Page 71 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
“Very well.”
They kept looking, turning down one walk then another, and finally, as they trudged under the triumphal arches that ran down the grand South Walk, Jo gestured ahead toward the statue of the great composer, Handel, that stood between the rows of trees and supper boxes. “I believe that’s Martha.”
It was indeed Martha Cherrington. She stood beside the statue with three of her sisters—Frances, Mary, and Esther. Jo and Matthew hurried up to the four women.
Esther looked at them in alarm. “Where are Charles and Harriet and Lilly?”
“I have no idea,” Jo said. “I thought they were with you.”
“We thought they were withyou,” Martha said.
“When I encountered Miss Porter after the rope-dancing performance, she had been left alone,” Matthew said, trying to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice.
“We’ve been searching for all of you ever since,” Jo added.
“Oh, dear!” Mary said, aghast. She turned to Matthew. “Thank the Lord she found a friendly face in the fray.”
Thinking of Jo all alone in Vauxhall Gardens after midnight, Matthew shuddered. “I am glad I was there.”
“Well,” Martha said, “I am sure Charles is looking after Harriet and Lilly. They’ll find us eventually, won’t they?”
“Certainly,” Matthew said.
“Let’s go to the orchestra,” Jo said. “It’s the most central meeting place, so they might even be there now, and the duke is supposed to rejoin his friends soon.”
The other ladies agreed, and Matthew accompanied them, merging with the streams of patrons exiting the gardens for the evening. The society crowd usually left this time of night, leaving drunken revelers and those of questionable repute to prowl the grounds into the early hours.
“Look!” Jo motioned toward a group of patrons drunkenly dancing a reel. Near them, on the edge of the dancing area, Matthew’s friends stood with Charles Cherrington and Lilly.
As soon as the two groups saw one another, they rushed together.
Then, everyone descended into a panic.
Harriet was still missing.
A young lady alone somewhere in the bowels of Vauxhall at nearly one in the morning? Good God.
Horrible scenarios crowded everyone’s minds. The ladies’ hands went over their mouths and their eyes filled with tears. The men grew dark and serious, especially Charles Cherrington, who clearly was quite fond of his sister.
After ordering the women to remain together and stay put at their spot near the orchestra, Charles and Matthew described Harriet and the frock she was wearing to the other men. They split in different directions with an agreement to be back to check in after twenty minutes.
Assigned to the quieter northern section of the gardens, Matthew walked, searched, and listened for any noises off the path. He passed a young couple rutting against a tree, the man’s bare arse flexing as he thrust inside the woman, her fashionable silk skirts rucked up over her hips, her head thrown back against the trunk, and her intricately feathered hat lying unheeded on the nearby ground. They were so involved in their illicit joy, they didn’t notice—or didn’t care—that he had seen them.
Matthew walked on, torment twisting through him. What was he doing?
When he’d first gone to Joanna Porter, he’d been so confident in his path. He knew what he wanted, what he needed. He understood exactly how to perform his myriad duties as the Duke of Crestmont.
Now, he didn’t know his toe from his arsehole. If he proposed to Harriet Cherrington, he’d get everything he wanted. Why, then, wasn’t he satisfied? Why was he more anxious and discontent than ever before?
Heknewwhy, of course.
He needed to let Jo go. To remove her from his life and continue to live it as he had planned. But a part of him—very well, a ratherlargepart—was flagrantly defying all common sense and screamingno. That part of him wouldn’t let her go without a fight.
Back on the Dark Walk, the least well-lit path in the gardens, he took his time, listening for any rustle, conversation, or sound of distress that might involve Harriet Cherrington. It was quiet back here tonight, and Matthew glanced up at the dark sky. There was a single star punching its way through London’s smoky haze, a bright pinprick of light with a muted silver halo that reminded him of Jo’s eyes. He wondered if she was looking up at that star right now, too. Whether they were both wishing upon it together.
“Stop! Thief!”
Jarred from his thoughts, Matthew jumped to attention. The outraged screech had come from some distance up ahead on the path, and a dark form was reeling around the corner ahead, sprinting straight toward him. Matthew ducked behind the shadow of a tree, then, as the person approached, he lunged out, in a split second determining it was a man and in another, spotting the feminine purse he clutched to his chest.
