The Rose of Blacksword (63 page)

The man beside her was calm and collected and probably had never known a second of terror in his life. Halley sighed silently.

“Now, tell me, beautiful lady,” the Baron’s deep voice whispered softly into her hair, shattering her thoughts, “what else is the enchanting Contessa not accustomed to, so I may help put you at ease?”

She glanced up into his smoky eyes and noticed the slight brush of gray at his temples. Put her at ease? She lifted one hand to her cheek and smiled coyly. “Absolutely nothing, Baron.”

“Nothing?”

His gaze was hungry now, and Halley swallowed hard around the lump in her throat, keeping her smile firmly in place, her chin tilted upward, and her gaze locked tightly to his. She wasn’t Halley Finnegan, she was the Contessa, she reminded herself. It was all a crazy game. “Nothing of consequence, Baron.”

“Good! Then let’s move on to cocktails. Oh, and I suppose we ought to squeeze in falling in love.”

Halley stumbled over the edge of the carpet and grasped his arm for support. “Falling in love, you say?”

His fingers moved playfully on her waist as he spoke. “Didn’t you read your invitation, Contessa?” His smile was charming and teasing and sexy.

“Seems I missed something. Was it in the small print, perhaps?”

“Exactly. There it was, right after the date and place. ‘The Baron von Bluster and Contessa Ambrosia,’ it read, ‘are both recovering from wild affairs and are thrown together after a separation of many years. In spite of the suspicion and suspense wrought by the murder, they find the old flames rekindled, and love blossoms in the shadow of murder and intrigue.’ ” The Baron cleared his throat dramatically, causing Halley to laugh softly as he continued. “ ‘But when the Baron admits he is bankrupt and stands to inherit millions from the deceased, tension builds.’ ”

“It said that?” Halley’s brows narrowed suspiciously.

He held up one hand and grinned. “Scout’s honor. That’s who we are. The token lovebirds—”

A contessa … a baron … and now a wild affair? It was too much for Halley. Bubbly laughter welled up inside her chest. If she had tried to imagine a life as far removed as possible from her plain, comfortable job at the Thorne Estate Library, this would fit the bill perfectly!

“So, lovely Contessa,” he went on, holding open the French doors, “as you can plainly see, we have much ground to cover!”

“All those years apart.” Halley shook her head.

“Yes, I’ve been damn lonely, my dear!”

“But the wild affairs, sir? Certainly the nights weren’t too lonely.”

“Wild only in a mechanical way, Contessa. Nothing could compare to the pure passion we shared!”

Their light laughter mingled as they walked over to the far edge of the stone patio and looked out onto the breathtaking panorama before them. The fiery ball of sun was settling on the far edge of the lake, seemingly held up only by the clear line of the horizon. Below, the rippling waters caught the fading light, and centered perfectly, as if by an invisible artist, a lone sailboat glided across the magnificent vista.

“What a beautiful sight!” Halley pressed her palms flat against the cool surface of the stone wall edging the terrace.

The Baron edged up close beside her and rested one hip against the rough wall. “It’s a wonderful place. Why Syl and Herb ever venture off the property is beyond me.”

“Are they good friends of yours?”

He nodded. “Yes, and more so. They’re relatives—Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Herbert.” He rescued two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray as he spoke. “And they coerce me into many of their gatherings. I think they consider my being unmarried a devastatingly lonely existence. But tell me, Contessa, how did you happen upon this soiree? I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before.”

Halley smiled. “No, you haven’t. I’m here by default, actually. One guest couldn’t make it, and a dear old friend of mine plugged me into the vacancy as a favor to the Harringtons. Apparently the mystery weekend needed all the characters to be a success.”

The Baron lightly tapped his glass against hers and flashed her a charming smile. “Well, it certainly needed you! Here’s to the Contessa-by-default. Long may she live.”

Halley sipped the champagne, then smiled broadly. “How appropriate a toast! What does one do if one
doesn’t
live long at a murder-mystery party?”

The Baron’s answering smile held a hint of a dimple in one cheek. “Oh, the important people—like you, my Contessa—will survive. The victim will be one of the acting troupe mingling so subtly among us. But, fair lady”—his thick brows drew together ominously—“we’re all
suspects
.”

