time.
Still beside the doorway, Mattie watched Cheyne Tennant lower his catalog slowly and peer over it at Lady Augusta. When she was well into the sculpture room he tucked the catalog under his arm and followed. Mattie frowned when he stepped behind a ten-foot statue of the Greek goddess Athena. Tennant was following Augusta Darent, and he didn’t want her to know it. Mattie trailed after the two, wondering why her adversary was skulking after a woman in an antiques emporium.
When Lady Augusta stopped beside a row of sixteenth century bronze busts, light from a window turned her auburn hair to fire. Understanding broke over Mattie and, with it, a fury and disappointment she quickly denied to herself. CheyneTennant was this woman’s lover. He had reason to believe she was going to betray him with someone else, and he was following her.
The hypocrite. He’d been so contemptuous of her for trying to wed a titled gentleman when all the time he was carrying on with a married woman.
“Just like all the rest of them,” Mattie muttered.
She ducked into an alcove beside a statue of the first Duke of Marlborough when the two turned in opposite directions. He was a blamed polecat, slinking after the woman like that. She stepped back as Lady Augusta walked past her and into the first of several rooms of furniture. Mattie’s lip curled in disgust at the way Tennant now affected a casual air and strolled after his quarry. He knew how to seem like an interested customer and yet keep within easy distance of the object of his scrutiny. He must have done this often.
Mattie reddened at the thought of how many women he must have been with. Tennant was about thirty. He surely had had dozens of lovers—hundreds, for all she knew. It was disgusting. She didn’t want to see any more. Tennant vanished behind a French armoire, and Mattie stalked away, headed for the painting by Sargent. She didn’t care what he did.
But she did. “Land sakes.” She spun around and hurried after the lovers.
They were still in the room with the eighteenth century French furniture. It was a vast place that smelled of dust and that distinct scent of age. An elderly lady in mourning garments lifted a lorgnette tosurvey Tennant, sniffed, and left the room. Tennant ignored her while he watched Lady Augusta from the shelter of the armoire.
Mattie crept to a boulle and lacquer cabinet from behind which she could see them both. Augusta appeared to be absorbed in her study of an oval table with a polished granite top. Then she suddenly moved around the table to a tall ebony and lacquer secretaire that concealed most of her body. Just as swiftly she left the secretaire to open the doors of an armoire and shut them again. Without another glance at the furniture, she strode out of the room.
This time Tennant didn’t follow her immediately. He rushed to the secretaire and opened its drawers, searching in its slots and feeling around as if he expected to find something. Then he hurried to the armoire. He searched it, but evidently found nothing, for he scowled at it and bolted after Lady Augusta. Mattie had to walk quickly to keep him in sight. She followed him through rooms containing porcelain and tapestries, and one devoted entirely to candelabras, chandeliers, and sconces.
Mattie realized he was trying to catch up with Augusta Darent, and that she must have decided to leave Catchpole’s. Mattie was almost trotting when she crossed the arms and armor room. Near the door that led to the reception hall she nearly impaled herself on the tip of a lance held by a model of a knight in armor. The knight was mounted on a stuffed horse. She sidestepped the lance, which was well over three times her height, and peeked around theopen door. She almost yelped when she beheld Tennant rushing across the reception hall. He was headed straight for her.
Mattie scrambled around the mounted knight and took refuge behind an enormous suit of armor labeled as ceremonial armor of
Still beside the doorway, Mattie watched Cheyne Tennant lower his catalog slowly and peer over it at Lady Augusta. When she was well into the sculpture room he tucked the catalog under his arm and followed. Mattie frowned when he stepped behind a ten-foot statue of the Greek goddess Athena. Tennant was following Augusta Darent, and he didn’t want her to know it. Mattie trailed after the two, wondering why her adversary was skulking after a woman in an antiques emporium.
When Lady Augusta stopped beside a row of sixteenth century bronze busts, light from a window turned her auburn hair to fire. Understanding broke over Mattie and, with it, a fury and disappointment she quickly denied to herself. CheyneTennant was this woman’s lover. He had reason to believe she was going to betray him with someone else, and he was following her.
The hypocrite. He’d been so contemptuous of her for trying to wed a titled gentleman when all the time he was carrying on with a married woman.
“Just like all the rest of them,” Mattie muttered.
She ducked into an alcove beside a statue of the first Duke of Marlborough when the two turned in opposite directions. He was a blamed polecat, slinking after the woman like that. She stepped back as Lady Augusta walked past her and into the first of several rooms of furniture. Mattie’s lip curled in disgust at the way Tennant now affected a casual air and strolled after his quarry. He knew how to seem like an interested customer and yet keep within easy distance of the object of his scrutiny. He must have done this often.
Mattie reddened at the thought of how many women he must have been with. Tennant was about thirty. He surely had had dozens of lovers—hundreds, for all she knew. It was disgusting. She didn’t want to see any more. Tennant vanished behind a French armoire, and Mattie stalked away, headed for the painting by Sargent. She didn’t care what he did.
But she did. “Land sakes.” She spun around and hurried after the lovers.
They were still in the room with the eighteenth century French furniture. It was a vast place that smelled of dust and that distinct scent of age. An elderly lady in mourning garments lifted a lorgnette tosurvey Tennant, sniffed, and left the room. Tennant ignored her while he watched Lady Augusta from the shelter of the armoire.
Mattie crept to a boulle and lacquer cabinet from behind which she could see them both. Augusta appeared to be absorbed in her study of an oval table with a polished granite top. Then she suddenly moved around the table to a tall ebony and lacquer secretaire that concealed most of her body. Just as swiftly she left the secretaire to open the doors of an armoire and shut them again. Without another glance at the furniture, she strode out of the room.
This time Tennant didn’t follow her immediately. He rushed to the secretaire and opened its drawers, searching in its slots and feeling around as if he expected to find something. Then he hurried to the armoire. He searched it, but evidently found nothing, for he scowled at it and bolted after Lady Augusta. Mattie had to walk quickly to keep him in sight. She followed him through rooms containing porcelain and tapestries, and one devoted entirely to candelabras, chandeliers, and sconces.
Mattie realized he was trying to catch up with Augusta Darent, and that she must have decided to leave Catchpole’s. Mattie was almost trotting when she crossed the arms and armor room. Near the door that led to the reception hall she nearly impaled herself on the tip of a lance held by a model of a knight in armor. The knight was mounted on a stuffed horse. She sidestepped the lance, which was well over three times her height, and peeked around theopen door. She almost yelped when she beheld Tennant rushing across the reception hall. He was headed straight for her.
Mattie scrambled around the mounted knight and took refuge behind an enormous suit of armor labeled as ceremonial armor of
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