by Jill Jones
Around them, others in period costumes strolled toward the ballroom, where dinner and dancing awaited. There was a kind of magic in the air, an excitement that came with playing at being in another time. Victoria recalled that weekend fling she’d thought she wasn’t interested in, and wished suddenly that she was with someone other than Trey. For in spite of her earlier inclinations, she itched for an evening of wicked romance.
“Ah, Ms. Thomas.” A man’s voice startled her from her reverie, and she turned to see Reginald FitzSimmons headed her way, a plate of canapés in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other. “You look stunning, my dear.”
She grasped Trey’s arm a little tighter, but relaxed when she saw the portly man was more interested in the prawns on his toast than in her bosom. “Thank you,” she replied, glancing around nervously to see if anyone else might be ogling her. To her distress, she saw the muscular young man who’d sat at her table at lunch, dressed not in costume but in jeans and a tight-fitting polo style shirt, leaning against the wall nearby, arms crossed, staring at her.
Billy Ray.
Victoria instinctively drew her wrap closer and turned away. What was with that creep? Why was he watching her?
Chapter Five
Sandringham, Norfolk
Twenty-ninth July 1883
Although I have yet to inspire my charge to attempt any serious study, we have spent long and not unpleasant hours together. He is a gentle soul, timid and easily influenced. I must tread carefully, however, for I find I am attracted to him in the most inappropriate manner. His large, heavy-lidded eyes are almost sensuous, and his smooth face, clean shaven except for a small moustache, waxed and turned up at the ends, beckons me to caress it, as I once caressed the faces of my boys at Eton. I have fought to bury those unnatural instincts since arriving at Cambridge, allowing them to surface only in the safety of the brotherhood of the Apostles, but when I am with Eddy, they stir to life again. I must guard against these feelings, for they could lead to my instant downfall and disgrace should Eddy learn of them and report me to the Queen.
Only on these pages can I record the appetites that torment me, and in so doing enjoy some temporary respite from the guilt and anxiety that shadow me when I think of the Prince in these terms. I find solace in words—
My heart exists in empty desolation,
Its joy suppressed by those who would not understand
The loneliness and dreary isolation
That is the fate of one who’d love another man.
Jonathan had almost decided to pack up and leave when Victoria surprised him by asking if he were planning to attend tonight’s gala. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn there was an invitation in her eyes. Wishful thinking, old boy, he told himself as he tied his cravat. In spite of her unlikely profession, Victoria Thomas reeked of upper class. Women like her didn’t fall for detective inspectors from Manchester.
He hadn’t stayed because of her, he told himself. He’d stayed because Janeece Fairchild had clued him that he was to receive a gift of appreciation from the society, which was to be presented at dinner. He would be conspicuous by his absence if he didn’t attend. He’d hired a costume for the affair, so he decided he might as well use it. As for Victoria Thomas, he doubted she’d seek him out. She was just being polite, probably her way of apologizing for her somewhat contentious behavior after the morning session. Jonathan planned to sit through dinner, smile and do his good PR thing, and skip out before the dancing began.
Those were his plans. Until he saw Victoria enter the ballroom on the arm of Trey Delaney. Suddenly, there was no one else in the room.
Only her.
She didn’t see him at first, and he stared at her openly, unable to tear his gaze away. She was a vision in lace and velvet, the essence of sensuality. His skin grew warm, and he felt a disturbing masculine need begin to build.
Jonathan vaguely heard Janeece Fairchild ask him a question. He attempted to turn his attention to her, but he was totally distracted. “I beg your pardon? I didn’t catch the question.”
He had to work to focus on his answer, for his mind, his heart, his body were screaming for him to go to Victoria Thomas.
This was madness. He wasn’t very good with women. What made him think she’d look twice at him?
He glanced across the ballroom at her again, and this time their gazes locked, and all of Jonathan’s earlier plans evaporated.
“Excuse me, ladies,” he managed, and extricated himself from the circle of women who had waylaid him the moment he entered the room.
Her gaze never left his as he approached, and Jonathan thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He didn’t care that she was with another man. He only knew that he had to go to her, or die.
“Good evening, Ms. Thomas,” he said, the words sounding distant and formal in his ears.
“Please, call me Victoria.” Her voice was softer than he remembered, husky almost.
“Victoria then. You look lovely tonight.” He saw her blush slightly, but she didn’t blink when she acknowledged the compliment. The color of her dress deepened the gold in her eyes. He must look away before she drew him into their depths. He must pull himself together, or he truly would make an ass of himself.
“Champagne?” Reginald FitzSimmons’s voice broke the spell. Jonathan looked up and saw his erstwhile heckler detaining the waiter who was circulating with liquid refreshments.
“Ah, yes, please.” He needed something to quench his fires. He raised the flute to Victoria.
“To Victoria. Long live the Queen.”
“Hear, hear!” FitzSimmons rejoined, clicking his glass to Jonathan’s. “I say, with these splendid costumes, one could believe we were back in that age. I almost expect the old girl to make an appearance tonight.”
