“Stewart says you have a caller.” Celeste paused. “Lady Dunwell. She’s in the red salon.”
“How perfect for her,” she muttered and started for the door. “And what perfect timing she has.”
“You’re not going to confide in her, are you?”
“I’m furious, Celeste, not insane. Regardless of anything else, revealing my husband as the former head of a secretive government department is something I would never do.” She narrowed her eyes. “However, there are few women I know that are cleverer than Beryl Dunwell when it comes to seduction. Or, I suspect, settling a score.”
“Well,” Beryl said the moment Evelyn stepped into the room. “Who was he? What happened?”
“You were right after all.” She shrugged. “It was Adrian.”
“Really?” Beryl’s eyes widened. “Odd, I don’t remember him being that tall.”
“He’s grown.”
“That would explain it,” Beryl murmured, then shook her head as if to clear it. “How terribly romantic of him to try to seduce you as another man.”
Evelyn froze. “Another man?”
“A masked stranger, of course.” She studied Evelyn carefully. “Whatever is the matter with you today?”
“It was a very late night.”
“Yes, of course.” She stared for a moment, then realization dawned in her eyes and she nodded. “Oh, now I understand.”
“Understand what?”
“I could be wrong, of course.”
“One can only hope.”
“Well, a man who bursts into a hotel room to catch his wife in a compromising position and then flirts with her incognito, well ...”
“Well?” Impatience rang in Evelyn’s voice.
“He’s a man who needs to be taught a lesson.” Beryl nodded firmly.
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Do you have a lesson in mind?”
“Not yet.” Evelyn studied the other woman for a moment. “I was hoping you might be able to help me come up with something.”
“Perhaps.” She paused. “Although I have always found a good biscuit to be most conducive to clever planning.”
“I have already ordered tea and biscuits.”
“Oh, you are a good friend.”
Evelyn bit back a smile. “I do try.”
“Now then.” Beryl settled on the sofa and thought for a moment. “Whatever you decide, it should fit the crime.”
She nodded. “I have already thought of that.”
“But you don’t want to be too harsh with him.”
“Why not?” Evelyn drew her brows together. “Harsh is the very least of what I want to be.”
“No doubt.” Beryl considered her cautiously. “Oh dear, you are that angry then?”
“That angry and more.”
“I see.” She paused. “Still, I would hate to see you take any step that he might consider unforgivable.”
“Then we would be evenly matched.”
“Yes, of course,” Beryl murmured. “Last night, I said you and Adrian were an example to the rest of us.”
“But not to you.”
“I do think of myself as being above that sort of thing,” she said in a lofty manner, then sighed. “Apparently, I was wrong.”
“You?”
“I find it difficult to believe myself but ...” Beryl drew a deep breath. “I have decided to reform.”
Evelyn raised a brow.
“It might not be permanent, mind you,” Beryl said quickly. “But I do intend to try.”
Evelyn stared. “Why?”
“Other than those pesky questions of morality?”
Evelyn nodded.
“I am quite envious of you, you know. Oh, not because you have Adrian,” she added quickly. “But because of what you and Adrian have.” Her brow furrowed. “I am not used to feelings of envy or jealousy. I find them quite distressing.” She heaved a resigned sigh. “Nonetheless, your life has made me consider mine.” Her gaze met Evelyn’s. “He’s a good man, you know. A bit pompous, overly ambitious perhaps. . .”
Evelyn shook her head in confusion. “Who?”
“My husband, of course, Lionel.”
“Oh, I see.”
“He’s certainly not a saint. His morals are no better than mine but ...”
“But?”
“But, well, I think he deserves better.” She raised her chin in a resolute manner. “As do I.”
Evelyn stared.
“And as I cannot change husbands, I have decided to work with what I have,” she said firmly. “As has he. We had a long talk last night. We have both agreed to forgo liaisons with others. He is going to give up his flat and I ...” She smiled weakly. “I shall never again visit Room 327, or any room, at the Langham or any other hotel.” She met Evelyn’s gaze. “Do you think I can do it?”
“I daresay you can do anything you set your mind to,” Evelyn said firmly.
“You would say that, you are my friend. Still ...” Beryl smiled in a sheepish manner. “I am grateful for your confidence.” She paused. “And your friendship.”
“And I am grateful for yours.” She cast the other woman an affectionate smile. It seemed the day was to be filled with revelations. Who would have thought Beryl Dunwell ... “Beryl,” she said thoughtfully. “Room 327?”
Beryl cast her a knowing look.
“Is that the room where Adrian discovered you?”
“It’s a lovely suite,” Beryl said firmly. “Nicely appointed with a comfortable sitting room.” A regretful expression crossed her face. “Extremely comfortable.”
“I see.” Evelyn thought for a moment. “The punishment should fit the crime, don’t you think?”
“The punishment?” Beryl’s brow furrowed, then her eyes widened with understanding. “Why, Evelyn Waterston, we do have a great deal in common.” She smiled in a wicked manner. “Do you need any assistance?”
