with a flick of his head, and then subtly drew Minerva toward the nearest doorway. “I believe you’re needed elsewhere.”
“Am I?”
“Oh, yes indeed.” He winked at her. “The housekeeper needs to speak with you.”
He placed his hand at the small of her back and propelled her out the doorway.