“It is I who should apologize for distracting you, George,” Lizzie said, “let me help you find–”
Before she could finish, George was already well on his way around the gardens in search of his charge.
He stopped several times to ask friends and acquaintances as to whether they might know Lady Cecelia's whereabouts, asking after Lady Mary and Walter, too, not to make it quite so obvious that he was growing exceptionally worried.
It was when he stopped to ask Lady Ashmore herself that George's gut really started to churn.
“Lady Cecelia? Why, I do believe I saw her headed in the direction of the rose gardens and the maze with the Marquess of Blackburn.”
The rose gardens were perhaps not too awful. But the maze?
George's insides twisted.
“Thank you, Lady Ashmore,” he said, dipping his head. He turned and walked as leisurely as possible, not to arouse too much suspicion.
Yet, by the time he reached the gate of the rose garden, he was furious. What had Lady Cecelia been thinking? To wander off unchaperoned was entirely stupid and utterly dangerous.
A thousand scenarios scattered through George's mind as he hurried to find her.
With one glance back over his shoulder to ensure he wasn't being watched, he slipped through the gate.
Upon entering the rose gardens, it became abundantly clear that neither Lady Cecelia nor the marquess was there. In fact, it was empty save for a bird or two and a butterfly fluttering about the roses.
Ordinarily, George might have taken a moment to admire the beauty, but right now, there was only one thing on George's mind: Lady Cecelia's utter ruin.
How could she be so foolish?he thought as he hurried around the fountain at the centre of the rose gardens and headed for the entrance of the maze.
To go somewhere with a gentleman unchaperoned was one thing, but to enter such a private and secluded place with him was quite another.
He was barely able to stop himself from shouting her name, from drawing attention, as he raced through the maze.
Several times, he came up against a dead end, wishing he could barge right through the hedges until he found her.
That's when he heard the voices.
He paused for a second, straining his ears to try and pinpoint the source.
And that's when his blood began to boil. “My Lord, what do you think you are doing?”
The panic in Lady Cecelia's tone was all too evident, and George's heart skipped a beat.
“No! I said no! Please, My Lord!”
George's blood was fire in his veins as he turned a corner in the maze to find himself in the very centre.
And there, pressed up against the podium of the centre statue, was Lady Cecelia.
Pinning her there was the marquess, his hands gripping her hips in an unsightly manner as he nibbled her neck.
The way she pressed her palms against his chest, how she struggled, told George all he needed to know.
In a storm of rage, he threw himself forward and grabbed the marquess by the back of his collar.
“What the—” the man exclaimed as George yanked with all he had, flinging the man away from Lady Cecelia to place himself between them.
“Are you deaf, My Lord?” he growled through gritted teeth, barely able to contain his anger. Over his shoulder, with a glance to be sure she was alright, George demanded, “What were you thinking coming here unchaperoned?”
His attention was immediately drawn back to the man as he squared up, shrugging his shoulders, and adjusting his jacket.
