“Like who?”
“Mr. Hamilton?” he said in a keep-up way, with a small shake of his head.
She didn’t have to put up with this. “That’s none of your business.”
“I’m your cousin; I think that entitles me to ensure that the men courting you are indeed worthy of you.”
Shea snorted—a brief image of her cousins peeing on her parent’s lawn when they were children crossed her mind. “Yeah right.”
He looked serious though, and she took a small step back.
“He likes you,” Daley said.
Well, duh. That’s what he was paid for, right? She scoffed.
Daley shook his head. “Not because he’s being paid too—he likes you.”
Shea pulled her chin back. Had her thoughts been that obvious? What was she supposed to say to that? He quirked a brow waiting for her response.
“Is this an actor thing? One of the women isn’t being as receptive as they should be so you all work together to ambush her?” she asked.
He dropped his hands to his hips. “If you’ll remember, you’re the one who dragged me over here.”
Oh, right.
He leaned forward. “And what do you mean—”
“Mr. Daley,” Miss Gray called from behind Shea.
Shea turned as the woman approached, eyes fastened on Daley.
“You don’t care for Miss Gray,” Daley said, before the woman reached them.
It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t answer, or say anything.
“She’s not that bad. I think you’d take to her if you gave her a shot. Maybe you could invite her to the movie night you’re having?”
Shea flushed. He had heard her and Cross talking about that then. And he wasn’t supposed to be talking about movies. Hamilton had just about flipped when she’d said “band-aid” instead of “plaster.” Was there not a single rule Daley obeyed?
“It’s not my party,” Shea snarled, just before Miss Gray approached.
“I was starting to get lonely.” The woman swiveled her hips.
I bet you were. Shea narrowed her eyes. She’d tried to be level headed about her before, but Shea had no doubts that Gray had played part in the bag popping. These two were crazy. Not that her glare mattered—Gray only had eyes for Daley.
“We can’t have that. I apologize.” He looked at Shea. “I was just comforting my dear cousin in her hour of need. You see, it’s as you guessed. She is fond of Mr. Hamilton, but isn’t sure he feels the same way.”
Shea’s jaw dropped, and she whipped her gaze to Daley. He was smirking again. Bastard! She was vaguely aware that Miss Gray was now looking at her, but couldn’t care less. What right did he have to start that kind of story? One that she would now have to live by. She saw red.
“Oh, Miss Shea,” Miss Gray patted her arm, it didn’t burn as Shea might have expected, “you’ve no need to worry on that count. He likes you, I can tell. And I am somewhat of an expert in the field of relationships.”
Right, that’s why you’re here.
“I’m sure Cousin Elizabeth would love to hear all about it,” Daley said. “Actually, she was just telling me that she, Miss Cross, and Miss Smith are having a slumber-party tonight. She wants you to come. She worried you might not accept.”
Shea let out a little gasp. Had he just invited that woman to her slumber party—her baby-sitting-detail slumber party?
“Really?” Miss Gray said with a smile, but it was a fake one. “Well, I—” She was trying to think of an excuse out of it.
Shea willed her to succeed. Anything. I’ll take anything. You’re washing your hair, oh, too bad. You need to rearrange your trunk? Well, maybe next time. You can do this.
“And I was just telling her how much you’d wanted to get to know the rest of the ladies,” Mr. Daley continued, still addressing Gray.
Miss Gray’s gaze flew to Daley as well. Miss Gray’s expression became pleasant so fast that Shea couldn’t be positive, but she’d thought the woman had looked disappointed.
“Is this not the perfect solution?” Daley rubbed his hands together.
Shea scowled at him, but couldn’t help but be a little impressed. He’d just railroaded them both, and there was nothing either of them could do about it without breaking regency rules on manners. But Shea decided she was going to have the last word on the matter.
Turning to Gray, she smiled as warmly as she could. She just hoped it didn’t make her look weird. She wasn’t in the habit of smiling warmly. “It’ll be so much fun!”
