Married by Moonlight

by Heather Boyd

  She covered her mouth over a frustrated scream. She had thought she might like Lord Sorenson at first, but he was obviously interested in everyone else.

  Anna wallowed in self-pity a moment then nodded to herself. There were surely other gentlemen just as appealing somewhere. Eventually one would notice her and then…who knew what might happen.

  She took a deep breath and stood straighter, determined to forget the disappointment of his disinterest. Her father waited for her. As the hall clock stuck midnight, Anna resolved not to care if she danced again tonight.

  However, just as she was reaching for the doorknob to rejoin the ball, the door opened and a tall figure slipped inside the room with her. “It’s as dark as hades in here.”

  Anna recognized the voice. Carmichael. Her nemesis come to torture her some more.

  A second figure joined him. “Be quick in checking the desk.”

  That was undoubtedly Lord Sorenson’s voice. She shivered, realizing that they didn’t yet see her standing there. She eased farther behind the door, considering her chances of slipping around them and out of the room without having to speak to either one.

  Unfortunately, Lord Sorenson closed the door suddenly. The darkness became a little thicker as one of them knelt by the fireside, and she had no chance to escape unnoticed. She inched toward the door anyway, hand outstretched.

  Carmichael lit a taper, casting greater light about the room.

  Lord Sorenson spotted her instantly, eyes widening in surprise.

  Anna froze.

  “Devil take it, Anna,” Carmichael complained, as he rushed across the room toward her. “What are you doing sneaking up on us fellows like that?”

  “You followed me. I was just leaving,” Anna promised.

  She did not want to be caught alone with that pair. She took two steps toward the door—then Carmichael’s hand suddenly closed over her wrist and squeezed cruelly.

  “How could you, Anna?”

  Lord Sorenson approached. “Unhand her, Carmichael,” he warned.

  “No, Sorenson! Don’t you see?”

  That was the last straw.

  Anna fought off Carmichael by kicking his shin. “Let go of me, you horrible man. I don’t need or want your help.”

  “The hell you don’t!” He scowled then tipped his head to the side and looked down, his jaw clenched.

  Anna, still trapped in his unyielding grip, twisted to look behind her.

  She immediately scrambled away from the fourth person in the room.

  Chapter 5

  Gilbert caught Anna Beasley against him because he feared she might scream. Even before her first gasp, he’d known she was innocent of the crime. And after her reaction, too real to be mistaken for anything but utter surprise, he kept hold of her because he couldn’t seem to let her go.

  It was a grim scene she’d stumbled upon in Lord Williamson’s library. Another woman had been murdered.

  There was blood everywhere this time. A young woman in a royal-blue muslin gown was splayed across a settee. He knew her identity even without seeing her face. He had danced with her earlier that night. “Miss Goldwell, if I am not mistaken,” he murmured.

  Carmichael crouched down, avoiding the pooling blood on the carpet, and touched Miss Goldwell’s face and then her wrist. “She’s still warm but quite dead.”

  At Carmichael’s words, Miss Beasley struggled, attempting to flee the gruesome scene. Gilbert turned her into his chest and held her tightly against him with one arm, so she wouldn’t have to witness anything more. “Wait a moment,” he whispered to Miss Beasley. He had some questions to ask of her even if she wasn’t guilty.

  Carmichael was pale but he skirted around the body carefully without touching anything. “Throat slashed from behind I think.”

  Miss Beasley’s fingers scrambled at his waistcoat and a soft whimper came from her throat. “Miss Goldwell can’t be dead.”

  Gilbert lifted Miss Beasley’s face to his, holding her by the chin gently. The poor girl was so afraid, she was shaking like a leaf. “Do you happen to remember who Miss Goldwell spoke to after dancing with Carmichael?”

  “I don’t. I remained with my father. He lingered in the ballroom, talking with his friends until after the supper bell had rung.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, toward the late Miss Goldwell and Lord Carmichael, and shuddered. Gilbert turned her face back to his quickly as she sucked in a sharp, anguished breath. “Don’t look. Whom did you dance with for the last set?”

