Chapter 29 Derek
Derek
She was having fun.
He didn’t know what the troublesome duo was up to, but they had clearly swept Miss Forester into their fold.
The three of them were all dancing eyes, flushed cheeks, and overloud laughter.
She didn’t need to hide with them. Lady Rutledge might be in a favorable spot on Miss Forester’s tree of the ton, but more than anything, Derek had known the wildness of Lady Rutledge would mix wonderfully with his lively minx.
The women’s laughter instantly faded, and Lady Pennington’s smile turned brittle.
Lord Pennington approached the trio, two glasses of wine in hand.
Derek barely held back his growl. He didn’t like that man anywhere near Miss Forester.
The man passed off the drinks, one to his wife and one to Miss Forester.
Derek would hand it to her, she smiled politely.
He could tell she was wary, uncomfortable, even if it wasn’t outwardly obvious.
It was there in the hesitance of her smile, the way her fingers fidgeted with the stem of the wineglass, the way she hid behind the glass, using it as a shield as she slowly sipped it.
“Interesting.”
Derek stiffened at the playful tone.
“You seem awfully focused on something,” Lord Kozington murmured. “By the direction you’re facing, I would assume it’s that golden-haired woman. But it can’t be. An innocent miss stealing the Marquess of Dunmore’s attention? The world must be ending.”
Derek turned to the dirty-blond-haired man who’d come to stand at his side. “Koz, you are beyond annoying.”
The man laughed. Even though Derek meant it. Lord Kozington and his younger twin brothers were instigators. Koz less so than the twins—well, Koz was more discreet about it, being an Earl and all. Appearances were everything, especially for men like Kozington.
“She’s the one you asked for my assistance with? The one I’m to dance with at the Monteith Ball?”
“Mhm.”
Kozington’s brows lifted suspiciously. “And you won’t rip off my ballocks for touching her?”
“Depends on where you touch her, Koz.”
The man grinned wolfishly, his hazel eyes sparking. “You’re totally going to bed her.”
He glanced back over to where the trio had been standing, but it appeared they’d disbanded. “That is the plan.”
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised virginal misses aren’t even safe from you.”
“Any willing woman, Koz. Any willing woman,” he murmured, searching the bustling drawing room for a blonde-haired waif and coming up empty. Granted, he was fairly certain Miss Forester was no virgin. Where was she? It was too bloody crowded.
“Rutledge brought up you’re in need of funds.”
Derek’s gaze snapped to Kozington. The man’s hazel eyes held a tinge of apology. “I wish I could help on a greater scale, but I’m still working to clean up my father’s mess.”
Derek understood that all too well.
Kozington’s voice dropped to a near-inaudible murmur. “Any excess funds I do have go to The Harborage.”
“I understand.” Derek did. Another deserving cause. There were many out there who needed help. And too few who had the capacity were willing to help.
“I’m leaving soon for The Devil’s Eye. Care to join me?”
Derek grinned wolfishly. “Is that an invitation, Koz? I know exactly what you do when you visit Mr. Drake.”
He’d expected a dry expression, maybe an eyeroll. But he should have known better, trying to instigate a Kozington.
“That sounds an awful lot like curiosity, Dunmore. Have an itch you need me to scratch?” His hazel gaze glinted dangerously as it roved over Derek.
Derek’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “Impressive, Koz. I feel properly debauched with that single look.”
The seductive glimmer vanished from Kozington’s eyes, amusement instantly taking its place, and his face split in a grin. “Works like a charm, man or woman.”
“You know,” Derek said behind his whisky glass. “We always jest that Ryker is a cocksure shite-stirrer. But I think you’re more like him than you let on.”
“The difference is, Ryker is insufferable, and I’m not.”
Derek snorted into his glass. Touche.
He and Kozington chatted a bit longer and then the man bid his farewell to head for the hell.
Derek meandered through the crowd. Not with the intention of looking for Miss Forester, of course.
Which was good, because she didn’t seem to be anywhere around him no matter where he went.
He rolled his shoulders, a bead of sweat sliding down his back.
It didn’t take much for a room with this many bodies in it to become stifling.
And Derek tended to feel those effects earlier than most. He could only handle people for so long.
Even these people, who were more tolerable than most.
He spotted shimmering, perfectly styled silver hair standing by an open window and made straight for Dorothea, who was talking with Lady Rutledge. He sidled up next to the dowager and let out a grateful breath as the cool night breeze drifted over him.
