Devon raised his gaze to her face. “The domino doesn’t cover your lips. I assure you, any man who’s ever danced with you will remember that delicious mouth.”
He leaned forward and kissed her. Caroline felt the familiar ache fill her. Half sighing, she disengaged herself and pushed him away. “There isn’t time, and you’ll muss my costume. Don’t forget that Jeanette had to all but sew me into it.”
“All the easier to strip it off when we’re alone later.”
She gave a nervous giggle at the rapt, hungry expression on Devon’s face. Her husband was incorrigible. Now that he’d finally decided to explore the pleasures of lovemaking with her, he didn’t seem to think of anything else.
She made her voice severe. ‘We’re supposed to catch a murderer this night, Devon. Not plan tête-a-tête for later in the evening.”
He nodded and turned back to the glass to straighten his cravat. Caroline indulged herself in admiring her husband. He was dressed as a pirate, albeit a very elegant one. With a black patch over one eye and a gleaming gold earring in one ear, he looked deliciously rakish.
“I still say you should be costumed as Poseidon, God of the Sea,” she teased. “We’d go together much better then.”
He raised a dark brow. “I hardly see how I could maintain my dignity dressed in a short tunic and carrying a trident.”
“Such a weapon might be useful if you are forced to confront a murderer.” Caroline suppressed a smile at the idea of her husband skewering one of their guests with the forked end of a trident.
He moved toward her. “Anyway, it’s very appropriate that I masquerade as a pirate. As I recall, mermaids were renowned for luring the poor bastards to their doom.” He reached out and again played with her seashell bodice.
Caroline raised her hand to his lips. “Watch your language, sir. There’s a lady present.” She giggled again.
Devon’s eyes darkened as things once more threatened to slip from their control, and Caroline had a vision of the glittery mermaid costume bunched around her naked hips as this black-garbed pirate claimed her for his own.
The tantalizing image shattered with a knock at the door. “It’s time, sir. Carriages have begun to pull up to the house.”
Devon released her, and they both took a deep breath.
“Curtain time, my love,” he said. “Don’t forget your part. You’re not to leave my side. If you want to use the necessary, I’ll find Jeanette and have her accompany you.”
Caroline nodded. Suddenly she was so nervous, she could scarcely breathe. Not only was there the murderer to worry about, but this was the first social event she and Devon had hosted as man and wife. Would their noble guests accept her, or would they whisper barbs behind her back?
She took a quick look in the glass, suddenly dubious about her costume. Was it not scandalously tight? Did the bodice reveal too much? And why had she decided to wear her hair in such an unfashionable, outrageous style?
“Caroline.” Devon’s voice was sharp. She guessed he thought about the tense night ahead of them.
“I’m coming,” she said. It was too late to change now. She would have to play her part as best she could.
~ ~ ~
“The honorable Lord Dunston and his countess, Lady Elizabeth, Sir Michael Haversham...” The butler’s voice droned on as the titled and elegant guests arrived. Devon had asked Walters to do the honors of announcing their guests. Ginter would serve as majordomo in the ballroom, so he would have more freedom to observe the partygoers.
When Devon had explained to Ginter that he and Caroline had set a trap for the murderer, the taciturn manservant had become remarkably animated. He vowed the villain would not get past him, and if he discovered the wretch, he could not be held responsible for the condition the man would be in when the authorities arrived.
Devon was relieved to have another pair of eyes watching Caroline. He had also informed Jeremy, Bob, and Stryker of his plan, and the three men were positioned at various locations in the public rooms of the town house. Pennington was still too weak and unsteady on his feet to serve as guard, but when Devon informed him of the danger to Caroline, the man offered to sit and watch from the landing above the staircase leading down to the ballroom.
Devon took a deep breath as he bowed to the Dowager Lady Hatfield. Everything was in place. If only the murderer would show himself.
Beside him, Caroline curtsied to Lord Hatfield. Devon felt a muscle in his jaw twitch at the sight of the stout, red-faced lord leering at Caroline’s bosom. What a trial it was going to be to have all the men ogling his bewitching wife. He should never have allowed her to appear as a mermaid. Her costume was entirely too provocative.
