A Devilish Slumber

by Shereen Vedam

  PHILLIP COULD not believe Rose had visitors, and that one of them was Miss Warwick. And what was all this talk of attending a ball? He went over and shut the drawing room door before he approached Rose. “For years, you have avoided society. I practically had to drag you out yesterday. Now you intend to attend a ball? What, pray tell, brought about this change?”

  A knock interrupted.

  “Go away!” Phillip said just as Rose said, “Come in.”

  Hannah opened the door. Her worried gaze flicked between her mistress and him.

  “What is it?” he said.

  “Hannah will stay, as is appropriate,” Rose said. “You cannot expect me to entertain a male caller without a chaperone.”

  She had not been shy about being alone with him yesterday. Something else was also different. Furniture was uncovered and light streamed in from unblocked windows. Every curtain was open. So, Rose was no longer avoiding the sunlight. In fact, she was more confident and poised. Even her hair had more bounce to it. And it had been trimmed.

  As for her morning gown, though old, it showed her figure to perfection. His gaze fell on her bosom and his desire warmed. He quickly focused on her face. His plan was to seduce her, not be seduced.

  Their gazes met, and a blush spread across her pale cheeks.

  After last night’s discussion with Ben, he had wavered in his assumption that Rose was guilty of murder, thinking he might have missed some vital clue. On the night Helen died, someone besides the two women he saw could have been present. What if that person left the empty warehouse before Rose? Or before he came on the scene? If so, then Rose was a witness. Whom did she protect with her silence? Despite Ben’s qualms about Phillip’s planned seduction, that still seemed the best way to uncover Rose’s secrets.

  A movement to the side reminded him the maid was present. He stamped down his desire. “Why the sudden urge to rejoin society, Rose?”

  “You are responsible for that.”

  He raised his brows in surprise.

  “Yesterday, when you took me for our walk, I realized I have been alone too long. Attending a ball in the company of Mrs. Rochester and Miss Warwick might be just the thing to bring cheer back into my life.”

  Did she speak the truth? If so, he wanted to be the one to show her off. He touched her warm cheek. “Then may I escort you?”

  Roselyn leaned away, dislodging his touch. “Miss Warwick seemed anxious that you come as a shepherd. If you decide to go, no doubt I shall see you there.”

  “If you will not accompany me, at least tell me what costume you intend to wear so I can find you.”

  Rose’s gaze returned to his and her eyes lit up with mischief though her old vibrant smile remained absent. What he would give to see that smile again.

  “The best part of a masque is in the guessing of a lady’s costume.” Her features grew serious. “I am sure, in time, you will discern who I am, Phillip.”

  Did she refer to more than her appearance at a masque? “These balls can be dangerous, Rose. Some men believe that hiding their identity gives them leeway to behave in a less than gentlemanly fashion. I would be happier knowing your disguise so I may act as your protector.”

  She frowned and sat on the settee. “Everyone wants to protect me these days.”

  Who else felt protective toward her? Surely not the two ladies who had departed? He doubted they had more in their heads than their own needs and wants.

  “In any case, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself,” she said. “Besides which, surely no harm will come to me in so public an event?”

  He sat beside her and took her hands. “I know that you have a difficult time trusting me, Rose.”

  Her fingers trembled and he held them firm. “In this one instance, I beg that you rely on me. It is your first social gathering in years, is it not?”

  She nodded.

  “Then allow me to make it memorable. One in which enjoyment is of primary concern.”

  “From your last visit, I gained the distinct impression, sir, that it is you who did not trust me. So my safety or lack thereof could surely be of no concern to you?”

  Almost word for word what Ben had said to him the first time they had met. Then he had lost his temper. This time he chose a different tack. “You, my fair Rose, concern me more than you can imagine.” Her slender hands rested gently within his palm and he saluted each with a kiss.

  Her eyes grew wide, dark and sensuous. If he had kissed her lips, he could not have hoped for a stronger reaction. “Tell me who you plan to go as, Rose.”

