by Amanda Quick
“I see.” He brought her to a halt at the edge of the dance floor, neatly manipulating her into the seclusion of a private alcove. He did not take his hand from her arm. “I have no wish to find myself competing directly with you.”
“But that wish would not stop you from doing so should the need arise, correct?”
He smiled and ignored the question. “There is another aspect of this situation that alarms me, madam.”
“I am astonished, sir. I did not think anything could alarm you.”
“On the contrary. You are the widow of one of the few men I have ever called friend, and I would be negligent in my responsibility to Fielding’s memory if I did not try to prevent you from exposing yourself to undue risk.”
“I assure you, I am not at risk in this matter.”
“I am concerned about your role in this affair, Joan.”
“Do not trouble yourself with any concerns on my behalf, my lord.” She smiled. “I assure you, I am well able to take care of myself. My husband was an excellent instructor in many subjects, not just antiquities.”
“Yes, of course.” He did not look pleased with her response, but he inclined his head very civilly. “I apologize if I have intruded into your private affairs.”
“You need not apologize, sir. I am happy to tell you that I am assisting Mrs. Lake and Mr. March in their investigations.”
That stopped him cold. If she had not witnessed his stunned expression, she would never have believed him capable of such a degree of astonishment. A tiny thrill of triumph shot through her.
“Assisting them?” he repeated blankly. “Bloody hell, Joan. What the devil are you talking about?”
She chuckled. “Calm yourself, my lord. It is merely a hobby of mine.” She was oddly pleased with having disconcerted him to such an extent. “But an amusing one, if I do say so.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It is really quite simple. I have connections in places they do not. When those connections might prove useful, I endeavor to take advantage of them.”
His mouth quirked humorlessly. “Am I one of those connections? Is that why you accepted my invitation to dance? So that you could pursue your investigations on behalf of March and Mrs. Lake?”
“Not at all, sir. I danced with you because you asked me and because it pleased me to do so.”
Irritation flashed in his eyes, but he bent politely over her hand. “I trust you enjoyed yourself, madam.”
“Oh, I did, indeed, sir, even though I am well aware that the only reason you are here tonight is because you are after the bracelet and you wanted to discover my role and the role of my friends in the affair. I trust you are satisfied with the results of your own inquiry.”
He straightened but he did not immediately release her hand. “A word of warning, Joan. This affair of the Medusa is a dangerous business.”
“I shall bear that in mind, sir.”
He looked less than pleased with that, but they both knew there was nothing he could do about her involvement in the situation.
“I will bid you good night, madam,” he said.
“Good night, my lord.” She gave him a demure curtsy. “I am honored that you chose to renew our acquaintance this evening, even though I know you had ulterior motives.”
He paused briefly in the act of turning away. “The honor was mine. Allow me to tell you that you are wrong on one point, however. I did not invite you to dance solely because I wanted to quiz you on the subject of the bracelet.”
“No?”
“I asked you,” he said deliberately, “because I very much wished to dance with you.”
He disappeared into the crowd before she could think of a response.
She stood there for a long time and thought about how much she had enjoyed her brief moment in Vale’s arms.
TOBIAS OPENED HIS EYES AND STUDIED THE gleam of silver light on a nearby leaf. He was flat on his back on the padded bench, one booted foot on the floor. Lavinia was on top of him, her skirts tumbled across his thighs, her breasts pillowed against his chest. He looked up at the night on the other side of the conservatory windows and wished that he did not have to move.
He wondered if Lavinia found this business of conducting an affair as bloody uncomfortable at times as he did. What he would not give for a warm bed.
Lavinia stirred, started to snuggle, and then abruptly stiffened.
“Good heavens.” She flattened her palms on his chest and levered herself up to a sitting position. “It is very late. We must return to the ballroom. By now Joan or Anthony or Emeline will no doubt have noticed that we have disappeared. It would be extremely awkward if someone came in search of us and found us together like this.”
