A Daring Liaison(23)

“That suits me well. I don’t mean to actually go through with the nuptials. Just propose. Lead the ton and the public at large to believe it is true.”

“To provoke an ‘accident’?”

“Exactly.”

“Will she go along with your plan?”

“I have ample reason to believe she will. She says she wants to get to the bottom of this, so it would be difficult for her to refuse my help.”

“And what if no one attacks?”

“They will. Or she will. The temptation will be too great for the killer to resist. Booth was engaged to her for mere hours before he lay dead in the street.”

“Damn it all, Charlie, I do not like this,” Richardson muttered in a low tone. “You’d be a target.”

“Have you forgotten Gibbons? I am already a target.”

Wycliffe sat back in his chair. “When do you plan to make this proposition to Mrs. Huffington?”

“Tomorrow.” Charles glanced to the establishment’s dingy window, where a faint trace of dawn lurked. “Tonight, actually. We are both invited to Thayer’s musicale, and I shall contrive to escort her home. Once we are alone, I am certain I can persuade her.”

Richardson chuckled but wisely said nothing.

Wycliffe sighed. “I do not know if you are brave or foolhardy, Hunter. Guard yourself well.”

* * *

Charles milled with the rest of the attendees at the Thayer musicale, holding a glass of wine in one hand and a small plate of pastries that had been forced upon him by his hostess in the other. He had arrived late and hadn’t been able to spot Mrs. Huffington. The soft glow of candlelit chandeliers cast moving shadows and made it difficult to recognize anyone until he was nearly upon them. But now that the performance was over, he wandered toward the dais to position himself to view the room.

The soft chords of the pianoforte carried to him as he approached. Ah, and here she was. He deposited his plate on a passing footman’s tray and paused to watch the scene. Harriett and Mrs. Huffington sat together on the bench, Mrs. Huffington with her hands poised upon the keyboard. Harriett was giving her some sort of instruction and both were laughing.

For a moment, Charles could almost believe both women had nothing more than the next fete to worry about. Mrs. Huffington’s skin glowed as warmly as the candlelight. Her gown, sumptuous lavender-blue satin, was cut to emphasize her striking figure, and the lush swell of her breasts straining at the organdy edging of her bodice was almost more than he could bear. His mind filled with the memory of their coach ride last night—how the tight little buds teased his tongue, how she had sighed and tangled those same fingers she now placed upon the keys through his hair and held him closer.

He swallowed a gulp of wine, praying that would douse his rising hunger and other parts of his body that were also rising. Alas...

“Mr. Hunter!”

Drat. Harriett had spotted him. She smiled and waved. “Mr. Hunter! How nice to see you.”

He stepped forward and gave her his best casual smile. “And you, Miss Thayer. A thoroughly delightful presentation, by the way. Though it does not seem possible, I vow that you and your sister improve each time I hear you play.” He glanced at Mrs. Huffington and nodded. “Mrs. Huffington. I trust you are well this evening.”

Only the slightest stain of pink rose to her cheeks. “Quite, sir.”

“I was just demonstrating to Mrs. Huffington the technique for sharing a keyboard in a duet. Though she plays quite well, she is rather clumsy when trying to share the keyboard.”

Mrs. Huffington laughed. “Had I anyone to play with when I was learning, I am certain I’d be better.”

Oh, that simple phrase brought to mind all manner of possibilities. Indeed, he’d have been more than happy to play with her, to teach her, well, perhaps not the pianoforte.... He finished his wine before he could say something unforgivably crude.

Harriett glanced between him and Mrs. Huffington and stood with a meaningful smile. “I believe I have neglected my duties long enough. Now that you have someone to keep you company, Mrs. Huffington, I will excuse myself.”

Mrs. Huffington’s mouth opened as if she would object, but Charles offered his hand to help Harriett down from the platform. That done, he turned back to the object of his search and held his hand out for similar duty. “How was your day, Mrs. Huffington?”

She rose from the bench and smoothed her gown before taking his hand, almost reluctantly. “Well enough, sir.”