Page 35 of The Courtship Dance

Perkins sneered. “As if you could.”

The duke said nothing, simply gave him a long, level look. Perkins was the first to turn his eyes away. Then Rochford looked at Francesca questioningly.

“No,” Francesca said hastily, reaching out to put her hand on the duke’s arm. The last thing she wanted was for Rochford to haul Perkins out of the room, with the man screaming out imprecations, shouting that her house actually belonged to him now. “Pray don’t. I—I do not want a scene to ruin Lady Harriet’s party. It would be much too bad.”

Rochford frowned. It was obvious that he did not approve of her letting the man stay. She sent him a pleading look. “Rochford, please…”

“Of course.” He gave in gracefully. “As you wish. Have a care, Perkins. I shall keep my eye on you.”

“It’s a wonder I shan’t die of fright,” Perkins retorted.

“Come in. Why don’t you partake of something to eat?” Francesca gestured vaguely toward the refreshments table.

She could only hope that the man would not reveal anything damaging if she allowed him to stay. At least the party was nearing its end. She would not have to endure his presence for more than another hour or so. Unfortunately, where Perkins was concerned, that time could seem like an eternity.

Callie came up beside Francesca, linking her arm through hers. “Come, introduce me to Miss Sherbourne. I should so like to meet her.”

“Of course.” Francesca turned gratefully to her friend, and they walked away from Perkins.

“Who is that man?” Callie asked. “Sinclair looked like thunder when he saw him.”

“No one. He—he was an acquaintance of my late husband. A low sort of man. But I could not ruin Harriet’s party by letting Rochford throw him out.”

“Of course not,” Callie agreed. “But don’t worry, Sinclair will take care of him if he does grow unruly. And Brom, too, I should imagine. Do you know that the two of them have become almost friendly? Men are the oddest creatures.”

Francesca chuckled. It was hard not to relax around Callie. “Very true.”

The rest of the evening passed well enough. Francesca circulated among her guests, now and then glancing around the room for Perkins. She spotted him by the refreshments table and later just strolling around the room, nodding to this or that man. The men invariably appeared a trifle nervous at the sight of him, and Francesca wondered if they knew him from the gaming tables. Perhaps they, too, were wary of what he might reveal.

It was sometime later when she looked around for Perkins again and noticed that he was gone. She made another slow circuit of the room with her eyes and still did not see him. It seemed odd to her. He was not the sort of person to slip quietly out into the night.

She began to wend her way through the crowd, searching for him. By the time she returned to her starting place, she was certain that he was not in the room. She had also noticed that another person was missing: Rochford.

Her stomach clenched. Had Rochford somehow managed to quietly maneuver Perkins out of the house? She could not help but be glad for that, but she dreaded to think what might have happened after they left. Rochford was the sort of man who could take care of himself, of course. Lean and athletic, he was one of the aristocrats who followed the “fancy,” as the sport of pugilism was known. She had even heard that he had been seen sparring at Gentleman Jackson’s club with Jackson himself, an honor not given to just anyone. She did not doubt his abilities, having witnessed him brawling with Lord Bromwell three months earlier.

In a normal situation, she would not worry about him. But Perkins was a different matter. Francesca felt sure that he was not the kind who followed any gentlemanly rules when it came to fighting. If Rochford took him on, there was no telling what Perkins might do. Frowning a little, she glanced around again, wondering if she should approach Gideon, or perhaps even Lord Bromwell, for help.

It was then that it struck her that she had not seen the other two men, either. Had the three of them taken it upon themselves to usher Perkins out? For a moment, she relaxed. Rochford would be in no danger if that was the case.

However, her relief did not last long. Perkins would be furious if they had done so. She hated to think what he might do if he was enraged enough. What if he blurted out his story to them? Francesca’s cheeks burned. She hated to think of Rochford knowing the full depths of Haughston’s behavior.

She set out to find Callie, and was somewhat surprised when she located her talking to Lady Wyatt and her daughter Caroline. When Francesca walked up, however, Callie excused herself with a smile and came up to Francesca’s side.

“I am so glad to see you,” Callie murmured. “I felt as if we were on an island. No one had come close to us in fifteen minutes at least. I thought I would be marooned there, listening to Lady Wyatt go on about her youngest sister’s lying-in for the rest of the evening. Just because I am now a married woman does not mean that I want to hear terrifying stories of childbirth.”

“I should think not,” Francesca agreed. “I would have come sooner if I had but known. I was looking for your husband.”

Callie smiled. “Forgive me. I fear it still makes me a trifle giddy, hearing him called that. I am not sure where he is.” She glanced around. “The last time I saw him, he had gone off with Lord Radbourne to chat with Sinclair. I think perhaps they were conspiring to sneak off and enjoy a cigar out in the garden.”

“I see.” So they were all together. But perhaps it was true that they were only enjoying a smoke and some masculine companionship.

“There they are,” Callie said, looking toward the doors.

Francesca turned to see Lord Radbourne and Lord Bromwell stroll into the room. Of Rochford, however, there was no sign. Had she been wrong, then? Was Rochford dealing with Perkins by himself? Or had Rochford simply left and Perkins had done the same, and she was making up worries for no reason?

“Shall we join him?” Callie asked. “Did you wish to talk to him about something?”

“What? Oh. No. That is, well, it wasn’t important, really.” Francesca knew her friend must think she was acting peculiarly, and indeed, she felt rather foolish. But she could think of no easy way to ask Bromwell what she wanted to know. If he had helped get rid of Perkins, he was not likely to tell her, and if he had not, it would only raise questions in him and Callie.