The Wrong Gentleman

CHAPTER SIX

Alton should have gone with his first instinct to resist his nosy housekeeper, but he knew it was no use arguing with Mrs Cooper, for he could never win an argument with her. And if he had gotten his footman to drive him to Mrs Bancroft's home, he imagined Mrs Cooper would hear of it somehow. By the devil, the woman could get any information she needed, and Alton just didn't have it in him to displease her.

Trapped, he reluctantly arrived at the rather boring ball, and stood by the side listening to conversations he neither found funny, nor agreed with. He would wait for an hour, before excusing himself, he thought. And perhaps on his way home, he might stop by Mrs Bancroft's home.

A small smile crept up his lips at the thought of Julianna. He longed to be with her at this moment, rather than endure an entire evening in a boring ball. And while he was certain Mrs Cooper would find out about his escapade, he didn't suppose she'd have a lot to complain about seeing as he did attend the ball, he just couldn't stomach the entire event. And to strengthen his argument against Mrs Cooper, Alton decided to ask a woman to dance. It might please Mrs Cooper to find that he enjoyed the company of a woman other than Mrs Bancroft, and thus, she might not be so upset.

Fully decided, he turned in the direction he last saw Lady Pearl, with the aim of asking her for a dance. She was the least scandalous young lady in the room, and with a dull personality, she didn't have many suitors—a fact that would aid him in his quest for a quick escape.

He stepped forward, a gust of cold following his action.

Wincing, he glanced down just as the blotch of red on his white shirt expanded, seeping through its fabric and wetting his skin.

"Forgive me!" A maid gasped, her trembling hands barely holding on to the glass. "Oh, please forgive me, my lord. I—"

Alton shook his head as he stared at the wine stain on his shirt; this was a sign that it was time to leave.

Waving the maid off, he turned toward the exit in time to find the hostess, Lady Compton, approaching with a frown marring her aging features.

"Mr. Walker, you must forgive my clumsy maid," she said, turning to glare at the maid, who trembled from head to toe, before turning back to him.

Alton shook his head. "I was leaving anyway."

"You're not upset, are you?"

"No, of course not. I only wish to leave before my shirt is ruined completely."

"I shan't let you leave like this! What will people think of me when they see you walk out those doors looking like such a mess. Surely, I shall be laughed at for being such a terrible hostess!" she exclaimed, her frown deepening as she stared at the stain. "I shall have the valet bring you one of George's newest shirts. The maids will clean your shirt and I'll have it brought to your home tomorrow morning."

He opened his mouth to complain, not understanding what the fuss was about. It was a dumb accident, and he had had enough of the ball, anyway. But Lady Compton was already herding him through the sea of people, and out of the ballroom.

"Do you mind waiting in the guest room while I find George's valet?" she said, pausing by the doorway. "It's at the end of the hall. The first door on your left."

He heaved a breath, neither understanding her insistence nor willing to go against it as he nodded and watched her hurry away.

He stood contemplating the idea of sneaking out, but soon changed his mind when he thought of the effect his decision would have on the seemingly oversensitive Lady Compton; she would be offended.

Sighing, he turned to go in search of the guest room, when something crashed into him, knocking the air out of his lungs.

He steadied himself quickly and reached out in time to grab the stranger's wrist as she fell backward.