by Edith Layton
“Ask her what?” Maggie asked, entranced.
“To dance with me, entrance with me, to lift a toe, to back and fro, to partner me delightfully?” He put a finger to his eye and whirled around. Then he dropped to one knee before her, and posed, both hands up, beseeching.
“Thank you,” she said, so taken aback she actually took a step backward before she caught herself doing it. “But no, thank you. I—I’m waiting for my escort to return, you see.”
She wanted to experience the masquerade, but he was a little too much for her. Any rate, she told herself sternly, he certainly wouldn’t know a thing about the reason why she’d come. And however charming, he was obviously interested in more than she was willing to provide, now or later. But she felt badly about refusing him…until he leaped to his feet, and bowed.
Then he immediately whirled to her right and stared at the Shepherdess standing there. He danced over to her, crying, “Ah, I spy the Temptress fair, she with moonbeams in her hair!” Then he fell to one knee in front of the Shepherdess and sang, “O Mistress fine, thou art divine, I only wish thou wert mine!”
Maggie grinned. So much for breaking hearts at a masquerade, she thought, moving away from the pair of them. But it made her realize she was singularly alone and couldn’t just stand by herself all night. She had to strike up a conversation, or leave. She hated to give up that easily. And too, the music kept playing.
She gazed across the room, hoping to catch sight of the soldier Spanish Will had been talking to. If Lieutenant Pascal was there he’d surely know if Lousia was. If the lady hadn’t come, then maybe he’d be disappointed enough to talk to any attentive ear. Especially one belonging to a strange, flirtatious female. Maggie wasn’t that certain of her powers of seduction but felt sure he’d be more forthcoming with her than with a man who looked like Spanish Will. If for no other reason than because he couldn’t suspect her of spying on him. She was a mermaid tonight, a dark-haired, mysterious, appealing mermaid. Hadn’t she attracted the Harlequin? And even more amazing, the aloof and usually discerning Viscount Maldon?
The thought gave her confidence and a feeling of power. She was alone, but she was well armed. She stood on tiptoe looking at the stage, the audience, up at the boxes, trying to get a glimpse of the lieutenant. She’d find out a thing or two. She’d surprise them all.
But she found her view was suddenly blocked.
“Well,” said the gentleman who stopped in front of her, “well, well, well.”
He hadn’t bothered to put on a costume. He wore formal evening attire, black jacket, knee-length breeches, a black eyemask and a leer. He was tall and thickset and slightly drunk. And very confident.
“Nice rig,” he said, looking her up and down. “Shows the goods but don’t shout ’em. Been watching you. Your gent sheered off. Don’t blame you for turning down the clown. But I’m blunt and I’m not mean with it, neither. Come along with me. If we suit, it’ll be for more than tonight, and there’s a promise. I like the look of you. Let’s see if the touch equals it.”
He reached out for her. She evaded him easily. He sounded like a gentleman, but also very drunk. She could handle this. “My escort’s coming back,” she said firmly. “He won’t like this, not a bit. Good night, sir.”
“So it will be a good night,” he said happily, reaching for her again. This time, he managed to grab her wrist. “This won’t up your price,” he warned as she struggled to free herself. “Made your point. You ain’t easy, aye, I see that. But a little of this goes a long way. Come along.”
“I…am…not…going…with…you,” Maggie panted, because although she said she wasn’t going with him, she was. Because he was dragging her down an aisle. Her heart began pounding when she saw no one seemed to notice the struggle, or care, if they did. “Let go!” she demanded. She refused to believe she could be abducted in broad…lamplight, at any rate, beginning to fight in earnest when she realized he was actually successfully pulling her toward an exit.
She aimed a kick at his legs, and heard him laugh as she connected. She wore fashionable light slippers, her toe hurt more than his shin did. She drew back her free hand to slap him, and gasped when he captured that one too, and promptly pulled her up tight against himself. “So anxious?” he laughed, and bent his head to kiss her. She turned her head to escape his mouth, and opened her own to screech when his mouth followed.
And then she was free. And he was sitting on the floor, gaping up at her and the Spanish Grandee who flung his arm around her shaking shoulders, and pulled her to his side.
