Death Wears a Mask (28 page)

I found it surprising how he spoke of a priceless heirloom as some trinket to be tossed about at will. Nevertheless, the idea was not entirely without merit.

“Yes, I suppose that might work,” I said. “I shall think it over.”

“Certainly.” He smiled. “Call on me before the party, if you like. I'll give it to you to wear.”

I was relieved to see we had arrived back at my building. “You needn't see me to my door,” I said, hoping he would take the hint.

To his credit, he did not insist. “Very well. I'll leave you here then. You'll be in touch about our other arrangements, I suppose.”

“Yes. Thank you. And thank you for a lovely evening, Lord Dunmore.”

“Alexander,” he corrected, taking my hand in his.

“Alexander,” I repeated with a smile. “Good night.”

“Good night, Amory.” He squeezed my hand. Then he turned and got back into his car. I watched it pull away before turning toward the door, feeling very much relieved. The evening had not gone exactly as I had expected, but I still felt that I had learned a few things.

I stopped in the lobby before going to the lift. Although I was tired, I somehow dreaded going back to the dark, quiet flat. Winnelda had gone to bed long ago, and I wished there was someone to talk to.

I was trying to fool myself, of course. I knew perfectly well that I was making excuses to go and see Milo. It was intensely irritating to me that I should want to talk to him at all, given everything that had happened between us as of late. Nevertheless, I was perfectly aware that I would break down, so I might as well just go see him.

I went back outside and hailed a cab.

 

25

THE RITZ LOBBY
was busy, despite the hour, with people in evening dress coming and going along the brightly lit hall, their footsteps muted by the dark rugs. I could hear faint strains of music drifting from the direction of the dining room, where guests were no doubt enjoying a carefree evening of after-dinner dancing. For some reason, it recalled the early days of my marriage. We had been very young and carefree then, and I had loved nothing more than floating about the room in Milo's arms.

Brushing away my growing nostalgia, I walked toward the lift. It occurred to me suddenly, however, that I probably should have telephoned to warn him of my arrival. In fact, I began to wonder if I had been foolish in coming here. After all, Milo might not want to talk to me at all. Just because we had enjoyed engaging in subterfuge together this afternoon didn't mean that everything was all right between us.

There was also the possibility he might not be there. There were any number of ways he might have chosen to spend his evening while I spent mine with Lord Dunmore. An even worse possibility than a night on the town occurred to me: he might very well be in his room and … entertaining. I felt vaguely sick at the idea that Helene Renault—or some other woman—might be there now.

I hesitated for a just a moment, and then I turned and approached the front desk.

“May I help you, madam?” asked the man who stood behind it.

“Can you tell me if Mr. Ames is in? He's in the Trafalgar Suite.”

He didn't hesitate. “Mr. Ames is still in the dining room, madam,” he said, indicating the direction I should take.

I thought of asking if Milo was alone but decided against it. I could find that out for myself.

I made my way to the dining room, admiring, as I always did, the elegant opulence of it. It was a beautiful room, glowing golden in the night. The elaborate frescoes, heavy draped curtains, and soft lighting in the gilded chandeliers that hung from high ceilings gave the large room a feeling of warmth and intimacy. Laughter and the soft murmur of conversation mingled with the clinking of glasses, and I couldn't help but contrast the quiet elegance of this place with the cacophony of the Sparrow.

I spotted Milo at a table near the dance floor and was immensely relieved to see that he was alone.

His brows rose when he saw me, and he stood as I approached the table. He was dressed in spotless evening attire, and I felt a little pang. In some cruel twist of fate, he always seemed most handsome when things were the worst between us.

“Hello, Milo,” I said.

“Good evening,” he replied politely.

We stood there for a moment, looking at one another.

“May I join you?” I asked at last.

He pulled out a chair and motioned with exaggerated courtesy for me sit.