Jonathan joined in the ensuing laughter, but was once again under the spell of the only Victoria he wished to see tonight. Struggling, he turned to Trey, desperate to learn what his relationship was with Victoria Thomas.
“I didn’t have a chance to speak with you at lunch, Mr. Delaney. Tell me, are you with the FBI as well?” he asked, trying to get a bead on the guy. He assumed they were not man and wife. They had different last names and wore no wedding bands, although that meant nothing in this day and time. Trey seemed unaware of the rare gem at his side. Was the man blind?
“Good lord no,” Delaney replied emphatically. “That’s Victoria’s thing. Me, I can’t stand the sight of blood.”
Victoria broke in. “Trey is a good friend, Mr. Blake, whom I conned into accompanying me to this event. I didn’t tell him until we were on the plane what the weekend was all about.”
“I see,” Jonathan said, but didn’t. “Good friend” could mean many things. What kind of good friend jumped on an airplane, not knowing what he was getting into? A rich good friend for one thing, he decided. Was he Victoria’s lover? The thought nearly made him ill.
“I see people are beginning to be seated,” FitzSimmons pointed out. “Shall we find a table?”
As happens often at such affairs, Jonathan found himself seated with much the same group that had been together at lunch. Trey and Victoria took their seats, but unfortunately Roger Hammersmith slipped into the one on the other side of Victoria. Jonathan wanted to punch him out. Instead, he politely took the chair next to Janeece Fairchild, who plopped down beside Roger. Next, the Huntley-Ameses fell in, Elizabeth looking decidedly bored. Missing were the muscular young American man and Adele Quigley, who were replaced by two striking young French women who completed the circle. They were not wearing costumes, but were dressed instead in chic and rather daring couture creations—from Paris they told the others. Jonathan noticed they immediately captured Trey’s attention.
After enduring endless questions from Lord Chastain during dinner, Jonathan was almost happy to leave the table to receive his gift of appreciation from the sponsoring Sherlock Holmes Society—his very own deerstalker hat and brier-root pi
pe. He himself wasn’t much of a Sherlockian, but these would be humorous mementos of this most remarkable day. As he made his way back to his seat, the orchestra struck up the first dance number of the evening, and Jonathan saw that Trey was engrossed in animated conversation with the French lovelies. His stomach tightened, and he made a bold decision.
“May I have this dance?” he asked, tapping Victoria lightly on the shoulder. The smile she gave him stirred the fires all over again. He deposited his gifts on the table and led her to the dance floor, willing his fingers not to tremble. “Will your date give me a black eye later?” he asked as he drew her into his arms. He thought nothing had ever felt as delicious as her body next to his.
“He’s not my date.”
“Your husband?”
“Nope. Not even close. He’s what I said he was, just a good friend.” She added with a twinkle in her eye, “I’m glad to see he’s met those two.” She nodded toward the French duo. “They’re more his type. I’m afraid he finds me kind of a drag.” She briefly explained the relationship between herself and Trey, leaving Jonathan awash with both relief and terror.
She was unattached, available, and in his arms. God help him.
From the corner of his eye, he watched Victoria Thomas step onto the dance floor with the man who had been the speaker today, watched how her body, clothed in that obscenely revealing dress, leaned into his. Her face was raised to his, and she wore the seductive smile of a whore. He’d seen that smile before, on his mother’s face, when she wanted something from a man.
At the thought of his mother, a slow, hot rage began to coil in his gut, and the anguish he tried so hard to suppress surfaced with a vengeance. He hated her for what she had done to him, making him less of a man than others. He hated all women, who like his mother were controlling, manipulative whores. Victoria Thomas was no different, he thought, just more hypocritical. One moment an ice queen, the next a bloody whore.
The rage flooded his body, tensing his muscles, heating his blood. He took a deep breath, struggling for control. And then he remembered. Tonight, he would no longer suffer the humiliation of impotence. Tonight, he would take his revenge. Tonight, he would go for blood.
Victoria had to work to keep from melting in Jonathan’s arms. Her skin fairly burned where he touched her, and being so close to him was turning her on like crazy. She should never have allowed him to draw her onto the dance floor.
She glanced over Jonathan’s shoulder at Trey, but found no hope for rescue from that quarter. He was too busy entertaining the French women. Damn him, she thought, but knew it wasn’t Trey’s fault she was falling for Jonathan Blake like a schoolgirl. Neither was it Trey’s responsibility to save her.
Jonathan had wasted no time in probing her about her relationship with Trey, and she didn’t think it had to do with his worry about getting a black eye. He was a male on the hunt, and she was his prey. A shiver ran through her. She must be careful tonight, very careful. Her body wanted him, and it seemed her mind had no say in the matter.
The slow dance ended, and the band turned to a faster number. Jonathan released her from his embrace, but they did not leave the dance floor. Instead, they began to move in time to the upbeat music. She saw Trey escort both of the French girls onto the dance floor, one on each arm, and she had to laugh. It was so Trey. DC’s most eligible bachelor. He knew the effect he had on women, and he played it to the max. She only wished he weren’t so irresponsible. She worried about his myriad liaisons. She felt that they would someday get him into serious trouble.
