Cassie leaned closer. “I say we stay just long enough for a bite of dinner, then we make our excuses.”
He smiled. “I cannot tell you how relieved I am to hear you say the words. What pretext might we make to Lady Stanfield?”
“Toothache?”
Sucking air through his teeth, he grimaced.
“A headache, then?”
Zeno’s brow furrowed. “Yours or mine?”
“Mine.”
“Front or back?”
“Well.” She played along. “It started in the back and I’m afraid the little devil has worked its way forward.” Cassie moved her hand from his shoulder to the side of her head. “My temples are throbbing.”
A grin formed at the edges of his firm, square mouth. He paused in a turn just to smile at her. “Married with children, now there’s a ready excuse to leave early. Check on little Rupert’s case of the sniffles?”
The thought of children with this man forced a change in subject. “You dance very well, for someone who avoids it.”
He drew her in close, his voice huskier. “Perhaps—” Zeno picked her up and whirled her away from a couple spiraling out of control, neatly avoiding a collision.
When she regained her footing, she grinned. “Perhaps …?”
“Perhaps it is because I have you in my arms.” He lengthened his stride and led her around the floor in a series of graceful turns.
She could hardly believe her ears. She tried to think back to the days before her marriage. She did not remember men being quite this … well, romantic. Or was it just this man?
Cassie followed every movement of his body, the power of his legs, the way he so effortlessly led her around the ballroom floor. Varying the length of his steps and the speed of his turns, he made it impossible to not appreciate the way they moved together. She no longer wanted to talk, she wanted to brush up against him and to feel the heat of his body.
She arched away to hide a shiver as she imagined them skin-to-skin. What on earth had come over her? The obvious answer to that question held her in his arms. Zeno twirled her into the center of the dance floor, where he could practice those mysterious, unpredictable charms of his.
He turned her in small circles and no longer waltzed at a respectable distance. Candlelight from the ballroom chandeliers whirled around his face. Blue eyes deepened to violet as his gaze fell to her mouth.
Cassie tilted her head and parted her lips.
Chapter Eight
From the moment they entered the supper room all eyes were upon them. Cassie paused to reacquaint herself with their instant celebrity.
Her escort steered her toward the buffet tables. “Hungry?”
“Not very. Perhaps a few small bites of something.”
“I suggest we share a plate.”
“Perfect.” Cassie leaned in close to whisper. “Why do I feel like I’m in a display window at Harrod’s?”
He picked up a delicate china plate. “If you weren’t so beautiful we’d go unnoticed.”
Cassie thwacked him on the arm with her fan. “Hush, you embarrass me.” He snorted a chuckle as he selected hors d’oeuvres. “Besides,” she huffed, “I believe most of this attention is directed at you, sir.”
Their newly bestowed éclat prompted them to seek out a more private area in which to refresh themselves. Zeno found a small table to serve their purpose, situated in an alcove in the back of the room.
Between bites of this and that, she studied him with a single question in mind. “I have never kissed a man while dancing. During the last strains of our waltz together, you were about to—”
“Did you want me to kiss you, Cassie?”
“Yes.”
Rather than wipe the smug little grin off his face, which she rather liked, Cassie stuffed a forkful of cucumber salad into her mouth. When she finished chewing, he leaned close, opened his mouth slightly, and brushed his lips lightly over hers. Cassie shook off a tingle. As stolen kisses go, she would have to rank it a scorcher. “I suppose now that we have kissed, we can both relax and finish our supper.” Except she didn’t feel relaxed. In fact, she was rather stirred up.
He snorted. “That wasn’t a kiss, it was a peck.”
To take her mind off his mouth and what he might do with it, Cassie picked up a small buttered sandwich. “Don’t look now, but I’m afraid old friends of my parents appear to be making their way over to inspect you.”
Zeno reluctantly lowered his fork.
Lord and Lady Walmer arrived at their table with effusive greetings. Respectfully, Zeno relinquished his seat to Amanda Walmer, and they all endured his lordship’s desultory remarks about the pressing heat of the ballroom, and the poor quality of the food from the buffet.