He sat up slowly, eyeing the position of the moon through the glass panes of the conservatory roof. “We have not been gone all that long. I doubt we’ve been missed.”
“Well, we certainly cannot dawdle here any longer.” She struggled with the bodice of her gown. “Is my hair badly mussed?”
He watched her put herself to rights. “Your hair looks fine.”
“Thank heavens.” She got the sleeves of the gown up over her shoulders, stood, and shook out her skirts. “I cannot imagine anything more embarrassing than walking back into Lady Stillwater’s elegant ballroom looking as if . . . as if—”
“As if we had been making love?” He got to his feet and shoved his shirttails back into his trousers. “Somehow, I do not think there are many who would be greatly surprised.”
“What?” She swung around, her voice rising, eyes widening. “Are you saying that everyone knows that we—” She broke off and waved one of her hands wildly.
“That we are lovers?” He grinned at her expression of horror. “I suspect so.”
“But how can that be? I have never told a single soul.” She glared at him. “Tobias, I vow, if you have discussed the details of our personal connection with anyone, I shall throttle you.”
“I take grave offense at that, madam.” He held up both hands, palms out. “I am a gentleman. I would not dream of disclosing such intimate details to anyone. But I must tell you that our friends and relatives would have to be uncommonly stupid not to have concluded that we are engaged in an affair.”
“Oh, dear.” She looked nonplussed. “Do you really think so?”
“Calm yourself, Lavinia. It is not as if we are two young, inexperienced people with reputations to consider. We have both been out in the world for some time and have acquired a certain immunity. Provided we are reasonably discreet, no one will so much as blink at what we choose to do in private.”
“But what of Emeline and Anthony? We really ought to set a proper example, don’t you think?”
“No,” he said flatly. He shrugged into his coat. “There is no call for us to set an example for them. The rules are different for people of our age and experience. Emeline and Anthony know that as well as we do.”
She hesitated. “Well, yes, I suppose what you say is true. Nevertheless, discretion is required, and in future we really must take more care when it comes to this sort of thing.”
“I will allow that your concerns on the subject of discretion are not entirely unfounded. In addition, I have noticed that this business of sneaking around has a few other drawbacks. One is forever searching for privacy. Indoor locations are hard to come by, and when they are not available, one is obliged to keep an eye on the weather.”
“True. But I have been thinking about the matter lately and I have concluded that there are some positive aspects.”
A chill of dread went through him. “Such as?”
“I do worry about being discovered and I still get a jolt of horror whenever there is a close call. And then there is the discretion issue. But when all is said and done, I must admit that it is quite thrilling at times.”
“Thrilling,” he repeated evenly.
“Indeed.” Her voice brightened with enthusiasm. “Odd as it seems, I have begun to wonder if perha
ps the very risk of being discovered is responsible for a certain sense of excitement.”
“Excitement.”
“Yes. And I must say that the frequent change of location endows the business with a definite touch of novelty.”
“A touch of novelty.”
Good God, she had grown to enjoy the clandestine aspects and the uncomfortable venues. This was his own fault, he thought. Like Dr. Frankenstein in that new horrid novel he had been hearing about, he had created a monster.
“How many other people do you think will have made love in a conservatory?” she continued with what sounded like genuine scholarly interest.
“I have no notion.” He yanked open the door. “Nor do I care to discover the answer to that question.”
“Do you know,” she continued brightly, “some of our more daring trysts remind me of scenes from certain poems. Byron’s writings, especially, come to mind.”
“Bloody hell.” He stopped and turned around to confront her. “I don’t know about you, but I have no intention of spending the rest of my days hiring dirty hackneys and searching out secluded sections of the park whenever we wish to—”
The long scrape of a boot sliding on gravel stopped him cold. He turned swiftly, putting Lavinia behind him.
“Who goes there?” he said. “Show yourself.”
