The Rose of Blacksword (Loveswept)

by Becnel, Rexanne

  “Such a clever idea, Halley, eh?” His grin had been barely visible beneath his bushy white mustache. The problem was, he’d explained, that one guest had come down with the flu at the last minute and he didn’t think Halley would mind filling in. Furthermore, he had insisted it would actually be a wonderful thing for her to get away from the Thorne Estate Library for a brief vacation. A fortuitous change of pace. Refreshing. Invigorating.

  Halley had stared at him wide-eyed, assuming he’d been nipping from the bottle he kept on a bookshelf behind the fat, leather volume of Banking Strategies. Luck wasn’t on her side, however. Mr. Thorne had been dead serious.

  There was no way on God’s earth she could turn the man down. Aside from her family, he had done more for Halley Finnegan than any other human alive, and when she reluctantly agreed, the spread of happy wrinkles around his eyes almost made having to go to the party worth it.

  Until now. Halley wet her lips nervously and glanced back toward the circular drive, her gaze settling on the tiny green Volkswagen. It looked pathetic in the grandiose surroundings. “Don’t worry, my green knight,” she whispered softly. “If I can do it, so can you.…”

  With a feeble burst of energy Halley Finnegan spun around to face her first—and last, pray to God!—murder-mystery party.

  She paused on the top step. She could hear voices coming from around the side of the house and through the open windows. The happy clink of ice against fine glass mingled with laughing chatter. She hadn’t missed the cocktails, after all. So much for that effort!

  She eyed the shiny brass door knocker with renewed determination and smoothed her palms down over the flaming red dress. Well, Finnegan, here goes. With a forced bravado that painted a crimson blush across her high cheekbones, Halley lifted the knocker and let it drop firmly against the heavy oak door.

  In seconds the door opened wide and a gray-haired butler filled the opening. His gaze met hers, then fell almost immediately to her dress. Halley felt a rush of damp heat travel up her neck, then back down to the cleavage the elderly man eyed so admiringly.

  “Ah,” he managed, pulling his gaze upward and wiping away the tiny beads of perspiration that dotted his forehead, “welcome, madam. Please, won’t you come in?” He backed up stiffly against the door to let Halley pass.

  Halley paused, her heart hammering beneath her ribs. There was still time to feign a polite excuse and leave, to hurry back to the warm security of the Thorne Estate, to slip into her familiar warm-up clothes and tennies and sink her teeth into any one of a million projects she was halfway through. She could … No, of course she couldn’t. Besides, she decided with a sudden grin and a lift of her head that brought the doting butler to full attention, she was anonymous, playing a part. Rosie was absolutely right! She could be whoever she wanted to be. It was the only way to get through the crazy weekend, and she’d do it come hell or high water.

  A tingle of childlike pleasure eased through Halley, pushing the nervousness aside, as she began to look at the situation as a challenge. When it came right down to the wire, she’d always been able to tap into her ever-ready reservoir of strength and make the most of it. Wasn’t that what Joe Finnegan had always taught his kids to do?

  With head held high and her thick auburn hair cascading down the bare, creamy skin of her back, Halley Finnegan whisked gracefully past the butler, then turned and faced him with a smile so alluring, it caused the elderly gentleman to cough behind his hand.

  “Please, sir,” Halley said huskily, “kindly tell the Harringtons that the Contessa Ambrosia is here.”

  At that moment a tiny silver-haired lady appeared from the other side of a giant fern, her bright oval eyes sparkling and a flowing Grecian gown trailing behind her.

  “My dear, welcome!” She grasped Halley’s hand and looked up into her face, smiling. “I am Sylvia Harrington. And you must be dear Leo’s friend. He’s told us so very much about you, and I cannot tell you how grateful we are that you agreed to come at the last minute like this!” Her small head bounced along with the words. “Now, tell me, just to remind me, of course”—she touched her cheek lightly with one finger, a small crease lining her still smooth brow—“you are …?”