“No, no, Senor,” said the Grandee, shaking one finger at the gentleman with coy caution, “theese one, she belongs to me. Unless, of course, you weesh to make a theeng of it? I have the sword. I have the pistol. And I have this fist. Remember it? Interested in any of them, eh? Ah. I thought not. Gracias, and good evening.”
He laughed as he led Maggie away. But when he got her to the outer lobby of the opera house his arm came away from her shoulders and his laughter turned to ominous silence.
“Where’s Milo?” he finally asked in a harsh undertone when he saw she’d got herself under control, and stopped shivering.
“Gone. With his brother. His brother—Arthur? Anyway, he, Arthur that is, recognized his voice, and the domino, and he was very drunk, and so my…Milo led him away.”
“So why didn’t you look for me?”
“I did! But I didn’t see you anywhere.”
“Then why didn’t you leave?”
“I thought…well, I thought if I could talk to the lieutenant, I’d find out something. Or I could find Lady Louisa, or…”
“Or maybe see how the night side of London lives, eh? Well, I can’t say I blame you, and I can’t say I didn’t warn you, so there’s not much I can say, is there? But she isn’t here, and the lieutenant has nothing to add, and this whole evening was a folly. So, come, I’ll take you home. I told you a female alone was in danger here. But you didn’t believe me, did you?”
“You just told me you couldn’t say anything, and here you are saying it,” she said, recovering her poise by getting angry at him. It was easier than being mad at herself for not listening to him. “But that’s the wrong way…oh!” She gasped. Because he wasn’t leading her toward the exit, but back into the auditorium and up the steps to the stage where the company was dancing.
“Well,” he said, “since you were still wondering, I expect I’m the best one to show you. At least, the only one, since Milo’s gone. He waltzed with you. And did tolerably well. I can do better. This is a country set. May I have this dance, Mystery? Just this one. Because then you do have to go home. Soon, masks will be coming off. There’s already a lot more coming off in the boxes and at the side of the stage. Don’t look. You’re a lady tonight, remember?”
“So I am, so I won’t be angry with you for saying it,” she said loftily, inclining her head like any gracious lady.
A waltz with a viscount and a romp with a runner, Maggie thought as she took his hand. That was more dancing than she’d done in the whole of her life. It wasn’t a wasted evening.
She was still humming to herself as she sat back in the coach and was carried home. Who’d have thought the runner could move with such supple timing, such easy grace, leading her through the intricate steps of the dance so deftly he covered her missteps? Who could have imagined he’d behave with such good humor? She might not find out who killed the man on her doorstep, but she was certainly learning more about life than she’d ever have known if he hadn’t chosen her doorstep to die on.
“You’re very quiet,” Will remarked. “Still mad at me for reeling you in? That’s odd, if that’s so. I didn’t think you’d had your heart set on taking up a new profession. That’s all that you could find to do at the masquerade now. But selling fish is a much better calling than selling yourself. Think of the advantages. You can keep at it until you’re old as the hills, and you don’t have to pretend to like every customer you’re selling to. And
it don’t matter if they ever bathe, neither. But maybe the best part is that in your present job, you catch the fish. You don’t catch anything from them.”
“I won’t fight,” Maggie said on a yawn. “I’m too tired tonight. Do you mind awfully if I put it off until tomorrow?”
He chuckled. “So sure of seeing me tomorrow, are you?”
She sat up. “But I thought you wanted my help!”
“So I do. But I have to get on with my own investigating. If you want to see me you have to come up with something new. I’m hoping you want to do both things. Ah, here we are.”
He walked her to her door. “I’ve asked the fellow to wait, though usually I’d walk home,” he said, a smile in his voice, “but even Spanish Will don’t stroll through London town at midnight done up like Spanish Will. That’s asking for too much trouble, even for me.”
She let herself in her door, and looked around the darkened entry. “Good,” she said, with satisfaction, “they’re all sleeping. I told them not to wait up for me.”
