He glanced at Gina and she knew he was wondering how much she had told them. “I told Hortense and Harriett about the stranger who accosted me in the gardens before you arrived in time to rout him.”
“To be accosted in such a manner by a complete stranger!” Harriett said with an indignant look on her pretty face. “I told Gina we should report the incident to Mr. Morris at once, but she would not hear of it until you came back.”
He gave Gina a slight nod of approval, clearly relieved that she’d prevented the twins from spreading alarm though the gathering. “I will take care of that presently,” he told them. “But first I think I should take you home. I would be remiss in my duty as your escort to allow you to be present if there should be any problems.”
“Do you really think there will be problems? Could that dreadful man yet be lurking in the gardens?” Hortense asked.
“I believe I frightened him off.” He cast a reassuring glance in Gina’s direction. “But we should not take any chances. I’ve had my carriage brought round.”
Harriett sighed, whether in relief or disappointment, she could not guess. “You are too kind, sir,” she said.
They made a quiet exit and were safely on their way before any fuss could be made. The Thayer home was their first stop, and James handed the twins down from the carriage with a courtly flourish. Both girls thanked him graciously and quickly promised him dances the following night.
He settled himself beside Gina as the carriage started off again. Before she could ask, he posed a question of his own.
“Did he hurt you?”
She removed her mask and sighed. Where she had once been uncomfortable with James, she was now relieved to be alone with him. She hadn’t realized the strain she’d been under to keep her composure until that very moment.
“He was going to break my neck. When he saw you, he said he had a knife. What happened when you went after him? I was so afraid you’d fought and that he…” She began to shiver, unwilling to even entertain the notion that James might not have returned to her. That Henley could have killed him.
He took her hand between his to stop her trembling. “He’d stolen a horse and gotten away before I got to the stables.”
She frowned. “But you were gone so long.”
“There’s more, Eugenia. I have been searching for a man who could have helped us find Henley. Stanley Metcalfe. I found him dead beneath some bushes when I was returning to the house.”
Dead? But she’d just danced with him. There must be some mistake. “Are you certain it was Mr. Metcalfe?”
“He’d been knifed. I wanted you safely away before anyone could question you. Should anyone ask, you know nothing about the entire affair.”
Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “I danced with him. He warned me that Henley wanted to kill me.”
“Metcalfe?” he asked, a note of disbelief in his voice. “Was this something to do with your search for Henley?”
“I…I was to meet him tonight. To persuade him to help me. He’d been hiding from Mr. Henley, afraid to appear in public. Oh, I wish he’d never come to meet me.”
“I didn’t see you dance with him, Eugenia.”
The tone of his voice should have warned her. “He was dressed as a leper. But he disappeared so quickly after our dance that I was unable to question him further.”
“Leper? Was that not the costume Henley was wearing when he attacked you?”
She nodded. “I thought he was Mr. Metcalfe. I thought he’d come back to tell me…”
James groaned. “Blast it all! Henley killed Metcalfe and stole his costume to get close to you before you discovered who he was. But what did Metcalfe have to tell you?”
The hidden key burned its impression into the soft flesh of her bosom. If she told James about it, he would take it from her. He was so stubbornly determined to protect her from herself that she could not trust him. “Something more,” she improvised. “Perhaps where to find Mr. Henley. Or where he is living.”
“How did you draw him out of hiding?”
“Miss Race. His fiancée. She interceded for me. He was dreadfully afraid of Mr. Henley. He said he knew something that Mr. Henley would kill him for.” Suddenly the horror of the situation struck her. “Oh! Miss Race! She will be devastated. I should go to her. Be with her when she hears the awful news.”
“Did she come with him?”
“She came with friends. Mr. Metcalfe was in the habit of meeting her wherever she went.”
“Then she would best hear it tomorrow in the privacy of her own home. But think carefully, Eugenia. Did Metcalfe say what he knew?”
“That is not the sort of thing I’d be likely to forget, sir. No. He did not tell me what it was.”
