by Sharon Green
"Frankly, I have no idea what happened," the girl replied, looking perplexed. "One minute Arthur and I were talking to the man, and the next he'd suddenly decided I was 'up to something.' He dragged me out of the room while muttering to himself, and then all the way down the path to here. As soon as he released me that other man appeared, and Mr. Tremar went toward him. I imagine Mr. Tremar expected to have a conversation, but the other simply pulled out a pistol and shot him."
She gave a delicate shudder at that, one Bryan suspected was mostly acting. There was a good deal she wasn't saying, of course, but that would have to wait until they were alone. There was one point that didn't have to wait, though…
"Do you mean to say he dragged you all the way across the ballroom, and you made no effort to scream or cry out?" he demanded. "Did it slip your mind that I was in the same room, or were you simply trying to keep from disturbing me?"
"Do you mean you would actually have expected me to make a scene?" she countered immediately with what had to be shock tinged with mortification. "My dear sir, wherever do you think I was raised? In a barn?"
"Quite right, my dear girl, quite right," John Merriman soothed her, sending a scowl of disapproval toward Bryan. "Really, Machlin, the lady isn't one of your wild colonial frontier females. There is such a thing as propriety, you know."
"Of course, John, I must have lost my head for a moment," Bryan muttered, looking down at the serene smile the girl wore. The little wildcat had done that deliberately, just to make him drop the point. Well, that was another item for later…
"We shall first thing return this lady to the house," Robert announced, gesturing someone into taking the torch Bryan held. "Once that's done, we'll send a houseman to fetch a constable or one of Magistrate Fielding's people. Can't imagine where that ruffian came from, but he's definitely not one of ours. They'll need to know that."
"But he did have an invitation," someone at the back of the crowd contributed. "He arrived just when I did, and I couldn't help wondering what sort of new collection Alicia was beginning. He entered the house without a word to anyone, and then disappeared."
"I really detest those with no manners," another voice complained. "If one must be murdered or do murder, surely good breeding would dictate that it be done away from gentlefolk. And they wonder why we dislike having them among us."
"Yes, how ill-mannered of them to die and ruin our party," Bryan murmured, but no one heard. They were all too busy helping his lady back to the house, leaving only Robert to suggest he brush himself off. Not five minutes earlier he'd fought for his life, but it would never do to return to Alicia's house looking it. The comptesse would surely be highly offended…
Even once she was seated in a high-backed chair to the side of the ballroom, Rianne didn't let herself relax. She accepted a glass of champagne from Arthur with a smile, then sipped it as she looked casually around. Too many people were paying much too close attention for anyone who might be watching for their quarry to stand out among them, and then Lydia Worden was taking the chair beside hers.
"Mrs. Machlin - Rianne - are you all right?" she asked, looking seriously worried. "That horrible man - if I'd had any idea he would behave so - insanely -! Oh, it's all my fault!"
"Lydia, please," Rianne soothed her, patting her twisting hands. "You couldn't have known that would happen, so you mustn't blame yourself. We all do things in this life that under other circumstances we would choose not to. Necessity dictates, and we bow and pay the price."
"You're not just saying that, are you?" The other girl's blue eyes were wide in a still-pale face. "You really do understand. I don't deserve understanding, but what a blessing to have it. And from someone with enough good taste to despise our Miss Bowdler. Things were at least partially in hand before she flounced over."
"Yes, Elizabeth does tend to show up at the most inconvenient times," Rianne answered dryly. "And I can never refrain from responding to that waspish manner of hers. That makes me at least partially responsible for what happened, by not keeping quiet. She, at least, must have been delighted by the nonsense."
"Oh, no, she was much too busy being affronted," Lydia said with a full, real smile. "Not only did Pinky run off in one direction, George Sellars took off in another. In an instant she was completely unescorted, abandoned by one and all. The girl doesn't know what to do with herself if she hasn't a man's arm to cling to, so she stalked back out to the entrance hall. Hopefully she won't find another escort, and will therefore need to leave in a huff."
