“With you being such a lovely young woman, I find that difficult to believe.”
She raised her eyes to his, flashing her quirky smile. “Perhaps because I tend to be difficult, My Lord.”
“If a woman is not difficult, Miss Miller,” the Earl said quietly, “she is almost not worth the trouble. Difficult, headstrong women are much to be desired over a lady with no spine. In my opinion, anyway.”
“I admire your outlook,” Thea replied, turning her head to watch the dancers.
Within moments, the dance ended and new couples formed. Lord Ampleforth burst through a small crowd, beaming happily and tried to take Thea’s hand. “May I have the next dance, Miss Miller?” he asked, happy, excited.
“I am sorry, Baron,” she replied, her voice dripping ice. “I am in a conversation with the Earl of Harrowshire.”
“Oh, forgive me, My Lord.”
Ampleforth bowed to the Earl, then bounced off again to seize a dance from the Countess of Sweetwater. “You do not care for him much,” Lord Harrowshire observed, sipping his wine.
Thea’s nose went up and Liam always knew that was a bad sign. “You are observant, My Lord.”
“It is not difficult to discern when your expression becomes as stiff as a plank board.”
“My apologies.”
“There is no need for that, Miss Miller,” he said calmly, watching her face. “I merely find it interesting that you care not for him, when this evening I have seen other women all but swooning at his feet.”
“It is something between the Baron and I, My Lord.”
“I see.”
Lord Harrowshire made no further remarks about the nature of Thea’s animosity toward the Baron, and Thea made none. Soon, the guests called for fewer and fewer drinks, needed no more food and many drifted out of the ballroom and headed for their rooms. Liam found more opportunity to stand near Thea and felt no guilt that his fellow footmen and the serving maids were rushed off their feet clearing the feast away. This was their opportunity to eat the fine fare as they worked, and Liam knew they would toil into the early hours of the morning.
Though hungry, he did not try to eat, even as Thea and Lord Harrowshire parted ways for the evening. The Lord and Lady of Bradford found her as she headed out of the ballroom to go to her own chambers to sleep.
I will eat after I am relieved by Luke.
“You throw wonderful parties, Miss Miller,” said Lady Bradford. “I enjoyed myself immensely.”
“I am very glad, My Lady,” Thea replied with a curtsey. “Are you going to your rooms? They are not far from mine, shall we walk together?”
Liam glanced around as he followed them out the huge doors, seeing the Baron of Ampleforth in deep conversation with the Countess of Sweetwater.Perhaps he will obsess on her and leave Thea alone.Yet, somehow he did not think that was possible. He looked around the room before departing, for Lord Willowdale, and only found the two engrossed in one another and the staff remaining inside it.
He half listened to the light-hearted chatter between Thea and the Bradfords, more concerned with the absence of Lord Willowdale than what they were saying to one another. None of his armed footmen were with him through the party and, even now, they worked to clear everything away. That the host would leave before his guests was incredibly rude.
They had no sooner reached the second floor when the sounds of a scuffle sounded beyond a corner. Liam heard grunts, the noise of a body striking the wall, and muted curses. Lord and Lady Bradford exchanged a concerned glance at the same time Thea whispered, “Freddie.”
Not caring that the Lord and Lady would see it, Liam pulled his pistol from his livery trousers and charged around the corner. He pointed it down the corridor, then lowered it immediately, unable to fire.
The assassin, armed with a light sword, was locked in a battle with Lord Willowdale. Liam caught a quick glimpse of blood on Lord Willowdale’s face, his dark hair spilled down over his brow, as he fought to keep the sword from inching closer to his throat.
Chapter 20
Not daring to breathe, Freddie stared deep into the dark eyes of the man trying to kill him. His back against the wall, his left hand clamped in a vise on the other’s wrist to prevent the sharp blade of the sword from cutting his throat. His right hand gripped the assassin’s throat, his fingers digging into the man’s flesh, and he knew he managed to cut off the man’s breath. It was only a matter of time before either he died, or the killer fainted from the lack of air.
Within seconds of them becoming locked in a desperate battle for life, Freddie heard the pounding of footfalls and the yell of a man to let him go. His would be killer panicked. His eyes widened in terrible fear, and he lunged away from Freddie, dropping his sword to the floor tiles with a ringing clang. Fleeing down the hallway, he ran as fast as a fleeing deer. Freddie, and his rescuer behind him, instantly gave chase.
However, fast as they were, the swordsman was faster yet. He tossed aside a tapestry and opened the hidden doorway there, and plunged into the darkness of the house’s inner tunnels. When Freddie would have chased him inside, he felt a tug on his arm.
“No, My Lord,” he heard Mr. Carter say. “In there, he is the master.”
Freddie wheeled on him, panting. “I mean to have him, that is the fourth time he has tried to kill me.”
