He dropped it with a jolt before he’d pulled back more than a corner.
“Well…ahem.” He reached his hand out again, hesitated, then gripped the material and lifted it a second time. “Well.”
“Well?” That was the best the man could do? Well?
“Well, it certainly is impressive.” He let the material fall and took a step back. “How did someone acquire so many of them, do you suppose?”
His bland tone might have annoyed her if she hadn’t seen him shaking his hand off as he turned around again.
“Hellborn babes rarely suffer from a lack of minions,” she grumbled. “I suspect he just told them to hop in.”
“Victor, again?” he guessed.
“I can’t imagine why anyone else would want to do such a thing.”
He nodded grimly. “It’s time I had a talk with the boy.”
She shook her head. “He’ll deny any part in this, and his mother will make an ugly fuss over the accusation.”
“Mrs. Jarles’s ugly fussing doesn’t concern me.”
“It concerns me, Whit. It would be unpleasant for your mother. I don’t want that.”
“Nor do I, but there doesn’t seem to be a way around it.” He glanced again at the counterpane “The boy needs to be punished.”
“There’s nothing a bully likes less than being ignored.” Or having one of his victims get back a little of their own, she decided, but thought it better not to mention as much to Whit. “Let’s let it alone for now.”
“If that’s what you want,” he replied, reluctance evident in every syllable.
“It is.” She winced at the bed. “What am I suppose to do with this?”
“If you’re determined not to have Victor see to his own messes, I’ll have the staff take care of it.”
“That’s hardly fair to them.”
“Do you want to take care of it?”
She watched one of the spiders crawl off the bed and make a dash across the wall. “Oh, Lord,” she gulped. “We can board the room up. Never speak of it again. I won’t be able to sleep in here again, at any rate.”
And, oh but that made her furious. She adored that room. It had been hers and hers alone since her first visit to Hal-don. It was her sanctuary.
Victor Jarles had gone too far this time. In truth, he had gone too far when he’d addressed her as Mirabelle, but while that insult had stung, this prank cut deeper.
She bit her lip when two more spiders made their way out from under the blanket. “Blast.”
Whit stepped to her and took her hand. “Go to Kate or Evie’s room for to night. I’ll take care of this.”
“But—”
He cut her off with a gentle squeeze of her hand and a soft kiss on her forehead. “Go on. We can’t clean up in here together, and I won’t leave you alone to do it.”
“I could—”
“Go on,” he repeated and nudged her toward the door.
“Knight-errant again.”
“It is becoming something of a habit. Good night, imp.”
She was standing alone in the hall before she could answer.
“Well,” she said to herself. “Good night.”
Fifteen
One of the great benefits of centering a social gathering around a meal is that one can always use the excuse of a full mouth to avoid conversation. Whit had been taking advantage of this boon for the last hour. He chewed each bite of dinner slowly and extensively, and he made certain to have the next forkful ready before swallowing.
It was probably rude, no doubt childish, and his jaw was beginning to cramp from the exercise, but it was well worth it to be able to point at his mouth and shake his head apologetically every time Mrs. Jarles leaned over to speak to him. At least his mother had shown him the mercy of balancing the nuisance of Mrs. Jarles sitting to his left, by seating William Fletcher on his right.
Whit would have preferred to have had Mirabelle seated next to him, or at least within shouting distance. He’d barely seen her today and hadn’t spoken to her once. When he’d searched her out this morning, the staff had reported that the women had gone “for a stroll.”
When they were still strolling after midday, Whit quietly sent a pair of footmen out to check on them. They were safe and sound at the edge of the lake, he’d been informed, and a trifle annoyed for having their ladies’ outing interrupted.
Whit had been a trifle annoyed in return. It was the last day of the party. Hadn’t they spent the whole of yesterday separated into ladies’ this and gentlemen’s that? Was she seeking ways to avoid him? Perhaps he’d pushed things too far or too quickly. It was damnably hard to say, as he hadn’t figured out for himself how far he cared to take things, nor how quickly he wanted to get there.
“I’d like a chance to speak with you.”
William’s voice pulled Whit away from his musings. He shot a quick look at Mrs. Jarles. Finding her sufficiently occupied with a conversation farther down the table, he relaxed.
“Certainly,” he replied to William. “What about?”
“I’d prefer to speak in private.”