Phoebe had been so wrapped up in Lizzy’s distress that she’d forgotten all about the lover’s mark on her skin. She flicked hair over it. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.” Lizzy’s eyes widened. “Are you ill? Quick, lie down.”
Lizzy reached for her again to peer at her neck, but Phoebe did her best to evade. “I’m not at all unwell. But it’s a private matter, one I don’t wish to discuss or have made public.”
Unfortunately, Lizzy flinched at her sharp tone. Perhaps Phoebe should have softened her voice, but the shock of wearing such a telling mark on her skin had unsettled her.
“A real friend would tell me the truth.” Lizzy’s eyes filled with tears. “I should have known you were only feeling sorry for me. You cannot trust a Warminster to ever tell the truth.”
“Lizzy, please, it’s complicated.”
“And I’m too simple to understand.” Lizzy turned and rushed out the door.
Phoebe wanted to follow but, given her undressed state, she couldn’t very well fly down the hall after Lizzy. Hastily, she shrugged out of her robe and nightgown, dragged a simple navy day dress from her closet and threw it over her head. Most of the buttons were hard to reach and while she fumbled behind her back, her bedchamber door burst open again.
Lizzy slapped her hand over the corner of a table, leaving a pot of something behind, and then rushed out again.
Startled, Phoebe drew closer to the object, discovering a cosmetic pot containing a beige cream. Grateful for the unexpected gift, Phoebe hurried to the looking glass, slathered the contents over the mark until only a faint outline could be seen, and then rushed from the room.
Lizzy was not in her bedchamber, though all her possessions were. She was also nowhere on the first floor, or mingling with the guests on the ground floor. In fact, Lizzy was nowhere to be found.
By the time Lord Selwood returned with the shooting party an hour later, Phoebe was so distraught she feared she’d burst into tears. She rushed outside to meet him.
“I’ve lost Lizzy,” she blurted out.
Selwood frowned and reached for her hands, drawing her away from the group of curious gentlemen. “Good grief, you’re shaking. Have you really lost her or is she hiding? She used to do that as a child.”
Despite the gawking gentlemen, Phoebe clutched at him. “She’s gone from the house. I’ve searched and searched.”
Jonathan shuffled his feet. “Perhaps she’s simply gone for a stroll. She’ll no doubt return soon.”
Phoebe shook her head. “She was upset this morning and then we had a disagreement.”
Selwood drew her to a bench and sat down close. “Tell me everything from the beginning.”
So Phoebe told him about Warminster’s early morning visit to Lizzy, holding Selwood’s hand tight when her lover would have risen to search for the blackguard. She also mentioned Lizzy’s discovery of the lovers’ mark on her neck. When she finished, Selwood appeared contrite.
“I lose all sense when we make love. My apologies.”
“None of that matters right now. We have to find Lizzy.”
Selwood stood, held out his hand to draw her to her feet. His calm gaze settled her nerves. “That will be easy. Lizzy will have returned home to Dalemain Court.” When he looped his arm about her shoulders and squeezed, Phoebe leaned into his chest. “Care to take a short drive to check on her? I shall deal with Warminster later.”
Phoebe nodded, burrowing deeper into his warmth and dragged his musky scent into her lungs. As much as she’d jump at the chance to drag him upstairs again, she had to sort out the mess she’d made of the morning. Poor Lizzy. In Phoebe’s efforts to avoid scandal she’d inadvertently hurt a dear friend.
Selwood’s arm slipped from her shoulder, but he captured her fingers and tugged. Together they strolled through the house, out the front door, and waited for a carriage to be brought round. Never once did Phoebe seriously consider dropping Selwood’s hand. She needed the reassurance of his touch to prove that he wasn’t angry about how she’d handled his sister’s questions. But most importantly, she hung onto him to prevent him from tracking down her stepson.
However, the sense of contentment that trickled through her as he handed her up into the carriage and settled against her side puzzled. Her lover was easy to be with, despite his much younger age. Lord Selwood, Jonathan, didn’t rattle about like other young men. His calm, even temperament soothed where his older friend—Warminster—prickled and pinched. Jonathan projected an air of quiet reserve that hid his amorous inclinations very well indeed.
She shouldn’t become used to being with him.
The short carriage ride was conducted in silence, but Jonathan constantly reminded her of his presence with the swipe of his thumb over the back of her hand. The gentle reassurance settled her heart and when the carriage ride ended, she calmly stepped out in his wake. Jonathan captured her hand again in a firm grip and led her into his rambling house, up the long flights of stairs and twisting corridors to Lizzy’s bedchamber.
At the door, he knocked and when they heard no reply, Jonathan opened the door.
Lizzy huddled in a tight ball on the window seat.