by Shelley Gray
“I-I don’t know.”
Concern crossed his face as he picked up one of her gloved hands. “Why not?”
She didn’t have an answer for that. Her mouth went dry as she attempted to think of something to say. Of any excuse to explain her skittishness.
But nothing was coming to mind.
Suddenly, the man in the ill-fitting tuxedo—the one who must indeed be Mr. Ryan—appeared. “Miss Carstairs, are you all right?”
Quentin scowled as he got to his feet. “Detective, be off. This is a private conversation.”
After looking at her for a long moment, the detective turned to Quentin and replied, “I beg your pardon, sir, but your father was asking for you. I told him I’d find you.”
“What did he want?”
“I couldn’t say, sir. Only that I told him I’d convey his message.” Looking then directly at her, Detective Ryan said, “Sir, it appears Miss Carstairs has gotten overheated. Since you are needed elsewhere, I’ll escort her outside.”
Quentin eyed him with a decidedly haughty glare. “Detective, you seem to be mistaken about your assigned duties here. My father hired you to make sure the women are safe here, not to interfere in my business.”
“I understand exactly what my duties are. Sir.” To Eloisa’s surprise, the detective didn’t look cowed in the slightest. Instead, he looked relaxed, almost at ease. But his eyes never left hers. “Miss Carstairs, would you care to take a breath of fresh air?”
Feeling both men’s gazes, Eloisa knew there was only one real choice. The proper, correct thing to do would be to stay with Quentin. She’d known him for years, he was hosting the party, and nothing would make her parents happier than for her to spend time with him.
If she left with the detective, eyebrows would be raised and questions would be asked.
However, she had recently learned that the best decision wasn’t always the obvious one. She had also learned that feeling safe was something not to be taken for granted.
Therefore, she stood as gracefully as she could on unsteady feet. “Thank you so much, Detective. I would enjoy taking a turn outside, especially since Quentin has been called away.”
Quentin edged forward, just as if he feared she would actually make a social faux pas and take the policeman’s arm. “Eloisa, I will escort you wherever you wish.”
She inched closer to the detective. “Please don’t trouble yourself.”
“It would be no trouble.” His speech was clipped, his tone hard.
Almost frightening.
With effort she kept her smile in place. “But I would feel terrible if I monopolized your company, especially since your father summoned you.” Before Quentin could say another word, she turned to Detective Ryan. “Are you sure you don’t mind escorting me out to one of the balconies? I really am in need of some fresh air.”
“I don’t mind at all.”
Then, before Quentin could protest again, she wrapped a hand around the policeman’s forearm as he led the way out of the alcove.
Quentin was most likely sputtering behind them, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was that she felt safe with this man. And, with luck, he would even find a way for her to get home before she burst into tears.
When they were halfway to the balcony doors, the detective looked down at her. “By the way, my name is Lieutenant Detective Sean Ryan, miss. We’ve met before.”
Though she had already recognized him, his words brought back a rush of memories she had tried very hard to forget. “Yes. Um, I remember. The Sloane . . . matter. You were one of the officers who asked me questions about the family.” Smoothing a faltering smile, she said, “Would you mind terribly if I acted like I know you better than I do? I don’t want anyone to suspect that we’re not acquainted.”
A shadow entered his eyes. “I wouldn’t mind that at all, Miss Carstairs.”
She noticed that her walk with the handsome Detective Ryan was earning her a few curious looks, but Eloisa figured the expressions of surprise could have as much to do with the fact that she was in attendance at the ball. She’d hardly been out in society in weeks.
It might have something to do with her expression too. For once she didn’t feel as if she were on the verge of tears. In fact, at the moment she couldn’t help but smile.
“We seem to be attracting quite a bit of attention,” Mr. Ryan said under his breath.
“I don’t mind.” Feeling daring, she tilted her chin up to gaze into his eyes. “Actually, I was relieved when you happened upon us. It was my good fortune that Mr. Gardner sent you on the hunt for Quentin.”
Looking a little sheepish, he said, “I’m afraid I made that up. When I saw Mr. Gardner lead you into the alcove, I noticed . . . Forgive me, but you didn’t look entirely comfortable.”
“I see.” She was embarrassed now. If this detective noticed how ill at ease she was, perhaps others had noticed as well.
He looked at her in a searching way. “Was Mr. Gardner making improper advances?”
“No.” When he raised his eyebrows, she flushed, realizing that she had answered fairly quickly. “At least, I don’t think so.” She bit her lip before continuing. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m a ninny.”
“Never that. But perhaps I will allow that you seem a bit nervous?”
“I sometimes have a difficult time being alone with men.”
Even her kid gloves and his layers of clothing couldn’t hide the fact that the muscles lining his forearm tensed. “Do I make you nervous?”
“No. I mean, I don’t believe so.” Embarrassed again, she dropped her hand.
They were at the outside doors now. The Gardners’ ballroom had two sets of white French doors that opened to a wide balcony. The breeze that beckoned them was bracing. Exactly what she needed to get her bearings.
After they stepped out onto the expanse, she noticed two other couples outside as well. However, they were far enough away not to disturb her and Mr. Ryan’s privacy.