In only moments, Trey and the French women had stolen the show, dancing in exotic frenzy as a trio. The rest of the dancers stood aside to watch the spectacle. Victoria was mortified when Trey began to make blatantly seductive moves, first toward one woman, then the other, for to her horror, their dance was having a disturbingly erotic effect on her. Standing so close to Jonathan in the crowd, her sexual desire for him flamed into the danger zone. In a panic, she excused herself and fled to the powder room.
Patting her face with a damp paper towel, she glanced at her flushed complexion in the mirror. What the hell was going on? This was not like her. She’d never let herself become so unglued by a man in her entire life. A man who this morning she didn’t even like very much.
Victoria was more than a little scared. Scared of her desire, and burning with it at the same time. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know he felt the same. The evidence had brushed against her when they danced, even though he’d tried to hold her at a distance. It was a wasted effort, for their bodies seemed determined to meld.
Where was this going to end? There was only one logical conclusion, but Victoria was no tramp. She would not jump into bed with Jonathan Blake, no matter how badly her body betrayed her. She had to take her leave of him. Immediately.
She swept out of the ladies room, intending to return to the table to pick up her wrap and evening purse, say her goodnight to Jonathan, and return to the safety of her room. But as she walked briskly down the corridor, someone fell in beside her.
“In a hurry?” he said.
Startled, Victoria turned toward the voice and found herself facing Billy Ray. Her heart sank. “Uh, yes, actually I am.”
He stepped in front of her, halting her progress and backing her into the wall. “I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk,” he said in a lazy drawl that set Victoria’s teeth on edge. “I’m real interested in the Coleman case.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Ray, but…”
“Call me Billy,” he said, extending one arm over her shoulder and leaning against the wall, effectively pinning her to the spot.
Victoria’s pulse raced as she considered how best to extricate herself. “My…uh…date is waiting for me. Perhaps another time.”
“Are you afraid of me, Victoria?”
She raised her chin. Hell would turn to ice before she admitted that she was very much afraid of him. “Is there a reason why I should be, Mr. Ray?” she replied coldly. She loathed the sound of her given name coming from him, and she’d be damned if she lowered herself to address him in such a personal manner.
“I bet William Coleman is afraid of you,” he went on, not answering her question. There was a glint of malice in his eyes. “Why’d you have to do that to him?”
Victoria was stunned. “Why do you care about William Coleman? He’s nothing but the lowest kind of slime.”
She saw his jaw clench. “You think you know so much,” he growled. “But you know nothing. William Coleman is a decent man.”
“Who brutally murdered five young women?”
“You’re mistaken about that. You’ve put the wrong man in prison.”
Victoria knew better, but she didn’t argue. She had to get away from this crazy. “Please, I have to go now.”
Slowly, he drew away from her. “Sure,” he said, dropping his arm to his side. “We’ll talk about this another time.”
The hell we will, she thought and turned to leave. To her profound relief, she saw Jonathan turn into the corridor.
“There you are,” he said, hurrying toward her. “I was beginning to get worried about you.” He saw Billy Ray and frowned. “Is everything all right, Victoria?”
“Yes,” she lied. “Fine. Thank you.” But she immediately linked her arm in his and steered him toward the exit. “Please, just get me out of here,” she said in a low voice when they were out of Billy Ray’s earshot.
“Is he a friend?”
“No, just a creepy curiosity seeker. He’s interested in one of the cases I handled.” She paused at the entrance to the ballroom and turned to Jonathan with a wan smile. “Thanks for coming after me. I wasn’t in any real danger, but I was having a little trouble disengaging myself. I guess it shook me up a little. I think I’d better call it a night.”
His expression changed from worried to disappointed. “It’s early yet. Don’t leave. I won’t let him get near you again, I promise.”
The wise woman in her
knew it was time to leave, for Jonathan’s sex appeal was working its magic on her all over again. But it was early, not even eight-thirty, and she didn’t particularly relish spending the rest of the evening watching British sitcoms on television.
“I suppose I could stay just a bit longer…”
He didn’t give her time to change her mind, but led her directly back to the table. The adrenaline rush from her unpleasant encounter with Billy Ray had left her shaky, and she was actually glad to be in the company of a lot of people. She hoped she could manage to avoid him for the rest of the weekend. The guy was bad news.
The band was on a break as they returned, and the conversation around the table had focused on Jack the Ripper. “But it could not possibly have been the Duke of Clarence,” Lord Chastain was arguing as they took their seats. “It’s preposterous. Prince Albert Victor Edward, or Eddy as they called him, would have been surrounded by people at all times.”
“Improbable, but not impossible,” Jonathan joined in. “Even Princes have private lives. Eddy had syphilis, and he might have had spells of madness that drove him to kill. I admit that is pure conjecture, but as Ms. Thomas has pointed out to me, sometimes one must use one’s instincts to get to the facts.”
Victoria didn’t know which startled her more, his statement or that he reached for her hand beneath the table. He gave her one of his heart-melting grins and squeezed her hand, and her insides turned to mush. It should have been Trey who rescued her in the corridor; that was the reason she’d asked him to come in the first place. But a part of her was glad it had been Jonathan.