There was movement on the other side of the hedge. A low, hulking figure slithered around the corner of the bristling greenery and came to a halt at the edge of a patch of moonlight. He wore a many-tiered greatcoat that cloaked him from neck to ankle. A shapeless hat was pulled down over his face. He stood slanted and hunched, a walking stick in one hand.
“Forgive me if I am interrupting,” the stranger rasped in a bruised voice. “I assumed the two of ye had finished your business in the conservatory.”
Lavinia peered at the strange little man over Tobias’s shoulder. “Who are you, sir?”
“Mr. Nightingale, I presume?” Tobias did not take his eyes off the newcomer. “I was told you preferred to meet under cover of darkness.”
“Aye, sir, that I do. Darkness offers a cloak of privacy that is difficult to obtain in any other way.” Mr. Nightingale sketched a small bow. “A pleasure to meet ye both.”
“How did you get into this garden?” Lavinia asked. “Lady Stillwater maintains a small army of servants. I cannot imagine how you managed to slip past them.”
“On a night such as this, with so many people coming and going, it was quite a simple matter to get past the footmen at the front door. Rest assured, I do not intend to stay long.” He chuckled hoarsely at some private joke. “I have no great interest in dancing.”
“What do you want with us?” Tobias asked.
“Rumor has it that ye are looking for a certain artifact.”
“To be precise, we are looking for the person who murdered a woman in order to steal the artifact,” Lavinia said.
Mr. Nightingale made a lumpy movement that was no doubt intended to be a shrug. “Either way, ye’re looking for the Blue Medusa, are ye not?”
“Well, yes,” Lavinia agreed. “If we discover it, we’ll no doubt learn the identity of the killer. Can you help us?”
“I’ve got no interest in murderers, although I wish ye well in your hunt,” Mr. Nightingale said. “Generally speaking, murder is bad for me business. Oh, I’ll admit that it does add a bit of spice now and again and sometimes drives up the prices in certain quarters. But unfortunately, it can just as often lower them. There are any number of clients who get nervous when there’s murder involved, ye see.”
“What is your interest in the bracelet?” Tobias asked.
“Have ye heard of a small, very exclusive club known as the Connoisseurs?” Mr. Nightingale asked softly.
Lavinia inhaled sharply, a small, startled gasp. But she kept silent.
“We know of it,” Tobias said. “What does it have to do with this case?”
“The number of members is limited. Openings occur rarely. They come about only when a member dies, quits, or is tossed out of the club. Competition to join the club is fierce.”
“Go on,” Tobias said.
“As it happens,” Mr. Nightingale continued softly, “such an opening has existed for a year now and word has gone out that it will at last be filled. Rumor has it that the Connoisseurs is accepting applications.”
“Prospective members must present an artifact for the club’s private museum of curiosities, I believe,” Tobias said. “The person whose offering is judged the most suitable will be admitted to the club.”
“You are well informed, Mr. March.” Nightingale nodded approvingly. “The Keeper of the club’s museum makes the final decision, and the deadline for applications is less than a fortnight away.”
“You think the Blue Medusa will appeal to the Keeper, is that it?” Tobias asked.
“The Keeper is known to have a strong preference for British-Roman antiquities. They say he has a passion for ’em.” Mr. Nightingale shook his head. “Don’t understand it meself. Most collectors of a truly discriminating nature prefer relics from the ancient ruins abroad. Hard to compare a cameo found in some English farmer’s field with a fine statue discovered in Pompeii, if you ask me. But there ye have it. Each to his own, I suppose.”
“Given the Keeper’s personal preference for artifacts discovered in England,” Lavinia said, “the Blue Medusa would suffice nicely as a membership offering for the club’s private museum.”
“Aye.” Mr. Nightingale’s eyes gleamed briefly in the deep shadow of his shapeless hat. “I believe it’s fair to say that whoever presents it to the Keeper will be admitted to the Connoisseurs.”
