move, he sprang to his feet and ran full tilt across the room. A knot of people stood round the door to the hall. He veered round them—careering into a supper table and tipping plates of cold salmon and glasses of champagne into the occupants’ laps—and ran through the archway to the room beyond.
If it hadn’t been for the upturned table, Melanie might have been able to catch him. By the time she’d waded through the wreckage, dodged the angry crowd, and made it to the archway, James Morningham was across the faro room at the door to the hall.
Charles was on his feet but was not, Melanie was relieved to see, attempting to give chase.
Morningham pulled on the door, which seemed to be sticking. It opened with a wrench, but before he could bolt, there was a rushing sound, followed by a thud. Morningham fell to the ground. Charles lowered his arm in the completion of a throwing motion.
Morningham struggled to his feet just as Edgar came running through the door from the hall. He grabbed Morningham by the arm, but Morningham struck him a blow to the jaw that sent him careering into the open door. Edgar grabbed Morningham by the shoulders as he charged through the doorway, and the two men tumbled to the ground in the hall beyond.
Mrs. Mannerling’s lover, Ralph Seton, jumped up from the faro table and ran for the door. Melanie ran as well, ignoring shouts and cries and one or two hastily made bets on the nature of the altercation.
Ralph Seton got to the door first. By the time Melanie reached the hall, Edgar and Morningham were on their feet grappling, both their noses streaming blood. Seton strode toward them, but before he could reach them, Edgar tightened his grip on Morningham, Morningham’s feet slipped out from under him, and they both slammed into the balustrade. The slender gilded railing gave way, and Edgar and Morningham crashed down into the stairwell.
“You seem to have forgotten you’re in a lady’s house. No, don’t try to run.” Seton tightened his grip on Morningham. “If any accusations are going to be made, we want the air cleared here.”
“Oh, please, Mr. Seton.” Melanie ran down the stairs. “I’m afraid I was the cause of the argument. Oh, Mr. Morningham, you’re hurt.” She flung her arms round him. The force of her action jerked him out of Seton’s grip. He fell against the stair wall, held there by the press of her body. “I wouldn’t try to leave, Mr. Moore,” she murmured, her lips against his ear. “I have a pistol in my reticule and I never miss at this range.”
The sound of a walking stick came from the landing above, followed by Charles’s voice. “Edgar, what the devil are you—Mr. Seton, you must allow me to apologize for my brother. He’s always been hotheaded.” Charles walked down six steps to stand just above them and surveyed his brother with weary disgust.
“I’m not hotheaded.” Edgar spoke in the aggrieved tone of a man who has downed one too many brandies. Melanie had never realized how much he shared Charles’s talent for playacting. He gestured toward Morningham. “He started it.”
“I—” Morningham opened his mouth, then glanced at Melanie and closed it.
“What’s the trouble?” Julia Mannerling appeared at the head of the stairs, green velvet gown falling in regal folds round her, green eyes calm and serene.
“I’m sorry, Ju.” Seton cast a wary glance from Morningham to Edgar. “I wish I could have stopped it before the damage to the stairs.” He wiped at the blood that had spattered onto his own coat.
“Mrs. Mannerling, I take it?” Charles inclined his head. “I’m afraid my brother and his friend have had an unfortunate altercation. I will of course compensate you for the damage. I have some words to say to both of them. Perhaps there is someplace we could be private?”
Julia Mannerling ran her gaze over Charles. “I don’t believe I—”
Charles smiled, the sort of melting smile he rarely employed but that invariably got results. “My name is Fraser. Charles Fraser.”
“Ah, yes. And your brother is Captain Fraser, though he looks a bit worse for wear at the moment. Could someone give both those gentlemen handkerchiefs before we have blood all over the carpet?”
Edgar pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to his bleeding nose. Melanie tugged her handkerchief from her reticule and gave it to Morningham, keeping his body blocked with her own.
Julia Mannerling turned her gaze back to Charles. “Mr. Fraser, you look like a sensible man, but I have strict rules against brawling. Pray remove your brother and his friend.”
Morningham edged his foot down the stairs. Melanie flung her arms round him and cracked open the clasp on her reticule.
“I’ll vouch for Fraser, Mrs. Mannerling.” An untidy nut-brown head peered down from where the balustrade had been. Melanie found herself looking into a familiar pair of hazel eyes. Lord Tilbury. She turned her face away, but there was nowhere to hide. He hadn’t recognized her. Yet. “There’s not a more honorable man in London,” Tilbury said. “If he says he needs to talk to them here, he must have his reasons.”
Mrs. Mannerling hesitated. Seton stepped forward, ready to push Edgar and Morningham down the stairs. Melanie tightened her grip on Morningham. She could almost feel him debating the wisdom of making a run for it.
The silence was broken by Tilbury’s quick intake of breath. “I say—Mrs. Fraser?”
“Hullo, Lord Tilbury.” Still clinging to Morningham, Melanie looked up and gave him the most ladylike smile she could muster.
“But—” Tilbury stared at her, then cast a glance round the room, as though trying to reconcile her with the setting.
“Don’t ask,” Melanie told him. “You’d never believe the lengths Charles will go to for a wager.”
“I say.” Tilbury turned to Charles.
“Shocking, isn’t it,” Charles said.
Mrs. Mannerling burst into laughter. “Mr. Fraser, I believe you are the first gentleman ever to have brought his wife to my establishment.” She looked from Charles to Melanie for a moment. “Very well. If you are willing to break the rules of your world, I will break mine. There’s a sitting room at the back of the hall. You may have the use of it for half an hour. If there is any more hint of disturbance, Ralph and Simpson will throw the lot of you from the house.”
Melanie turned to Mrs. Mannerling, still keeping her hold on Morningham. “Perhaps we could have some ice and towels? And a bottle of your best brandy?”
Mrs. Mannerling looked at her for a moment, woman to woman, a smile playing about her lips. “Very wise, Mrs. Fraser. I’ll see to it. Ralph, could you show them to the sitting room? It’s all right,” she said to the crowd of spectators who had gathered on the landing. “The misunderstanding has been cleared up.”
When Melanie shifted her weight, Morningham gathered himself, as though to bolt, but Melanie had eased her pistol out of her reticule. It was a small gun, which she could nearly hide within the palm of her hand. She pressed it against Morningham’s side under cover of taking his arm. “Mr. Morningham? Shall we?”
Tilbury was lingering on the landing when they reached it. Charles clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you, Bertie. I’ll explain later, I really will.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “It’s more important than you can guess.”
Tilbury nodded, with the air of one let in on a state secret. He suddenly looked less awkward and untidy than usual.
Ralph Seton led them down the hall, past a number of open doorways and interested gazes. Melanie kept her arm tucked through Morningham’s and the pistol pressed against his side. Edgar and Charles walked behind, guarding against flight.
Seton opened the door onto a small, surprisingly cheerful room hung with cherry-striped paper. There was a fire burning in the grate and a lamp lit on the Pembroke table. “Make yourselves comfortable,” he said. He regarded them for a moment, as though he more than a little regretted not being in on the coming scene. Then he inclined his head and left the room.
