Even as he made the suggestion, Dunstan couldn’t believe he was using information gained from a Malcolm vision to search for a murderer.
Then again, since Leila was the Malcolm in question, perhaps it wasn’t so odd—no more so than his belief that she could smell emotion.
“My brothers do not go about much in society, but if there’s any way they can help, they’re willing,” Dunstan continued. “Give us a list of people and questions, and we’ll start on it. There’s some chance Celia may have been robbed, so we’re trying to locate her jewels.” He didn’t care to explain that a Malcolm child thought Celia had had at least one of her jewels with her in Baden, and it had disappeared along with all the rest.
Handel’s brows drew together in thought. “Excellent idea. I had assumed that you—or the earl—gave her an allowance, but was there some chance she pawned them?”
“I gave her no allowance.” Dunstan peered glumly out the window again.
“I should have asked.” The viscount thrummed his fingers on his crossed knee. “Tracing her income could be significant. She rented a small flat, but it was located in an expensive area. Someone was paying.”
“Perhaps she paid with the jewels I bought her, since they were never found.”
“George Wickham had an allowance, but he wasn’t wealthy.” Handel rose from the chair, apparently eager to follow this new lead. “Neither is Lord John. Perhaps Sir Barton Townsend. He wasn’t seen with her much, but they flirted publicly. They might have had an arrangement. I’ll inquire more deeply.”
“I need to pay you for your efforts so far.” Dunstan retreated toward the desk. “You must have expenses.”
Handel shook his head. “This investigation gives me a good excuse to spend my evenings in gaming houses and bad company. I assure you, it’s no more than I would have spent on my own. I’ll charge you handsomely for my bad habits when I solve the crime.”
Dunstan had the uneasy feeling that Drogo was paying the man, but he couldn’t argue. He would repay his brother when his crop came in. “Keep me apprised of all suspects. The more eyes and ears we have, the faster we’ll learn.”
Handel nodded. “I’m glad of your help. See you at Lady Felicity’s come-out this evening?”
“I’ll be there.”
“You’re not wearing black,” Leila exclaimed, hurrying across the empty dance floor toward the man towering at the top of the grand entrance staircase leading into the ballroom. That he’d chosen to dress fashionably rather than appear as a brooding menace to society warmed a piece of her frozen heart. “The green is absolutely perfect on you.”
Dunstan frowned at his elegant frock coat and gold-and-white-striped silk vest, then shrugged and fastened his dark gaze on her. “The tailor said this color is all the fashion. Looks like parrot feathers to me. He said I couldn’t wear popular styles but this one would suit. I’m not certain but what I’ve been insulted.”
His lack of vanity melted Leila’s heart a little more. “He means you are much too broad and manly to be encased in padding and frippery. He’s chosen an excellent cut for you instead. You will set the fashion this season.”
Apparently mollified, he stomped down one side of the split semicircular staircase leading to the lowered floor of the ballroom. Located on the third floor of the marquess’s London residence, the ballroom was designed for impressive entrances. He glanced with curiosity at the glittering candles and festive ropes of flowers on the high ceiling. “Why did you ask me here early?”
“I thought you might be more comfortable if you were already ensconced in the gaming room when the crowds arrived. Besides, I wanted to see you before I’m lost to family duties.” Leila smoothed his cravat, not because it needed it, but because she wished to touch him.
He quirked a supercilious eyebrow. “Did you wish to see if I would shame you by wearing boots and moth-eaten wool?”
She batted her fan against his nose. “I wished for you to kiss me, but now I do not. Go sulk in the conservatory, but try not to throw anyone over the balconies this evening. It’s Felicity’s first ball, and she’s terrified.”
A dark gleam lit his eye, and in the second before she realized she’d thrown down a gauntlet, Dunstan clasped her waist, crushed her panniers, and hauled her into his arms. She had time only to grab his shoulders for balance before he bent her backward and took her mouth with the soul-stirring kiss that she had spent nights dreaming of.