  Halley smiled. “Halley. Halley Fin—”

  The woman reached up and covered Halley’s mouth with her small gloved hand. “Shh! No, no, no, dear. We won’t use any of those names this weekend. No, no. This weekend you are …” She reached over and picked up a small scroll lying on the side table in the formal entrance hall. “Ah, here! You are the Contessa Ambrosia, of course.” She stepped back and looked Halley over from head to toe, A perfect contessa, I should say. My, oh, my.” Her eyes traveled over the silk gown. “What a lovely, lovely dress, my dear. You are ravishing!”

  Halley smiled back and felt the fantasy taking shape around her. Her hostess, dressed as an Italian princess, was lovely, and her own dress hadn’t been condemned—not yet, anyway—and she—plain Halley Finnegan—was a contessa.

  “Ravishing, indeed!” The deep, husky voice that swept into the conversation was disembodied at first, and Halley delighted in the resonance of it. It was a marvelous voice, the kind one would sit back and enjoy from the last row of a theater as it rolled off the stage in huge waves.

  “And who is this ravishing creature?”

  The owner of the voice took her hand and swept her gloved fingers to his warm lips, which kissed her fingers through the thin material and left hot imprints on her skin.

  “This,” Mrs. Harrington said graciously and with a great deal of enthusiasm, “is our final guest. The Contessa Ambrosia.” She curled her arm around Halley’s waist.

  “And this, Contessa, is Baron von Bluster.” Sylvia Harrington giggled at the fictitious name, “Goodness, Nick, how perfect a name for you!” She tweaked his cheek affectionately.

  Halley raised her head slowly, her thick lashes lifting until she looked directly into the Baron’s eyes—soft black eyes that nearly swallowed her.

  A smile spread across his darkly handsome face. Halley shivered. She opened her mouth to speak, but her hostess gushed on in warm, silvery tones. “And such a happy chance that you should have walked in, my dear Baron, because the lovely Contessa happens to be your partner for the weekend. Ah, such a good match; I shall have to commend my dear Herbert on his farsightedness.” She chuckled happily, patted Halley’s shoulder, then swept off, leaving Halley and the Baron facing each other in the middle of the spacious hallway.

  Halley realized with a start that the tall, tuxedoed stranger still held her hand. She slipped it from between his fingers and crossed her arms delicately over her chest.

  The Baron’s husky laughter echoed in the marble chamber. “Ah, already I’ve learned something about the beautiful Contessa. She isn’t accustomed to wearing such daring—albeit beautiful—attire.”

  Halley dropped her arms immediately and tilted her chin up. “Not really, Baron. A slight draft, that’s all.”

  He nodded, but his eyes reflected warm laughter. “Good. Come, then, and we’ll find a cocktail to ward off the chill.” He circled her waist with one arm and guided her through the hallway and toward a set of French doors.

  Halley hadn’t bargained on this at all. She’d anticipated the tedious cocktail chatter and having to mingle with strangers, but she hadn’t anticipated, not for one blessed instant, having her own baron for the entire weekend. The thought was humorous and utterly terrifying at once. Halley wet her lips and hurried to match his long, loose stride. Please, God, she begged, let’s emphasize the humor here!

  The man beside her was calm and collected and probably had never known a second of terror in his life. Halley sighed silently.

  “Now, tell me, beautiful lady,” the Baron’s deep voice whispered softly into her hair, shattering her thoughts, “what else is the enchanting Contessa not accustomed to, so I may help put you at ease?”

  She glanced up into his smoky eyes and noticed the slight brush of gray at his temp
les. Put her at ease? She lifted one hand to her cheek and smiled coyly. “Absolutely nothing, Baron.”

  “Nothing?”

  His gaze was hungry now, and Halley swallowed hard around the lump in her throat, keeping her smile firmly in place, her chin tilted upward, and her gaze locked tightly to his. She wasn’t Halley Finnegan, she was the Contessa, she reminded herself. It was all a crazy game. “Nothing of consequence, Baron.”

  “Good! Then let’s move on to cocktails. Oh, and I suppose we ought to squeeze in falling in love.”

  Halley stumbled over the edge of the carpet and grasped his arm for support. “Falling in love, you say?”