For the first time since she’d arrived at the Gardner house, Eloisa exhaled with relief as she turned and rested her back against the balcony’s railing. “Thank you again for your escort.”
He stepped to her side. “Care to tell me what has you worried?”
“It’s nothing.”
Facing the balcony, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the rail. “Sometimes it helps to talk about a fear.”
“You think so?”
He shrugged. “I think it can’t hurt.” After a pause, he added, “You might not know this, but police officers are very good at keeping secrets.”
“Even you?”
“Especially me.”
“I-I can’t seem to shake my fear of being in an enclosed space with a man.” She waited to feel a sense of relief, but it was proving as evasive as ever.
Now, as she felt the detective’s look become more intense, she wished she’d never said a word. Even though Reid Armstrong had told her he’d told the police a debutante of good character had been violated by Douglass Sloane, Eloisa never meant to actually speak of it. “I meant—”
“I understand.”
For some reason, she believed he did understand how she felt. Perhaps his professional experience gave him a sixth sense about how traumatic situations could damage one’s psyche.
Or perhaps he knew something of a more personal nature?
“I interviewed many people about the Sloane family, miss,” he said quietly. “As well as many people who were witnesses to Mr. Sloane’s behavior.”
He knew, she realized. Detective Ryan knew Douglass Sloane had raped her. She clutched the railing in a futile attempt to stop her hands from shaking. “I see.”
After a moment, he said, “I imagine your family has been a source of comfort during this time?”
She noticed that he’d somehow managed to make his statement sound like a question. And though it was tempting to lie, she found that she could not. “Not exactly.”
“Oh?�
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This line of conversation was too intimate. Too personal. She was tempted to point out his poor manners, but she didn’t dare. At the moment, she was even more frightened of being left alone than of being alone with him and answering his questions.
“I haven’t told them anything.”
He blinked. It was obvious she’d surprised him.
And just as obvious that he was a man unused to surprises.
Weighing her words slowly, she whispered, “My parents are not aware that anything is remiss. I mean, they are not aware of what happened with Douglass.”
“I see.” He swallowed. “Have you told anyone at all?”
“Only Mr. Reid Armstrong.”
“I see.” He said nothing else, letting Eloisa know that he, too, would never betray her confidence. Ironically, his effort made her want to share more. “Reid found me after . . . after the incident.”
“Ah.”
“Yes.”
He was still looking at her intently. “If you will forgive me for prying . . . Why haven’t you told your parents? Or anyone else? Why not even a girlfriend?”
“I’m afraid you don’t quite understand the propensity for gossip in my circle. I can’t let this . . . blemish my reputation.”
“If a man overstepped himself, it was his fault, not yours.” He still was gazing at her intently. “Never yours.”
His words made her shiver. And though she tried to tell herself the response was from the conversation, she had a feeling that was far from the truth. “Not in my world, Detective. May we please speak of something else now?” Now the whole conversation was making her uncomfortable, sparking feelings of pain and embarrassment. They flashed over her in waves, each image that came to mind threatening to overwhelm her.
“As you wish.”
“Thank—”
“But if I may be so forward, I hope you have asked for the Lord’s help.”
“Do you mean pray?”
The lines around his eyes eased as a hint of humor entered his gaze. “You look flummoxed. Is the notion so unfamiliar?”
“Perhaps.”
“Do you not believe in the power of prayer?”
“I haven’t found all that much comfort in prayers lately.”
Now he was the one who appeared taken aback, Eloisa realized. She very likely had just offended him. “I am sorry if I have spoken too freely.”
“Not at all.”
“Forgive me if I offended you.”
“You couldn’t.” His voice lowered. “I know we don’t know each other well.”
“Hardly at all,” she interjected. Though he already knew her better than most. He knew things about her almost no one else did.
“But if you ever do need to talk, you can always talk to me.”
“You?”
To her shame, his cheeks reddened. “I realize I’m not the type of companion you’re accustomed to, but as I said, I have been known to keep a secret.” He paused until she felt as if she had no alternative but to meet his gaze. “And there is also the fact that nothing you could tell me would scandalize me.”
His words were shocking. But even more appalling to her was the idea that she wasn’t dismissing his offer out of hand. “You sound certain about that.”
“I’ve been on the police force for years, Miss Carstairs. I’m afraid I’ve seen my fair share of shocking situations.”
Looking into his eyes, noticing how they were so dark yet so filled with emotion, Eloisa yearned to let down her guard. To throw caution to the wind and simply talk without worry of being judged. Or of having her worst nightmares bandied about as choice pieces of gossip.
But then the wind shifted, and she caught the scent of another woman’s perfume. Heard the lilting strains of the orchestra, the faint echo of crystal glasses clinking, and the refined echo of a toast.
And she remembered where she was—and who she was. She would find her parents’ friends, the ones who had brought her, and see if they, too, were ready to depart.
Pushing away from the banister, she faced him squarely. “I think not. Thank you again, Lieutenant, for coming to my aid. But I do believe I will join the party again.”
Whatever emotion she’d spied in his dark eyes was shuttered quickly. “Of course. Good evening.”