“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” he asked, taking the chair across from me. He didn't sound as though my answer would be of any particular interest to him. His dinner plates had been cleared away, but he was drinking a glass of wine, and his fingers toyed with the stem.

“I wanted you to see that I had arrived home in one piece,” I said.

“I am gratified to learn that you escaped your evening unscathed.”

“Lord Dunmore was…” I began to say “a perfect gentleman,” but that was not exactly the case. Milo noticed my hesitation. “Very pleasant.”

“Did he kiss you?” He asked this casually, as though he was not questioning his wife about her behavior with another man.

“No, of course not,” I replied irritably.

“Did he try to?”

I paused. I wanted very much to lie to my husband, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

“Not exactly,” I said.

His eyes met mine. “I knew perfectly well that he wouldn't be able to resist you, darling.”

“But I didn't allow him to kiss me,” I said. My meaning was implied. I had resisted Lord Dunmore's advances, while Milo had been caught kissing Helene Renault.

“But if a photographer had been present in that moment when he tried, it might, in fact, have been interpreted as more than it was.”

I sighed. He had a point. However, I was very hesitant to admit it. No matter how well he presented his arguments, I still didn't know if I believed him. That was the maddening part. No matter how much I wanted to trust him, there was always some part of me that found it impossible to do so.

He was watching me as these ideas flashed through my head, and I couldn't help but feel as though he was reading my thoughts.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked. “Coffee, perhaps?”

I was prepared to decline, but, in truth, a cup of coffee sounded wonderful. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

I think he had thought I would turn him down, for, though it may have been wishful thinking, he almost looked pleased. He motioned to the waiter and placed the order before turning back to me. He appeared perfectly at ease, but there was something watchful about him.

“I learned a few interesting things this evening,” I said, more to fill the silence than anything else. “I … I went to the Sparrow.”

“Did you?”

“You don't sound surprised.”

“Do you expect me to be? It's perfectly obvious you revel in doing things I warn you against.” I couldn't tell whether or not he was jesting with me, so I ignored him.

“I ran into Felicity Echols, and she was quite drunk. She said some rather interesting things.”

He waited.

“For one thing, she warned me against Lord Dunmore. She said he is dangerous.”

Milo's brow rose ever so slightly, and I could detect the faintest hint of derision on his features.

“She seems genuinely afraid of him. I wonder if she believes he might have killed James Harker. She also said, ‘He didn't mean it. I'm sure he didn't,' but she wouldn't say of whom she was speaking. I thought she might mean Mr. Harker, but it doesn't really make sense. And, if not him, does that mean she knows who the killer is?”

“It's all very interesting,” Milo said blandly.

“And Lord Dunmore thinks one of the Echols sisters might have done it. He seems to believe that there was some sort of love triangle transpiring and one of them might have killed Mr. Harker out of jealousy. It seems a bit ridiculous to me, but I suppose it's always a possibility.”

“Indeed.”

“It's not much,” I admitted. I sighed, leaning back in my chair. “It doesn't feel as though we're getting anywhere. I can only hope that something will happen with the Dunmore Diamond.”

“The Dunmore Diamond?” Milo repeated.

The waiter arrived at that moment with my coffee, and I had a moment to decide how to answer. I had not yet revealed this part of the plan to Milo, and I was not at all certain he would be receptive to it. There was no going back now, however. “Yes,” I said when the waiter had gone. “Lord Dunmore has agreed to use the Dunmore Diamond as bait at the ball on Sunday. It may prove the perfect opportunity to catch the killer.”

Milo seemed extremely unimpressed. “I think you'd be better off letting the police do the dirty work, don't you? After all, Inspector Jones gets paid to do that sort of thing.”

I ignored this bit of skepticism and took a sip of my coffee. “I think it's an excellent plan.”

“Yes, I'm sure you do.” There was something vaguely like sarcasm in Milo's tone, but I decided to overlook it.