“Your mother informs me that you teach watercolors to the young ladies at Miss Martin’s and volunteer as an art instructor at Foundling Hospital. That’s quite a schedule, my dear.” Lady Walmer spoke loud enough to include any and all within shouting distance of their conversation.
“I prefer to be active, engaged in service I enjoy. It does not seem much like work, Lady Walmer.”
“I should think we would be instructing orphans in more practical vocations. Trades of some kind,” Lord Walmer sputtered.
Cassie raised a brow in protest. “Several of my students have already been apprenticed to artisan trades.”
Zeno spoke up. “I did not realize—”
His lordship cut in. “What possible kind of trades, Cassandra?”
Cassie sighed. The man could be contentious and dubious about … everything. “I suggest the next time you find yourself admiring a piece of Royal Doulton, my lord, you might think of my students. For it is likely at least one or two of them hand painted the china you even now find yourself eating from.”
The ill-humored man grunted. “I suppose it is a good deal better than tossing them out on the streets to become pickpockets or beggars.”
“So it is, Cassie.” Lady Walmer patted her hand and lowered her voice. “Do not pay any attention to Lord Walmer this evening. His lumbago causes his temperament to worsen.”
From behind their small group came a voice that sent a chill down Cassie’s spine. “Well, well, Mr. Kennedy, I see it took the most beautiful widow in all of London to get you back out in society.”
Zeno turned at the mention of his name. “Lord Delamere.”
The handsome, arrogant man spent all of three seconds with Zeno before his eyes shifted to her. “And Cassandra, was it just last week we were together?”
She hated the insinuation. As if they had been trysting. “I recall a brief meeting at the gallery, Lord Delamere.” She shifted her gaze to her escort.
Zeno stepped forward. “You are acquainted with Lady Rosslyn?”
“I proposed, years ago. She refused me, I’m afraid. Took me ages to get over it.” He shot Cassie one of those charming wounded looks used by flirtatious gentlemen of the beau monde. “A rather bruising rebuff, as I recall.”
“Please forgive me if I’m not terribly sorry to hear it.” Zeno grinned. Delamere’s glare caused a further chuckle.
Impressed with Zeno’s biting levity, Cassie made a point to smile at him.
Lord Delamere wisely pressed on to other matters. “Lady Walmer.” He nodded a bow and turned to acknowledge Lord Walmer. “Charles, how fortunate to bump into you. I mean to engage you for a very brief conversation, if I may?”
“No more about Home Rule, Delamere. Not a lord in the House will vote for passage.”
“Come, come, Charles, this won’t take but a moment.”
“I warn you, Lord Delamere, he’s in a mood tonight,” Lady Walmer toyed with a large ruby at the end of an impressive necklace of diamonds. The brilliant red gem rested just above her equally impressive cleavage.
Delamere flashed a most breathtaking smile at Lady Walmer. “I promise to return him to you unabused, madam.” It seemed the man could not resist being irksome, for he returned his attentions to Cassie. “
May I call on you one afternoon, Lady Rosslyn?”
Her spine stiffened. “I think not, Lord Delamere. How does one in your important political milieu ever find the time to make such inconsequential social visits?”
Delamere’s gaze lingered longer than was necessary or comfortable. “I have always found you most consequential, Cassandra.”
ZENO DIRECTED HIS attention after Delamere, who steered a number of high-ranking peers in the direction of the smoking terrace. Abruptly, he pivoted back toward Cassie and Lady Walmer. “Would either of you ladies enjoy a piece of cake, or perhaps more liquid refreshment?”
“Share a piece of that vanilla fluff with me, dear. And more lemonade, Mr. Kennedy.”
“Lemonade for Lady Walmer, and I believe I will have—”
“I recommend the punch, not overly sweet with an excellent kick to it.” Zeno winked.
Amanda snickered and Cassie smiled. “Very good, Zak.”
Peering through a tiered cascade of confections on the dessert table, Zeno made a note of the young man drinking champagne. If he was not mistaken, this was the very same man described by Kitty. The fleeing victim who had knocked her down in the alley. Exquisitely handsome, with pale blue eyes—how had she described them?—like moonbeams?