She’d just turned around when a woman’s shrill scream pierced the night air. After a second’s pause, more cries of alarm echoed from the garden below.
She’d just turned toward the stairs when Detective Ryan waylaid her. Gripping her shoulders with both hands, he pulled her to the side. “Stay here, Miss Carstairs,” he murmured. “Stay here where it’s safe.”
Then, just as abruptly, he turned on his heel and rushed toward the iron steps that led to the downstairs patio.
“But—”
He paused. “Promise me, Eloisa,” he ordered, his voice thick with emotion. “Promise me so I won’t have to worry about you.”
Only when she nodded did he rush down the stairs. She moved back to the railing so she could watch him. Perhaps even call out for him to be careful. But he was out of sight, beyond the candlelit patio, before she could utter another word.
Less than five minutes later, she heard more commotion from the garden. After a moment, she walked along the balcony until she saw a group of people below. Some servants had brought lanterns to where Detective Ryan stood in the middle, talking to Owen Howard. She couldn’t see their faces. Eloisa craned her neck, moving slightly to the side in an attempt to discover what everyone was staring at.
When the crowd parted, Eloisa gasped. She could just make out that Danica Webster was lying on the ground. Her gown was torn, and she seemed to be bleeding from several places on her face and neck. As a pair of elderly women peered over the railing as well, screamed, and then collapsed into their companions’ arms, Eloisa gripped the railing even tighter.
It seemed that even a police presence this evening hadn’t prevented another attack.
It took two hours to clear the scene. Sean and Owen had sent footmen for more officers and medical assistance. Miss Webster’s brother carried her to one of the Gardners’ private sitting rooms. There, she soon came to and was attended by a physician. Fortunately, as with the other victims, none of the attacker’s slashes had cut very deep. Only enough, Sean was sure, to leave scars that would never completely fade.
The doctor cleaned Danica’s wounds, stitched her up, and at last released her into her parents’ care.
While the young lady was being treated, Sean, Owen, and their supervisor, Captain Sawyer Keaton, interviewed everyone from the party they could while uniformed personnel managed the crowd and tried to interview servants.
It was a grueling, almost thankless undertaking for the police. All the servants had been too busy to do anything but their tasks at hand, and all the guests were so highbrow that they were easily offended by even the smallest hint of questioning. After his job and his character had been threatened for the tenth time, Sean knew his temper was brewing.
Their captain knew it too. “Go on back to the station, Ryan,” Keaton said. “Your attitude isn’t helping anything.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
Captain Keaton shrugged. “There’s a reason we have Detective Howard here. Owen is not merely decorative; he’s also of this class. Face it, Sean. He’s far better at soothing ruffled society feathers than you could ever hope to be.”
“I agree, sir.”
It was also frustrating to learn that, like the previous victims, Miss Webster had little to tell them about her attacker. And there didn’t seem to be any witnesses.
He was just about to take a hack back to the station when he noticed Eloisa standing off by herself. What was she still doing here? When the captain was pulled to one side by Mr. Gardner, Sean walked to Eloisa’s side.
“Miss Carstairs, are you all right?”
Pain and stress dimmed her clear blue eyes. “I suppose I must be. My friends . . . I was just considering ho
w to get home. Perhaps I should send for a driver . . .”
“May I have the honor of escorting you there?”
After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. “I would appreciate that very much, Lieutenant. I . . . Thank you.”
“I’ll be right back,” he murmured before returning to the captain’s side. “Captain, I’ll meet you back at the station. Miss Carstairs needs an escort home.”
The captain stared at him hard before shrugging. “Sure. That would be fine, Ryan. It’s going to be a long night for all of us no matter what.”
While Eloisa went to say her good-byes to Mrs. Gardner, Sean asked the butler for her cloak. Owen stepped to his side. “Did I just hear right? Are you really planning to escort Eloisa Carstairs home?”
“What I am doing is none of your concern.”
“I think it might be.”
“Then you are mistaken.”
Owen rocked back on his heels, a mocking smile playing on his lips. “Listen to you. So glacial. So proper. So much so, I can hardly hear the Irish in your speech.”
As jabs went, it hit right on the mark. However, it didn’t faze Sean at all. He was, indeed, Irish. Once more, he came from the area of Chicago most people tried to escape. But he’d always figured someone had to come from humble beginnings. And he’d never had cause to feel anything but love and affection for his family and old neighbors who still lived there. “Can’t be helping my accent, Owen,” he mocked, daring to make it a bit thicker than usual.
“And the rest of us can’t help but be aware of it. It marks you.”
“No harm there.”
“There is if you have developed an affection for the elusive Eloisa.”
It grated on Sean that Owen could speak her Christian name without censure, and half the assembled crowd acted as if he were not worthy of even breathing the same air she did.
“I’ll see you back at the precinct. Let me know if you need any assistance,” he said as Eloisa reappeared.
When she looked at him and smiled softly, he realized she was waiting for him to help her on with her cloak. Hoping his hands weren’t as clumsy as he feared, he retrieved Eloisa’s velvet cloak from the butler and carefully placed it around her bare shoulders.
