Again he followed her through the crowds, to the foyer and down the steps to the street. He was surprised to see that no carriage or coach awaited her and that she simply drew her shawl up around her shoulders and turned toward the Mall.
The Mall? The bridle path after dark? Alone? That was foolhardy at best. At this time of night she could run afoul of brigands of all sorts—cutpurses, cutthroats, debauchers…. Satanists?
She’d just made a deucedly bad decision. He hurried after her, keeping at a distance. She had made it clear that she did not desire his company tonight but, to be perfectly honest, he was curious to see where she would go. Odd that he hadn’t wondered before where she lived, or how. This might well be an opportunity to discover her background. Heaven—or maybe hell—knew Drew was never one to pass up an opportunity.
Bella wrestled with her self-contempt as she turned into the Mall and hurried toward Wards Row. The evening had turned chilly and mist swirled around the hem of her gown, just beginning to rise. Fog would not be far behind.
Her evening had been a complete waste. Even Mr. McPherson’s behavior had been boorish, though she had to accept part of the blame for that. Had she never kissed him to begin with… And then she’d gone on to kiss yet another man. To no avail. All for naught.
No, that was not entirely true. There had been Mr. Andrew Hunter to teach her what a kiss should be. And to remind her of what she was becoming. She pushed that unhappy thought aside and took note of her surroundings.
Lamplight made her feel exposed in the middle of the inky night. Tall trees lined the bridle path and stirred in the light breeze. Shadows shifted through the leaves. A hint of malice pervaded the air tonight. A hint of something evil. She glanced over her shoulder, certain that she’d heard a footfall.
No. Only the breath of the wind.
The sudden image of Cora creeping out to meet her beau at night rose before her. Had she come here and sat on one of the benches in the light, waiting for him? Had he wooed her until she had willingly gone with him? Was it here that he had swept her away to her death?
Fear and fatigue, grief and guilt—all filled Bella to the bursting point. How had she been so blind to what her sister had been doing? Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she fumbled to fish a handkerchief from her reticule. As she dabbed at her eyes, a faint whisper carried on the breeze and raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck. Avenge me, Bella.
No.’ Twas just her imagination. She shivered, realizing for the first time that she’d be safer in the darkness than on the lighted path where she made an easy target. The shadows offered safety, anonymity. They would not frighten her if she became a part of them.
She veered off the bridle path and found sanctuary behind a row of oak trees. All she need do was follow the course of the path in the dimness until she could cut across St. James Park and thence home.
Clever girl! Andrew watched as Lace slipped seamlessly into the darkness. She had good instincts. It had not taken her long to realize the danger she had put herself in. With the slightest hiss of her hem against the grass, she was gone. If he tried to find her and follow her now, he’d give himself away, and he wasn’t ready to do that just yet. No, he couldn’t let her think she had the upper hand.
She must not have realized that in her haste, she had dropped her handkerchief. He went forward, all reason for stealth gone now, and bent to retrieve the item. The dainty square was of fine Irish linen with a tatted lace edging of the same sort that had been on her gown tonight and the domino the night before.
The little piece of linen was damp. From the dew, or from tears? Why the thought of her tears upset him, he couldn’t say. Women cried. It was a natural state of affairs. Nevertheless, he lifted the article to his face and inhaled the faint floral scent. Not quite the same as she’d worn tonight, but similar.
A corner thickened with embroidery threads drew his attention. The letters C O in an elaborate script were formed from pale-blue silk thread. CO? So, was Lace’s real name something as mundane at Caroline? Charlotte? Catherine?
Whatever her name was, she would be his. Once, for a week or a month, or until the novelty wore off—the length of time did not matter. The simple fact was that he would know her in the biblical sense. And she would know him. She might think she was in control of the situation. She might even think she had a choice. But she had no idea who she was dealing with.
Bella closed the door with a soft click and turned the lock. She leaned her forehead against the panel and sighed, vowing she’d take enough money to hire a carriage next time. She hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of being watched, and it had followed her all the way home.
She dropped her reticule and shawl on the foyer table before tiptoeing to the sitting room sideboard and pouring herself just the smallest amount of brandy.
“I thought that was you,” Gina said behind her.
She gasped in surprise and turned to see her sister rising from a chair in the corner of the room. “Must you wait up every night?” she sighed.
“What do you expect, Bella? I’ve already lost one sister, and my mother might as well be gone. You refuse to tell me what you are doing, where you are going or when you’ll return. You refuse my help. And then you wonder that I am waiting up? Please, Bella. Give me credit for common sense. Should something happen to you, I will be responsible for Mama and Lilly. I have a right to know what you are doing.”
Poor Gina. She was right. At least Mama and Lilly had the luxury of not knowing that she was sneaking out at night. She drank her brandy and sat on the brocade settee, patting the seat next to her. “You have always been sensible, Gina. I…I just thought it would be easier for you if you did not know the particulars.”
“Nothing about this has been easy.” She sniffed and swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I want to help. I want to be doing something. But, day after day, we just sit here with the curtains drawn, hushing our conversations so Mama can rest. Even Lilly is feeling the strain. We sigh and cry, and no one actually does anything. Except for you. Let me help, Bella. Please.”
She sighed. Should she tell her sister what she was doing and risk her scorn? Or lie to her and do even more damage to her conscience? If she could find some way for Gina to help—some way that would not put her at risk….
“Tell me, Bella. What is it you do every night when you go out? You say you are looking for Cora’s murderer, and yet you do not say how. Do you know him?”
“No,” she confessed. “I only know that he has dark hair and eyes.”
Gina gave her a disbelieving laugh. “Dark? Oh, that must make the search easy, indeed. I am certain you will find him anyday now.”
“There’s more,” Bella admitted, staring down at the floor, unwilling to meet Gina’s eyes. “Cora said he was taller than Papa, and that he…he licked his lips after he kissed her as if she were some tasty treat. And that he was a gentleman. A member of the ton. You know our Cora would never have dallied with someone beneath her.”
“Cora kissed him?” Gina’s green eyes widened, but she collected herself quickly. “A dark man above six feet tall? Well, that is a bit more to work with. But how would you ever discover if a man licks his lips…Bella! You are not kissing every dark man you meet?”
She took a deep breath and turned away. “What other choice do I have?”
“Oh! Then this is why you are so insistent that you haven’t a future in the ton? That your reputation is sullied? You poor thing! No wonder you are drinking.” Her sister jumped to her feet and began pacing. “We must think of another way. Even narrowing the possibilities to tall dark men, there must be more. Think, Bella. What else did Cora say?”
She shook her head. “That he tasted bitter, then nothing more before…”
Gina