"No such luck," Rianne murmured, seeing the object of their discussion approaching with yet another man. Her pixie-like beauty had always attracted admirers, but her complete lack of personality usually drove them away again in boredom. Rianne knew Elizabeth's father doted on his lovely little angel, and that had to be the reason she wasn't yet married. He hadn't yet found the man who would truly appreciate his darling.
"Well, so there you are again, Rianne," Elizabeth said as she strolled up, all but waving the man to whose arm she held. "And this time Arthur has deserted you. For myself, I'm delighted. Roger is so much more a man in every way, but I'd never have been able to accept his company if I hadn't come with a gadabout."
The man Roger, who didn't seem to mind not being properly introduced, smiled down at Elizabeth and patted her hand. He had blond hair, blue eyes, and a very handsome face, but something about him said he would be as good a conversationalist as Elizabeth herself.
"Oh, but I really must ask you to forgive me," Elizabeth went on, now looking sweet and sincere. "Just before we were interrupted, you'd begun telling me about your dear little husband. A merchant, wasn't he, with something of a bald spot? I know I'll just love meeting him. You're not hiding him, are you?"
"Not at all," Rianne answered. The girl's sleekness was sickening, and there was no real reason to accept it. "That's my husband coming now, but as far as a bald spot goes you'll have to look for yourself. Maybe - Roger - can help you."
Elizabeth's smirk of anticipated enjoyment was clear as she turned, and her gaze swept around everywhere but at the three men approaching their little group. Arthur had gone to bring Machlin to where Rianne sat, and with them was the man who had led the group storming to their assistance earlier. Rianne wondered who he was.
"Shame on you, Rianne," Elizabeth scolded, clearly enjoying herself. "You were fibbing, and you are hiding him. Confess now - he's gone for a short nap, hasn't he?"
"Elizabeth, you're amazing," Rianne said with a sigh while Roger chuckled at his young lady's clever repartee. "You make yourself look more ridiculous every time you open your mouth. That's my husband standing directly behind you."
The small, dark-haired girl was instantly incensed at what Rianne had said. She drew herself up and then deliberately turned to sneer at whoever was behind her - and saw nothing but Machlin's coat, vest, and ruffles. She had to tilt her head back to see his face, and by then she was openmouthed with shock. Machlin's cold gray eyes looked down at her with puzzlement, and Lydia Worden's laughter tinkled out.
"Have you ever been introduced to Bryan Machlin, Miss Bowdler?" she asked, the words literally carved from amusement. "If not, I'm certain you've seen him around. And I'm afraid he can't quite be described as a merchant, although he does sell a certain service. Bryan, this is Miss Elizabeth Bowdler, who insisted on meeting Rianne's husband."
"Miss Bowdler," Machlin acknowledged with a nod, proving they hadn't been introduced before. And then those gray eyes were on Rianne. "I hope you'll all excuse us, but my wife and I will be leaving. Tonight's hospitality has been a touch more … brisk than I care for, most especially with my wife involved."
He'd extended his hand to her, so Rianne put her glass aside and let him help her stand. The champagne had braced her just enough to let her stand without wobbling, something she hadn't been sure would happen when she'd first sat down. She'd tried not to think about what had happened, but the reaction to it had still hit her hard…
; "I'll extend your apologies to Alicia, old son," that other man said, clapping Machlin on the shoulder. "But before you go, I'd like that introduction you promised me. I'd just about given up hope - along with Richard and your parents - that you would ever settle down. You're certain to enjoy married life quite as much as I do."
"I'll have to admit that it isn't at all what I'd been picturing," Machlin said dryly with a glance for her, and then he performed the introductions. As soon as Robert Creighton had finished with her hand and gone through the standard compliments, Machlin said good night again and led her out to a carriage. The crest on the door indicated that it belonged to Lord Redstone, and had probably been handier than their own.
