“My lord?” Good heavens, had she misjudged how much he’d had to drink? He hadn’t seemed foxed. Just imbibed a glass of something or other to get through the social event bachelors were supposedly loath to attend. Though the pot boy Gabriel had questioned earlier tonight had said the viscount had left for the ball in a pleasant mood, which for many men meant they had been imbibing liberally.
“Balcony,” Lord Sheffield suddenly said, and took her by the hand, striding for the double doors.
Several heads swiveled to watch their progress. “My lord,” Harriet hissed, unable to withdraw her hand from his large grasp. She kept her expression polite but tried to dig her nails through both their gloves and into his palm.
“Ow. What?”
Candlelight glinted off his gold hoop earring as he finally turned and looked down at her. Some of the rumors and stories she’d heard about him—dangerous stories—suddenly seemed much more plausible.
“I can’t rush out onto the balcony with you,” she whispered.
It took him agonizing seconds to reply. “Oh, right.” He glanced to the left, then the right. “Where’s a big potted palm in a dark corner when you need it?”
Harriet glanced around the ballroom, barely noticing the famed décor of the Argyle Rooms as she searched for somewhere they could talk in private.
Lord Sheffield hauled her into his arms and resumed the waltz. Under cover of the movement of the dance, he nuzzled her neck. “Tell me more about this treasure,” he said, his lips brushing her ear.
Harriet barely heard him, what with the humming down her spine from his warm breath stirring the fine hairs on her nape.
Treasure. She cleared her throat. She opened her mouth to speak but became aware of the heat from his hand on her waist, his other hand engulfing hers. He’d reportedly killed at least three men with those hands. Maybe dozens.
“Miss Chase,” he whispered.
She stared into his intense blue gaze, which didn’t seem all that frightening just now. This must be the look he reserved for the scores of women he’d supposedly seduced.
She wasn’t going to be one of them.
“My father sent home a map to the treasure. In his letter he said he’d go back after the war, along with Sheffield, to bring it home. I’m surprised you haven’t gone after the treasure yourself before this.” A frisson of fear raced up her spine. Perhaps he had already found the treasure, and had no intention of giving any of it up?
“But they didn’t come home.” His murmured reply took her by surprise.
The naval officer who’d delivered the news said there hadn’t been enough remains to put in a box after the ship went down with all hands aboard, victim of an explosion in its powder room during a battle.
“Why now, Miss Chase? They’ve been gone for five years, and we’ve been at peace almost two. What makes you want to go find the treasure now?”
He could be playacting, but she doubted it. He hadn’t found the treasure, she was sure. Almost.
She lifted her chin. “Frankly, I am in need of a dowry, and my family’s half of the treasure will provide it.”
Sheffield whirled her around another couple. “Fair enough. Give me your direction, and we’ll discuss this in greater detail tomorrow. In privacy.”
The waltz ended.
Harriet gulped. “I’m afraid our townhouse is still at sixes and sevens, not fit for callers yet. Perhaps we could meet at Gunter’s to continue our conversation? At three?”
“Have you a sweet tooth, Miss Chase? It’s getting a bit late in the year to enjoy an ice.” He flashed her a charming smile that made her knees feel decidedly weak.
“Until tomorrow, my lord.”
* * *
“So you’re saying you don’t trust me, Miss Chase.” Viscount Sheffield seemed to crowd her despite being seated on the far side of their table.
Harriet resisted the urge to push her chair away from the table. No one in Gunter’s seemed to notice that the viscount was so close to her, head bowed toward hers in intimate conversation. Gabriel and her maid Betsy sat at a nearby table, oblivious to her discomfort, caught up in watching the activity on the bustling street outside. “I never said I did not trust you.”
“But you won’t give me the map.”
“It was my father’s. Didn’t your father send a map home to you or your mother, like mine did?”
