Page 13 of The Spinster’s Last Dance (One Night in Blackhaven #7)

B y the time Linfield sauntered back into the room, Delilah had herself better in hand and was ready to leave.

“There are always hackneys for hire at the hotel,” he said as they walked out onto the damp street. At least it was no longer raining. “And it’s only a step.”

She accepted his proffered arm. “I have left my things with your sister.”

“A fine excuse to call on you tomorrow. Will Sir Julius be at home?”

She glanced at him, her heart skipping a beat. Why would he want to see Julius, unless…?

No, no, this is too quick, and I am too foolish, imagining… He would have some other business with Julius that had nothing to do with her. In fact, if his family were as prominent and wealthy as Nell believed, then anything but friendship between them was surely doomed.

“What did you do while I was with my mother?” she asked as calmly as she could. “Worship at the feet of Elise Manners?”

“No, I was merely introduced to her in passing as she rushed off to change. The general opinion seems to be that her nose has been put thoroughly out of joint by your mother’s superb performance. Do you know Reginald Miller’s understudy? Hemmel?”

Delilah shook her head. “I don’t know any of them. Why?”

“Interesting young fellow. He is new to the company, has a faint accent that is not English.”

She laughed. “You would hold that against him?”

“Not in itself,” Linfield said as they turned into the high street. “I need to explain my suspicions to you, along with many other things.”

Delilah tried to laugh at herself. This hardly sounded like a proposal of marriage, or even courtship, yet still her heart beat with hope, almost painfully.

“The hotel is busy tonight,” she said with a shade of desperation, aware of swarms of people filing through the front doors several yards ahead.

“Gaming club night,” Linfield said. “Perhaps to your brother Aubrey’s taste?”

Delilah smiled. “He pursues the disreputable,” she allowed, “but gaming is more suited to my sister Felicia. There are plenty of cabs, so I’m sure one of them will be happy to take me to Black—” She broke off as he halted abruptly, staring across the street. “What is it?”

“Someone is there, opposite the hotel, skulking in that alley.”

“Does it matter?”

“I don’t…”

Delilah saw the figure he meant, deep in the shadows, wrapped in a large, hooded cloak from which one arm emerged, pointing across the road at the hotel. Odd but hardly threatening—until she realized he was not pointing, but holding something with a narrow barrel, aiming above the waiting horses, carriages, and coachmen toward an upper window.

A gunman!

“Wait there. Do not move,” Linfield commanded, and took off, sprinting across the road, directly at the gunman.

Appalled, Delilah saw the moment the shadowy figure became aware of Linfield. The pistol swung swiftly, pointing directly at him instead.

Oh, dear God, no! Without conscious intent, Delilah charged across the road, dodging a horse and cart, even knowing there was nothing she could do.

Linfield did not slow for a moment. In an instant, he would be dead.

The hugeness of that was overwhelming, unthinkable.

And then the pistol was lowered and the gunman vanished into the darkness of the alley. Still Linfield did not hesitate, but plunged after him. At least he moved sideways, presenting a smaller target, and kept close to the wall, but even as Delilah hurried after him, he pressed on.

The alley opened into another running along the backs of the shops. Linfield paused, glancing in all directions, but this alley was better lit, and his quarry clearly invisible, for his shoulders slumped in frustration.

Then he spun around, as if suddenly aware of her footsteps behind him. His fists raised to defend himself, then fell to his side.

“Delilah! You shouldn’t be here!” He sounded so appalled that her heart would have shriveled, except that his arms closed around her in a sudden hug that set off a furious confusion of emotions. It lasted only a moment before he grasped her hand, drawing her back down the narrow passage to the high street.

“What is going on?” Delilah demanded. “Who was that? Were they…?”

“I don’t know,” Linfield said ruefully. “I’ll explain on the way to Black Hill. First I have to leave a message.”

The hotel doorman admitted them at once, and Linfield marched straight to the small coffee room on the right. Here, under Delilah’s bewildered observation from the doorway, he snatched up a pen and scribbled a note in a matter of seconds. He strode out again and up to a watchful, waiting footman, whose duties were to keep the more disreputable gamers away from the hotel’s staying guests.

“Deliver this at once to Mrs. Harris,” he commanded, passing the note and a discreet coin into the footman’s hands. “And I mean at once.”