Could this mysterious young man be an invited guest, or was he perhaps a homme-femme, an exclusive male prostitute? Zeno suspected an even darker entanglement. The pretty chap could very well be an agent contracted by Lord Delamere in order to compromise government officials. Castlemaine, for one.
Zeno found Delamere more irksome than ever, especially after witnessing his flagrant attentions to Cassie. Frankly, he couldn’t wait to bring charges of sedition against the Irish lord. All he needed was enough proof. He stewed momentarily over the realization that Delamere and Cassie shared a previous history together. And the man appeared to trouble her, for she had declined him permission to call on her. Zeno made a mental note to learn the details of their past involvement.
A footman approached holding a silver salver resplendent with bubbling champagne flutes. “The gentleman across the room asked me to deliver this, sir.” The server nodded to a folded sheet of paper under a long-stemmed glass. Zeno pivoted to catch a glimpse of the message sender. Nothing, other than a potted palm in the corner of the supper room.
Third floor. Second door on the right.
At the close of the dinner hour.
—H-B
Zeno slipped the note into a coat pocket and checked the time. Hicks-Beach would be waiting upstairs in twenty minutes.
He picked up a slice of cake and delivered the ladies’ requests. After a number of insipid chitchats with sundry acquaintances he managed to spirit his dance partner out the French doors of the ballroom into the cool enchantment of the terrace garden.
Out in the brisk evening air, he drew in a deep a breath and removed a silver cigar case from his inside breast pocket. The safety match sparked to life, accompanied by the familiar smell of sulfur. He rotated the cheroot and took a few welcome puffs until the smoke drew easily. The tobacco soothed nerves frayed more from the tedium of socializing than the sleuthing. Pale gray tendrils drifted into the atmosphere.
Cassie tugged at his arm and he followed her to a dark corner of the balcony without protest. Silently, she maneuvered herself in front of him and bit her lower lip. He wagered he knew exactly what she wanted. “You are either desirous of me or my cigar.”
He turned the mouthpiece of the stogie toward those luscious lips. “Which one is it?” Covering his hand with hers, she guided the tip into her mouth. He rolled his eyes upward. Good God. After several puffs, she lifted her gaze to meet his.
“You know about my smoking?”
His gaze met silver-gray eyes, then lowered to sensuous lips. He ached to kiss her. Soft and slow, then deeper using his tongue. And perhaps a good deal of fondling—that sweet derriere and those peachy mounds of flesh, near bursting from their bodice. Was this the moment? He stared unapologetically at her mouth and tilted his chin. “I’m afraid my informant must remain a classified source—” Softly spoken words brushed against her lips as he pulled her close.
Heavy footsteps padded along the roof above. Zeno opened an eye. Two dark figures jumped from the mansard to the top of another house nearby.
“Rude of them to leave without a farewell,” he murmured, “and they’ve left a nasty bit of—” A stream of dark liquid dripped onto the ground inches from where they stood. He backed Cassie away from the pooling blood, quickly piecing together the gruesome scenario.
A lifeless shape slid to a stop directly above them. The bulky object caught, by chance, on the shallow drainpipe that ran along the slate-covered overhang. In the blackness, with scant illumination at the elevation of the roofline, he barely made out the twisted silhouette of a body. He pushed Cassie farther behind him.
A lifeless arm worked its way loose and swung out over the roof ledge. Cassie’s frightened gasp came from behind his shoulder. “I want you inside, this minute.”
Too late. The rain catch groaned under the press of weight and collapsed. The body fell with a whoosh and struck the ground. Several screams were uttered from startled guests as the lifeless figure slid from the roof to the terrace floor.
He turned to Cassie and barked orders. “Find Stanfield and have him send word to Scotland Yard.” He caught her hand as she turned to leave. “Tell him to send for the Criminal Investigations Department. No Peelers yet, maybe later.” He did not relish a swarm of Westminster police stomping around the crime scene.