Although, he had to admit, it was hardly worse than what some of the other women were wearing. Wood nymphs dressed in diaphanous, nearly transparent gowns, Greek goddesses with their shoulders bare, French courtesans with beauty patches highlighting the ample cleavage above their old fashioned, wasp-waist gowns—the ladies of society had taken this masquerade party as an opportunity for the scandalous display of their charms.
The men’s costumes appeared much more restrained. Devon saw knights in armor, soldiers from various eras, strange beasts, and apparitions. Some of the costumes were humorously appropriate. Potbellied Lord Wendover made a delightful bear. Stern-faced, slight Colonel Jasperson was perfect as a strutting, dandified Napoleon. And in the line behind the Hatfields, Christian Faraday grinned wickedly in a red satin devil costume.
“I say, Dev,” Christian remarked when he reached the front of the line. “Looks to me you’ve done well for yourself.” He cast a lascivious look toward Caroline. “I always said she was a delicious piece, but gads, man, I had no idea...”
“Keep your hands to yourself,” Devon warned. “I have no intention of sharing.”
Christian grinned at him. “So, it’s like that, is it? Well, I envy you, Dev. I wish I could find a woman I cared enough about to have my jealousy aroused.”
“You’re not looking in the right places,” Devon advised. “Cyprians and actresses seldom inspire true love.”
Christian shook his head. “Your marriage is a fluke. I should probably resign myself to wedding some squint-eyed frigid heiress and get it over with. Trouble is, I can’t stay sober long enough to manage the deed.”
Devon regarded his friend searchingly. Christian did look a trifle hagged these days. The whites of his brilliant blue eyes were laced with red and his complexion had a sickly pallor. Too much money and too little purpose were taking their toll.
“Why don’t you come up to Darton Park for the Christmas season,” Devon offered. “Some fresh air and exercise would do you good.”
“And fresh-faced country lasses?” Christian jibed. “I haven’t had one of those in some time. I’ll think on it, Dev. London promises to be a bore until the Season starts. You might ask Harberry up, too,” he gestured to the elaborately attired harlequin coming up the stairs. “Quentin’s become utterly grim and dull these days. He needs something to liven him up.”
Devon promised to invite Harberry. Christian gave him an exaggerated bow and passed into the ballroom.
“Quentin Harberry, baronet of Shefield,” the butler intoned as the tall, blond man dressed in a costume of contrasting silver and black stepped forward.
Devon reached out to clasp his friend’s hand. “How goes it, Quentin?”
“Well, of course,” Harberry answered. “Looks like a splendid party, Dev.” He leaned close. “I see I wasn’t wrong about your plans for old Beaumont. Now that he’s gone, you can live the life you were meant for.”
Devon frowned at his friend’s remark. Before he could respond, Quentin turned to Caroline and bowed low over her hand. “Pleasure to see you again, madam.” As he brought her hand gallantly to lips, he whispered some private remark to her. Caroline’s eyes widened in surprise, and Devon experienced a sudden jealousy.
He was saved from responding by the need to greet the next person
in line. Lady Fortescue smiled coyly at him then dipped into a graceful curtsy. She was dressed as Queen Elizabeth, complete with massive farthingale and an ornate stomacher cut so low it revealed her rouged nipples.
Dragging his eyes away from her bountiful cleavage, Devon met her seductive look with one of polite disinterest. She was obviously on the hunt for a new lover, and he wanted to be certain she knew he wasn’t available.
At his subtle snub, Diana Fortescue’s painted lips twisted into a mocking smile. She cast a sneering look at Caroline and said, “When you tire of your cheap little cit, Devon, remember that there are real ladies available.”
The malice in her voice inspired a new thought in Devon’s mind. What if a woman was behind the murders? While the actual crimes had clearly been committed by a man, a woman could have hired the killer.
