My Wicked Little Lies. Victoria Alexander

Lord Huntly.”

      “Lady Waterston.” The younger man nodded toward her, then directed his attention back to Adrian. “A few of us are discussing the Irish question, and we were wondering as to your opinion on the latest developments.”

      “Now?” Adrian shook his head. “I don’t know that this is either the time or the place.”

      “And yet,” Evelyn said, “I could swear I have heard you say on more than one occasion that some of the best discussions of political issues occur at social events rather than the hallowed halls of Westminster.”

      “A word of advice to you, Lord Huntly.” Adrian directed his words to the peer but his gaze remained on his wife. “Never marry a woman with a good memory. Failing that, watch carefully what you say to her.”

      Lord Huntly chuckled. “I shall remember, sir.”

      “Very well then.” Adrian met his wife’s gaze. “As this is at your urging, I assume you do not mind my abandoning you.” A wicked light of an entirely different sort flashed in his eyes. “Unless, as you have never been reticent to share your opinions, you should like to join us.”

      “As enticing as you make it sound, and as much as I do enjoy a rousing debate, I believe I shall leave you gentlemen to your own devices. Besides ...” She glanced around the room. “There are any number of people here I should like to speak with. Why, there’s Lady Cavert and Mrs. Wellbourne. And your cousin may yet need my assistance.” She smiled in a wicked manner of her own. “As may Lord Compton.”

      “Are you sure?” Adrian studied her.

      “Well, he is probably capable of taking care of himself. . .” She laughed. “Of course I am. Now go.” She cast him a reassuring smile. “You may rejoin me later.”

      “I shall count the minutes.” Adrian turned to Lord Huntly. “Apparently, I am at your disposal.”

      “Excellent, sir.” Lord Huntly beamed at Evelyn. “You have my gratitude, Lady Waterston.”

      She waved off his comment. “Not at all.”

      “We are gathered in the card room, my lord.” Lord Huntly started off. Adrian cast her a resigned look and followed after the younger man. “I cannot tell you how appreciative I, well, all of ...”

      If she were a more suspicious sort, she would think Lord Huntly’s arrival was entirely too convenient. But as much as she knew better than to trust Max completely, she was fairly certain she was on her own this evening. Still, someone somewhere was obviously watching over her. Adrian would be occupied for a good quarter of an hour if not longer. Perhaps there was an ancient druid god that protected women who did not wish to lie to their husbands. As she hadn’t. There were people here she did indeed wish to speak to.

      Evelyn circled the room, stopping to chat briefly with an acquaintance here or listen to the latest gossip there. By the time she reached the ballroom’s grand entry, she had learned the ladies’ receiving room was in the same wing as the library. And that Lord Dunwell did indeed have a collection of antique swords displayed on his library wall. Swords? She scoffed silently. Men were certainly transparent creatures.

      Evelyn headed in the direction of the ladies’ receiving room and the library beyond. All was going entirely too smoothly thus far, but she knew better than to be too confident. Too much confidence inevitably led to carelessness. Still, she sent a silent prayer of thanks toward ancient druid gods or anyone else who might be listening.

      And couldn’t help wonder if a naked dance of gratitude under the stars might be a small enough price to pay for success.

      Chapter 6

      What was she up to?

      Adrian narrowed his eyes and watched his wife leave the ballroom. He’d finished his discussion sooner than he’d expected and obviously sooner than Evie had planned as well. She appeared unhurried, calm, even serene. To an unsuspecting observer, it would look as though Evie were simply off to view the rare orchids Lord Dunwell had in his conservatory. Or perhaps she was curious about the new portrait of Lady Dunwell painted by Mr. Sargent hanging in the gallery. Adrian had been thinking about having his wife’s portrait painted, and he did like the American’s work, even if some of it was scandalous.

      Or she could be off to an assignation with a lover.

      Ridiculous, of course. Why, no more than a half an hour ago, Adrian was convinced he was making a great deal out of nothing. Yes, she had not been herself in recent days. But while it was not unheard of for long winters to create a certain amount of melancholy, that answer didn’t seem right. Not for her. He wasn’t sure why but he knew it. He had realized in recent days, much to his surprise, that the only part of his life in which he was not completely confident was in regards to his wife. He did trust her. Still ...

      His jaw tightened and he started around the perimeter of the room. He was being a fool and he well knew it. But he was also aware he had become, well, boring in the past two years. He’d thought he was a bit staid even when they’d married. But Richard had just died and Adrian was abruptly faced with unplanned responsibilities and the realization one had to take life more seriously when one’s duties changed. Now dull seemed more accurate than staid. He couldn’t blame Evie for wanting a bit of adventure. She’d lived a most adventurous life before their marriage. And he’d already acknowledged a certain restlessness in himself. Not that his eye had turned in search of amorous adventures. Evie was the only one he wanted now or ever.

      Not, he reminded himself, that she wanted someone else. She’d done nothing and he was little more than a jealous idiot. That, too, had surprised him. Nonetheless only a fool would fail to make absolutely certain his suspicions—absurd though they may be—were wrong.

      He made his way toward the door. After all, he, too, would like to see the new portrait. His progress was continually impeded by one person or another wishing to have a word with him, and his impatience grew. When one was faced with unfounded suspicions, one was eager to prove oneself wrong. At last he reached the entry. Across a wide foyer, steps led down to the ground floor. Corridors flanked either side of the ballroom doors. He paused and considered the options.

      “May I be of some assistance, my lord?” A footman stepped up to him. Dunwell’s servants were exceptionally well trained.

      “Yes, thank you.” The most successful fabrications tended to be those closest to the truth. “I seem to have misplaced my wife. I believe she went to look at Lady Dunwell’s portrait.”

      “The gallery is down the corridor to the right, my lord. The family’s private quarters are to the left,” the servant said. “All else including the gallery, the ladies’ receiving room, the conservatory, the billiards room, Lord Dunwell’s library, and assorted drawing rooms are to the right.”

      Adrian nodded his thanks and started down the hall.

      No, he could understand his wife’s succumbing to the lure of adventure, the temptation of the unknown. He could understand a certain restlessness after two years of proper living. Indeed, he was feeling much the same himself.

      What he wouldn’t do was allow it.

      Evelyn studied Lord Dunwell’s desk with a practiced eye. It was obviously expensive and beautifully aged if one liked fine wood insulted by an abundance of decorative bronze garlands and flourishes as well as corner fittings depicting some sort of mythical sea creature. A sea dragon perhaps. Carved wooden waves reached up from the legs to meet the beast. Evelyn wasn’t sure if it was the most amazing work of craftsmanship she had ever seen or simply the ugliest. Nonetheless, it would have been most mesmerizing and fascinating to study had she not had more pressing concerns.

      Four drawers on either side flanked a center drawer over the kneehole. Often desks of this nature had one lock on the top drawer of each column of drawers that locked all the drawers beneath it at the same time. Unfortunately, each of the nine drawers on this desk had its own separate keyhole. Lord Dunwell was certainly a cautious man or