He cupped her cheek and turned her face to his. “Now I’ve made you angry. That wasn’t my intention.”
She flinched at his touch. “I dislike being interrogated as if I’ve done something wrong.”
“Wrong? No, Eugenia. But you’ve done something reckless and dangerous. You’ve put yourself at risk when you’ve promised you wouldn’t. Ask questions. That’s what you said you were going to do.”
Gina’s conscience tweaked her. That was all she’d done. So far. But she’d made plans to do more with Ned. She would have to meet him tomorrow night and beg off. The incident with Henley had shaken her more than she’d wanted to admit.
James ran his thumb over her lower lip, his voice deadly calm. “’Tis swollen, Eugenia. Did Henley steal a kiss?”
“He had his hand over my mouth. He was dragging me away from the arbor.” To kill her and leave her body beside Mr. Metcalfe’s, no doubt.
He leaned forward slowly, giving her time to turn away. But she couldn’t. His mouth was soft and gentle as he cherished her lower lip before took her whole mouth in a kiss no less exciting than those that had come before, but somehow more comforting, reassuring.
The carriage stopped in front of Andrew’s house, jolting her out of the hypnotic hold James had over her. Slowly, and with a heavy sigh, he released her scant moments before the driver opened the door. He got out and offered his hand to help her down.
“Are you returning to the masque?”
“Yes. Charlie is waiting and we will need to inform Mr. Morris that there is a dead body in his garden. He has likely sent for Wycliffe already.”
“You will let me know what happens?”
“Tomorrow.” He took her arm, walked her to the door and waited while she rummaged for her key in her reticule. He took it from her and unlocked the door. “Good evening, Eugenia,” he said as he opened the door.
She stepped into the foyer and stopped. At least eight crates were stacked floor to ceiling just inside the door. Suddenly she could not breathe. Had Mama found early passage? “Eugenia? What…”
Alerted by her sudden halt, he followed her into the foyer. “You did not mention you were leaving,” he said after a moment.
“I did not know.” She turned and looked at him. “Mama must have found an earlier departure.”
“When?”
She shook her head. “She did not say a word to me. Passage must have become available suddenly.”
He looked at her and she knew there was something he wanted to say, but he merely bowed, turned on his heel, and closed the door behind him as he departed.
The thought of Mr. Henley escaping justice haunted her, but the realization that she might never see James again tore at her heart. How had she let things go so far? How had she let herself love James?
She could not change one, but she could do something about the other. There was no more time for fear or hesitation. Tomorrow she would meet Ned as planned, and she would do whatever she must to bring Henley’s reign of terror to an end.
As he climbed back in his carriage and gave his driver instructions to return to the masquerade, cold fury gripped Jamie’s viscera. Once again, Henley had damaged Eugenia. Once again, Jamie had failed to protect her. But any qualms he’d had
about killing Henley to prevent a public trial had disappeared the instant he’d seen her swollen lip and the tiny bruise on one side of her throat. The knowledge that Eugenia had been so close to death horrified and angered him. Henley would pay for that.
Even more unsettling was the realization that his time with Eugenia was over. She would be gone from London and from his life. And the emptiness would return—the mindless, meaningless affairs, the endless days and nights, the soul-deep loneliness that no amount of friends or family could fill. Since he’d met her, the emptiness had receded and been filled with memories of her voice, her eyes, the warmth of her skin, the lushness of her mouth and the sweetness of her sighs.
No doubt it was for the best. He’d take that post with the Foreign Office. He’d lose himself in service to the king. Somewhere, he’d find a meaning for his hitherto wasted life.
On his arrival back at the masquerade, Lord Marcus Wycliffe was waiting for him in the foyer. “Charlie is with Mr. Morris in his private study. I said we’d join them as soon as you arrived.”
Jamie nodded, noting that the orchestra still played and that guests were still strolling the rooms. “Has he told you what’s afoot?”