  She sighed and the fight left her. “I had thought to dress as Cleopatra. There is such a costume in the attic. But there will be many of us at the ball.”

  “I will find you.” If he had to unmask every one.

  “Will you tell me who you intend to come as?”

  He chuckled at that daring request. “Could you not guess? Your Anthony will be by your side to watch over you.”

  Another adorable blush spread across her cheeks.

  How could he have thought this woman was a murderess? She would have to be a consummate actress to portray such guilelessness and still be guilty. All his years of experience shouted that Rose was innocent.

  It was time he listened to his instincts and to Ben’s advice. Something did trouble her, though. If he hoped to discover its source and prove her innocence, he must learn to trust her as much as he wanted her to trust him.

  He stood and bowed. “Until tonight, then. Save me a dance.”

  WITHIN A HALF hour of Phillip’s departure, Rose arrived at Heaven’s Gate. Daniel jumped off the back of her carriage, startling her. How had he managed to hop on without her knowledge? The driver complained bitterly at the abuse of his property but Daniel, displaying a cheeky smile, waved him off.

  “Ready?” He pointed a thumb at the door.

  She nodded.

  His gaze skimmed her attire. “May I say I prefer my lady, as my lady?”

  “No, you may not.”

  He was still chuckling long after Stony opened the door.

  The doorman’s sheer size again struck Rose. If anyone ever asked her what a giant looked like, she would immediately respond, “Why, just like Stony.”

  On their way to the drawing room, Daniel overtook her to hold open the door. Inside, Mrs. Weatheringham sat alone, a wool shawl pulled tight about her shoulders.

  Rose avoided Daniel’s teasing glance and approached the elderly woman.

  “Lady Roselyn,” Mrs. Weatheringham said. “How glad I am to see you return. Please, take a seat. You have news?”

  “I do.” She sat across from her hostess.

  Daniel chose to stand by the fireplace, his favorite post. He had a habit of holding his left hand at his back.

  Rose studied Mrs. Weatheringham with concern. Her skin was pale and her eyes had dark circles. Even her wrinkles seemed deeper.

  “You find me changed?” Mrs. Weatheringham said.

  Rose nodded, unable to lie. “You seem weaker.”

  “And older?”

  “Everyone grows old.”

  “My gaze has been fixed to the looking glass most of this day. You see, without my knowledge, what happened to you, appears to have happened to me.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “When you saw your face yesterday, you found yourself much changed. In your case, grief tapped into your talent and reflected your sadness onto your features. In mine, I appeared to have unconsciously molded my face to appear younger.”

  Then why did she not continue to do so? Had her loss of control during her episode drained her too much? “You have had much stress in the last few days. I am sure you will feel and look yourself soon enough.”

  “I fear not, Lady Roselyn. You see,
when my granddaughter touched my face, she stopped my shifting.”

  “I saw.”

  “Yet, you do not comprehend. She has stopped my shifting. Permanently. This is who I really am, unadorned by my talent.”

  “Forever?” Rose gripped her reticule. If that child touched her, would she stop shifting?

  “I cannot lie to you, my dear. Even at my age, I will miss my ability. It is what made me special.” She sighed and with that hiss of air, resignation settled on her. “But I have lived a long life. Time I renounced the vanities of youth. What happened yesterday was a gift.”

  “How so?”

  “We have discovered my granddaughter’s talent,” she said with a laugh. “I had begun to think that she would be naught but an ordinary child.”

  “Her talent is disconcerting for a shifter,” Daniel said.

  “She will be a force to reckon with,” Mrs. Weatheringham said. “If I were you, Daniel, I would ensure she grows up to be your friend.”

  “That had crossed my mind.”

  “I fear this ‘gift’ as you call it, may place her in danger,” Rose said. “And I suggest it not be revealed to others. Even within the alliance.”

  “Why not?” Mrs. Weatheringham said.