“No, but I am grateful for the offer.” Evelyn’s smile matched her friend’s. “I’m quite certain I can manage this myself.”
Adrian’s jealousy had started this and it seemed only fitting that jealousy play a part in ending it.
It struck her this was the dénouement of a play between them that had started years ago. A play in which the unwitting heroine, having at long last uncovered the wicked masquerade perpetrated on her by the hero, no longer had to choose between two competing heroes but, as they were one and the same, could have them both.
Of course, first she would make him pay.
Both of him.
Part Three
Ruse
Oh what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive!
—Sir Walter Scott, Marmion
Chapter 23
Adrian blew a long breath. “How?”
“His throat was slit,” Max said calmly. “He was found floating in the Thames this morning.”
“I see.” He met the other man’s gaze firmly. “This puts the theft of the file in an entirely different context.”
“As it does Sir George’s death.” Max nodded. “There are any number of ways to kill an elderly man without making it apparent he was killed. Lord Lansbury’s death, however, leaves no question.”
“Let us say for a moment that Sir George did not die of natural causes. His death was in November. The file was stolen in February.” He thought for a moment. “If Sir George was murdered, great pains were taken to make it appear natural. Yet no effort at all was made to hide the nature of Lord Lansbury’s death.”
“Which might well mean whoever is behind this is running out of time,” Max said.
“My thoughts exactly.” Adrian drew his brows together. “A deadline of some sort?”
“That would make sense.” Max chose his words with care. “With Lord Lansbury’s death, there is reason to believe the theft of the file and Sir George’s death are connected.” He met Adrian’s gaze. “Agreed?”
Adrian nodded. “Carrying that as
sumption to a logical conclusion: two of the last three heads of the department are now dead. One might conclude, therefore—”
“That you are next.”
“Perhaps,” Adrian said slowly. “But to what end?”
“Revenge is the obvious motive.” Max shrugged. “Against the department most likely. Or the government in general. It might well be personal although there’s no connection between you, Sir George, and Lord Lansbury.”
“Except,” Adrian said slowly, “for my wife.”
“Given recent events, it’s obvious why she is the first thing that would spring to mind. But she has no link to Lansbury.”
“Isn’t he the one who first approached her about working for the department?”
“As he recruited both of us and any number of others, I doubt that’s significant.” Max shook his head. “Besides, he left the department within days of her arrival. I don’t think they spoke more than twice, if that. The tie between them is practically nonexistent. The stronger connection is that you, Lansbury, and Sir George are all former heads of this organization.”
“Which would seem to indicate revenge as a motive.” Adrian considered the matter. “If the goal was to disrupt the department or even bring it to public exposure, thus embarrassing the government, the more appropriate throat to slit”—he cast his friend a humorless smile—“would be yours.”
“Thank you for putting it into perspective,” Max said wryly. “Still, all we have at the moment is a file that was stolen and returned that included the names of three former heads, one of whom was already dead, who may or may not have died naturally, and another who was definitely murdered. And you.”
“And I am alive and well. Extremely well.” His thoughts drifted back to last night. “Better than I’ve been in quite some time.”
“You have my heartiest congratulations. Now, however, we do need to keep you alive.”
Adrian shrugged. “I’m not especially worried.”
“You should be.”
“Nonsense. First of all, we have no idea if our conclusions are remotely accurate. We may well be stringing together pieces that do not fit the same puzzle.”
“Still, I would think caution is advisable.” A warning sounded in Max’s voice.
“Perhaps. Second ...” Adrian ticked the points off on his finger. “Sir George was elderly and we are not sure he was killed. But, given his advanced years, he could scarcely fend off an attacker. Third, Lansbury thought Sir George’s death was nothing more than coincidence and was therefore not concerned about his own safety. I would wager the man took no particular precautions. I, however, am well aware of the potential danger and shall certainly be on guard.”
“Nonetheless—”
A knock sounded at the side office door. Adrian cast Max a sharp glance.
“My secretary, Mr. Sayers.”
“Oh?” Adrian raised a brow.
“I can’t do this all by myself, you know.” Max huffed. “There have been a lot of changes in two years. More accountability and much more paper. Reports, files, expenditure accountings. We are not all as overly efficient as you are.”
“I didn’t say a word.” He bit back a smile. He had preferred to handle the bureaucratic nonsense that went along with the job himself. It was one less person to have to trust. “I didn’t see him when I came in.”
“His desk is in the small office to the side of the stairway, connected to mine.”
“The room that used to be for storage?”
Max nodded in a satisfied manner. “There is a series of hidden mirrors that allows him to see who is approaching.”
“How very clever,” Adrian murmured.
“Come in,” Max called.
A fair-haired, vaguely familiar young man entered the room, an envelope in his hands. “A woman delivered this a few minutes ago for you, sir. Most attractive, spectacles, striking eyes. She said it was urgent.” He stepped to the desk and handed it to Max. “Shall I wait for a reply, sir?”
