"Yes," he said. His hands smoothed her hair and her tear-soaked cheeks. "Are you?"
She nodded.
He pulled her into his arms and held her, the two of them rocking in shocked silence.
Just then Hashim came rushing in, a guttural warrior's cry coming out of his mouth, his sword drawn.
When he looked about, obviously confused, Mason said to him, "It is over," and nodded toward the window where Bea now stood gazing down at the grisly scene.
Bea turned to him. "Uncle?"
"Yes?"
"There's a crowd gathering," she said.
He rose to his feet, pulling Riley along with him, holding her close. They went to the window and stared
down at the sight below. "We'd better move the body inside before half of Fleet Street is up here castingabout their lurid speculations on the matter." He turned to Hashim. "Can you see to it?"The Saracen nodded.After he had left, Riley buried herself in Mason's arms again. "I didn't know. I thought Daniel was just an actor who needed a job. Who would have thought he was capable of such hatred?"
Mason was equally stunned. He'd been unable to find out anything about the man in his investigations,
and had finally given up on him as a suspect since he seemed a rather regular sort. "Did he say anything to you? Anything at all that would give you an idea why he would have done this?"
"No, nothing that would explain it," she said. "He changed before my very eyes-as if he were another
person and had been playing Daniel all along."
Mason paused. "And he didn't say anything that might give us a clue?"
Riley closed her eyes. "Nutley," she whispered. She looked up. "He wanted me to call him Mr. Nutley."
Mason nodded and filed the name away. For now he needed to find a plausible explanation as to why an
actor from the Queen's Gate Theatre had fallen out his window. And then he'd have to see about havingthe body taken away and buried. "I'll be needed down there," he told her. "Will you be all right?"She nodded.Bea moved forward. "I'll stay with her, Uncle.""Good girl, Bea," he said, ruffling her hair. "By the way, who taught you how to throw a knife?"Bea blushed. "Viscount Delander. The summer you two came to Sanborn Abbey from school."
Mason shook his head. "Del! Ever the corrupting influence. Remind me to thank him one day.""Mason," Riley called out. "It is over, isn't it? I mean, with Daniel..." She glanced again at the brokenwindow and shuddered. "Now that he's gone, I'm safe-aren't I?"
He smiled at her. "It would seem so. He can't threaten you ever again."A tear fell down her cheek, and then another.Mason went to her side, and pulled her close to him again. "There, there. You're safe. You'll not be bothered by any of this again."
"You saved my life. Twice. I'll never forget you." While her appreciation was heartfelt, her gaze spoke even more volumes.
It said the words of love that he dared not say out loud. Not yet. Not until he had the means to make an
offer for her.
So when he didn't reply, she turned out of his arms. "You'd best go see to Daniel."
Mason heard the catch in her voice.
The catch in his own heart. But his pride got the better of him. He'd failed her again-as he would if he offered her marriage and condemned her to a life of poverty. Riley deserved so much more.
"Thank you, Mason," he heard her say as he left the room. "Thank you for everything."
He just wished it were true. That he could give her everything.
"Riley, Riley," Cousin Felicity called out. "Come quickly. Oh, dear girl, where are you? Where are you?"
Riley poked her head out the door of her room, where she and Nanette had been packing her belongings. Now that the threat to her life was gone, Riley saw no reason to remain at Ashlin House.
Mrs. Pindar's solicitor had arrived not long after Daniel's body had been taken away and made the lady'
s intentions clear-Mason was to offer for Dahlia immediately, or she would see him in debtor's prison.
It seemed Mrs. Pindar did indeed hold the upper hand.
Or at least, that was what Maggie had reported overhearing, and though Riley had made a good show of
scolding the girl for eavesdropping, she did so with a heavy heart.
Without the gold to redeem his debts, Riley knew Mason had little choice to save his family. By nightfall,he'd be betrothed to Miss Pindar."Oh, Riley, where are you?" Cousin Felicity repeated."I am here. Whatever is wrong?""Wrong? Why nothing," the lady told her, the lace in her cap awhirl with motion. "You'll never believe who has sent a carriage over!"
Riley sighed. She could see Aggie's wretched influence in the dear lady-she was growing more
dramatic with each passing day. "Do tell," she prompted, knowing full well Cousin Felicity wouldn't rest until she had the entire tale out.
Cousin Felicity leaned forward and whispered, "The Countess of Marlowe." She said the name as if it
were an event too unbelievable to fathom.
"Lady Marlowe?" Riley recalled the name. "Oh, yes. I met her last night at the ball." She turned around and went back to her packing.
Trailing after Riley, Cousin Felicity followed all in a flutter. "You met Lady Marlowe?"
"Why, yes. Is that so odd?" Riley folded a chemise and added it to the trunk.
Cousin Felicity shook her head. "My dear girl, Lady Marlowe does not go out. You couldn't have met
her last night."
"I suppose she made an exception for His Grace. We talked for nearly an hour."
"Well, I suppose that explains everything," Cousin Felicity announced.
Riley was almost afraid to ask. "Explains what?"
"Why Lady Marlowe has sent her carriage for you. You are to attend her immediately."