“Certainly, my lord,” the footman said obediently, already scurrying off to the stairs.

Delilah, totally bewildered, allowed herself to be led out again and up to the first waiting carriage for hire. Linfield almost threw the destination at the driver as he opened the carriage door.

“Wait!” Delilah exclaimed, torn between frustration and amusement. “You cannot leave me without explaining all that!”

“I have no intention of leaving you,” Linfield said, handing her into the coach. Her heart fluttered, silencing her, and he stepped inside after her, seating himself not on the back-facing bench, but beside her.

The coachman whipped up his horse, and they set off along the high street. Linfield sat forward, his arm across the back of the seat behind her as he gazed down at her. The flickering glow from passing streetlamps played across his face, shadowing the deep hollows of his handsome face. She could not look away from his warm, urgent gaze.

His hand closed over hers on her lap.

“Delly, could you ever consider marrying me?”

*

Elise was furious as she let herself into the company’s lodging house. Everyone else was out celebrating, no doubt lauding bloody Nell, just because the old has-been still had a spark of genius—and guile. There had been few signs at rehearsals that she meant to play the role with quite that degree of poignant humor. And everyone else would be delighted to see Elise’s nose out of joint.

As if Elise cared.

She lit the stump of a candle from the lamp in the hall and hurried upstairs. The trouble was, she did care. Which meant it was past time she left this ridiculous masquerade. This evening had been a total fiasco in every way.

She threw open her bedchamber door, kicked it closed, and lit the lamp on the nearest table. The flame flared, illuminating the man who sat in her sagging armchair.

Unforgivably, it took her by surprise. But her reactions were still quick. Her fingers closed around the pistol in the pocket of her cloak. She could shoot him through the layers of wool if necessary, though it would make a hideous noise.

“Who the devil are you?” she asked casually.

“Your employer,” said the intruder in German, “and so far, I am not impressed. You failed to shoot her at the theatre.”

“She wasn’t at the damned theatre,” Elise retorted in the same language, casting her employer a long, curious look. Why had he thrown off the veil of secrecy between them? Was he about to betray her? Or merely lead the authorities to her through his sheer stupidity? “So I went to the hotel. I saw her almost at once, at the window, bathed in light. It was a perfect shot.”

“Then she’s dead?” The voice had changed to one of eagerness, almost euphoria, hoarse with delight.

Elise curled her lip, unsure whether she despised herself or her employer more. She did not like his face—heavy with self-indulgence, weak around the mouth and chin. More like the poor fools she was used to killing than those who usually employed her.

“No,” she drawled. “I was seen and had to bolt. So frustrating.”

Her visitor jumped to his feet. “Seen? Seen? By whom?”

“Oh, some fellow from the audience tonight. He came backstage, no doubt to worship at the feet of the great Helena Hampshire. Very aristocratic, deigning to be interested in the stage.” She frowned suddenly. “Actually, now I think of it, she was with him.”

His eyebrows flew up. “Who was? Helena?”

Elise waved her left hand dismissively. Her right she kept firmly around the pistol. “Of course not. Though this woman has something to do with her. She visited Nell before, and I’m pretty sure she tried to warn Reggie off me. And she was there tonight, with this man who saw me take aim at Mrs. Harris’s window. What has this Harris woman ever done to you?”

“Your business is to kill her, not research her life. Go back to the man. Did he see your face?”

“Of course not. I was hooded, and most of me was in shadow. Besides which, you may have noticed I am in disguise. He will believe I am a man. I lost him easily enough.”

“Maybe,” came the grim response. “But who is he ?”

She shrugged, more to annoy her employer than because she didn’t care. “I was introduced to him, though I had other matters on my mind at the time. Lord Something-or-other. Linton? Linhouse? No, it was Lord Linfield. The cast were positively preening before him, and that was only the male contingent. Why? Do you want me to seduce—”

Her sarcasm was lost on her employer, who interrupted her with sudden force. “ Linfield! Linfield? Are you sure?”

She raised one haughty eyebrow. “I believe I said so. Lord Linfield.”

“But this is disastrous!” He pulled agitatedly at his lower lip. No wonder it was so droopy and sulky if he wrenched it around like that all the time. “He knows me. And he knows Mrs. Harris.”

“Then you had better scarper back to the safety of whatever rock you emerged from. Why did you even come here? It makes a nonsense of all your elaborate secrecy and establishes a direct connection between us.”