  “No one.” Her gaze dropped to the vicinity of his chest.

  He drew in a breath, drawing her sweet perfume into his lungs. The subtle lemon scent was preferred to the copper taint of blood in the air. “Why no one?”

  She swallowed and looked away, drawing her hands to her chest and clenching them tightly. “I wasn’t asked to dance a second time. Carmichael must have only one friend he felt he could force me upon.”

  Gilbert gaped. Carmichael had hinted Anna Beasley wasn’t considered popular but he couldn’t for the life of him understand why. She was a graceful dance partner and very easy on the eye. He’d enjoyed their dance very much, even if he’d been watching the guests for signs of guilt around Carmichael. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Miss Beasley shrugged. “The last time I saw Miss Goldwell was when she was with you, Lord Sorenson. I didn’t notice her again.”

  He looked at Carmichael. “She cannot help.”

  Carmichael nodded so Gilbert propelled Anna Beasley gently toward the door. “Return to your father and say nothing of this.”

  Miss Beasley fought to stay. “But Miss Goldwell is dead.”

  “Carmichael and I will inform Bow Street.”

  She looked up at him, eyes huge. “I cannot leave. I’m a witness, am I not?”

  “You must. You are completely innocent.” In other ways too, he decided. He wouldn’t be surprised if Miss Beasley had never had an ardent suitor before.

  Gilbert cracked open the door to the hall and put his eye to the gap. The hall was deserted but not for long, he suspected. The time allotted for supper must end very soon. He turned to Miss Beasley, caught her by the elbow and brought her closer to the door. “When you return to the supper room, try to act as if nothing is the matter. You must think of your reputation.”

  “I’m innocent,” she promised. “Ask anyone.”

  “I’m sure you are.” He saw her frown and chuckled. “But you are alone now with two titled bachelors. Promise me you’ll say nothing. If anyone learns of this private meeting there could be consequences, damage to your reputation.”

  “I’d not like anyone to misunderstand.”

  “I would not, either. Go now.”

  He pushed Miss Beasley out the door before she could say another word. She stood a moment, and then turned to stare at him. She looked utterly terrified, and as much as he wanted to reassure her everything would be all right, there was no time. The best place for Anna Beasley was with her father.

  “By the by, Carmichael never did ask me to dance with you. I wanted to.”

  Her eyes widened prettily in surprise but Gilbert shut the door in her face and turned the key in the lock. He waited a moment, listening until he was certain Miss Beasley’s footsteps were hurrying away from the library before he turned to view the murder scene again.

  Carmichael had retreated from the late Miss Goldwell, holding his stomach as if he was on the brink of casting up his accounts. He stood at the fireside, staring into the flames a few moments more before he spoke again. “Another death on a Friday.”

  “So it seems. We will have to be quick and quiet about this,” Gilbert whispered. “We must summon Davis to take over while we seek out Mr. Goldwell before he alerts others to his daughter’s disappearance.”

  “You should be the investigator.”

  “That will not be my decision to make.” However, Gilbert took in the murder scene and the poor dead girl across the room as if solving the case was hi
s responsibility. Miss Goldwell had been left as she had fallen most likely, with her hand stretched out toward the door and holding her open dance card. He peeked at the names listed. The last man to dance with her before supper was known to him already. “We need to find Lord Wade before he can leave.”

  “Wade? Surely not him.”

  “Wade was her last dance partner.”

  Carmichael came closer and looked at the card too. “But Wade was not invited to the Berry ball. We cannot accuse a fellow peer without proof. You find him, and say I need to speak to him about a house he owns on Hanover Square. He’ll think nothing untoward about that. He’s been trying to sell the place for months without revealing his true reasons.”

  “The two deaths may be unrelated. It is best to assume they are not and keep an open mind.” Gilbert did not know Lord Wade but could recognize him in a crowded ballroom. “What are Wade’s reasons for selling?”

  “He’s lost quite a lot gambling of late, I hear.”

  Gilbert winced. “If Wade is short of funds, I would have thought he would be marrying heiresses rather than murdering them.”