But what would any woman gain by having Merton Beaumont killed? The merchant’s death had made Devon a rich man, but he remained married to Caroline.
Devon glanced at his wife. Only if Caroline were out of the way could anyone imagine they could gain a hold over him, and her money. And if Caroline were killed in a way that made him look responsible, the true murderer would have the means to blackmail him the rest of his life.
He tried to shake off the thought as he bowed and smiled at the late arrivals.
The stream of people climbing the stairway dwindled, and Devon and Caroline were able to join their guests in the ballroom, where the festivities were well underway. The orchestra had begun to play and the young ladies were filling up their dance cards. Devon kept his hand firmly on Caroline’s arm. She would dance with no one but him.
“Lovely party, Lady Northrup.” Elijah Hopper bowed low before Caroline, looking rather ridiculous in a Roman centurion costume, she thought. “I must admit I was surprised to receive an invitation.” He glanced meaningfully toward the bejeweled assemblage. “It’s not often that I’m received in the same circles as dukes and earls.”
“I’m certain my father would have wished for you to be here,” Caroline answered. “I know he considered you invaluable to his business.”
“Did he?” Hopper gave her a quizzical look.
“Of course. He depended upon you to make sure that the shipping operations were carried out as efficiently as possible.”
“That’s kind of you to say, my lady. I respected your father a great deal.” He bowed again. “Your servant, countess.”
“Do you think he can be trusted?” Devon asked quietly as Hopper walked off to fetch some wine.
“I’m not certain. I know my Father once said that he was more ambitious than he looked.”
“Ambitious? Do you think he might have been dissatisfied with his role in the business? That he wished your father out of the way?”
Caroline shook her head. “There is something sly about him, but I can’t imagine him as the murderer. He always appears so meek and deferential. And I don’t think he’s strong enough to break a man’s neck.”
“But he might be the murderer’s accomplice. As your father’s assistant, he would have been aware of Beaumont’s habits. He could have arranged the meeting at the Crown and Crumpet.”
Caroline sighed. “I wish my father were here,” She gave Devon a rueful look. “It’s an absurd thought, I know. But he was always such an excellent judge of men’s characters. He could watch a group of stevedores or lumpers unloading a ship and tell you which ones were most likely to steal the cargo. He could spot a thief in seconds.”
“Obviously, he wasn’t so astute at detecting murderers,” Devon observed.
The festivities continued. Devon waltzed twice with Caroline, and even enjoyed himself, despite the tension he felt.
Several men begged dances of Caroline. She refused them all, giving the excuse that as hostess, she couldn’t allow herself to be monopolized by any one guest.
As the evening wore on, Devon’s friends from the clubs attempted to drag him off for cards, cigars and port in the drawing room, or simply private conversation. He put them off as jovially as possible, reminding them that he was still a newlywed and too besotted with his wife to leave her side. This remark aroused looks of amusement, jealousy, and frank disbelief.
“I say, Dev,” Christian exclaimed, “the term ‘leg-shackled’ is supposed to be an exaggeration. You appear to take it literally. I don’t think you’ve left your fair wife’s side the entire evening. Beg pardon, ma’am,” he added to Caroline, “I mean no offense, but surely you’re tired of the wretch.” He gave her a sweet little-boy grin. “Let us take Dev off your hands for a time. We promise to take good care of him. If he so much as dares to kiss another lady’s hand, we’ll drag him into the library and pour brandy down his throat until he repents of his sins.”
Caroline smiled. What outrageous friends Devon had. She expected lords to be stuffy and proper. Christian Faraday was anything but. She had the feeling that there was absolutely nothing the earl wouldn’t do or say if the stakes were high enough.
Shefield was more subtle, but not much. He’d surprised her in the receiving line by making the scandalous suggestion that if she ever wanted to take a lover, he would be eager for the role.
Of course, it had been idle, foolish flattery. She was sophisticated enough to realize that. At this moment, he was spinning more nonsense. “I think you’re mistaken,” he said to Christian. “It’s not that Lady Northrup wants to keep an eye on her husband. It’s the other way around. Devon’s simply livid with jealousy these days. Like a dog with a juicy bone. See—” Quentin placed his hand on Caroline’s arm very deliberately. “All I have to do is this... and fire nearly shoots out of his eyes.”