“What precisely is your interest in the bracelet?” Tobias asked. “Thinking of applying for admission?”
“Me?” Nightingale gave his raw laugh again, as if Tobias had said something vastly entertaining. “I’ve no wish to join a fancy club. My interest is in the money to be made in the process. I intend to hold a very private auction, ye see. I will invite only certain exclusive persons to bid.”
“Persons who are anxious to join the Connoisseurs and will pay whatever it takes to obtain the relic that will ensure admission, is that it?” Tobias asked.
“Precisely,” Mr. Nightingale said.
“Assuming we find the bracelet,” Tobias said, “why the devil should we turn it over to you?”
“I hear ye’re a man of business, sir. I’m offering a business proposition. If ye and your associate here turn up the bracelet, I am prepared to pay ye a handsome fee.”
“I’m afraid it will be quite impossible for us to turn the bracelet over to you,” Lavinia said briskly.
Tobias cleared his throat. “Uh, Lavinia—”
“If we should happen to locate it,” she continued, “we would be obliged to return it to its rightful owner.”
“Who will soon be dead, according to the rumors I’ve heard.” Mr. Nightingale snorted softly. “Where he’s going, I doubt he’ll have any need of it.”
“That doesn’t mean that you have any right to steal it from his estate,” Lavinia snapped.
Tobias tried again. “Lavinia, I think you’ve said enough.”
“I’m not talking about stealing the bloody bracelet,” Mr. Nightingale growled. “I’m discussing a business proposition.”
Lavinia raised her chin and looked down her nose at Nightingale. The little man was, Tobias thought, one of the few people in the world whom she could look down at, given her own stature.
“My associate and I do not engage in illicit bargains of the sort you are describing,” she said coldly. “Is that not correct, Mr. March?”
“It might be possible to fulfill our commission and engage in a legal bargain that is profitable for all concerned,” Tobias said carefully.
Lavinia and Mr. Nightingale both looked at him.
“Just how do you intend to accomplish that?” Lavinia demanded.
“I’m not certain yet,” he admitted. “But giv
en the amount of money at stake in this affair, I fully expect inspiration to strike at some point.”
Mr. Nightingale gargled. “A man after me own heart, ye are, sir. Not one to let a golden opportunity slip through your fingers, are ye?”
“Not if I can help it,” Tobias said. “Given that you have asked for our assistance, I have a few questions for you.”
“What sort of questions?”
“Have you heard any rumors at all about the mesmerist’s wife?”
“The lady who was murdered in this affair?” Mr. Nightingale moved his twisted frame in a negative motion. “They say she conspired with her lover to steal the bracelet. Some say that when the deed was done, he strangled her and took the damned thing. Others say her husband followed her to the rendezvous that night and murdered her. Either way the antiquity has vanished. That is all I know.”
Tobias watched him. “But the Medusa has not come up for sale on the underworld market or else you would not be seeking our assistance.”
“Ye have the right of it, sir,” Mr. Nightingale said. “Been no rumors of the damned thing being offered for sale. None at all.”
“Doesn’t that strike you as odd?” Tobias asked.
Mr. Nightingale squinted in the shadows. “Odd?”
Lavinia glanced at Tobias. “Why do you find it strange?”
“Given the value of the Medusa in certain quarters, I would have expected the killer to contact a man of business in the antiquities line, a professional such as Mr. Nightingale here, as swiftly as possible. One would think that the villain would be anxious to turn a profit immediately.”
“Perhaps the thief is waiting until the furor over the murder fades,” Lavinia suggested.
“But holding on to the bracelet puts him at great risk,” Tobias said. “It is dangerous to keep it in his possession, because it is evidence of a murder that could send him to the gallows.”
Lavinia contemplated that briefly. “You have a point. Furthermore, the killer is no doubt aware by now that we are looking for him. One would, indeed, think that he would want to get rid of the Medusa as swiftly as possible.”