Wycliffe rolled his eyes heavenward as he led Jamie down a corridor to Morris’s study. “Just that there is a body in the garden.”
Jamie nodded as Wycliffe knocked and opened the study door. Charlie and Mr. Morris turned to them, and Jamie noted the strained look on Morris’s face. Without asking, Charlie went to a sideboard and a bottle of brandy to pour two more glasses.
“Now that we’re all here, someone damn well better tell me what is going on here,” Morris said.
Jamie took a glass from his brother. “I suppose Charlie told you there’d been an incident in the gardens?”
“And that’s all he’d say until you and Wycliffe arrived. I thought I saw you earlier.”
“I took the young woman in question home. I thought you’d want to keep this as quiet as possible.”
“What, damn it all? What should I keep quiet?”
“One of your guests was assaulted.”
“What? Who?”
“Miss O’Rourke. Rest assured, she is well and safely home. I cannot say the same for one of your other guests.”
“Damn cryptic of you, Hunter.”
“First, I wanted to see your guest list and ask if you spoke with Cyril Henley tonight?”
Morris reluctantly riffled through his desk drawer, brought forth a list of names three pages long. “Henley? I haven’t seen him for months. I do not think he was invited tonight.”
Since Morris did not seem willing to turn the guest list over, Jamie leaned forward and took it. He scanned the names until he found one he was looking for. Oddly, Henley had been invited, but so had Metcalfe. And that raised the question, why had Morris lied? He would have been the one to provide his wife with the specific names of friends he wanted invited.
“I encountered Henley in the garden,” he said. “He was the man who assaulted Miss O’Rourke.”
“Henley…” Morris flushed with a look half angry, half disbelieving. “Why would he assault Miss O’Rourke?”
Morris had to be aware of Henley’s reputation with women. “His reasons aside, Miss O’Rourke recognized him. He wore a leper’s costume to mask his identity. What of Stanley Metcalfe?”
“Er, yes. I believe Metcalfe was invited.”
“He, too, wore a leper’s costume. Miss O’Rourke danced with him. When Henley approached her in the garden, she thought it was Metcalfe.”
“But what has that to do with anything?”
“I chased Henley to the stables where he stole Grenleigh’s stallion and got away.”
“Grenleigh? Hell and damnation! He’ll have my hide.”
Charlie gave a grim laugh. “He is not too pleased, but I lent him mine. I warrant the horse will turn up in a day or two. Henley will not keep anything that would give his identity or location away.”
Morris drank the entire contents of his glass in a single gulp. “So this is it, then? Henley assaulted a girl who is safely home and took Grenleigh’s prize stallion which will turn up in a day or two?”
“Alas, there’s more to it than that. When I came back through the garden after chasing Henley, I stumbled across Mr. Metcalfe. He’d been stabbed in the chest and hidden in the bushes behind the arbor.”
“Is he all right?”
“Afraid not, Morris. He’s dead. The question is, how shall we handle this unfortunate event?”
Morris’s mouth moved but did not form any intelligible words.
Wycliffe finished his brandy and slammed his glass down on the sideboard with a resounding thud. “Metcalfe. Damnation! Another lead silenced.”
“So my question is this,” Jamie continued, determined to get to the bottom of the matter. “Where did you send Henley’s invitation, and when did you last talk to him?”
“I…I… He came to me. Here. He’d heard about the masquerade and wanted to attend. ’Twas he who asked me to put Stanley Metcalfe on the guest list. I did not see him tonight.”
So Henley had devised this plan to get at Metcalfe. Poor bastard. He’d never had a chance. But there was still another question. “Why would you oblige a man like Henley? Surely you’ve heard the rumors.”
If Morris had looked uncomfortable before, he now looked as if he were about to flee. “He was blackmailing me. I…I was present at Daschel’s passion play. Or that’s what I thought it was. It was actually a—”
“We know what it was,” Wycliffe interrupted. “So he was threatening to expose you if you did not do as he asked?”