Devon started to protest then laughed. “All right. You’ve made your point!”
Caroline felt a sudden wistful ache inside her chest. How many times had she seen her husband appear as easy and carefree as he did at this moment? He always seemed to be holding back, wary and somber.
That thought decided her. “Your plan sounds excellent,” she told Christian. “Take my husband away and make certain he enjoys himself. I’ll concern myself with the rest of our guests.”
“Caroline,” Devon warned, his expression abruptly tense again. “I don’t think—”
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “Nothing’s going to happen. Most of the guests have left already.” She waved with her hand, indicating that he should leave her.
“I’ll be happy to escort Lady Northrup in your absence,” Shefield said gallantly. He took her arm. “What would you like to do, my sweet one?”
Caroline could see that Devon was torn. His eyes revealed his reluctance to leave her with Shefield as her escort. Christian had to all but drag him out of the ballroom.
As soon as the other men left, she turned to Shefield. “If you don’t mind, I think I would like something to eat. I haven’t had more than a glass of wine all evening, and I’m feeling a little lightheaded.”
Shefield bowed to her. “Allow me to wait on you, madam. I’ll fill your plate with the choicest delicacies. Unlike your brute of a husband, I don’t believe in allowing my lady companions to starve.”
Shefield led her into the supper room, where the remains of an extravagant repast filled a long table. He gestured to several dishes and the footman filled a silver plate with poached salmon, ham, lobster, and anchovy tarts. Guiding Caroline to a small table in the corner, Shefield bade her sit, then placed the plate of food before her. “Some wine, madam?” he asked.
Knowing that the wine was being poured in the ballroom and remembering Devon’s admonishment that she should not be alone for a moment, Caroline shook her head. “Actually, I should prefer some ratafia.” She gestured to the table of lighter beverages set up in the corner.
Again, Shefield bowed extravagantly and went to get her drink. Caroline turned her attention to the plate before her. She really was hungry. She would have to restrain herself from gobbling her food. Her escort appeared to have such refined sensibilities; he would
be appalled by a woman who ate like a ravenous street urchin.
Shefield returned carrying her drink. He set it on the table and sat across from Caroline. “I won’t belabor you with conversation while you’re eating,” he said. “I’ll simply sit here and drink my wine. The slightest gesture from you will summon my attendance.”
Caroline nodded gratefully, her mouth full of food. She ate as daintily as she could, then reached for the ratafia. She took a deep swallow then glanced self-consciously at Shefield. He smiled and lifted his own glass, implying that she should drink up. The lobster had made her thirsty, and she drank most of the ratafia.
The worst of her hunger sated, Caroline sat back and regarded her escort. Try as she might she couldn’t quell the notion that there was something sinister about him. It must have be the effect of the black domino that covered his eyes, concealing their expression.
Shefield was merely being attentive, she told herself as the odd feeling of unease persisted. The man was a scandalous flirt. Remembering his earlier proposition, Caroline wondered if the viscount didn’t go a little too far in his flattery. Perhaps she should speak to Devon about his friend’s manners sometime.
She finished the ratafia and had a few more bites of food. Despite her earlier hunger, her stomach felt unsettled. She pushed the plate away and sat back in her chair.
“Feeling better?” Shefield asked.
“Much. But if you don’t mind, I would like to sit here a few more minutes.”
Just a moment, and she would return to her duties as hostess in the ballroom. Most of their guests must have left by now. The supper room was deserted. The only ones left were she, Shefield and the one footman. The servant wasn’t one who was familiar to her. Probably someone that Walters had hired especially for the occasion.
Heavens, but she felt lightheaded! Whoever was mixing the ratafia in the kitchen had clearly added liqueur by mistake. She thought it had tasted very strong.
Devil's Own Bargain (London Lords) Page 14