  His fingers moved playfully on her waist as he spoke. “Didn’t you read your invitation, Contessa?” His smile was charming and teasing and sexy.

  “Seems I missed something. Was it in the small print, perhaps?”

  “Exactly. There it was, right after the date and place. ‘The Baron von Bluster and Contessa Ambrosia,’ it read, ‘are both recovering from wild affairs and are thrown together after a separation of many years. In spite of the suspicion and suspense wrought by the murder, they find the old flames rekindled, and love blossoms in the shadow of murder and intrigue.’ ” The Baron cleared his throat dramatically, causing Halley to laugh softly as he continued. “ ‘But when the Baron admits he is bankrupt and stands to inherit millions from the deceased, tension builds.’ ”

  “It said that?” Halley’s brows narrowed suspiciously.

  He held up one hand and grinned. “Scout’s honor. That’s who we are. The token lovebirds—”

  A contessa … a baron … and now a wild affair? It was too much for Halley. Bubbly laughter welled up inside her chest. If she had tried to imagine a life as far removed as possible from her plain, comfortable job at the Thorne Estate Library, this would fit the bill perfectly!

  “So, lovely Contessa,” he went on, holding open the French doors, “as you can plainly see, we have much ground to cover!”

  “All those years apart.” Halley shook her head.

  “Yes, I’ve been damn lonely, my dear!”

  “But the wild affairs, sir? Certainly the nights weren’t too lonely.”

  “Wild only in a mechanical way, Contessa. Nothing could compare to the pure passion we shared!”

  Their light laughter mingled as they walked over to the far edge of the stone patio and looked out onto the breathtaking panorama before them. The fiery ball of sun was settling on the far edge of the lake, seemingly held up only by the clear line of the horizon. Below, the rippling waters caught the fading light, and centered perfectly, as if by an invisible artist, a lone sailboat glided across the magnificent vista.

  “What a beautiful sight!” Halley pressed her palms flat against the cool surface of the stone wall edging the terrace.

  The Baron edged up close beside her and rested one hip against the rough wall. “It’s a wonderful place. Why Syl and Herb ever venture off the property is beyond me.”

  “Are they good friends of yours?”

  He nodded. “Yes, and more so. They’re relatives—Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Herbert.” He rescued two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray as he spoke. “And they coerce me into many of their gatherings. I think they consider my being unmarried a devastatingly lonely existence. But tell me, Contessa, how did you happen upon this soiree? I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before.”

  Halley smiled. “No, you haven’t. I’m here by default, actually. One guest couldn’t make it, and a dear old friend of mine plugged me into the vacancy as a favor to the Harringtons. Apparently the mystery weekend needed all the characters to be a success.”

  The Baron lightly tapped his glass against hers and flashed her a charming smile. “Well, it certainly needed you! Here’s to the Contessa-by-default. Long may she live.”

  Halley sipped the champagne, then smiled broadly. “How appropriate a toast! What does one do if one doesn’t live long at a murder-mystery party?”

  The Baron’s answering smile held a hint of a dimple in one cheek. “Oh, the important people—like you, my Contessa—will survive. The victim will be one of the acting troupe mingling so subtly among us. But, fair lady”—his thick brows drew together ominously—“we’re all suspects.”

  “Aha!” Halley took another sip of the champagne. “So I’m cavorting with a would-be, could-be murderer?”

  “But what does it all matter?” He moved closer to her. “We’ve found each other again, dear Contessa, and that’s all that matters.” His husky laughter hung in the warm evening air.

  Halley rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms to ward off a shiver.

  “Still cold?” One thick brow lifted in concern.

  Halley shook her head quickly. “I’m fine, thanks.”

  The Baron watched her closely, his eyes lingering on the rise of her breasts.

  She recognized the look that played briefly across his face. What would he do when he discovered with whom he’d been saddled? Not a sophisticated jet-setter at all, not even a sophisticated lady of the night, as her friend Leo so delicately put it, but a librarian who ranked formal parties right below measles on her list of things to avoid! She hid her laughter behind a quick question. “Tell me, Baron, besides falling in love, what is expected of us tonight?”