  “Exactly. It may not be him but you must find out. I’ll stay here to ensure the scene is not disturbed until we can send for Davis,” Carmichael promised. “You find Wade now and speak to him.”

  Knowing time was of the essence and discretion called for, Gilbert left not via the locked set of doors but through a set of terrace windows so he could return to the ballroom without anyone wondering where he’d been during supper.

  The moment he entered the room, Gilbert sighted Anna Beasley. She stood with Miss Hayes again and appeared to be laughing at some jest the other young lady made. Her cheeks were flushed with hot color and he breathed a little easier that nothing had changed with her. He was pleased that she’d taken his advice to heart and seemed to be acting completely normally.

  But in her shadow, close to the entrance hall doorway, Lord Wade watched her and Miss Hayes talking together. The man was not smiling.

  Gilbert stalked toward Lord Wade, aware he felt protective of Anna Beasley. He wasted no time drawing the man’s attention to him. “Good evening, Lord Wade.”

  “Ah, Lord Sorenson, is it?” Wade murmured, lips twisting into a welcoming smile. “I thought you must have dashed off somewhere with your last dance partner. A private supper for two, perhaps,” he whispered.

  “No,” Gilbert ground out. “I thought you might have, though.”

  Lord Wade’s smile slipped, replaced by wariness. “Miss Hayes would never consent to leave the ballroom with the likes of me.”

  Gilbert was unconvinced by that statement. “Your last dance partner was Miss Goldwell, wasn’t it?”

  “Miss Goldwell was not to be found when the time came.” Wade shook his head, clearly disgusted with the fact he’d been forgotten. “Miss Lacy had found herself in want of a partner. Lord Grindlewood had suffered an injury and begged me to take the floor with her instead. How could I refuse?”

  “I see.” He studied Lord Wade. His waistcoat was cream silk and pristine, his coat dark and his knee stockings a bright white. There was no sign of blood upon his clothing. However, if the killer had attacked from behind, there might be blood on their fingers. Lord Wade’s hands were hidden beneath a pair of white gloves.

  The fellow looked behind him. “Yes, Aunt. I’ll stay right here until you’ve said goodbye to our hosts and then we’ll go home together.”

  An older lady shuffled past them, using a cane to forge a path through the crowd. Lord Wade rolled his eyes once she was gone. “My aunt, Mrs. Lenthall. I swear, she still thinks of me as a boy of ten when it is she who must be worried about,” he grumbled. “Don’t dare slip away with a pretty face for even ten minutes.”

  “Is your aunt ill?”

  “Only old and entirely too fond of drink,” Lord Wade complained with a smile. “No wine cellar is safe with her around, but she is family, so I make allowances for her indulgences,” he said, a fond smile curving his lips.

  Gilbert flicked his gaze down to Lord Wade’s hands again momentarily. Something about his demeanor seemed entirely wrong for a killer. He needed to see his hands before the fellow left the ball with his aunt. If there was the slightest hint of blood under his nails, Gilbert would detain him.

  Lord Wade arched a brow. “Are you in the market for a new glove maker? I got this pair, and a dozen others, from a little shop in Ramsgate last summer. Excellent fit from the very first wear.”

  “May I see one in closer detail?” Gilbert asked, aware it was an odd request to make in the middle of the ball. However, Mrs. Lenthall was standing opposite them, wobbling like a drunken sailor as she spoke with their host. He did not want to alert anyone unnecessarily by causing a scene as he dragged her nephew in for questioning if it was not necessary.

  Wade peeled one glove from his right hand and passed it over. “The others are as well constructed. Took less than a day for the kid gloves I chose for riding to fit my hands perfectly. Butter soft and only a few shillings each, quite the bargain.”

  He pretended to inspect the construction of the glove, examining the white material for telltale staining from blood. Pristine, if a little damp from being worn all night. He looked at the fellow’s other hand.

  Wade peeled that off too with a laugh. “You take glove construction very seriously, my lord.”

  “Indeed I do.”