“Aha!” Halley took another sip of the champagne. “So I’m cavorting with a would-be, could-be murderer?”

“But what does it all matter?” He moved closer to her. “We’ve found each other again, dear Contessa, and
that’s
all that matters.” His husky laughter hung in the warm evening air.

Halley rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms to ward off a shiver.

“Still cold?” One thick brow lifted in concern.

Halley shook her head quickly. “I’m fine, thanks.”

The Baron watched her closely, his eyes lingering on the rise of her breasts.

She recognized the look that played briefly across his face. What would he do when he discovered with whom he’d been saddled? Not a sophisticated jet-setter at all, not even a sophisticated lady of the night, as her friend Leo so delicately put it, but a librarian who ranked formal parties right below measles on her list of things to avoid! She hid her laughter behind a quick question. “Tell me, Baron, besides falling in love, what is expected of us tonight?”

“You can handle more? Well, dinner, I believe, and meeting and mingling, music and laughter, that sort of thing.”

“And the murder?”

“Ah! I’ve probably got a real life P.I. on my hands.…”

He lifted one brow questioningly, and Halley tossed her head. “Not even close, Baron.”

He watched her intently and tried to read beneath the incredible emerald color of her eyes. More emerald, that was all he found. A deep, wonderful sea of it. But there was
something
different—enchantingly different—about the Contessa, he realized. The Baron smiled, then edged even closer. “All right, I’ll tell you about the murder.” He whispered the words conspiratorially into her ear. “The victim is out there somewhere. And the dastardly perpetrator of the crime is too. And the clues are everywhere—”

“I suppose we ought to see about finding them—”

The Baron grinned and stood tall beside her. “Yes, and I’m being terribly unfair to keep you all to myself like this. Syl will have my hide; she wanted me to introduce you around to the other guests in this little drama. I guess I’ll have to share you.” He took her hand and tucked it inside the crook of his arm. “But only for a while. After all, we have all those lost years to catch up on, my lovely Tessa.”

My lovely Tessa
 … Halley basked in the fantasy of it all for a second, then smoothly swept across the room on his arm, her eyes lustrous and her head held high.

As they approached each group, Halley noticed the admiring looks, the questioning brows that indicated the people were wondering who she
really
was, but the Baron introduced her only as the Contessa, and before long, Halley began to feel as if her slippers were made of glass and her pumpkin were waiting just outside the door. She had a
long
time to go before midnight.

Dinner was a whirlwind of animated conversation and rich food served at round, linen-draped tables. Dozens of servants hovered over the guests, and a string quartet played on a small balcony off the dining room.

There were twenty-four guests in all, and Halley marveled at how eagerly each one of them fell into his or her role. There was a proper spinster, a fading movie star, and, of course, a butler among the guests, and near her at her table sat a Mafia don in black tie, chewing a fat cigar. Kids playing dress-up and finding unexpected delight in being someone else, she mused. Just as she was doing.

Her glance swept around the elegant table for the twentieth time that night and paused as it had each time on the profile of the magnificent Baron, sitting directly to her left. It would have been hard not to look at him, so imposing a presence was he. Halley Finnegan’s Baron—for two days. The thought sent unexpected chills up and down her spine. Who was he really, beneath the elegant tux and lovely talk? He fit the role of baron so perfectly, it was difficult to think of him as anyone else. Most of the guests had greeted him warmly and familiarly, some slipping and calling him Nick. Nick the Baron, with the laughing, dark eyes and the splash of gray at his temples. He was laughing now at something the older woman on his left had said, and Halley watched him over the rim of her wineglass.

A deep, bellowing voice interrupted her thoughts. Herb Harrington leaned toward her, the buttons of his four-star general’s costume straining against his chest. “Ah, the Contessa is enjoying herself. Good!”

Halley pushed her thoughts to the back of her mind and nodded to her host. “Leo Thorne was right on target, Mr. Harrington. Your parties
are
unusual! This is the nicest group of could-be murderers I’ve mingled with in some time.”

He laughed heartily and patted her hand. “Well, Syl and I like a good time, Contessa. Yes, we do. And the Baron, is he introducing you to people?”

“Oh, yes. Baron von Bluster certainly seems to know his way around.”

“Ah, so I see his reputation can’t stay under wraps, even under that baronial title.”

