Murder in the Paperback Parlor (16 page)

Jane's breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. Lacing her arm through his, she whispered, “I'm glad to see you.”

“And I, you,” he whispered back and then held out his other arm for Mabel. “Ms. Wimberly, may I have the pleasure of taking the most beautiful and talented woman in all of Storyton down the runway?”

Mabel winked. “Of course you can, you dashing devil.”

Edwin flashed Mabel an impish smile and Jane's heart tripped over itself.

Damn you, Cupid
, she thought.
I am the Guardian of Storyton Hall. I cannot afford to fall in love.

Jane tightened her hold on Edwin's arm and stepped out into the flickering
candlelight.

At long last, the ladies filed out of the ballroom. Some headed upstairs for bed, but the majority were bound for the Ian Fleming Lounge where the bartenders waited to serve the evening's specialty cocktail. Called Cherub's Cups, the drink was a blend of elderflower liqueur, vodka, and muddled strawberry topped by a splash of champagne.

Except for Eloise, the Cover Girls were too tired to imbibe. They hugged Jane, bid her good night, and left.

“Look at me. All dressed up with nowhere to go,” Eloise said and flashed Jane a conspiratorial smile. She sat with her injured foot propped on a chair, watching the staff disassemble the runway. Lachlan, who'd fetched a bag of frozen peas from the kitchen and had used gauze to secure the bag to Eloise's ankle, was now dragging a large piece of wood backstage. “Perhaps your Mr. Lachlan would like to buy me a drink to ease my pain.”

“I'm sure he would.” Jane squeezed her friend's shoulder and murmured, “Just be careful, okay?”

“Don't worry. I just want to get to know him better, and I think the way to do that is to talk books with him. Since that's my favorite subject, I can't imagine a better way to round out what's already been a very exciting evening.”

“Gavin is bringing you the crutches he used following his knee surgery.” Jane gave Eloise an innocent look. “Unless you prefer to be carried all over Storyton, that is?”

“I don't want to overplay my Damsel in Distress card. Besides,
someone
will have to drive me home.” She wiggled her brows until Jane had to laugh.

“Have fun, Eloise. You deserve it.”

“So do you!” Eloise called as Jane crossed the room to where Lachlan stacked the last of the folding chairs onto a wheeled dolly.

“Thank you for participating in the fashion show,” Jane said. “I hope it wasn't too awful for you.”

Lachlan shrugged. “It was the best way for me to keep an eye on the guests while staying close to you. Should I take up a position by one of the exits now? Maybe Sinclair or Butterworth need a break.”

Jane shook her head. “I'd rather you mingle with the guests for a bit—observe those of our suspects tossing back cocktails in the Ian Fleming Lounge. The alcohol may loosen their tongues.” She raised her finger. “And if I could beg one more favor of you tonight? Eloise Alcott will need a ride home. I'd take care of it myself, but I'll be engaged for the next hour or so.”

If Lachlan knew about her date with Edwin, he gave no sign of it. “I'd be glad to assist Ms. Alcott,” he said and strode to where Eloise was sitting in a pool of candlelight.

With Lachlan and Eloise gone, Jane was alone in the ballroom. For a brief moment, she felt a stirring of alarm. The candles had burned low and dark shadows grew in the corners and along the perimeter of the vast space.

Just then, the members of the Storyton Band walked onstage, carrying chairs and music stands. After waving to Jane, they unpacked their instruments, opened their sheet music, and ran through some scales. Four men pushed a piano to stage left while a young woman followed behind with a stool. The conductor, Butterworth's understudy, was the last to appear. He bowed to Jane, turned to face his musicians, and then tapped his baton against the edge of his music stand.

“You were supposed to wear your silver dress,” Edwin said from behind Jane, startling her.

“No lady can resist showing off a new gown. But if it's not to your liking, I could go home and change,” she quipped.

“I wouldn't let you go now for all the world,” he said, closing the space between them. “I've waited too long for this dance, Jane Steward, Mistress of Storyton Hall.”

He whispered her name as though it were a line of poetry, and Jane longed to hear him say it over and over again. She raised her arms, holding one hand out for him to take while her other hand came to rest on his broad shoulder.

The band struck up the opening notes of “Waves of the Danube,” and Edwin and Jane began to waltz inside the circle of candelabras.

