Murder at the Mayfair Hotel (Cleopatra Fox Mysteries #1)- C.J. Archer Page 0,32

inhale,” he said, his smile widening.

I inhaled and promptly coughed as the smoke hit the back of my throat.

Mr. Hookly poured a sherry from the decanter on the sideboard and handed the glass to me. I gratefully sipped and the coughing eased.

“First time?” he asked.

“How can you tell?”

He chuckled. “You’re either very brave or very foolish.” He glanced pointedly at the two older gentlemen mumbling around the cigars plugged into their mouths. Considering the only women who smoked were prostitutes or some of the more extreme activists for the women’s emancipation movement, it wasn’t surprising they looked upon me as an aberration. To them, my presence in their masculine domain was either an act of defiance or promiscuity.

I wondered what Mr. Hookly thought of me. From his smiles, I gathered he realized I was neither and that smoking was a new endeavor. Considering my second inhalation produced another round of coughs, it was an easy conclusion to draw.

“So which is it, Miss…?”

“Fox.” I held out my hand and he shook it, introducing himself as Mr. Hookly. “Perhaps I’m a brave fool,” I said. “Or simply adventurous.”

He acknowledged this with a shallow bow. “So now that we’ve established why you’re in the smoking room, tell me what brings you to The Mayfair. You don’t look like their typical guest.”

“Don’t I? And what does a typical guest of The Mayfair Hotel look like?”

He nodded at the gentlemen. “Older.”

“You’re not old.”

He was indeed not. I gauged him to be in his middle to late thirties going by the dashes of gray specks in his sideburns. He was also handsome, but not in an overt way. He wasn’t a man that women would gush over, but his features were pleasingly arranged and there was an air of refinement about him and in the way in which he held my gaze. This man did not lack confidence.

“Perhaps I was being unkind to my fellow guests. Not all are stuck in their ways like those two. I’ve seen some younger ones coming and going. I hear Sir Ronald’s son brings in a younger crowd.”

“Is that so? I wouldn’t know. I only arrived yesterday.”

“Alone?”

I gave him an arched look, and he instantly apologized.

“Forgive me, the question was too personal, but innocently meant.” He offered me another bow, deeper this time. When he straightened, his smile had vanished and he did indeed seem apologetic.

I decided to be honest. If I wanted him to trust me enough to tell me about himself, I had to give something of myself in return. “I arrived alone but I live with my family on the fourth floor. Sir Ronald Bainbridge is my uncle.”

He paused, the cigarette halfway to his lips. “Does your uncle know you’ve taken up smoking today?”

I leaned in a little. “No, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell him or anyone else. I’m not sure I’ll continue with the habit. I can’t seem to get the technique right.” I inhaled and coughed again.

Mr. Hookly placed his cigarette between smiling lips. He blew out a smoke ring. “You’ll get used to it. But perhaps giving up before you properly begin is a good idea. It’s a terribly addictive habit.”

“Tell me, what brings you to London—and The Mayfair in particular?” I asked, trying to sound as though I were merely attempting to make small talk.

“I’ve newly returned to English soil from Africa.”

“Africa! How thrilling.” He did not look as though he’d just come from a hot land. He wasn’t tanned. I supposed he could have worn a wide-brimmed hat out of doors to protect his pale skin.

“Do you think so?” He seemed to like my enthusiastic response, his shoulders squaring ever so slightly.

“What were you doing there?”

“Mining. Trouble with the Boers was worsening, however, so I decided to return to England. I sold my mine just before war broke out and here I am.” He spread his hands apart. “I came directly to London after my ship docked to purchase all necessaries for a brisk English winter. I don’t recall it ever being this cold, however.”

“Are you staying for the ball?”

“I think I will, yes. Sir Ronald has asked me to and issued me an invitation personally just today, as it happens. I suspect the personal touch was in response to the murder and not because he particularly desires my company for the evening. Nasty business, isn’t it? I hope they find the killer soon.”

“They arrested one of the footmen this afternoon.”

“Good. Glad that’s resolved. I feel better knowing there