Regency Christmas Wishes(84)

“And, Montrose, you go with Lady Simmons,” Marianna said as she continued pairing up her guests. “My lord Oldcastle, you have Miss Chudleigh—oh, very well, don’t start complaining. Miss Chudleigh may go with Lord Dearborne, and you will be partnered by her friend Mr. Barrow. Happy now? Very good. And my lord Billings . . .”

“Off we go then, eh?” Lord Fanshawe said from the vicinity of Pamela’s elbow.

She looked down at him. “Not yet,” she said, showing him the list. “First we have to see what we’re looking for, then plan how to get them.” She frowned. “The thing is that I don’t know if this is fair. I’ll still have the advantage. After all, you know where everything is.”

“Consummately unfair,” Lord Ipcress commented from where he stood behind them, watching.

“All’s fair in love and war,” Marianna Fanshawe said on a laugh, taking Jonathan’s arm. “Now, let’s get on with it, there’s darkness being wasted.”

Jonathan didn’t budge. He stood watching Pamela peruse the list as the other guests formed pairs and began to leave the salon.

“A painted thimble,” Pamela told Lord Fanshawe. “Let’s start with that. We just have to go to the housekeeper, don’t we?”

He nodded. “Very, yes, indeed, that’s the ticket. Off to the housekeeper then, shall we?”

“Yes, but then we have to get a rag doll,” Pamela said as she started to leave the room with her host.

“In due time,” he said, taking her hand in his plump little paw. “First things first. This will be fun, what?”

The manor was a rabbit warren of rooms, and Pamela found herself utterly lost as her sprightly little host pulled her along dark corridors. It was a warm, crowded darkness, because the old place was furnished with what seemed to be the relics of a dozen generations of Fanshawes. Her host held one of her hands. Pamela kept the other stretched out in front of her so she wouldn’t bump into bureaus, tables, chairs, or walls. That way she didn’t collide with them all, just most of them.

One would think they’d light more lamps for the scavenger hunt, she thought as she nearly missed colliding with another armoire. She was sure she’d show bruises on her shins in the morning, and wondered how the other guests, who didn’t have the help of a resident of the manor, would ever get back to the main salon when they were done.

“Here!” Lord Fanshawe finally chortled, and abruptly stopped.

Pamela looked around. They stood in a dimly lit room filled with massive pieces of furniture. Most notably, an enormous canopied bed.

“The housekeeper lives here?” she asked in confusion.

“Hee hee,” her host chortled, tugging on her hand. “We can forget that air of innocence now, what?” He grabbed her and tried to drag her closer to his portly little person.

Pamela was as furious as appalled by her host’s sudden display of grappling arms, and soon made even angrier by the wet kiss that slid along her chin as she struggled with him. But she didn’t struggle long. She was country bred, and came from a large family with protective brothers eager to share their knowledge of self-defense with an adored little sister.

“Stop that!” Pamela puffed, and shoved him hard. It was like trying to shove one of the armoires she’d careened into earlier in their journey through the manor. He was old and fat and short, but sturdy as a tree trunk. She didn’t want to kill the old fellow, but she did mean to disable him. So she stomped on his foot and hooked an ankle around the other one that he immediately hopped to, and then she pushed him hard again. This time, he toppled.

“Outrageous!” she huffed. Leaving him sitting on the floor, she turned on her own heel to find her way back from what she now realized must be her host’s bedchamber.

She stormed out into the hall, and straight into another pair of arms and a hard chest.

“I thought you’d give him the slip,” Lord Ipcress said on a laugh as he wrapped her in an embrace. “Old fool, to think a prize like you would dally with him. I saw where you were really looking.”

This gentleman was wearing boots instead of evening slippers, so he didn’t even notice a foot slammed down on top of his. He was too close for a raised knee to do anything but encourage him, and not only was he able to catch her flailing hands, but he stood some inches taller than Pamela and had impressive muscles. So she resorted to throwing back her head and letting out a fearsome screech. It made Lord Ipcress wince, which made him close his eyes, which also meant that he didn’t see the fist that connected with his jaw.