Neither Jane nor Edwin spoke. For Jane, it was enough to hear the music fill the room. The melody was as delicate and joyful as a first snowfall or a shower of cherry blossoms in spring. Edwin's palm on her back felt warm and solid, but he cradled her hand in his as though it were made of glass. He led her with such confidence that she didn't have to think about where to step. They moved as one body.

The band swept them up in Chopin's “Grande Valse,” Tchaikovsky's Serenade for Strings, and the airy strains of Strauss's “Tales from the Vienna Woods.”

As they waltzed, Jane and Edwin exchanged snippets of conversation. Edwin told Jane about how he and Sam had searched for Nigel Poindexter without finding any trace of him in the woods.

“Considering the rain and the cold, that doesn't come as a surprise,” Jane said, wishing Edwin hadn't brought up Nigel. She wanted to keep a bubble around this portion of the night, to prevent her real-life problems from infecting her fantasy. But then, she realized that she'd never get close to Edwin Alcott unless he and she talked about what shaped their lives, both past and present.

“The only person I've encountered as of late has been Mr. Lachlan,” Edwin said, slowing his pace in time with the music. “Like me, he also keeps odd hours.”

Jane smiled. “I guess you're both immune to winter mornings. Mr. Lachlan is a retired Army Ranger, so I'm sure he's braved harsher conditions than this. And you?” She stared into his eyes, which were dark pools in the dim light. “I get the feeling that your years of travel have taught you to survive without the creature comforts, but why do you choose to go out at such an hour?”

“I revel in the silence,” Edwin said. “The world is so noisy. I always look for places where I can be alone, no matter where I go. A deep cave, a lake hemmed in by mountains, a primeval forest, an ocean of sand.”

Jane, who also cherished her rare moments of quiet, nodded in understanding. “Whenever I can seize time to myself, I use it to read.” She swept her arm out. “My whole world is here, so my travels occur in my imagination. My life must seem rather dull to you.”

Edwin shook his head. “There's nothing dull about you, Jane. You are an extraordinary woman.”

He spun her around until they were in the center of the room. Flushed from exertion and pleasure, Jane wished the night would never end. However, she couldn't help but notice how low the candles had burned. The room was so dark that the doorway had faded into black and the only thing Jane could see clearly was Edwin's face.

“One last song,” Edwin whispered. He signaled to the conductor and the band began to play very quietly.

Edwin lowered his head so that his cheek rested against Jane's as they danced. His skin felt hot against hers and Jane was caught off guard by the rush of longing that flooded through her. She hadn't wanted another man since her husband's passing, but she wanted this man. She wanted Edwin Alcott.

Jane's hand strayed from his shoulder, her fingers plunging into his thick waves of hair. In response, he pressed her closer and closer, until the gap between their bodies was erased.

As though from a great distance, Jane heard the waltz from “Sleeping Beauty.” While the notes tiptoed through the air, Edwin twirled her round and round and then dipped
her toward the floor in a low, graceful arc. He leaned over at the same time, and Jane instinctively stiffened.

“Let go,” Edwin murmured.

Closing her eyes, Jane went limp in his arms. She knew he was powerful enough to hold her and it was a thrill to put complete trust in his strength.

Edwin kissed her then. A long, slow kiss that was as soft and passionate as music. It made Jane's body sing. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he slowly raised her to her feet. That's when Jane felt a whisper of cool air on her décolletage. Far too low on her décolletage.

Jane's attention was divided. She wanted nothing more than to focus on the feel of Edwin's lips on her lips and the pressure of his hands on her back, but she was also acutely aware of her exposed skin.

Breaking off the kiss, Jane rested her cheek against Edwin's and cast a surreptitious glance down at her chest. The swell of her breasts was fuller than before and her owl tattoo was no longer concealed by the gown's bodice.

The song came to an end at this unfortunate moment and Edwin straightened. It was a slight movement, but enough to create a small space between them. Jane tugged the gathered silk up over her chest, but not before Edwin's eyes widened in surprise.

He quickly turned away and gave the band a deep bow of appreciation.

When Jane's gown was suitably repositioned, she applauded the musicians. They smiled, bowed in return, and put away their instruments. Jane wondered how long she and Edwin had been dancing. The candles were nothing but stubs and though Jane was tired, Edwin's kiss had lit a fire in her. She didn't think she'd ever be able to sleep.

Edwin took her by the hand. “Shall we blow out the candles?”