Morris acknowledged with a curt nod.
“There’s more,” Jamie guessed.
“I’ve been paying him. Large sums of money.”
“How?”
“He waits outside my club. Demands cash.”
Cash. Large sums of it. Why would Henley need large sums of money when he was living in Whitefriars? And was Morris the only one from whom he was extorting funds?
Morris was a member of Brooks’s, an elegant establishment in St. James Street. Henley would have to lurk in the shadows to avoid being recognized, but it could be useful to set a watch on the place. A glance at Wycliffe and Charlie told him that they were thinking the same thing.
“Are you going to arrest me?” Morris asked Wycliffe.
“If you were no more involved with the Brotherhood than you say, Morris, you needn’t worry. If you were…we’ll be back. At the moment we need to deal with the damage done tonight.
“The guests are beginning to leave. We will keep this quiet until tomorrow. Charlie, go to the arbor and make certain no one stumbles across Metcalfe meanwhile. Morris, encourage the guests not to linger. Remove the punch bowl and cork the wine bottles.”
“They will think I am penurious!” Morris blustered.
“Would you rather they panic when they learn there’s a dead body in your garden or sneer when they learn that you’ve been paying blackmail, and why?”
The man sank heavily into his chair.
“We have use for you, Morris. Keep your mouth shut and your head down and you may yet get out of this untainted.”
Chapter Ten
Gina stood still, rooted to the little stool while Madame Marie pinned the hem of her new gown. But it was not the hem with its little train that concerned her. It was the provocative décolletage. True to her word, Madame Marie had crafted a gown that was sure to draw attention. Styles were changing, but Gina had not yet worn a gown with a neckline that curved over her breasts and dipped to a point midway between them.
She traced the curve of the blue French silk with one finger, studying her reflection in the looking glass. “Are…are you certain I will not cause a scandal?”
“Mais non! The style is perfection for your figure, chéri. Smaller bosoms and there would be no point. Larger, and it would make you look like a demirep, eh? Ah, but this much will tease the senses and di
sarm your suitors. The men—they will appreciate the titillation, yes? They will tell you anything you ask.”
“You…you’re certain I will not be banished from polite society?”
Marie, a lovely woman, gave a full-throated laugh. “You must tell me when you plan to wear this gown, chéri. The ladies of the ton will be crowding at my door the next morning, demanding a gown of the same cut.”
“If you are certain,” she conceded, not at all certain herself. She was glad that Nancy, waiting in the outer room for her, could not see the gown. If the maid told Mama, that would be the end of it.
Madame Marie called entry at a soft knock on the private door and Mr. Renquist entered, then halted in his tracks, blinking several times. Madame had been correct. His eyes went directly to her décolletage. Oddly, after a moment of embarrassment, Gina felt empowered, as if she were in control of the situation.
“Have I interrupted?”
“Mais non, m’amour. What do you think of our little Gina now?”
“That it is a good thing she has the protection of the Hunter family.”
“Ah, you appreciate the nuance?” Madame asked, tongue in cheek.
“Perhaps a bit too much nuance?” he ventured.
“Oh, la! You are such a proper one, François. Little Gina will ’ave the ton eating from ’er ’and.”
Gina smiled, suspecting the modiste had been quite experienced before her marriage to Mr. Renquist.
“The male half,” Mr. Renquist muttered as he sat on a small chair in one corner while Madame continued to pin her hem.
“Have you discovered anything, sir?” she asked.
“Progress is slow, Miss O’Rourke. I’ve learned that, until recently, Mr. Henley occupied rooms above a public house in Whitefriars. But for sleeping, he was rarely there. Following the raid two weeks ago, he disappeared, taking most of his belongings with him.
“Since then, he has been spotted from time to time at various establishments in Whitefriars, never staying one place very long. I gather that is the reason for his success in evading capture. Speculation has it that he has found quarters in more desirable environs but that he still frequents the pubs of Whitefriars.
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