  “It relates to the news I have come to tell you.” She took a deep breath. “I have been helping Sir Phillip Jones discover who murdered Helen Beaumont.”

  “Is that wise?” Mrs. Weatheringham asked. “You place yourself in much danger.”

  “Exactly what I told her,” Daniel said.

  Rose noticed how she had been mangling her reticule and released the abused object. “The evidence we have uncovered so far points to a woman having murdered Helen.”

  “Women are known to do evil deeds,” Mrs. Weatheringham said, “though not often in such a bloodthirsty manner.”

  “I have seen worse done,” Daniel said.

  “There is more.” She might as well spill the worst. “Sir Phillip witnessed a woman leaving the warehouse, her hands covered in blood. He believes that woman to be me.”

  She smoothed the crinkles on her reticule while she waited for questions, accusations, and recriminations. When none came, she looked up. Mrs. Weatheringham and Daniel gazed at each other. Neither seemed shocked or angry, but simply worried.

  “I did not kill Helen,” Rose said.

  “Of course not, dear,” Mrs. Weatheringham said.

  “But someone wants to implicate you,” Daniel said. “Why?”

  “You believe me?” Rose’s eyes filled with tears.

  “Helen cared a great deal about you, Lady Roselyn,” Mrs. Weatheringham said. “In the end, she likely died to protect you. So, of course we believe you.”

  In a flood, all the feelings she had bottled up since hearing about Helen’s death surfaced. Both Daniel and Mrs. Weatheringham allowed her time to regain her dignity. As she hunted for her handkerchief, Daniel shoved a wrinkled one at her. That reminded Rose of the one Phillip showed her last night. It was yet one more mystery to resolve.

  She took Daniel’s handkerchief, which he had offered with his left hand. His little finger of that hand was half the normal size.

  “Thank you.” She ducked her head to hide her surprise. Still, he must have seen her shock, for he hid his hand.

  She wiped her tears, blew her nose, and then placed the handkerchief in her bag. She would have it laundered.

  “Daniel’s protection is now doubly important,” Mrs. Weatheringham said. “This killer knows who you are, and has ill intentions toward you. You must be careful.”

  “Forget about gadding about town dressed in men’s clothing,” Daniel said. “That puts you in the line of fire.”

  “I have promised Phillip I would aid him in his work.”

  “’Tis only a promise.”

  “I do not make promises lightly!”

  “Children.” Mrs. Weatheringham held up her hands. “This is not the time for arguments. We must plan our next move.” Her gaze rested on Rose with a warm smile. “While in Sir Phillip’s company, I see no harm in your pretending to be a man.” She laughed. “I would love to see you in such a guise.”

  “It is certainly a sight to behold,” Daniel said.

  Rose’s cheeks warmed and she avoided his suggestive gaze.

  “I do it out of necessity. As a Royal Intelligence Officer, Phillip has become a master at investigations.”

  “For a woman who claims to dislike company,” Daniel said, “you seem to crave his mightily.”

  “You are wrong. Phillip broke my heart and now thinks me a murderess. I do not crave his company.”

  “Still,” Mrs. Weatheringham said, “avoiding people for the present is not such a bad idea. Better to stay close to those you know, so you would spot a change in behavior, suggesting a person who has shifted.”

  It was good advice but too late.

  “There is more?” Mrs. Weatheringham said.

  “I accepted an invitation to a masque tonight from two women who visited me.”

  Daniel kicked the fireplace’s steel fender, effectively indicating his displeasure.

  “Is that wise, dear?” Mrs. Weatheringham asked. “To be among so many strangers already in disguise?”

  “Phillip made me so nervous, I spoke without forethought.”

  “Then send your regrets,” Daniel said.

  “No!” Phillip had promised her a dance. And she planned to wear the Cimaruta, which should adequately warn her if anyone in her vicinity had physically transformed. Unfortunately, she was not yet ready to share that part of her plan with the alliance.