“I had faith in you,” he said bitterly, “and wanted to be here to celebrate. I was wrong on both counts. But my alibi is strong. Everyone will know I was in York.”

“Except Lord Linfield, if he sees you.” She smiled. “Or Mrs. Harris. Go away, my employer. You are in my way, and therefore your own.”

“Don’t speak to me that way,” he snapped. “Remember who holds the purse strings.”

“Remember who holds the pistol,” she replied.

“Is that a threat?”

“It is a warning.”

His slightly protruding eyes narrowed, but with an effort, he chose not to pursue it. Wise. She could now identify him as easily as he could her. “Your escape from the theatre was planned. This effort at the hotel tonight was a foolish mistake. Anything could have happened. You didn’t even fire a shot and were almost caught!”

To her annoyance, he sat back down again. “Linfield, eh? It means the British government knows she is here. She must have told them, and they sent Linfield to smooth her way. This does not matter.”

“And the Vale woman?”

His eyes flew up to hers. “Vale?”

“Yes, the woman with Lord Linfield.”

“Vale? Delilah Vale?”

“Perhaps. Yes. She was only introduced to me this evening as Miss Vale, but I’m—”

“By Linfield?”

“No, by Reggie Miller, and I’m sure he called her Delilah when she first came here. Why does she matter? Who is she?”

He gave a short, frightened bark of laughter. “My alibi! And she is Linfield’s ally…”

“Who is this Linfield? Why is he so important? Just because he knows you?”

“That. And in Vienna, at the congress… He was known as a gatherer of intelligence.”

Her eyebrows flew up in disbelief. “A spy?”

“Of course not,” he said impatiently. “Though he certainly used the information of such people. In his own way, it made him as formidable as Metternich himself. Why do you think his government ennobled him?”

“I didn’t know they had. So now you want me to murder this woman while your alibi and a formidable gatherer of intelligence looks on? I think I’ll need more money.”

“What you need is more success,” he said savagely. “And then we will talk more about fees. We will keep the same plan. And I will find a way to get the Harris woman to the theatre!”

*

“Delly, could you ever consider marrying me?”

Delilah seemed to have stopped breathing. But then, the whole world had receded, leaving only herself and Linfield, smiling down at her, melting her heart, her whole being.

“M-marry you?” she stammered. “Me?”

The carriage swayed and lurched, throwing her against him. He reached up to cup her cheek with his bare hand. “If you could bear it.”

Instinctively, she twisted her fingers in his hold, to clasp his hand. “ Bear it? But you… I… We are not s—”

“Not suited?” he said incredulously. “My dear girl, were ever two people better suited? I have waited my whole life to meet you. It is not even mere compatibility—it is love. On my part. And there have been moments when I was sure you felt the same. Tell me I am wrong if you must, but I won’t stop trying.”

“Love?” she said. “Oh God, when did I turn into such an incoherent ninnyhammer?”

“Words are not always important,” he said, and swooped on her mouth like a starving man, kissing her until she was breathless and gasping and utterly won. But then, she had been won long ago.

“There,” he muttered against her lips. “Now do you believe me? Will you answer me?”

She smiled as she kissed him back, pouring all her happiness, all her longing and wonder, from her mouth to his.

He groaned. “Marry me soon, Delilah. Please!”

She laughed softly, clutching his shoulders, pressing her cheek to his, kissing the soft lock of hair that fell beneath her lips. Everything was suddenly too intense, too charged, the emotion overwhelming her. She grasped for humor, for something more cerebral to leaven the mixture while she grew used to the fierce love bubbling away beneath.

“Who was that man with the gun?” she asked. “And who was he shooting at?”

Laughter shook him. His eyes were alight with it. “You see? Excellently well suited. Although the matter isn’t really funny at all.” He drew back a little, but kept his arm around her shoulders and dropped a kiss on her hair. “This is in confidence, Delly. You mustn’t even tell your family until it’s over—not because I don’t trust them, but because words slip out unintentionally, overheard or repeated, and this truly is a matter of life and death, and the stability of a large piece of Europe. Vienna taught us the necessity of balance and negotiation to keep a lasting peace.”

