She drew her cloak closer about her shoulders, hesitated a moment, and then setting her lips firmly ran up the steps and into the temple.
The footsteps came nearer and she heard them on the steps and resolutely faced the pillared archway, secure in the knowledge that Pelham was within hail.
She was prepared for Lethbridge, or for a masked form, or even for a hired ruffian, but none of these sinister apparitions met her bemused gaze. It was the Earl of Rule who stood on the threshold.
“R-Rule!” she stammered. “Oh, d-dear, whatever shall I—I mean how you s-startled me! I was waiting for P-Pelham. I n-never expected to see you!”
The Earl came across the marble floor to her side. “You see, I was able to—er—escape from Edward,” he said.
Outside, Sir Roland Pommeroy whispered aghast: “Pel—Pel, dear fellow—did you see?”
“See?” hissed the Viscount. “Of course I saw! Now what’s to be done? The devil seize that fool Heron!”
Inside, Horatia said with a hollow little laugh: “How—how d-delightful that you c-could come after all! Have—have you had s-supper?”
“No,” replied his lordship. “I didn’t come for supper, you know. I came to find you.”
Horatia forced a smile. “That was very p-pretty of you, sir. But—but you should take some s-supper. Do pray g-go and bespeak a b-box and I will w-wait for P-Pel and bring him to join you.”