“Excellent spot, Your Grace.”
From here he could see the entirety of the drawing room, which he was sure was Dorothea’s intention. Always watching. Though the way the two women glanced at him had the hair on the back of his neck lifting.
“What?” He frowned at them.
Lady Rutledge smiled wide, which only had him more suspicious. But it was Dorothea’s soft hmm that had him shifting on his feet. He didn’t trust that hmm. Not one bit.
And now he really didn’t want to ask the question he’d been planning to ask.
He swept his gaze back over the drawing room.
He spotted Lady Elliot, Miss Forester’s aunt, laughing with Lady Bentley.
Lord Pennington stood with his wife, speaking with an investment banker.
Mr. Hodge talked animatedly with his fellow academics.
But no Miss Forester. He knew if he asked, Dorothea would read into it.
And it would give her ideas. And that was always a very, very bad idea.
“Have either of you seen Miss Forester?” he blurted. Fuck.
Dorothea’s lips tilted up ever so slightly. Fuck again.
“I haven’t seen her in a while,” Lady Rutledge commented. “But she had said she’d wanted to take a stroll through the gardens. Perhaps she stepped out briefly to cool down.”
Derek scanned the room one last time. Definitely no Miss Forester.
He made his way to the drawing room door.
He was sure she was just outside, taking a reprieve from the stifling drawing room.
Just as he’d been thinking of doing. But his stomach was twisted so tightly it was like someone had fisted it.
He hurried down the hallway and through a salon that exited to the gardens.
He stepped outside and paused, breath puffing in the cool night air. In the quiet, cool night air. He frowned. No sign of Miss Forester.
Heading down the gravel path, he scanned the shrubs and darkened alcoves they formed.
Nothing.
Still, silent, suspicious.
His chest tightened, something sharp piercing through his ribcage. Surely he was overreacting. Jumping to inane conclusions. Staring down the path in front of him, his gaze locked on skid marks, as if someone had dragged their foot along the path.
As if someone had been dragged across the path.
Panic rendered him immobile for what would have been a breath. If he could fucking breathe.
Before he knew it, he was striding back up to Lady Rutledge. He hadn’t even been aware of the journey back inside. After he’d scoured the garden, he’d taken a quick detour, sticking his head in each room on the main floor. Nothing. Every part of him was coiling with unease.
“Franny,” he said hoarsely.
Her gaze fastened on his. He never used her Christian name.
“Come with me,” she said, striding for the door. “Rupert?”
Derek shook his head. Not yet. He wanted to involve as few people as possible, as to not draw attention. But if the sinking feeling in his gut turned out to be warranted, they’d need Rupert. They’d need everyone they could trust.
They slipped into an empty room. “What is it, Derek?” Franny’s gaze searched his.
“I can’t find Miss Forester. Anywhere.”
“And you’ve checked—”
“Every room in this house. The gardens. And”—he ran a hand through his hair. Fuck—“there are signs of a struggle outside. I have a horrible feeling.”
Franny reached forward and squeezed his arm. “I’ll discreetly alert Lady Elliot, and we’ll do another quick search inside. Take Rupert and search the gardens again. We’ll meet back here.
Half an hour later, Derek was back in the room, this time with Rupert and Lady Elliot in addition to Franny. But still no Miss Forester.
Lady Elliot’s hands were twisted together, pressed against her chest. Her features were drawn with strain.
“She wouldn’t have just left. She wouldn’t have even gone far from the drawing room or gardens.
She was so excited to speak with Mr. Hodge.
I didn’t think she’d leave his side all night. ” Fear was tight in the woman’s words.
The guests had started to depart, making Miss Forester’s absence that much more glaring. How on earth did a woman just disappear in the middle of a dinner party?
“The only thing I could see causing her to disappear would have been…” Lady Elliot’s words trailed off, and she glanced at Derek.
He dipped his chin, understanding. With him, Miss Forester would have disappeared with him.
No point in hiding it at this point. He would have stolen away with his minx if he’d had the chance.
The door burst open, and the entire group jolted, a curse flying from Derek’s lips.
A man bent over double, tousled sandy blond hair shading his face, his harsh breathing echoing through the room.
Derek stepped forward, his pulse kicking up. “Kozington? What are you doing back here?”
Koz straightened, hazel eyes scanning the room quickly, cheeks flushed. His gaze paused on Lady Elliot before meeting Derek’s again. “I rode here as fast as I could. Ryker has your Miss Forester.”
Derek’s jaw dropped.