“I shall let you know if a reply is necessary,” Max said.
“Of course, sir.” He glanced at Adrian. “Pleasure to see you again, my lord.”
“Mr. Sayers,” Adrian said cordially.
“If there is nothing else, sir?”
“That will be all for now.” Max waited until the young man had taken his leave and closed the door behind him. “Do you know him?”
“We met at the Spanish ambassador’s reception,” Adrian said. It was good to know Evie had not been entirely on her own in that venture. Leave it to Max to make certain there was help there should she need it. “My mother was thrusting him at my cousin.”
“A much more dangerous assignment.” Max chuckled. “He is well placed socially and he was not there at my direction.”
So much for Max assuring Evie’s safety. “You trust him?”
“Implicitly. He joined the department shortly after you left. His references were excellent and his record is outstanding. I moved him into this position about a year ago,” Max said, opening the envelope. He pulled out a folded piece of paper, and another smaller folded note fell out. He read the message, then met Adrian’s gaze. “This is interesting. It’s from your wife and apparently this ...” He picked up the smaller note and handed it to Adrian. “Is for you.”
Adrian quickly unfolded it.
My Dearest,
Upon reflection, I fear I might have been too hasty last night. I was not entirely honest about my regrets as well. Today I find I cannot get the thought of your lips pressed to mine out of my head. I shall be in Room 327 at the Langham Hotel this afternoon at 4:00.
The door will not be locked.
Yours,
Eve
Adrian stared at the well-known hand in stunned disbelief.
“Well, what is it?”
“My wife is arranging an assignation.” He could scarcely believe his own words. “With Sir!” How could she?
“I thought you said things went well last night.”
“I thought they did.” Again he stared at the note. “And in the same room I discovered Lady Dunwell.” He narrowed his eyes. “I knew that friendship was a mistake.”
“What are you going to do?”
“What can I do?” He clenched his jaw. “It would be rude to refuse so delightful an invitation.”
Max stared. “But who, precisely, is going to accept said invitation?”
“There’s no way around it. I shall have to tell her the truth.”
Max winced. “After last night, she will not take it well.”
“She would not take it well before last night.” He glared at his friend. “She’s invited that blasted man to a hotel room!”
“She’s invited you to a hotel room,” Max said pointedly.
“She doesn’t know that.”
“With any luck,” Max said under his breath.
Adrian stared. “What do you mean?”
“It’s entirely possible she recognized you last night.”
“No.” He shook his head. “She had no idea. I am certain of that.”
“Perhaps ...” Max chose his words with care. “You should reconsider. It might be best to ignore this—”
“Ignore this? How can I possibly ignore this?” Adrian stood and paced the room. “My wife has invited a man to join her in a hotel room. It’s not something one ignores.”
“Even so—”
“And this time when I burst into that hotel room, I will be in the right!”
“Which makes it all so much better.” Max got to his feet and met Adrian’s gaze. “But the question to consider now is whether you really want to be.”
“I don’t.” His tone hardened. “But it appears I am.”
“I think it’s a mistake.”
“Not my first.”
“If you are going to do this, you’d best be on your way.” Max shook his head. “It’s already after three.”
“And I would so hate to be late.” Anger sharpened his words.
He nodded and took his leave.
As much as this time he was indeed in the right, he was truly the injured party. Adrian wondered, during the brief ride to the hotel, if perhaps his friend was right. The rational, logical thing to do would indeed be to ignore her invitation and confront her when she returned home. Such a confrontation would inevitably mean confession on his part, but it would give her the chance to say she had known who he was at the masquerade last night. And she was now trying to teach him a lesson. Even if they both knew it wasn’t true, it would serve to salvage the situation somewhat. But she’d had no idea when they’d danced together that he was Sir. That was one thing he was not wrong about.
And rationality had nothing to do with this. He’d been irrational from the moment he’d allowed his doubts to surface. The last time he’d gone to the Langham to confront her, he had as well carried the hope with him that he was wrong. Now, he knew he wasn’t. A heavy, leaden knot hung in his chest, apparently his heart. So this was the feeling of true betrayal. He had brought it on himself, he knew that. Yet that knowledge made it no easier to bear.
Odd, how the betrayal of one’s wife wiped all else from one’s mind. The implications of Lansbury’s death and everything else bore further consideration. But not now. Now, he had a wife to confront. Something suspiciously like fear curled inside him.
Once again, he avoided the Langham’s elevator and sprinted up the stairs. He reached the room and for a long moment stared at the brass numbers on the door: 3-2-7. It was not too late to stop this, Max’s voice whispered in his head. No, it was too late. And once he stepped into that room, nothing between them would ever be the same again. He had never in his life questioned his courage before, yet at the moment, courage threatened to fail him. Regardless, one did what one had to do.
He drew a deep breath and opened the door. The sitting room appeared empty. The door to the bedroom was closed. She was probably in the other room. No doubt already in the bed. His stomach twisted.
My Wicked Little Lies Page 27