Cassie’s eyes were as big as saucers, and he felt a slight tremble under his grip. “Are you all right?”
“Of course I am.” She lifted her chin and gamely set off on her assignment.
Zeno recruited several gentlemen nearby to help clear the terrace. He posted them along the bank of French doors that ran along the west end of the ballroom. No need to unduly frighten the guests in attendance. An inkling of mayhem could cause mass hysteria and an exit stampede.
He opened a narrow-paned door and commandeered a young officer dressed in Cavalry regimentals to stand watch while he knelt down to do a cursory examination of the body. A gentleman of portly stature dressed in formal attire. Zeno tipped a shoulder back. “Christ.” Dead eyes stared out over his shoulder into the night sky. Hicks-Beach. Blood gurgled from a deep slash across the throat, drenching the tuxedo shirt and waistcoat in a swath of crimson.
Zeno peeled back the left side of the dead man’s coat and checked the inside pocket. A sterling cigarette case, with the initials H-B. He rocked back on his heels. The men who dropped the body were likely not the killers, but Dockland thugs paid to lift the man out of Grosvenor Square via rooftops. No, he reckoned the killer was still inside tippling a glass of bubbly before slipping away.
With this amount of blood there was bound to be at least some evidence left to find upstairs. Zeno scanned the gabled windows above. Rising from his haunches, he patted the folded note in his coat pocket. Hicks-Beach had ventured upstairs early. But why? Had there been an earlier appointment? Was he to have walked into a trap of some sort? Or had the killer seen his opportunity and made his move?
His jaw twitched. He knew exactly where to look. Third floor. Second door on the right.
CASSIE TAPPED ON the library door before peeking inside. Stanfield was last seen headed in the direction of his study, along with several of his cronies. “Past the gallery and through the library, dear.”
She ventured farther inside the austere reading room. “Lord Stanfield?” Coals burned low inside a heavily screened hearth. She let her eyes adjust to the darkness before making her way quietly through the cavernous library. A spiral staircase wound its way up to the leather-bound volumes lining the upper tier. Straight ahead, dim light spilled from a partially open door, likely the way into his lordship’s private den.
The mumbled speech of at least two gentlemen could be heard in the study. She raised a hand to knock but
stopped herself at the last moment. “Nasty business. Nothing can be done—over with in any case.” Cassie recognized Lord Delamere’s voice. She peeked past the crack in the door and spied a young man she didn’t recognize. He spoke softly, in low tones with an accent in French, she thought. “There will be others, as well.”
“Indeed.” Delamere again. She couldn’t see him through the narrow opening. “Now, back out in the ballroom and make a point of enjoying yourself. Approach one of those lovely young chits in the room and have a memorable flirtation.” There was a slap on the back and a rustle of movement. The two men were likely headed for the library.
She leaned a bit too close to the door and it moved with a creak. There was nothing to do but knock. Loudly. Delamere opened the door.
“Cassandra.” He quickly assessed the room behind her.
Feigning surprise, she curtsied. “Sorry to interrupt. Is Lord Stanfield with you? I have an urgent message for him.”
His gaze scanned the room and returned to her. Delamere stepped closer. “What kind of message?”
He reached out to pull her into the room, but this time she was ready for him and jumped back. “I’m afraid the message is for Lord Stanfield.” A rumble of men’s laughter came from behind a side door, unseen until it opened. “The cognac is in here, gentlemen.”
“Come now, Cassie—” Delamere urged, as they both turned toward the disturbance.
From a narrow passageway Lord Stanfield entered the library, followed by two rather inebriated acquaintances. A young doxy stood between them. The girl was wearing … pantaloons and a corset.
Stanfield went rigid. “Lady Rosslyn?”
Cassie listed to one side, curious. She wanted another look at the two men hiding behind Stanfield. Yes, she knew both by name, and knew their wives even better. “Lord Bridgerton.” Her gaze moved from one to the other. “Sir Halladay.” The young woman was more likely an upstairs maid than a paid professional.
An Affair with Mr. Kennedy Page 8