“We'll make a show of the diamond,” I said, purposefully neglecting to mention that Lord Dunmore intended for me to wear it. “Then I will relate to each of the suspects that we've set it down somewhere. If the thief was desperate enough to commit murder, there is every chance he or she will be willing to risk being caught for a piece of such magnitude.”

Milo seemed to consider this. “It might work,” he said, “in theory. But I don't see how you'll convince the killer to believe that Lord Dunmore would be so careless with the diamond.”

“It's worth a try, isn't it?”

“If you say so, darling.”

“I just wish I could be certain that the thief is the killer,” I said. “I keep coming back to the idea that Mr. Harker surprised the thief in some way and was killed to ensure his silence, but his confronting the thief seems to go against what we've learned of his personality.”

“I would not have taken him for a confident man,” Milo said.

“No.” I frowned, as his words sank in. “You're right. Then what was he doing with the paste jewels from the bracelet … and the gun? And furthermore, where is the rest of the bracelet?”

“All very good questions.”

“There is, of course, the possibility that Lord Dunmore is either the thief or the killer and it was a mistake to take him into my confidence. I thought it a risk worth taking, however, for even if he is guilty, he will be less on his guard thinking he is taking part in the trap.”

“You don't mean you allow that your Lord Dunmore might possibly not be the gallant gentleman that he seems?”

“For pity's sake, Milo.” I sighed. “You're not going to develop a jealous streak now?”

“Certainly not.” His eyes met mine. “After all, I may not have the right to that particular honor for much longer. Although, I must admit, I thought I'd merit a better replacement than Dunmore.”

He was trying to make me angry, and he'd succeeded.

“Certainly,” I retorted. “After all, if I wanted flattery and lies, I could get them from you.”

“Do you still believe that I am having an affair with Helene Renault?”

His eyes met mine and held. I wanted so very much to tell him no, but I just wasn't sure. I never knew what was true and what wasn't. “I don't know.”

“Have you made up your mind about divorcing me?”

“Milo … do we have to talk about this now?”

“Yes,” he said.

I sighed. “I don't know what to tell you. I don't want to divorce you. But I meant what I said. I won't … I can't go on with things as they are.”

“I'm not going to try to stop you, if it's what you want.”

“Is it what you want?” I asked softly.

“Certainly not. I'm very happy being married to you, Amory.”

It was almost laughable, how very polite we were being to one another, but I didn't feel like laughing. In fact, the knot in my throat made it impossible to speak.

“Dance with me,” he said suddenly. He stood and held out his hand.

I wavered. “Milo, I don't think…”

“There's no harm in it,” he said, that familiar enchanter's smile flickering at the corners of his mouth. “It's only a dance, darling.”

It was more than that. We both knew it. I recognized too well that look in his eyes, the glint of intensity that appeared when he had made up his mind to accomplish something. My instincts warned me that it would be better not to give him the opportunity to put his arms around me, for I was infuriatingly susceptible to him at close distances. My head and my heart were at war, and I found my head was much too tired for the fight.

I took his hand and allowed him to lead me to the dance floor. He turned to me, his eyes meeting mine, before his arms went around me, pulling me against him. And, just like that, it seemed the room and the other couples around us faded away until it was only us and the music.

As we moved across the floor, lost in the gentle sway of the music, I was very aware of the weight of his hand on my back, of the warm pressure of his body against me. My face close to his, I could smell the subtle, spicy scent of his aftershave mingling with the starch of his collar.

“Do you remember that night in Paris?” he asked.

“Yes,” I whispered.

I knew just the night he meant. It had been the last night of our honeymoon and the sort of thing that fairy tales were made of. We had danced until after midnight to the slow, heady strains of the orchestra, and then we had taken a moonlight stroll along the banks of the Seine. I clung to his arm as we walked, and I had thought, in the naïveté of youthful bliss, that the glow of lights in the rippling water seemed like a reflection of my happiness.

We had stopped on a bridge, and I leaned against the balustrade, looking up. “I'm so very happy,” I told him.