The time in the hackney gave Quint plenty of time to think how to apologize to the beatific Miss Elizabeth Fullbright. They hadn’t been engaged more than two days, and already he had disappointed her. Damn! He could not afford to lose her as he had so many other suitable ladies.
He was an intelligent man, and it wasn’t like him to make the same mistake over again. But here he was, once again, allowing his work to get in the way of his wooing. He should know by now that no lady liked to feel as though she ranked second to public policy. And wasn’t Elizabeth Fullbright at the ball, feeling that way right now?
He would not lose her. He needed a wife, and not just any sort would do.
His wife should be an intelligent woman. She had to be able to entertain his political friends. Her conversation, the habits of her mind, her wit and vivacity, would be on display for all.
In addition, his wife should be charming. Society would be her playground and her classroom. She should be at ease with all classes and sets; however, her background must be impeccable.
He did not care about money. He had money. But his wife’s family had to be respectable. Quint would brook no scandal.
And, finally, his wife had to be beautiful. Quint had noticed that men with beautiful wives generally went further than those married to less attractive ladies. Quint intended to go far—all the way to the post of prime minister.
Love did not fit into Quint’s notion of marriage. His mother and father had not loved each other when they married—the idea was preposterous. But they were quite fond of one another now, and Quint was certain that, given time, he would come to love Elizabeth and she him.
The hack finally stopped, and he and Westman went inside the ball, parting after the butler announced them. Immediately Quint began to search for Elizabeth.
One problem with his list. The women who fit its criteria were usually in high demand by other men as well, and many of those gentlemen had far more time to attend the theater, musicales, and the routs the ton hosted than a man such as he—a man concerned with the welfare of his country—had at his disposal.
No wonder he had been eager to secure Elizabeth. Now that they were betrothed, no other man could touch her. She more than met the requirements on his list, and though several rumors concerning her father—his activities, morals, and scruples—gave Quint pause, the fact that Edmund Fullbright was the brother of a wealthy, powerful earl eased Valentine’s worries. Most importantly when it came to Elizabeth, she had accepted his marriage proposal.
Still searching for his lovely intended, Quint accepted a glass of champagne from a passing footman and then stopped the servant to ask if he knew where Miss Fullbright might be.
The footman did not, but he promised to inquire and return with the information. Quint nodded and sipped his champagne, at the same time watching the dancers on the floor of the ballroom.
He was surprised Elizabeth was not dancing. Certainly she could not want for partners. Then just as Quint emptied his glass, the footman reappeared. “Are you still looking for Miss Fullbright, my lord?”
“Yes.”
“No one has seen her, sir. You might check the terrace. Through those doors.”
“Thank you.” Valentine slipped the man a shilling and arrowed for the terrace. But when Quint stepped outside, he found the balcony empty. It was early April, and there was a chill in the air. Not many ladies would brave the cold on a night like this. Frowning, Quint surveyed the area more carefully. Had the footman been mistaken or—
The bushes at the far end of the balcony rustled, and then two hands appeared on the balustrade. There was a grunt and then a head and shoulders appeared, and as Quint stared in amazement, a girl hauled herself up and onto the stone railing. She swung her legs over and then leaned down to brush her skirts off, as though she did this sort of thing every day.
“I can’t decide if you’re a cat burglar or a guest hoping to make a fabulous entre´e.”
The girl’s head snapped up. “Who are you?” she said, taking a step back.
“Who am I?” Quint chuckled. The interloper had courage. He pulled out a cheroot. “I’m a guest with an exceedingly conventional entrance. No match for you. I came in through the front door.”
She backed up again until she was flush against the stone banister. “So did I. I was only in the bushes because”—she glanced over the side as though looking for an inspired excuse—“because I lost something.”
“Did you find it?” Quint lit the cheroot.
“No.” The bushes below her heaved and swayed. “I mean, yes. I don’t require any assistance.”
“Well, you might if you don’t step away from the banister.” Quint walked toward her. “It sounds like there’s something down there.”
She immediately stepped in front of him, blocking his view. “Why do you say that?”
Something grunted, and a branch below cracked. Quint raised a brow. “Because I bloody well hear it, that’s why. Now step away before you’re hurt.”
She shook her head and continued to block him. She was a tall woman, barely a head shorter than he, and he could not see past her. “I’m afraid I cannot do that,” she said. “I cannot move unless—unless you come with me. I couldn’t live with myself if you were hurt by that—dog.”
The dog made a very human grunting noise. The woman was obviously daft. She was either truly afraid for him or didn’t want him to see what was over the railing.
Quint craned his head one last time. What was she hiding? Her lover? All he saw was darkness.