  “You can handle more? Well, dinner, I believe, and meeting and mingling, music and laughter, that sort of thing.”

  “And the murder?”

  “Ah! I’ve probably got a real life P.I. on my hands.…”

  He lifted one brow questioningly, and Halley tossed her head. “Not even close, Baron.”

  He watched her intently and tried to read beneath the incredible emerald color of her eyes. More emerald, that was all he found. A deep, wonderful sea of it. But there was something different—enchantingly different—about the Contessa, he realized. The Baron smiled, then edged even closer. “All right, I’ll tell you about the murder.” He whispered the words conspiratorially into her ear. “The victim is out there somewhere. And the dastardly perpetrator of the crime is too. And the clues are everywhere—”

  “I suppose we ought to see about finding them—”

  The Baron grinned and stood tall beside her. “Yes, and I’m being terribly unfair to keep you all to myself like this. Syl will have my hide; she wanted me to introduce you around to the other guests in this little drama. I guess I’ll have to share you.” He took her hand and tucked it inside the crook of his arm. “But only for a while. After all, we have all those lost years to catch up on, my lovely Tessa.”

  My lovely Tessa … Halley basked in the fantasy of it all for a second, then smoothly swept across the room on his arm, her eyes lustrous and her head held high.

  As they approached each group, Halley noticed the admiring looks, the questioning brows that indicated the people were wondering who she really was, but the Baron introduced her only as the Contessa, and before long, Halley began to feel as if her slippers were made of glass and her pumpkin were waiting just outside the door. She had a long time to go before midnight.

  Dinner was a whirlwind of animated conversation and rich food served at round, linen-draped tables. Dozens of servants hovered over the guests, and a string quartet played on a small balcony off the dining room.

  There were twenty-four guests in all, and Halley marveled at how eagerly each one of them fell into his or her role. There was a proper spinster, a fading movie star, and, of course, a butler among the guests, and near her at her table sat a Mafia don in black tie, chewing a fat cigar. Kids playing dress-up and finding unexpected delight in being someone else, she mused. Just as she was doing.

  Her glance swept around the elegant table for the twentieth time that night and paused as it had each time on the profile of the magnificent Baron, sitting directly to her left. It would have been hard not to look at him, so imposing a presence was he. Halley Finnegan’s Baron—for two days. The thought sent unexpected chills up and down her spine. Who
was he really, beneath the elegant tux and lovely talk? He fit the role of baron so perfectly, it was difficult to think of him as anyone else. Most of the guests had greeted him warmly and familiarly, some slipping and calling him Nick. Nick the Baron, with the laughing, dark eyes and the splash of gray at his temples. He was laughing now at something the older woman on his left had said, and Halley watched him over the rim of her wineglass.

  A deep, bellowing voice interrupted her thoughts. Herb Harrington leaned toward her, the buttons of his four-star general’s costume straining against his chest. “Ah, the Contessa is enjoying herself. Good!”

  Halley pushed her thoughts to the back of her mind and nodded to her host. “Leo Thorne was right on target, Mr. Harrington. Your parties are unusual! This is the nicest group of could-be murderers I’ve mingled with in some time.”

  He laughed heartily and patted her hand. “Well, Syl and I like a good time, Contessa. Yes, we do. And the Baron, is he introducing you to people?”

  “Oh, yes. Baron von Bluster certainly seems to know his way around.”

  “Ah, so I see his reputation can’t stay under wraps, even under that baronial title.”

  Halley shook her head quickly. “Oh, no, I only meant here. Everyone … well, he seems to know all the guests.” She glanced at Nick, but he was busy talking to someone.

  “Oh, that he does! Yes, ma’am, the Baron knows everyone, right, Abbie?” Herb smiled at an elderly woman with clear brown eyes who was sitting to his right.

  Halley had noticed her earlier with a distinguished-looking man who had thinning gray hair, and whom Halley assumed was the woman’s husband. They seemed to take special note of her when Nick had introduced them on the patio. She searched her memory for names, and when they came to her, she realized they weren’t using their real names, anyway. She knew them only as the once famous vaudeville team of Otto and Olive Bailey.