He checked. It could have been an innocent remark. But in Will’s experience, women were not innocent. She certainly didn’t look innocent. She still glowed, she was still as radiantly exotic and seductive as she’d been as they danced, as she’d been all evening. She smelled of roses, and he was acutely aware she came just to his shoulder. They’d fit well. She might be innocent of the crime she was involved in. She might not be. But what he found himself wanting to do wouldn’t change that. If she thought it would, she was wrong. And if she was wrong, tonight he didn’t care. She’d danced with the viscount, but the viscount had gone home alone. Had she sent him away? Had he sheered off? Will was made of stronger stuff. Or weaker. Tonight, he didn’t care.
“Of course,” he added, softly, bending to speak in her ear, “I could always send the fellow away. I could go home by dawn’s light.” He put his hand on her shoulder, lightly. “That’s up to you to say.”
She stared at him. He smiled down at her, his hand warm on her shoulder. Only that. But it was as though he’d turned on some inner force. She could swear she felt heat rising from him. She wore a good warm cape, but his big palm was warmer still. He cupped her shoulder and made it feel like a more intimate caress. His voice held deep and secret promises. She could feel the pull and allure of it. His eyes were on her, his total and complete attention was on her. She felt more than that.
She was fully dressed and so was he. And yet, and still, suddenly she could almost envision that powerful male body naked before her. It was as if he knew it and intended it. She closed her eyes. She could almost feel herself sliding her hands over big warm sleek muscles, smooth damp, heated skin…satiny… She stopped, in shock. She’d never seen such. She’d never done such. She’d never known she so wanted to do such.
He waited, his hand soft on her shoulder, and yet weighty, and suggestive as no words could be. And yet… She opened her eyes. She shook her head to clear it of the last echoes of his suggestion. She was suddenly appalled and alert, awakened to more than his suggestion.
“There must be something in the air tonight,” she said in wonder. “You and the viscount! It can’t be just me. Well, and if it is, I suppose I should never take off this wig. But I will. Because I don’t want that kind of complication in my life, thank you very much. I do thank you, but I don’t want to play. I had a husband. I don’t want another.”
Ah, she thought on a sigh, as he snatched his hand away, so it works for nobles and runners alike. Well, good, it certainly works for me.
“Are you serious?” he asked, astonished.
“Are you?” she asked, amused.
He hesitated. And then smiled. And then laughed, and so then did she. “And since I don’t take lovers,” she went on, “there’s no point to it now, is there?”
“Oh, there is,” he said, “but you’re right. Now isn’t the time for it. The viscount too, eh? I thought so. I suppose you gave him the same answer or he wouldn’t have run away.”
“What do you think?” she asked pertly, because it wasn’t tomorrow yet.
“I think we all had a good time,” he said seriously, talking to himself as well as to her, “but that time is over. There’s a man stone cold dead. Murdered. It’s my job to find who done for him. That first, and last. That’s the reason we’re here together now, and the reason why we can’t be together any other way, now. You’re too right, whatever your reasons may be. It’s like I told that wretch of a boy who should be sitting in your alley tonight watching over you and not snoring by your fireside. A masquerade is only that, and not a good thing to try to live. I should have remembered. Goodnight, Mrs. Pushkin, and say good-bye to ‘Mystery’ for me, will you?”
She smiled. He hesitated, and then abruptly left. She shut the door firmly behind him. Then she lay back on it, breathing as hard as if she’d run away from him. Because she had. And felt very lucky to have done it.
*
Will took the coach back to his rooms. He kept his eyes on the shadows, as always, as he mounted the long stair to the top floor. But he kept thinking of the little mermaid as he did, how her black wig had transformed her and beguiled him. He let himself into his rooms. They were under the roof, to the back, with a strong bolt on the door to them, and a rope ladder coiled near each window inside. There was no way any man could surprise him, and good ways to escape if he was wrong. He looked around quickly. His exhalation was a white cloud in the cold air when he sighed after taking his usual inventory, seeing nothing out of place.
He’d lied to the viscount. He had two rooms and two chairs. He also had a bed, a desk, a wardrobe and a table. Books and papers were their only ornaments. A fire would not leave him destitute. But there was no sense in having one lit when he wasn’t home, and he seldom was. The place was neat and spare, and pleased him. He wasn’t a man to waste his hard-earned money on creature comforts. But there wasn’t much room for any creature to pace there, and since he had only one small hearth, little warmth on such a night for body or soul. Especially body.