Machlin gave the driver directions to his house, then came to sit silently beside her. Rianne knew they couldn't discuss what had happened where the strange driver might overhear them, so she simply paid attention to the night.
It was dark and quiet once the house was well behind them, street lamps casting pools of pale yellow about their own feet. There was also something of a breeze now, bringing with it a hint of damp. Tomorrow it could well be raining…
Harris was at the door even before they were both out of the carriage. His face and manner showed nothing whatsoever of surprise at their early return, nor did he seem curious. Rianne wondered if he was simply that perfect a servant, or was he used to his master's early return from parties? Then she wondered, if the latter were true, had his master come home early alone on those occasions…?
"I'm going to get out of these clothes," Machlin said as he guided her toward the stairs. "I suggest you do the same, and then we can talk."
Rianne, having noticed the spots of blood on his vest, could understand that he'd want to be out of his clothes. She had the feeling something was bothering the big man, something beyond the evening's unexpected excitement. She nodded her agreement as they climbed the stairs, certain she would know soon enough what the problem was.
Rianne's maid was brushing her hair when the knock came, and the girl hurried over to admit her employer. She curtsied at his gesture of dismissal and left, but Machlin didn't move from the doorway until he'd made sure she was gone from the sitting room. Then, leaving the door of the bedchamber open, he crossed to a chair and sat. Once again he wore his blue velvet dressing gown, but this time without a cravat.
"I think you look better in gold than in silver," he remarked, referring to the gold tissue gown and robe she wore. "Now tell me everything from the beginning."
Rianne, on her vanity bench, did so, putting back in what she had left out with the others around. It didn't take long to tell, and when she was through he stared at her thoughtfully for a moment.
"So Tremar caught it immediately when the Bowdler girl mentioned Harding's name," he said at last. "And he already knew about the man's death, and was suspicious over your not having mentioned it. What do you think he meant by all that muttering he did?"
"He had to be talking about him," Rianne said, firmly keeping herself from shuddering at the memory. "And he must have at least one of that crowd's regulars under his thumb. When the story spread about who Lydia was bringing to the party, he must have arranged to send his pet torturer to kill Tremar."
"I wonder if all that has something to do with the supposed sale of invitations that Pinky mentioned," Bryan mused. "It would be clever of our quarry to arrange the presence of a good number of interlopers, just so his man would be lost among them. When Tremar's body was found the interlopers would be the first suspected, but his man would be long gone."
"Only he isn't gone, at least not in that way," Rianne said, getting up to go to the decanter on a side table. "He was the worst sort of human being there is, someone who enjoys hurting and killing, and I'm glad he's dead. Would you like a glass of fruit juice?"
"Thank you, no," he answered gently. "And I appreciate your telling me your opinion of that. I wondered how you felt."
"What I feel is sorry I'm not the one who did it," she came back, turning with her glass of juice to face him. "In case you've forgotten I'm a partner in this, not some poor little female who just happened to be there. What do you make of that comment about masquerades at Ranelagh Pleasure Gardens? Tremar said that was the only place his 'friends' relaxed and enjoyed themselves because no one knew who they were."
"I'm still thinking about it, but I may have the beginnings of an idea," he returned, watching her walk back to the bench and sit. "If it comes to anything, I'll be sure to let you know. Now, would you like to tell me what is bothering you? I can see something is, and maybe I can help."
Those gray eyes were puzzled again, undoubtedly over her unexpected outburst, but that was one question she would not answer. Was she supposed to tell him that she'd realized again how close he'd come to being killed and how frightened she was at the thought of losing him? It was that thought which had turned her knees weak at the party, the realization that Bryan Machlin could well be dead now.
And she hadn't been able to bear the thought. Even though they would soon be going their separate ways, even though she would be gone from his memory not long after that. How could she stand it if he didn't live? It was stupid and mindless, but she wanted him to be happy - even if he did it without her.