Riley shook her head. "I can't possibly go now. I have to finish packing and then we have rehearsals all afternoon down at the theatre." She picked up another chemise and began folding. "Be a dear, and send the lady my regrets."
Cousin Felicity stared at Riley as if she had just asked her to shop somewhere other than on Oxford Street.
"Is there something else?" Riley asked.
"You can't refuse the Countess. It isn't done."
"I know it was nice of Lady Marlowe to send over her carriage, but I can't just drop everything to go visit some lonely old lady because she wills it."
"Oh, yes, you will," Cousin Felicity said, taking the folded chemise out of Riley's hand and setting it aside. "You will change your gown and march right downstairs and get into that carriage. If not for yourself, then for the girls."
Riley had never heard such a tone in Cousin Felicity's voice. "You make this sound like a royal edict. I hardly think turning down one-"
Cousin Felicity's hands went to her hips. "Lady Marlowe may not go out, but her word is law."
"You said the same thing about Lady Delander, and look at her now."
The lady was not to be persuaded. She lowered her voice and whispered, "Even Lady Delander fears her wrath. 'Tis rumored she had her own daughter committed because the girl was on the verge of ruining the family. You can't refuse."
Riley sighed. Since Lady Marlowe knew she wasn't a St. Clair, she could possibly start rumors to that effect. How the ton would view her questionable situation at the Ashlin residence, Riley could well imagine. And guessed it would place enough taint on the girls to ruin their chances of an advantageous match, as well as Mason's with Miss Pindar.
"Perhaps I should go," she acquiesced.
Cousin Felicity brightened immediately. "Of course you should." As Cousin Felicity continued nattering on about how one should dress for a summons from the Countess, Riley reasoned that she could do this one last thing for the girls and Mason before she returned to her old life and spent the rest of her days trying to forget them.
The Marlowe residence surprised Riley with its splendor. She had thought the Ashlin house quite grand, but obviously there was a vast difference in stations even amongst the ton. It was a thought that had never occurred to her-she had always thought the high society of London all existed in the same sphere, but obviously this was not so.
Everywhere she looked there was gilt. Gilt frames, gilt curlicues and plasters on the walls, gilt sconces. All of this was set off by brocade wall hangings and rich velvet curtains. The house was, it seemed, as ostentatious as its occupant.
Riley was led up the stairs, down a long gallery of grim paintings and large Chinese vases, and finally into a bright room which overlooked a small garden. The Countess, regal in her black gown, sat at a round table, a chessboard before her.
"Do you play?" she asked, as Riley drew near.
She shook her head.
"Too bad. It is an intelligent game-one of wits and skill. I would guess that you would be quite adept at it." The Countess stared at her this way and that, as if she were measuring her against some unseen composition. "Hmmm," the lady mused. "Well, don't just stand there, child. Sit. I don't bite, though it is a tale told to recalcitrant children to make them behave."
Laughing at this, Riley sat in the chair the Countess bade her to take.
As the lady began to pour the tea, she launched into a dissertation about the prior night's events, commenting quite frankly on the poor choice of costumes, the odd pairings, and the obvious affairs that made the ton so diverting. Then out of the blue, she asked, "I'm still quite puzzled about you. I know you aren't a St. Clair, so I must ask, who are you?"
"I fear you would find it quite boring," Riley said. She found her gaze caught by a portrait over the mantel. There, immortalized in oil, was a gentleman, standing beside a pedestal, a hound lounging at his feet. In his hand, he held a sword much as one would a cane, the tip pointed into the ground, the hilt tipped at a jaunty angle. His face smiled out at his audience, a kindly but mischievous tilt to his lips. His eyes, crinkled around the corners, sparkled with a friendly air. In the background rose a great house with a wide lawn before it and graceful trees encircling it in a protective embrace. Across the lawn, swans and other birds dotted the greenery.
Riley could have sworn she'd seen the man before-but where and when she couldn't say. And the house-it was like something out of a dream. "My lady, who is that?" she asked, pointing at the painting.
The Countess glanced over her shoulder. "My late husband. Why do you ask?"
"He seems familiar," Riley mused. "But perhaps it is because he looks so content, so happy there."
"He was. My husband was never happier than when he was in the countryside. That was our estate- Marlowe Manor. He spent nearly all his time there."
Riley glanced over at her. "Was? Isn't it still your home?"
She shook her head. "When my husband died, his title and Marlowe House passed to a cousin."
"I'm sorry," Riley said, not sure why she was, but it seemed sad that such a happy moment should be lost in time.
"Don't be," the Countess said with a wave of her hand. "Now you evaded my question, and quite well, but I will have an answer. Who are you?"
"No one of consequence, my lady," Riley told her. "Lord Ashlin needed someone to help him with his nieces, and I offered my assistance. That is all there is to it."
The lady reached for Riley's empty cup and began to refill it. "I hear there was a death at Lord Ashlin's this morning," the lady commented, as one might ask about the weather or a visiting relation.
Even with her years of theatrical training, the question stunned Riley, leaving her stuttering and shocked. "Um, yes," she managed to gulp out. "An accident."