That was why, late as it was, he dressed again after he stripped off his costume and went right back down the stair, two steps at a time.
He didn’t get to bed for another hour, and when he did, it wasn’t his own, and it wasn’t to sleep. She had black hair, but there all similarity to the other woman he’d wanted tonight began and ended. She was tall and heavily built, with heavy breasts and wide hips, a strong back and light turn of mind. She worked at a tavern called The Blue Boar, and she worked hard. She dispensed ale and served food, and fended off pinches and served up slaps if the pinches became too persistent. Not that she was a prude. She earned her own way and made her own decisions, and if she didn’t sell herself, she gave herself as freely as she desired. Because she was a woman on her own and had her own mind and desires. But her mind was never consulted when she met with Spanish Will. Only her desires.
“Gawd!” she whispered as she lay on her bed, waiting for him as he undressed for the second time that night. “Look at you! Will, if you ain’t something! You don’t call on me less’n you want me,” she complained, never taking her eyes off him, watching the long muscular golden torso being revealed to her. “You don’t never promise me nothing, nor never bring me presents. You got other women. Huh! Well, we both know that! Who don’t? Still, no matter how I curse you, all you got to do is come to me and I follow you, Will, but I don’t know what you do to me.”
“But you do,” he said as he bore her back on the bed with him. “I do this, and this, and yes, this….”
She met him move for move, twisting under him, giving no quarter, wanting no less, warm and damp and ready when he was, shuddering with pleasure as he made her and himself wait.
And if that pleasure was tainted for him because her hair smelled of bacon fat, ale and woodsmoke instead of roses, he managed to forget that. If it was diminished because she used him as eagerly as he used her, and didn’t say a word of affection except to the sex he finally bro
ught to hers, he didn’t mind. Because he too gave nothing but what he took. So it was plain pound dealing. Yet for the first time, he felt cheated. Because there was nothing but their bodies in it, and because for the first time in a long time that bothered him. He didn’t like the fact that there was something new clicking over in his head to ruin the fun his body was having.
Still, it was good, though he had to stop in time and finish alone, beside her. He never forgot to remember that. He wanted no ties beyond this night. He wasn’t a man to leave a woman with his loose ends. He lay back, catching his breath, thinking of the work he had to do after he left her.
He dressed, ignoring how she tried to slide her hand along his back and buttocks and thighs as he did, ignoring how his body answered. Because it wasn’t speaking for him tonight. He answered her pleas for him to stay with a final kiss and a caress. Then he went home to his own narrow bed to sleep at last.
It took him a while, even so. The sheets were cold, and his brain was still busy. He lay in the dark, as his body warmed his frigid sheets, musing about the other woman he’d dealt with tonight. A fishwife who spoke like a lady, could act like a temptress, and treated him like she was a nun. She could be an ally and might be a killer. A “mystery” indeed, in or out of costume. One he’d solve, one day, in due time. That was his job, after all. And he needed to be rested to do it. He closed his eyes, turned on his side, turned off his thoughts and slept.
*
Arthur staggered. Lucian frowned.
“An’ I don’ want your damned house, so don’ ask me again, or I’ll—I’ll…” Arthur said wildly as his brother steered him out of the carriage and up the stair to his rooms.
“But I don’t need it,” Lucian said calmly. “We won’t discuss it now, all right? You can’t discuss anything now. Damnation, but what did you pour down your throat tonight? It seems to be getting you drunker as time goes by. Do give me the name, I could use a bottle or two myself.”
Lucian propped his brother up with one hand as he thumped on his door with the other. “Your master has met with a slight accident,” he told the manservant who opened the door. “He met up with some vile spirits. I advise putting his head under a tap. If he survives until morning, I salute you. …Do you need any help?” he asked more soberly, trying to keep Arthur from lurching into the wall as he tried to enter his rooms. The answer was evident. And so he held his brother upright, and with the scandalized valet on one side and himself on the other, they guided Arthur, weaving and muttering, to his bedchamber.