“Leila,” a panicked girlish voice called from the landing of the private floor below the ballroom. “Where are you? I cannot wear these gloves!”
Dunstan lowered her slowly to the floor again, not completely releasing her. Gasping, Leila raised a hand to her heated cheek. She’d never had a suitor accept her challenge and act on it. She’d best learn not to tease men like Dunstan.
She didn’t think another man like Dunstan existed. In his presence, all others paled to foppish caricatures. By the goddesses, what was he doing to her? She ought to be more in command of herself.
“Give me some task so I do not lose my mind these next hours,” he demanded, returning her to her senses.
“What did your investigator say?” Leila asked. “Did he give you names of suspects? Perhaps we can question them together.”
“I don’t like involving you any more than I already have. My brothers are helping me.” Before she could argue, Dunstan eyed her stack of inky curls. “It’s not fashionable.”
“Anything I do is fashionable.” She slapped his arm with her fan, irritated by his refusal of her aid but softened by his look of approval. “Do you like it?”
“I like that you did it for me.” Appreciation rumbled through his tone and gleamed in his eye.
The man didn’t know a word of polite flattery, but his blunt honesty had her hot and flustered and wondering how the evening might end. “Go hide where you will, and I’ll find you later,” she ordered.
He looked amused but stepped away so she might flee to her sister.
By the time the first guests arrived and the family had formed a receiving line to greet them, Dunstan was nowhere to be seen. Leila kept an anxious eye on the ballroom, but she couldn’t expect him to be loitering there, admiring the decorations.
The first indication that all was not as it should be came with a scent Leila could only describe as buoyant. She’d never before attempted to identify scents or connect them with character traits. “Buoyancy” didn’t seem to be a quality other people noticed.
Nervously, she glanced over the rapidly filling ballroom. The musicians had taken their places in their balcony and had begun tuning their instruments. Her mother had added the fragrances of pleasure and happiness to all the candles, so the crowd murmured contentedly.
Identifying smells didn’t seem to be a very exciting gift, but if it was somehow related to her visions . . .
Leila glanced uneasily toward the fountain room—in the direction of the conservatory and the apparent source of the whispering disruption below. What could the scent of buoyancy mean?
Leila leaned over to whisper in Felicity’s ear. “Did you invite more than one Ives?”
Still holding out her gloved hand to the next guest, Felicity cast her a sidelong glance. “I invited all of them. Should I not have?”
“Depends on how much you wish your guests to talk about your first entertainment. I think, perhaps, I ought to leave you in Maman’s capable hands while I investigate.”
Felicity’s eyes widened, but she said nothing as Leila flirted with the next gentleman in line, caught up her skirts, and took his arm to descend to the ballroom as if she’d planned it all along.
Once on the main floor, she escaped in the direction of the fountain room. Before she reached it, an iridescent bubble bumped her nose and popped. Another bubble caught in the lace of her elbow-length sleeves, and a few more sparkled like diamonds against her long gloves. Around her, shimmering clouds of tiny bubbles rose on the breezes of the two-story ballroom, reflected in the mir
rored walls, and drifted upward on air heated by hundreds of candles.
Their guests murmured in wonder and delight as the more observant among them elbowed their way toward the source of this new entertainment. Leila didn’t have to wonder. She knew.
She bit back laughter and maneuvered her way through the crowd. She was quite certain she had not smelled the buoyancy of bubbles. They smelled distinctly of soap. She had no notion whatsoever what the dratted man was about, but she knew precisely what she would find when she reached him.
Sweeping into the small antechamber with its bubbling fountain of water circled by velvet sofas, Leila fixed her sights on the broad green-clad shoulders and dark hair rising above a crowd of bewigged gentlemen. Two more men with dark queues had joined him, although how they’d entered without her notice Leila had no notion.
The fountain frothed with bubbles, and the spray lifted thousands more into the warm air, where a breeze from the open conservatory door blew them toward the ballroom. It was quite the most fascinating sight—except that everywhere she looked, the bubbles popped against silk and left tiny iridescent water stains.