  “You are acquainted with these women?” Mrs. Weatheringham asked. “Can you tell if either one is not who she says she is?”

  “One is her gallant’s doxy,” Daniel said, “or would like to be. The other . . .”

  Rose glared at him. “Miss Warwick is a young lady of good breeding. Her grandfather is a duke, no less. And Phillip knows her and did not find her behavior out of the ordinary. But then, he might not be the best judge of character. He believes I killed Helen, after all.”

  “And the other?” Mrs. Weatheringham said.

  “She is a stranger to me, friend to Miss Warwick.”

  “This does not bode well,” Mrs. Weatheringham said. “I urge you to reconsider. Why put yourself in unnecessary peril?”

  Rose was tempted to agree, but another thought interfered with following that sensible move. “Phillip thinks I am capable of murder, Mrs. Weatheringham. To change his mind, I must uncover the real murderess. If either Miss Warwick or Mrs. Rochester is a villain”—Rose shuddered at the idea that she might have invited a killer into her home—“then attending the ball could tempt her to show her hand.” And if it did not, then she would still have her allotted dance with Phillip. “I shall go.”

  Daniel snorted as if he had read her true reasons.

  She kept her gaze trained on Mrs. Weatheringham. “I know it is risky. However, with Sir Phillip beside me and Daniel outside, I should be safe enough. If the murderess approaches, we might be able to catch her.”

  “A dangerous course,” Mrs. Weatheringham said. “However, as your decision is made, I shall pray for your safety. Now, onto more mundane matters. Have you decided on a costume?”

  She nodded. “I thought to go as Cleopatra. Which reminds me, I must rush home to search out that costume from the attic before keeping Ben’s appointment with Phillip.”

  “Why not use one I have?” Mrs. Weatheringham said. “I have gone as Cleopatra in my youth. We’re of similar builds. Nevara can find and fit the gown to your figure. She is a passable seamstress. Then you will have time to stay for luncheon.”

  Rose accepted. She then mentioned her slip about giving this address to Phillip.

&n
bsp; “You did what?” Daniel said.

  “If he calls, simply tell him you will relay a message to Ben and that will be the end of it.”

  “The end of it with a master investigator? You lie to yourself better than you do to others, my lady.”

  She frowned at Daniel’s sarcasm and then noted his height. Since Phillip had ordered her father’s suit burned while they were at Westin’s, she needed another set of used clothing to keep her afternoon appointment.

  Though Daniel was too tall to lend her something, she was sure he was resourceful enough to procure a set of clothing that would fit Ben. He might not want to, but she was prepared to persuade him over luncheon. And having missed breakfast, she was famished. She would need a lot of energy for tonight’s ball.

  Chapter Eight

  PHILLIP SAT NURSING his crank at the tavern. The gin slid down his throat with ease.

  “Good afternoon, sir.” Ben took the chair across from him and ordered a beer. By mutual accord, they waited until the maid brought his drink and left before they spoke.

  Phillip swallowed a groan along with his next sip of gin. The waft emanating from the lad suggested he must have been set upon and thrown into the sewer on his way to this meeting. A quick check showed no visible bruises, so that left bad taste as the only culprit for this fashion disaster. “I see you have found a new tailor.”

  Ben’s face turned scarlet. He ducked his head and smoothed his rumpled vest that looked as if a moth had nested there over the winter.

  To ease his discomfort, Phillip changed the subject. “I met with Lady Roselyn this morning.”

  Ben’s fingers left exploring a hole in his vest to twirl his mug, but he made no comment.

  “She plans to attend a masque this evening,” Phillip continued. “An unwise move, especially if she is innocent.”

  Ben made eye contact. “You believe that a possibility now?”

  “Anything is possible, Ben. Your words last night reminded me that it does not pay to jump to conclusions. I thank you for that.”

  The lad looked distraught and quickly turned to gaze out the window where two streetwalkers trolled the pavement. “I did not mean to offend with my direct speech, sir.”