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the worrying, if not the waiting.
    “Rafe will not enjoy your pacing a hole in his carpet,” her brother commented, looking up at her as she passed by him again. “Would you care to sit? Or else stalk somewhere else? Like at home?”
    “Oh, bother!” she said, plunking herself down into a chair. “You wouldn’t say that if I were a man. Why is it only the women who are supposed to sit calm and collected when they’re not?”
    “Do you see me stalking the room like a caged cat?” he answered mildly.
    “Well, if you think quarreling like cats will passthe time better, I’m at your service,” Camille said too brightly.
    “Camille!” Belle exclaimed with a frown.
    “I’m sorry,” Camille said, burying her face in her hands.
    “It’s all right,” Miles said gently. “If tearing each other to pieces would help Eric, I’d be glad to let you have at me.”
    “It won’t, I’m sorry,” Camille said miserably.
    “All’s forgiven and forgotten.”
    “We’re all worried,” Belle said. “But if pacing makes you feel better, Camille, do it.”
    “Yes, only do it in the hall,” Miles said. “There’s a nice long one out there. Mind you don’t frighten the footmen. That Rafe mightn’t forgive you for. Good help is hard to find.”
    Camille smiled. The tension in the room lifted. But only for a moment.
    The physician had been up there with Eric for nearly an hour, and Rafe and Eric’s sister, Brenna, hadn’t come down yet.
    As soon as Brenna had got word of her brother’s condition, she’d fled the ball, along with Belle. They’d gotten to Rafe’s house only moments after Eric had been settled in a bed there. Brenna had gone immediately upstairs to join her husband and brother. Moments later the doctor arrived. No word from them had been heard since.
    Rafe Dalton, his wife, and infant son lived in a lovely house in a prime part of London, near a green square, around the corner from the park.The spacious rooms were beautifully furnished with modern furniture in the Egyptian style. High windows let in air and sunlight during the day; new gaslights high on the walls provided a warm aura by night. Those walls were covered with stretched silks in shades of light blue and green—to compliment Lord Dalton’s blazing red head, his friends always joked. But not tonight. Now the house was filled with suspense and dread. No one raised a voice lest they miss hearing anyone come down the stair. Conversations stopped and eyes looked up whenever there was a footfall in the outer hall. So far, those footfalls had only been from the servants coming into the salon where the guests sat, with offerings of food and drink.
    Miles and Belle passed their time in murmurous conversation.
    Camille was too preoccupied with thoughts of Eric to be sociable, and because she hated the fact that she could do nothing, she again got up to pace. She glanced over at a chair near the window. The unknown girl Eric had rescued sat there so quietly it was easy to forget her presence. She’d been given a glass of something fortifying, told that she was safe, and advised to relax. Then she’d been left alone in her shadowy corner. She still sat withdrawn, acting more like a criminal than a victim. Even though she’d been told her story would be heard and help would be forthcoming, Camille belatedly realized the poor creature must be worrying herself to bits, wondering about her fate.
    Camille went and perched on a chair next to her. “Do you need anything?” she asked. “I know you told us you hadn’t been hurt, but we’ve been so busy worrying about Eric that we hadn’t thought to ask. I mean, do you need to use the convenience? Would you like something to eat? There’s cakes and wine, but maybe you want something more substantial?”
    The answer came soft and low. “No. Thank you.”
    “Well…Oh, my goodness!” Camille said, as the thought occurred to her. “Is there anyone you’d like us to send word to? We never thought