Dragan did not trust anyone with eyes as cold as Gabriel’s. On the other hand, the man seemed disposed to be polite, making civil conversation about the event and about Dragan’s route from Hungary to England.
“How long have you been acquainted with Lady Grizelda?” Gabriel asked at last, apparently casually, although Dragan was not fooled.
“A few days, only,” Dragan replied. Over his companion’s head, he could still see Griz and Lord Horace talking animatedly, though not with obvious anger. They were a handsome, aristocratic pair, like fine porcelain among coarse earthenware. And yet, she had no idea how beautiful she looked in her rose silk evening gown with its low, sloping neckline, revealing the warm, creamy skin of her shoulders. The sweetness of holding her in his arms so recently made his heart ache, because her beauty seemed to shine from within. With an effort, he brought his gaze back to Gabriel’s. “Are you a friend of the family?”
“I hope so.”
“Ah yes. Are you not the colleague of Lord Horace who dined at Kelburn House last Thursday?”
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed very slightly. “You are very well informed.”
“I made it my business to be, after I was arrested for the murder of a Kelburn maid.”
This time, there wasn’t the faintest change in Gabriel’s expression. He knew exactly who Dragan was. “You must have been grateful for your fair savior.”
“You must be grateful you missed the opera,” Dragan returned.
“On the contrary, I am fond of opera. But both his lordship and I had matters to attend to.”
“Together?”
“In part.” A hint of amusement entered the cool, grey eyes. “Mr. Tizsa, are you interrogating me?”
“I cannot help being interested in every aspect of that evening.”
“And, perhaps, turning interest away from yourself?”
“I am no longer of interest in that particular crime,” Dragan pointed out. Griz was walking away from Lord Horace, directly toward him. Her brother’s expression was amiable as he sipped his wine, though Dragan didn’t quite believe in that apparent benevolence.
“And yet,” Gabriel said gently, “you knew the victim. You left the opera to meet her. And were discovered leaning over the body with a dagger in your hand.”
“A dagger that did not kill her. That came from the Duke of Kelburn’s collection.”
Gabriel smiled incredulously. “Are you accusing His Grace of this crime?”
“I am not an imbecile, sir. Nor are you. Lady Griz,” he acknowledged as she joined them.
Gabriel smiled at her before glancing toward Lord Horace and setting down his glass. “I believe his lordship is ready to depart. I imagine you will accompany us, Lady Grizelda?”
“Oh, no,” Griz said blithely. “I’m sure there is another dance to come. Good night, Mr. Gabriel.”
The man bowed and walked toward Mrs. Cartwright, where he met up with Lord Horace.
“What were you talking about?” Griz asked him.
“The night of Nancy’s murder. He knows an awful lot about it.”
“He works very closely with Horace.”
It was too easy to blurt out his thoughts to this girl. This girl he had kissed with an emotion approaching release. He hadn’t expected her to respond, and when she did…the explosion of joy in his heart—and his loins—had nearly obliterated the last of his common sense.
This girl who had lied to the police in case she needed to protect her family. She didn’t need to, in the end, since the stiletto had not been used. Nevertheless, that lie betrayed what she considered members of her family capable of.
What reason could Lord Horace possibly have for killing his mother’s housemaid? Had he made her pregnant and solved the problem?
But then, there was no real problem for a man of his birth and influence. A pay off absolved him of responsibility. If the duchess found out, she would blame the girl, not her son.
He could see no motive for Horace. And yet the suspicion lingered. Swallowing back his instinct to share it with her, he said instead, “There is another waltz. Would it shock the world if you danced with me again?”
An adorable flush seeped into her face. “I can’t imagine anyone is counting.”
She had a way, he acknowledged, of wiping everything but her from his mind. It might not be safe, but she was so enchanting, he allowed it to happen and simply enjoyed holding her. As if it was the last chance he would have.
***
If Griz lay awake a long time that night, her mind dwelling on Dragan Tizsa rather than Nancy Barrow; if she finally fell asleep touching her smiling lips… Well, by morning,