Free Betina Krahn by The Soft Touch Page B

straight to Gracemont the moment we docked. I was devastated to find you not at home. Your Mrs. Humphrey said you had come here.”
    He glanced around at the people eyeing him and developed a slightly pained expression. But it was not chagrin at his lack of proper dress or embarrassment at the disapproving stares of Baltimore’s elite that caused him such discomfort. Louis Pierpont, the sole survivor of what was once one of Baltimore’s most influential families, cared little for such things.
    “I simply had to come to you. I knew the Vassars would not mind if I arrived uninvited. They are good and charitable people.” He tossed a glance around them at the grandeur of Pennyworth’s drawing room. “Despite their regrettable materialism.”
    Clearly, it was finding her in such a worldly setting that caused the aggrieved expression he wore. She knew full well his attitudes toward elegant society and lavish entertaining. He had long ago forsworn accepting invitations tosuch events, as a witness to the world that he pursued a higher, “nobler” path.
    “But you said in your letter you wouldn’t be home for weeks,” she said, hoping her distress wasn’t visible. “What about the new mission?”
    “The mission staff arrived from Boston earlier than expected, and things went so well with the new doctor and reverend that I decided the mission could get along without me.” He smiled as if indulging her. “You didn’t think I would miss your
birthday
, did you?”
    “No, of course not.” It was all she could do to return even a portion of his smile; her face felt frozen.
    The flicker of longing in his eyes was painful to witness … until his gaze dipped lower and slid down her fashionably bared shoulders. The pallor of his cheeks disappeared as he flushed and dragged his wandering attention under control. Conscious of his dismay—she also knew his views on the decadence of clothing from “heathen” Paris—she glanced down at the neckline of her gown.
    “My heavens, Louis,” she said, abruptly turning the focus back to him. “You seem so much thinner. Have you been ill?”
    “The heat in Barbados is so difficult. I’m afraid I dwindled a bit.” He took out a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead and throat. “But I’m certain that will change, now that I’m home.” He fastened his gaze on her eyes and made so bold as to brush her cheek with his fingertips. “I must gather my strength”—he lowered his voice—“for our future together.”
    Panic seized her.
    “Oh, my!” She snapped open the fan dangling from her wrist. “It must be the surprise—I’m suddenly feeling lightheaded.”
    Louis looked around them and quickly ushered her to one of a number of deserted chairs along the nearby wall.Sinking onto a seat, she swayed, closed her eyes, and pressed the back of a hand artfully to her temple.
    “Perhaps a glass of punch …” she said, gazing up with what she hoped would pass for appealing frailty.
    “I shall get you one straightaway,” he declared.
    The minute Louis disappeared through the rear salon door, following a trail of goblet-carrying guests toward the refreshment tables, she straightened, waited an extra heartbeat to be certain he was gone, and then bounded off the chair in the opposite direction. And ran straight into a wall of black wool.

S IX

    Barton McQuaid, approaching from the other side, caught and steadied her. After a pause, he jerked his hands from her bare shoulders and cleared his throat. “Miss Wingate.”
    “Mr. McQuaid. I was just … ummm …” She reddened and again lifted a wrist to her forehead.
    “In need of a breath of fresh air?” he prompted.
    She frowned, then realized he must have seen her attack of the vapors. “Not at all.” She straightened. “I was just on my way …”
    Glancing past him, hoping to see someone or something to help her complete that response, she glimpsed trouble brewing instead. Morgan Kenwood was coming through the