“Well…” Gray glanced between Shea and Mr. Daley and shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“Impose?” Shea shook her head and took Miss Gray’s arm and led them back in the direction of the group. “Not at all. And besides, I have so many stories about Paddy from his childhood that I would just love to share with you.”
Miss Gray went with her. Daley followed them, with an amused, albeit surprised look on his face.
“Stories about Mr. Daley’s childhood?”
“Oh, many,” Shea said and thought of what would be the most shocking, if not sleazy thing a man could do during this period. It hit her just as the three of them reached the rest of the group. Being a womanizer. They all turned, eyes wide. Shocked, probably, that Shea was holding Gray’s arm. “For instance, he used to idolize Lord Byron. Would borrow money from me to buy all Lord Byron’s works. My poor aunt didn’t know what to make of it, but he insisted on reading them all. Repeatedly. No wonder he’s so popular with the ladies now. It’s just what he always wanted. He’s learned to speak with the devil’s tongue.”
Miss Smith gasped, and Miss Cross had to cover her mouth to stifle a giggle. The men looked quite taken aback as did Miss Gray. Shea guessed they’d never faced a situation like this before and for some reason, it made her proud. Reading her little rule booklet at night was more helpful than she’d imagined. Accusing Daley of not only having borrowed money from her but of having a desire to be like Lord Byron would not make him look good.
She glanced at Mr. Daley, expecting to see some embarrassment, annoyance or anger in his expression. There wasn’t any. He wasn’t smiling anymore, but his eyes were crinkled at the corners. Amused and something else that made her nervous. Okay, maybe she’d taken this too far. What if he tried to get her back again later?
Oh holy hell, he would! He would try and get her back later. She just turned this into a game.
“You know me so well, cousin, even after all these years,” he said making and holding eye contact.
Miss Gray went to him, and trailed her hand down his arm, then whispered something that made his eyes bulge a little. He returned his gaze to Shea’s. She couldn’t quite read his expression, but it made her want to run away. And hide. Hide somewhere away away. Somewhere he could never find her. She was so dead.
Shea cleared her throat and turned to Miss Cross. “Miss Gray would like to join us tonight if that’s all right with you ladies?”
Miss Cross didn’t even bother trying to hide her annoyance. Miss Gray didn’t seem to be paying her too much attention, now caught up in Mr. Daley. Maybe she liked the idea of him being like Lord Byron—whoever he was. His name had just been randomly mentioned in scandalous topics and behavior to be avoided. Maybe she’d ask Lee when she called him later.
Miss Smith, her innate good manners being her guiding force, was quick to respond. “It’d be a delight to have you join us.”
Chapter Ten
“I can’t believe you invited that woman to our movie night!” Cross waved her arms theatrically in front of her as they made their way upstairs for the night.
Actors. Shea grinned.
The others, including Miss Gray, had stayed behind, but Gray had promised to catch up. Thankfully, Cross didn’t sound as angry as she’d looked earlier.
“I didn’t invite her,” said Shea. “It was Mr. Daley. He ambushed us.”
“Did he now?” Miss Cross
shook her head, but seemed more amused than angry.
“Yes,” Shea insisted. “The man is contemptible. He was so smooth about it; there was nothing we could do to back out of it without coming off rude.”
“Maybe he just thinks we should learn to get along,” Miss Smith said. “We’re all stuck together here for another twelve days. We might as well try.”
Miss Cross shook her head, making the blond curls at the back of head bounce. “You do realize that we are in for one of the most awkward nights of our lives, right?”
“Oh stop,” Miss Smith said, stopping in front of her door at the top of the stairs. “It won’t be that bad, besides we’ll be watching a movie. If it goes badly, we can just pretend we’re really into the movie and then fall asleep fast after.”
Goodness, Miss Smith was optimistic. It was endearing, despite the fact that she had to agree with Miss Cross. This evening was going to be a pain.
Twenty minutes later, changed and ready for the night, Cross and Smith came to Shea’s room. She stepped into the hall to let them in. Miss Smith carried a pillow and a CD case. She ran for the bed and jumped on the bed—her red braid flew behind her as she went.