“What has that to do with—”

“Mrs. Harris was almost the victim of assassination. Harris is not her name. She is the Princess of Hazburg, here in Blackhaven with her husband to meet privately with her half-brother, who was deposed by the Hazburg people in the wake of Bonaparte’s defeat in 1814, in favor of Princess Irena. Irena is by far the better ruler, endorsed by elections and the approval of the congress. However, her brother has remained a thorn in her side, fomenting discontent from abroad. Irena’s aim now is to reconcile their differences and allow him to come home rather than remain in exile, a magnet, if you will, for political opponents and malcontents.”

“Ah! So that is the real reason you are in Blackhaven? You are helping her?”

“I have been asked by my superiors to smooth her way if I can. I really did want Elaine to spend some time at a spa, though my suggestion of Blackhaven was influenced by the princess’s wish to come here to meet Prince Karl, her brother.”

Delilah nodded, smiling just a little shyly. “I’m glad you did. For any number of reasons.”

“Oh, so am I.” He swooped, kissing her lips again, so lingeringly that she eventually tugged at his head.

“So, someone disapproves of this reconciliation?” she said breathlessly. “Enough to assassinate her? How is that even possible here?”

“In England? It’s not so long since our own prime minster was assassinated.”

“True. So do you have any idea who the culprit is?”

“The assassin, I think, is somehow associated with the theatre. But he is merely the tool. The true perpetrator I believe to be Prince Karl.”

Delilah sat up. “Her own brother?”

“A man more inclined to self-aggrandizement and tyranny than democracy. A destabilizing influence who would sell his country out to Prussia and start a civil war to do so. His Majesty’s government will not allow that. And so, we have been watching Karl, who has been in the country for some time, living incognito and spinning his little webs.”

Something had changed in Linfield as he spoke. The warmth had vanished from his eyes. No wonder. His words were bleak and ugly. And although she was so determined to know, Delilah resented the change in mood. Linfield was unreadable again, the diplomat, the statesman.

“Can we deport him?” she asked.

“And leave him free to cause more mayhem in Europe? No, he must be discredited, shown to his own people in his true colors, and his own government allowed to deal with him.”

Delilah stared at him. “You are using the princess as bait ? Risking her life?”

“At her own insistence. Although part of her still believes Karl is genuine and wants to reconcile with her, I believe tonight disproves that theory. It is also interesting that the assassin knew she would not be at the theatre but at the hotel.”

“Why?”

“Because I only talked her out of going to the theatre earlier today.”

“Why would he even think she would be at the theatre?” Delilah wondered. “And what makes you so sure the theatre is involved at all?”

Linfield hesitated. There was an oddly rueful glint in his eyes. Almost involuntarily, it seemed, his thumb moved against her palm in a soft, absent caress that made her shiver.

“Information,” he said at last, “provided by Karl himself. Some of his correspondence has been intercepted. He is a lazy prince and, when working alone, needs someone to translate everything to German. Or his German into English or other languages.”

“What, he entrusts his evil plans to the eyes of a random translator?” she said in disbelief. “Rather than his own trusted people?”

“In this he cannot trust his own people. He has to act in secret. Besides, the random translator would not know. Not his identity, or even what he was discussing. There is no cipher involved, as such—merely, one learns to recognize the vague terms. The housewife , for example, is his name for his sister. The assassin is my friend . The town is Blackhaven. Dates and times are left as they are but attached to pointless and nonexistent events. Dull stuff that no translator would ever suspect. Especially not when sent by the assumed name.”

Dull stuff that would seem trivial to a translator… Somehow, she knew then. But she asked anyway, because of the enormity, because in this world of hope and happiness she had just entered, it could not possibly be true. “The assumed name which is…?”

His eyes remained steady on hers. He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

“Mr. Charles,” she whispered. “Karl. Dear God, and I have been so pleased with myself! What have I done?”

“Nothing,” he said urgently. “Nothing at all. In fact, you helped enormously. Without you, I would have let the princess go to the theatre and she could even now be dead.”

She could. And maybe one day that would weigh with Delilah. For now… Nobody had ever called Delilah slow. Which was funny, because of course she had been. Pathetically, laughably slow. Yet now, when she would have given anything to live in ignorance for one more minute, she knew .