Halley shook her head quickly. “Oh, no, I only meant
here
. Everyone … well, he seems to know all the guests.” She glanced at Nick, but he was busy talking to someone.

“Oh, that he does! Yes, ma’am, the Baron knows everyone, right, Abbie?” Herb smiled at an elderly woman with clear brown eyes who was sitting to his right.

Halley had noticed her earlier with a distinguished-looking man who had thinning gray hair, and whom Halley assumed was the woman’s husband. They seemed to take special note of her when Nick had introduced them on the patio. She searched her memory for names, and when they came to her, she realized they weren’t using their real names, anyway. She knew them only as the once famous vaudeville team of Otto and Olive Bailey.

The woman smiled warmly at Halley. “Yes, the Baron does know many people. And you seem to be getting along well, Contessa. So the Baron is being good to you?”

Halley smiled. “Oh, he’s being very patient with me. I’m new at all this, you see. I—” She suddenly felt embarrassed. The woman was watching her so closely. It was not an unkind look, though, but rather one of intense interest.

“Well, young lady, I can see in our Nick’s eyes that
he’s
enjoying himself. That’s good.” She nodded her head carefully and thoughtfully.

Herb rested one hand over the woman’s and spoke kindly. “You see, Abbie? Who knows …” His voice drifted off then as he turned to summon a waiter for dessert, and the older woman’s attention was taken by the gentleman seated next to her.

Halley pondered over the strange conversation for a moment, then realized she simply wasn’t used to dinner party chatter, that’s all.
And
barons.

A gentle pressure on her leg beneath the drape of the tablecloth scattered her thoughts. For a fraction of a second she thought it was a dog, until a soft, very human whisper caressed her ear. “You’ve been giving far too much of your attention away to others, Contessa.”

Halley jumped slightly. “Baron, you scared me! Is that you playing games with my knee beneath the table?”

“Hmm, perhaps we should both go down to check?”

“Wouldn’t that be a perfect moment for the murder? No, Baron, I don’t think it’s a wise move.”

He nodded in mock seriousness. “You’re right, of course. We’ll save that until later. For now, though—” he cupped her free hand in his and pressed it to his lips—“we can simply relax in the pure delight of being together.” His kiss lingered on her fingers long after she had rescued her hand and slipped it down into her lap.

A gravelly voice from across the table broke in. “Ho, Baron von Bluster, you have found yourself a lovely woman there, I see!”

Nick looked over at the Mafia Don and chuckled. He was really an Episcopalian minister and was obviously enjoying his role immensely. “Well, sir, the way I see it, we need to make this party a success. And the only way is to play our parts to the hilt.”

The plump man lifted his glass in wholehearted agreement, then swallowed its contents in a single gulp. “Right you are, Nick. Eat, play games, and be merry, for tomorrow you may die!” He laughed at his own joke, and Halley found herself joining in. He was having so much fun playing his role that it was contagious.

“So, lovely lady, who are you?” The Don sat back and patted his wide girth.

“This, Don Siciliano,” Nick said, “is the exquisite Contessa Ambrosia, named for the gods’ nectar and every bit as sweet.” Nick leaned sideways and kissed Halley gently on the cheek.

“Aha, the Contessa! How lovely you look. And how lovely for you and the Baron to have found each other again. Lovers should be together.” He chuckled merrily, then added with a wink, “You see, I read my invitation carefully.”

Halley felt Nick’s fingers once again doing tap dances on her knee. The silky material of her dress slid back and forth beneath his fingers, and she wondered how soon it would be before her labored breathing would cause her breasts to spill out of the form-fitting gown.

“Yes,” the elderly female vaudeville star chimed in from Halley’s right, not seeming to notice her plight. “I agree, Don Siciliano. It’s about time Nick—ah, the Baron, excuse me—found a love.”

Nick smiled at the woman, and Halley noticed it was a softer, more intimate smile than he offered to the others. The Baron cared a great deal for Olive Bailey, whoever she was.

Halley managed a smile about the time Nick’s fingers began a slow massage. Fighting him was simply too tiring, she realized as she bit down painfully hard on her bottom lip. And there was no need to, anyway. It was all a game … and no one had ever accused Halley of being a poor sport! Playing along was the only practical course of action.