“No Miss Gray?” Cross sashayed in.
“Not yet.” Shea shrugged.
Taking her cue from Miss Smith, Cross flopped on the bed as though she were about to start doing snow angels. Shea smiled and shook her head. She started to close the door behind her when a flirty laugh floated down the hall. She stepped back into the hall and peered down five doors, to where Mr. Daley’s room was.
He stood in his door with his hand up against the jamb, he was still in his knickerbockers, but his shoes and socks were gone, exposing a light dusting of blond hair on his legs. His fluffy cravat was gone too. While he still wore his shirt, it was unbuttoned down to the center of his chest. He seemed so exposed that she almost wanted to look away. She would have too if Miss Gray hadn’t been standing just outside his door, in her nightgown, with her hand on his chest—the bare part. There was no way that was Regency appropriate.
Shea put her hands on her hips and cleared her throat. Their heads turned, and it was then that she remembered she was also in her nightdress. While it covered quite a bit more than the jerseys she slept in at home, this place made her feel like she were walking around in racy lingerie. She crossed her hands over her chest.
Daley beamed. “Ah, see, the ladies are waiting for you, Miss Gray.”
He motioned to her, and Shea took the hint. “Yes, we’re just about to start our mov—uh, book.”
Miss Gray slid her hand down Daley’s chest in a suggestive manner then turned and strutted down the hall. With a small sneer, she passed Shea. Shameless. Shea stared down the hall, brow raised. Daley shrugged, a smile still in place, then shut his door with a click.
Miss Smith put North and South in the DVD player then hopped back on the bed.
“I know it wasn’t written during the Regency, but it’s close enough, right?” Miss Smith asked, blushing.
“Of course.” Cross draped an arm around the younger woman.
“Besides,” Miss Gray added, “it was written by an Elizabeth which is perfect considering that we have our own Elizabeth here.” She smiled at Shea who had the sudden urge to flee or to punch Miss Gray in the nose. The woman was making it incredibly difficult to like her.
She was still deciding on what course to take when Smith squealed. “Your name’s Elizabeth?” Smith hopped up and down on the bed.
Shea blanched. “Uh…yes?” It wasn’t that exciting, was it?
Miss Cross’s eyes widened. “Our very own Lizzie? How wonderful. I would love it if you all called me Savannah. I feel so stuffy being called Miss Cross all the time.”
“Oh, me too, I want to be called by my first name too. It’s Constance,” Smith said.
“What a lovely name,” Miss Gray said.
Shea was still reeling from being called Lizzie to say anything. Why Lizzie? What a stupid nickname. No one had ever called her anything but Elizabeth, but it’d been years. Now she was always referred to as Shea or Detective.
“I’m Erica,” Miss Gray said. “Won’t the men folk be so surprised to see how far we’ve come tomorrow when we’re all calling each other by our first names?”
“I think they might be downright shocked,” Cross said. It had a hint of sarcasm in the tone, and when Miss Gray turned her attention back to Shea, Miss Smith elbowed her.
“What do you think, Lizzie?” Gray asked.
“Elizabeth.” If they insisted on using first names, she absolutely refused to be called Lizzie, or Liz, or Beth or any other variational nickname. It was Elizabeth or nothing.
“As you wish, Elizabeth,” Gray said. “Won’t your cousin be pleased?”
Shea had no doubt that he would be and she was not looking forward to it. She wondered if this was some kind of preemptive attack. “Yeah, yeah, he’ll be tickled pink. Let’s get this show started.”
As soon as the movie started, any awkwardness there’d been left. Shea even had the novelty of being able to enjoy it without having to worry about Cross being down the hall. It’d be easy to keep an eye on her when she was sleeping in the same bed. She might actually get some sleep tonight. Though, they were all in the same bed. Shea hadn’t noticed just how huge the bed was until they’d all settled on it with room to spare.