  Nothing at all. But soiled gloves could be replaced, and Lord Wade had admitted to owning a prodigious amount of them. Gilbert held the gloves out, noting Lord Wade reached with his left hand. He inspected the cuff of Lord Wade’s left shirt sleeve carefully. Nothing there, either.

  Which probably lost him his first suspect in Miss Goldwell’s murder. He chose to remain with Lord Wade and see what else he might reveal about himself.

  Wade’s attention shifted to the dance in progress. “Are you always so interested in the dressing habits of others?”

  “I am tonight,” he muttered under his breath.

  Lord Wade leaned close. “Do you want the name of my tailor, too?”

  “No. I am quite content with my own.”

  Lord Wade looked him up and down then smiled. “An excellent decision, and an excellent tailor, by the look of what you’re wearing tonight. We must discuss boot makers next time we meet up at a ball. I do love odd conversations like this.”

  “I’m glad I can offer you a diversion.”

  “I make do as I can,” he promised. Wade leaned close. “I should warn you though, Sorenson. You are in danger.”

  A chill swept through Gilbert at the threat but he’d been warned off before. “From whom?”

  “From about a dozen nearly panting ladies with or without husbands, of course.” Wade chuckled. “Step lively, man, and keep moving before the wrong one catches you. Most of them are not worth your time.”

  Gilbert was about to leave there and then, but that last remark stirred his interest. He hadn’t mingled in London society often, but if he had to fit in, or convince others that a marriage might be on the cards, he’d like to know where to begin to look and who to avoid. Wade had an advantage he could make use of. “Who would be worth my time?”

  “You already know her.”

  “Do I?” Gilbert knew very few ladies in London. Perhaps a dozen at most even now, but none he’d consider pursuing. Well, maybe only one, really. He did all he could not to turn and stare at Anna Beasley.

  “I will not say her name and risk adding to her anxiety. You will figure out her ways in due time, I’m sure,” Wade suggested, and then followed with a bawdy laugh. He recovered and nodded, still smirking. “I do love this part of a couple’s courtship. People try so hard to hide their interest but a little threat or healthy competition usually does the trick to spur on a serious pursuit.”

  “Do you usually toy with the affections of others?”

  “Only when they are being very foolish.” Lord Wade chuckled again and stepped forward to interc
ept his relation. “Ready to leave, Auntie?”

  “Indeed I am.” Mrs. Lenthall winked at Gilbert as she took her nephew’s arm and then said in a soft, disgusted voice, “Williamson waters his wine. So undignified.”

  Lord Wade patted her hand and, after bidding him goodbye, they left the ballroom together, chatting the whole of the way.

  Gilbert glanced around, noting he was indeed an object of interest to a number of ladies, including Miss Beasley.

  Gilbert smiled at her despite his disappointment. None of the information he’d gleaned tonight was particularly useful in pursuing Angela Berry’s killer, or Miss Goldwell’s, either.

  He made his way back to the library, encountering Davis on the way, dressed in servants livery. “What are you doing here?”

  “There’s more than one way to attend a ball.”

  “Good thinking.” He checked that no one was around. “We have a situation in the library and since you’re here, I need a man and older lady followed. The name is Lord Wade. They are just leaving the ball.”

  “I’ll see to it and join you in a moment,” Davis promised, slipping away as quickly as he’d come.

  Carmichael rushed toward him as soon as he entered the library. “I think it’s the same killer.”

  He stared at his friend. “How did you reach that conclusion?”

  “The slice angles downward to the right,” he said, while making a cutting motion.

  “So.”

  “The wound. The killer used their right hand to cut from behind. Angela was stabbed from the right, too.”

  It wasn’t wise to leap to conclusions, he was wary of adding fuel to Carmichael’s theory at first. “Lord Wade is left-handed I think.”

  Carmichael clenched his jaw a moment. “You know what this second death means, don’t you? It could be the fourth, if you count the earlier two I know of.”

  Gilbert studied his friend’s worried face, and then sighed. A multiple murderer might be running amok in society. If that were true, they had to be found and stopped. “It is possible it could be the same man.”