Even at the beginning, at the ball, he had been flatteringly interested in her chosen work. She remembered his calling so unexpectedly at Black Hill, strolling about the morning room as they talked, his gaze casually on her papers, and when he had looked at her again, his eyes had been cold. She had imagined her words about confidentiality had offended him, but it had never been that, only suspicion, disapproval. He had not been concerned for her the night of the Black Hill dinner party, when she had discovered him in the morning room. He had been examining her work, spying … Was that not beneath him?

Even her illusion of their intimacy at the cave the day of the storm was shattered. His stunning kisses on the beach, the sweetness of the carriage ride home—all deceit to win her confidence. The odd, pointless introduction to “Mrs. Harris” at the garden party—a test.

Lies. All lies she had never even guessed at.

“My translations never reached Mr. Charles,” she said, her voice oddly calm and dispassionate. “You took the packet the night you came to dinner.”

“I did.”

“And I never saw. I never even thought it.” Desolation was swamping her, and she could not let it. She had to live the rest of her life, and that meant at least a thread of pride. She freed her hand, shifting along the seat out of the reach of his arm. “What is it you want me to do? Mistranslate something for him to bring him here and make another attempt upon her life where the authorities can catch him?”

“No,” he said, “although it is an idea we could consider. I want—”

“You must let me know what you want, my lord. By letter or messenger is best. I have other work, of course, but be assured I will give yours priority.”

“Delilah, don’t.”

“No? Well, the choice is yours.”

“Stop it. This changes nothing.”

It was so funny, she actually laughed, because of course it changed everything. Everything . Happiness was draining off her like bathwater…on a winter’s day when it was cold and dark and her heart was empty.

“I may have been slow, my lord,” she said, her voice small and hard, “but I am not stupid. If you wish my help—in fact, even if you don’t—you will stop the pretense right now and speak to me in a businesslike manner. I deserve that much courtesy.”

“Delly—”

“Stop it! That is the name my family uses, the people who love me. You may address me as Miss Vale or not at all. Is that clear?”

“You think I was pretending to love you?” he said incredulously. He was so good at this that she could almost have believed him. “I hid part of the truth before I knew you, that is all. I never lied. My love…” He reached for her, and she threw herself onto the opposite bench.

“Do not touch me. Do not presume .”

To her eternal humiliation, her voice cracked. She looked deliberately away from him, out of the window, seeing nothing but unrelieved darkness, no sea, no trees, no moon through the clouds spattering rain across the glass of the window. Or perhaps the blur was in her eyes.

“Delilah, I love you.” His voice was hollow, curiously helpless.

She wanted to laugh, or at least yawn, but her throat was too tight.

“I should have told you before. I’ve been trying for days.”

Incapable of speech, she waved one hand for silence, praying it looked like contempt and fearing it merely added to the impression of a hurt, gullible fool. She needed to be away from him. Would this horrendous journey never end?

“You love me,” he said softly.

She shook her head.

He leaned forward, but at least he did not touch her. “Your kisses say otherwise. So do mine.”

She did not even trouble to shake her head this time. Somewhere in her misery, as the carriage lumbered through the night, she was aware of his gaze never leaving her face. At least he did not speak. She could hold herself together, she thought, so long as the silence held.

He granted her that much courtesy, at least until, with utter relief, she saw the gates of Black Hill approach. Reaching up, she knocked on the carriage roof, loudly enough to hurt her knuckles.

“I shall walk from here,” she announced, her voice blessedly steady. “Goodnight, my lord.”

“Denzil,” he said.

She ignored that, rising even before the carriage had fully stopped. Only then did he spring up himself and open the door, letting down the steps and alighting to hand her down.

“Let me at least walk with you to the house,” he said low.

She affected not to see his hand. There was no point in even pretending not to be hurt by him. He knew. He had always known.

“Goodnight, my lord,” she said distantly, and began to walk.

“I’ll call tomorrow.”

She did not—could not—look back. “I shall not be at home tomorrow, but feel free to write your instructions.” She strode through the half-open gates, listening desperately for the sounds of his departure. They were a long time coming, which was a whole new agony. She did not hear him return to the carriage, but she did hear the coachman speaking to his horse, turning it to return to Blackhaven with Lord Linfield, the only man she had ever loved or ever would.

He had never loved her. He had not even trusted her. It was an illusion, a lie. He had used her gullibility to get close to her, suspecting her of collusion with Karl, and then using her to gain access to the theatre company to investigate.

So much for my last dance.

Ahead, the house was blurred. The whole world was blurred.