At least North and South was good. Beyond good. It was amazing. They weren’t even halfway through when she felt a strange sensation around her heart. Something akin to ice-melting. It wasn’t a feeling she was altogether comfortable with. But, Mr. Thornton was dreamy. She’d allow herself to swoon until the movie was over, and then she’d go right back to real life. Or at least Regencyland’s version of it.
Shea was hot. Melting. Her nightdress clung to her sweaty body, and she was trapped. Squirming under the covers, she managed to maneuver an extra inch of space. But she couldn’t figure out why she should need the space. She had a huge bed. She blinked her eyes open and closed several times before she was awake enough to figure out what was going on.
Oh, right. She was having a sleepover—and at some point during the night Cross had rolled over next to her.
Cross was pressed against the side of Shea, her arm across Shea’s chest, her head buried in Shea’s neck. Awkward. Moving slowly, Shea lifted her head from the pillow to look over Cross’s head at the other two sleeping women. Smith was on her stomach next to Cross and Gray was on her side with her back to them. Cross snuggled up closer, and Shea went stiff as a board.
Agh, no. She had to get out of here. It was too hot. Too close. Too personal. She was sweating buckets. She reached down and grabbed Cross’s arm and gently lifted it, then slid out from under her grasp and off the side of the bed. She grabbed her nightdress and pulled it in and out away from her chest to fan herself. Holy moly it was warm. She was too young for menopause, right?
She pulled her phone from under her mattress and checked the time. Almost three. A creaking floorboard in the hall caught her attention and she froze to listen. There was silence for another moment before another board creaked. She shoved her phone back under the mattress and tiptoed to the door.
She pressed her ear to the door—the muffled sound of conversation made the hair on the back of her neck raise. This wasn’t someone getting a midnight snack. Something was wrong. She opened her door and peered into the hall. Once sure it was clear, she stepped out, leaving her door open a crack behind her. As she tiptoed past several bedrooms and to the stairs, she could make out the distinct tones of a man and woman coming from downstairs.
“No, sir,” the woman said, then mumbled something Shea couldn’t hear followed by, “I was thorough.”
Thorough? While she’d been breaking into Cross’s room? Was that what she meant?
She stopped at the top of the stairs, straining to hear. The man said something, but she couldn’t make out what it was. Though the tone was familiar. It made her shiver.
/> “No, I won’t.” The woman whimpered and then several moments later, “You’re too kind, sir.”
The conversation ended with the sounds of retreating footsteps, one set heading in her direction, and fast. A dark shadow of a man ascended the stairs. She stepped back; she’d never make it to her room in time. She ran down the hall in the opposite direction of her room, and to the stairwell to the third floor. She stepped onto the first step at the same moment that the footsteps landed on the second floor. The footfalls turned toward her, muffled by the carpet runner down the hall, but fast and strong. She held her breath and backed into the shadows.
In two strides the man was past the stairwell, and opening a door at the end of the hall. She didn’t move until she heard the click of the door shutting behind him.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the stairwell and dashed to her room. The hall hadn’t been so dark that she couldn’t easily distinguish who the man had been. His height and build, the way he’d held himself, and more than anything else his strong, handsome profile, and the glint of light from the window down the hall on his salt and pepper hair.
Mr. Hamilton.
Chapter Eleven
A knock on the door startled all the women in Shea’s bed awake. Groans and moans sounded as Shea sat bolt upright. She squinted at the clock by her bed. Seven. Time to get up. Between Cross hogging space and the secret conversation she’d heard, she hadn’t slept well, at all. This assignment was going to be the death of her.
A second knock reminded her why she was awake.
Cross draped an arm over her eyes at the same time that Smith sat up and stretched above her head. Gray didn’t move, didn’t make any indication whatsoever that she’d heard a thing. If it hadn’t been for the slow up and down movement of her chest, Shea might have thought she was dead. No such luck.
That wasn’t very charitable. Whatever, it’s early.
Shea forced herself up and to the door. The cool surface of the wood floor on her feet was jarring in contrast to the stuffiness of the room. She could do this—get through the day. She normally got up by five.
Regencyland- The Bristle Park Murders Page 7