So far, no one had noticed.
She tapped her closed fan against a familiar broad back, and almost dissolved beneath the brilliance of Dunstan’s grin when he turned to her. “This is your idea of behaving?” she asked pertly.
“Mine,” one of the younger, curly-haired Ives said proudly. “I thought Felicity would enjoy it.”
“Joseph, is it not?” Leila eyed him cautiously. “You’re the architect who designed my uncle’s folly? I thought Ewen was the inventive one.”
Politely, Dunstan didn’t touch her, but she felt as if he had. He stood close, wrapping her with his awareness—and his buoyancy.
He was actually enjoying himself! The real Dunstan Ives had emerged from his brooding shell. For her? She thrilled to the idea.
“They threw Ewen out of school for this trick,” Dunstan answered for his half brother. “Joseph and David merely improved upon his concept.” Dunstan nodded to the second Ives standing beyond Joseph. “They made certain the fountain wouldn’t overflow and flood the ballroom as Ewen’s did.”
Taller than Joseph, giving signs that he had inherited the same broad shoulders as Dunstan, David colored but made a proper bow. “We have been trying to determine if there was some way of pumping the waters in accompaniment with the music.”
“In accompaniment with the music—of course.” Leila refrained from rolling her eyes, and took Dunstan’s arm instead. “I shall be certain Felicity thanks you appropriately when she is available. Might I borrow your brother for a moment?”
Before following her, Dunstan caught his brothers’ attention. “Remember what I said earlier. Keep your eyes and ears open. David, don’t leave Joseph’s sight. Don’t flash that gaudy thing too much, just make certain the right people see it.”
For the first time, Leila noticed the emerald pinned to the boy’s cravat. He reddened at her look, but nodded at Dunstan’s orders.
“What are you up to?” she whispered as Dunstan led her toward the conservatory. His size allowed him to saunter through the crowd with ease. Men fell away as they passed. Whispers followed in their wake, but he seemed supremely unaware of them.
He shrugged at her question. “Stirring trouble?”
“That certainly ought to let all society know you’re back,” she said wryly as they reached the open glass doors.
“I don’t intend to hide. I must either go about as if I’ve done no wrong, or hang myself from the chandelier to achieve public approbation,” he said, swinging her through the open double doors and into the humidity of the indoor jungle.
“Did that emerald belong to Celia?”
“One like it. That one’s glass.” Dunstan caught a coil of her hair around his finger and drew her toward him. “I don’t feel like a monkey in a suit when you’re around. All I think about is you.”
She drank in his words, knowing from the tense muscle jumping over his cheekbones that he did not say them lightly. Perhaps he was feeling as light-headed and confused as she was. “Will you dance with me later?” she whispered.
His mouth relaxed into a smile when she did not laugh at his declaration. “I will, if you make it a country dance,” he agreed. “I can manage that without crushing too many feet. Did you know that your nephew frequented the same crowds as Celia?”
“No, but I should have if she dallied with the likes of Wickham and Lord John. They’ve been invited tonight. Who else is on your list?”
“Townsend, and I imagine anyone else in that crowd. But there is no motive that we can discern. Could she have been blackmailing someone?”
“I shall speak disparagingly of Celia and see what happens,” Leila promised. “It’s one thing to know I can smell fear, and quite another to figure out how to use that knowledge. Watch closely and listen in, if you can.”
Dunstan eyed her low-cut bodice and growled. “I’ll watch closely, no doubt, but not for Celia’s sake. Do not smile too brightly at the louts, or I’ll be hard-pressed not to tell the world you’re mine alone.”
His possessiveness tugged at Leila’s heart, and she would have gasped at the surprise of it had she not perceived the same startlement in Dunstan as the words emerged from his mouth.
“I think you know my smiles at any other man mean nothing,” she muttered.
