Page 68 of The Paid Companion

There was a strange silence from the opposite seat.

“Black threads?” Elenora repeated in an odd voice. “From a long cloak?”

“Yes. I suspect there was a struggle and Ibbitts’s blade got tangled in the fabric. But I cannot see where that information will aid us. If only there were another witness.”

Elenora took an audible breath. “I think there may well be another witness, sir.”

“Who, pray tell?”

“Me,” she whispered, sounding rather stunned. “I believe that I may have danced with the killer very soon after he committed the murder.”

23

She sat in the chair nearest the fire, trying to warm herself while Arthur paced the width of the library. She could feel the restless, prowling energy radiating from him.

“You are certain about the rip in his cloak?” he demanded.

“Yes. Quite certain.” She held her hands out to the blaze, but for some reason the heat did not seem to penetrate very far into the room. “My fingers brushed against it.”

The great house was hushed and dark, except for the fire that burned here in the library. Arthur had not awakened any of the servants. Margaret had not returned.

Arthur had said very little after she had delivered her startling news. The journey home had been conducted in near silence. She knew that he had spent the time pondering the information she had supplied, no doubt drawing up theories and arriving at possible conclusions. She had respected his deep concentration.

But as soon as they walked into the front hall, he had escorted her into the library and lit the fire.

“We must talk,” he had said, tossing his black domino across the back of a chair.

“Yes.”

Arthur unknotted his cravat with quick, impatient fingers and allowed the neckcloth to hang carelessly down the front of his jacket. He began to prowl the room.

“Did you comment upon his torn garment?” he asked.

“No. I said nothing about it. In truth, I did not wish to carry on a conversation with him.” She shuddered. “At that point, it was my great desire to be finished with the dance as quickly as possible.”

“He did not speak to you?”

“Not a single word.” She caught her lip between her teeth, thinking back to the scene in the ballroom. “I suspect he did not want to provide me with such a significant clue to his identity.”

Arthur shrugged out of both his coat and waistcoat and dropped the garments on top of a round pedestal table.

She took a deep breath and concentrated very intently on the flames. The man did not appear to realize that he was practically undressing in front of her.

Calm yourself, she thought. Arthur was merely making himself comfortable. A gentleman had a perfect right to do so in the privacy of his own home. His mind was clearly on murder, not passion. He did not realize the effect he was having on her nerves.

“That could mean that you have met him somewhere else,” Arthur continued. “He may have feared that you would recognize him if he spoke.”

“Yes, it’s quite possible. The only thing I can say with any certainty is that I’m quite sure that I have never before danced with him.”

“How can you be so sure of that?”

She risked another glance at him. He was still moving about the room with the restless energy of a caged lion.

“It is difficult to explain,” she said. “When he first came toward me through the crowd, I thought he was you.”

That brought Arthur to a halt. “What the devil made you believe that?”

“He wore the same style of domino and a mask that was almost identical to yours.”