Jane's embarrassment over her dress mishap vanished. She and Edwin blew out all the candles save for one. Edwin plucked this taper from its holder and led Jane to the door.

Once bundled in their winter coats, they crossed the wide swath of lawn toward Jane's house. At her door, Jane blew out the stump of the candle.

“As Edna St. Vincent Millay said, ‘My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—It gives a lovely light.'”

Edwin took one of the curls framing her face and gently wove it through his fingers. “Yes, it does.”

“Now you know my secret,” Jane whispered. “You saw my tattoo.”

“We all have secrets.” Edwin reached for her hand. He stroked the back of it and then turned it over and pressed a kiss in the center of her palm. A jolt of electricity coursed through Jane's arm. She was tempted to grab hold of him, to keep him from leaving, but Edwin released her hand and donned his top hat. “Thank you for an unforgettable evening. It was worth the wait.”

“It was,” Jane answered with a smile. “Good night.”

As Edwin melted into the shadows, Jane couldn't help but wonder what secrets he kept.

*   *   *

By the next
morning, Valentine's Day, it seemed to Jane that most of Storyton Hall's guests had forgotten about Rosamund York. The ladies rose late, undoubtedly needing to sleep off the effects of their late-night cocktails, and when they appeared in the lobby, it was plain to see they'd taken great pains over their appearance.

By eleven o'clock, every chair was occupied by women sipping coffee or tea. Though they all had books open on their laps, they couldn't keep their eyes on the page. As Jane moved through the lobby, stopping to ask how the women had enjoyed the fashion show, it became clear that her guests were all waiting for the male cover model contestants to appear.

“I should have gone to the silhouette workshop,” a woman lamented to Jane. “Will the new guests arrive before or after lunch?”

“They'll start checking in this afternoon,” Jane said.

The woman closed her book and got to her feet. “I'm going to attend the make-your-own dance card workshop. I hope every line of my card will be filled out by a smoldering hunk.” She poked the woman next to her on the shoulder. “Are you coming, Lisa?”

“Go on, I'll catch up,” Lisa said. Setting her teacup aside, she smiled at Jane. “I may be happily married, but I've been dreaming of the Ladies' Choice Valentine's dance for weeks. We can partner with any man in the room, right?”

Jane nodded. “You can choose from a wide range of men. Those from the village and Storyton Hall, and of course, the contestants from the cover model search as well.”

Lisa shivered with delight. “Forgive my lack of tact, Ms. Steward, but if every author in this hotel dropped dead, I still wouldn't pack my bags and leave. Nothing's going to stop me from dancing with my own Fabio. Nothing!”

And with that, she pressed her romance novel to her chest and hurried after her friend.

Jane did her best to check items off her to-do list, but between Nigel's continued disappearance and memories of her date with Edwin, her plans to review the spring bookings went unfulfilled.

Ignoring the spreadsheet on her computer screen, she went across the hall where she found Sterling gazing at the bank of security monitors.

“Did you get any sleep?” she asked, taking note of the dark half-moons beneath his eyes.

“A few hours,” he said. “I reviewed the footage of Mr. Poindexter entering the staircase a dozen times. No cameras pick him up from that point and we've searched the basements, attics, and servant's passageways. I can only come to one conclusion.”

“Which is?”

“He exited through the loading dock door and made an escape in a delivery truck. If he crouched low enough to stay out of the camera's viewpoint, we'd have no way of knowing when he left the resort. We had a multitude of deliveries yesterday from the Potter's Shed, the Pickled Pig, and UPS.”

Jane frowned. “But even if Nigel hid in the back of a truck, how would he get out of Storyton? Of those three deliveries, only the UPS truck goes over the mountain.” She glanced at her watch. “We've had the same driver for over a year now. I'll ask him if he could have had a stowaway yesterday.”

“Mr. Butterworth and I will speak with the local men,” Sterling said.

Jane pointed at the screens. “And what of our female suspects? Have you observed their behavior?”

“They've been perfectly charming ladies, every one of them. Even Ms. Stone seems to have lost her ire following Ms. York's death.”

Jane grew thoughtful. “Maybe her fury was spent killing Rosamund. As far as I'm concerned, none of them are in the clear.” She put a hand on Sterling's shoulder. “You should get some rest. You have two hours before your first trip to the train station, and I'm sure my uncle would be more than happy to cover for you.”