“That’s not been my experience with women, so don’t test me on it,” he warned. “I know I have no right to place my claim on you, but I’m not strong in logic at the moment.”
She understood. Primitive feelings warred in her breast as well, feelings that neither of them dared act upon, as he had warned. “Did you love Celia?” she whispered, entirely against her will.
Dunstan froze for a moment, then leaned against a table. An orchid trailed across his forehead, and he brushed it away. “I doubt I know the meaning of love,” he answered carefully. “Celia was lovely, enchanting. She was like a beautiful butterfly that couldn’t be pinned down. I had some odd notion that if I set her free, she would see the world for what it was and come back to me.”
Leila heard the self-disgust in his voice. “You loved her,” she said with conviction, having seen him with his son and understanding his enormous capacity for that emotion. “You loved her, you gave up your son for her, and she betrayed you. But those who love and respect you will never betray you as she did. Trust us.” Nervous at revealing far more than she’d intended, Leila straightened a pin in her hair and adjusted the silver butterfly adorning it. “They’re preparing for the first dance. Behave, and I’ll find you later.”
Dazed, Dunstan let her escape, standing at the conservatory entrance to watch Leila’s ebony hair soar past all the commonplace whites and grays around her. Even the brilliance of her midnight-blue gown seemed to outshine the pallid pinks and greens of the other guests, and something deep within his chest stirred and woke. He had very little comprehension of society’s idea of female perfection, but amazingly, Leila satisfied his every definition. Pride that she had chosen him above all others suffused him with confidence.
Swallowing a large lump in his throat as he considered Leila’s parting words, Dunstan stared at the brilliant chandeliers smoking with pleasant aromas in the next room. Could his guilt over letting Celia die actually be the guilt of having lost one he once loved?
He would have to be soft inside to have loved Celia, even for a short time, yet he had perceived his feelings as love. And he wasn’t a soft man, was he? Leila was daft to suggest it.
No, she wasn’t. Leila could see right through him, painful as that was to admit.
Joseph and David crept back to see if he’d survived his encounter with Leila unscathed, and Dunstan offered them a wry shrug. “Still have the skin on my back. Go fight over Felicity. I’ll be fine.”
His illegitimate half brothers had grown up in London, and possessed the town polish of their sophisticated mother, but not the advantage of marriage
lines to give them names. Dunstan was grateful for the Malcolm eccentricity that had allowed them to be here. He supposed he ought to show his gratitude in other ways.
Refraining from dropping cigars on the feet of pompous asses would be a start. He was torn between wanting to stay out of sight so as not to taint the ball with the stigma of his black reputation and wanting to parade about the ballroom to show he had nothing to fear. The latter had the advantage of allowing him to keep an eye on Leila.
His concern for the lady won the battle.
Marching back to the fountain room, Dunstan silenced a whispering twit by glowering down at him from his lofty height, sauntered past a gaggle of Leila’s suitors with a hauteur that had them stepping out of his way, and stalked into the spinning glitter of dancers in the main room.
Leila had taught him that he had nothing to be ashamed of if he preferred pigs and sheep to society’s entertainment. He was a farmer, and if society didn’t like what they saw, that was their loss and none of his. Seeing the glittering company as individuals instead of objects to be despised had a freeing effect on him.
He shrugged off any lingering anxiety and waded into the crowd. Music poured around him in accompaniment with the swirl of skirts and laughter. The heavy perfumes of hundreds of people pressed into the same warm room thickened as he proceeded deeper into the crush. Powdered and bewigged men whispered behind his back. Ladies in enormous swaying panniers tittered behind their fans and followed his progress with their gazes. Towering over most of them, Dunstan would once have felt awkward. Tonight, he had only one thought—his height allowed him to find Leila in the crowd.
A slow smile curved his mouth as he located her stack of dark curls in the center of the dancing. Measuring Leila’s exotic features against the classic perfection of other women, he supposed she was more striking than beautiful, but her glowing character lit her from within.
Must Be Magic Page 24