"What's bothering me is the possibility that our quarry may now know just how close we are," she answered after no more than the briefest hesitation. "Tremar mentioned my stepfather, and demanded to know what I was up to before he dragged me out. If the wrong someone overheard that or is told about it later… Even if they only find out you're the one who killed Tremar's murderer there isn't a chance he won't be warned, and he may even be packing to leave at this very moment."
"I seriously doubt that," Machlin replied, leaning forward in his chair. "From everything I've learned about that man, he isn't the sort to panic and run. If he goes, he'll do it when he's good and ready. And is that the only thing upsetting you? The possibility that our quarry might take off?"
"What else is there?" Rianne asked unsteadily, having noticed the sudden anger in his eyes.
"You're asking what else?" he demanded. "How about telling me now why you didn't shout for help when Tremar was forcing you outside. And also why you went near him alone to begin with. Those are a good couple of choices to get upset about."
"Why - I didn't shout because I honestly didn't think to," Rianne stammered, trying to find an explanation he would understand. "Even the people we stood among didn't try to stop him. Why would a room full of strangers make the effort?"
"Because that room fall of strangers included me," he returned very flatly. "But you didn't think of me then any more than you do at any other time. And you still haven't told my why you went ahead to meet him without me. Tremar wouldn't have left if you'd waited. If he hadn't been killed, he would have been the last guest out the door at the end of the evening."
"I - was certain you would be right along," Rianne temporized, suddenly unwilling to point out the truth. She'd promised to obey him, yes, but he hadn't been there to tell her not to go ahead. Without a specific order to the contrary, going ahead alone hadn't been disobedience.
"If you were all that certain I would be right along you would have waited," he countered, refusing to accept the lie. "What you really thought was that I would take too long, so you shrugged and went ahead alone. When I first saw you in the gardens, you were already holding that torch. Why did you take it out of the sconce?"
"It - I felt the need to defend myself with something," she stumbled, half-turning to put her glass on the vanity. He was changing subjects so fast it was making her head spin, and that soft, menacing edge to his tone… "Tremar was behaving so strangely; was I supposed to just stand there and let him hurt me?"
"So Tremar didn't just release you before his murderer appeared," Machlin pounced, reminding Rianne of the story she'd told and had tried to maintain. "He was going to hurt you, and you used the torch to keep him away. Why didn't you tell me that earlier?"
/> "You're getting me all confused!" Rianne protested, wishing she hadn't had so much champagne at the party. "All I did was swing the torch at him, and he began to run away. They're all such cowards, that bunch of bullies. They want someone helpless to attack, not someone willing to fight back!"
"There are times when that doesn't hold true," he growled, suddenly rising to his feet. "If you really knew what you were doing instead of just thinking you do, you would have learned the difference. That man with the knife wasn't a simple bully, he was a devil with a real taste for blood! He was just waiting for you to swing that torch at him, and when you did he would have sidestepped and put his knife in you! I was there and I saw it about to happen!"
By then he was standing over her and shouting, and Rianne could feel all the blood draining from her face at the memory. She'd been terrified at the sight of that horrible man coming toward her with a knife, and then something inside her had snapped like faulty laces. Insanity had taken her over, and she'd gone for the man with the intention of bashing his brains in.
But maybe it hadn't been total insanity. If she'd just stood there doing nothing, he would surely have hurt her terribly before killing her. Attacking instead would have forced him to kill her at once, forced him to forego his usual pleasure. Yes, she'd done the right thing, no matter what Machlin thought. A quick death was preferable even to living a certain kind of life.
"You think you saw it about to happen," she countered, making no effort to look up at his anger. "What if he misjudged his sidestep, and I caught him after all? Since I meant to swing in an arc, what if I'd gotten him first with the backswing? You can't just assume - "
"He almost killed you!" Machlin roared, reaching down to pull her to her feet by the arms and shake her. "Can't you get that one simple fact through your stubborn head? If I'd been even a moment later, you would probably be dead! What did I tell you about risking your life? What did you say about obeying me?"