And Then She Fell(85)
As they tumbled back to earth, to the dark bliss of the bed and the warmth of the other’s arms, even as the golden glow of satiation spread through them both, they found each other’s eyes.
Breaths mingling, gazes locked, neither needed to ask what the other thought.
They would defy hell for this. For this joy, this passion.
This unbounded togetherness.
No one—no murderer, no villain of any stripe—would take this from them. They wouldn’t let it go. Not willingly, not even if death threatened.
They read the truth in each other’s eyes, then let their lids fall. They needed no words to repledge their troth; for this, for their chance to live with this, to devote their lives to living the promise of this, they would, unhesitatingly, stake their lives.
Nothing needed to be said. Sliding deeper into the bed, dragging up the covers, they turned into each other’s arms, and slept.
Chapter Thirteen
The following evening, Sir Thomas Grenville, Trustee of the British Museum and prominent bibliophile, had elected to host a gala to raise funds for the continuing construction of the new museum. Sir Thomas had had the happy notion of staging his gala in the part of the new East Wing known as The King’s Library Gallery, a completed section of the new works until that evening forbidden to any but the curators, hence assuring attendance by all those of the ton lucky enough to receive an invitation.
As most of the upper echelon of the ton was presently in residence for the Season, the event was destined by design to be the most horrendous, albeit select, crush—literally everyone who was anyone could be counted on to be there.
“It truly is the perfect venue for our trap,” Henrietta murmured. On James’s arm, she stood just behind her mother and father in the reception line; tall though she was, she couldn’t see over, much less through, the sea of heads and shoulders bobbing and nodding as those in the line ahead of their party chatted excitedly. Everyone was anticipating a highly memorable evening. Sir Thomas, an old hand at staging fund-raising events, had been extremely cagey over the entertainment he intended providing, letting speculation build and do his job for him.
As a consequence, all those invited had turned up en masse.
“I heard,” James said, bending his head to murmur in her ear, “that those senior hostesses who had intended to host events tonight have, by and large, cancelled them.”
Henrietta nodded. “There was no point persevering. Everyone is going to be here, and as it’s a gala, few will be likely to leave until it’s over.”
“Which, again, will presumably play into our hands.” Raising his head, James glanced around. “I can see St. Ives ahead, and Gabriel and Alathea are ten yards behind us.” He swept his gaze ahead, then back along the densely packed line of would-be revelers again. “I can’t see any of the others.”
“They’ll be here, somewhere, although with such a crowd I’m relieved we don’t have to meet up with any of them. Finding anyone will be well-nigh impossible.”
“Unless you’re watching and waiting.” James felt his jaw set. After a moment, he relaxed it enough to ask, “Remind me again—who are the ones elected to supply our façade of obliviousness?”
Henrietta glanced around, but the noise generated by the crowd was already such that she seriously doubted even her mother, directly ahead of her, would hear anything she said. Nevertheless, she leaned nearer to James and lowered her voice. “Devil and Honoria, Vane and Patience, Gabriel and Alathea, Lucifer and Phyllida, and Demon and Flick, as well as Simon and Portia, Amanda and Martin, and Amelia and Luc.” She shifted her gaze forward. “And my parents, of course—and Mary, too.” Her sister was standing on Arthur’s other side. “Plus all the older generation—Aunt Helena, Martin and Celia, and George and Horatia. They’ll all be here, and all will be playing their part.”
They’d all agreed that her would-be murderer would definitely know enough to be wary of those named. He would watch them for their reactions, possibly even be bold enough to test them, and if they showed any hint of being alert and on guard, then no matter how tempting the lure they cast, he wouldn’t step free of the crowd to pursue it. Consequently, the above-named members of the wider company who had come there that night intent on capturing the murderer would project a façade of supreme unawareness of any potential threat. That was their role—to convince the murderer that no one was expecting him to do anything so outrageous as to strike again that night, certainly not at the gala, and that therefore no one was maintaining any particular watch on Henrietta.