Chapter 36

36

L it by a thousand candles, the Clearview House ballroom beckoned its guests like a lighthouse guiding sailors to shore. Beads sewn into lace-trimmed gowns shimmered alongside dazzling jewels. Champagne served by a fleet of footmen bubbled in glasses while music wove its way in between laughter and chatter. A country dance was presently underway, a lively start to what promised to be a fun-filled evening.

Standing near one of the French doors leading to the terrace, Samantha enjoyed the cool air wafting over her shoulders while taking quick stock of her surroundings.Her dress, cut from ivory silk, concealed the weapons she wore underneath, including her gift from Adrian. Held in place by a leather strap, the sleek dagger lay flush against her right thigh, reminding her of the man who'd made her question and doubt her superiors.

A footman approached with a tray full of glasses. She took one and sipped the chilled drink. Yesterday's training session at Reed's had been a farce. She'd hated every second of it – the act that kept her from fighting Adrian on equal terms, the strain of pretending she'd no idea what she was doing, her gradual attempts at showing improvement until he was satisfied with her progress.

The lies.

What she wished for most of all was honesty with him.

Harlowe would say she'd been compromised if he learned how conflicted she had become. He'd pull her from the case, tell Kendrick they'd failed, and set a series of unacceptable measures in motion.

She couldn't allow that. Could not let Kendrick send an assassin after Adrian any more than she could permit herself to be responsible for what happened to Hazel, Melody, Tara, and Holly if the program got shut down.

They were the ones who kept her on track. Not Harlowe.

She glanced across the room at where he stood, conversing with some of the guests. He'd saved her from the jaws of hell when she was a child, had offered warmth and comfort instead. She'd never wanted for anything while in his care. In exchange, all she'd had to do was train.

Not once had she wondered where it might lead or how far he'd push her in order to win.

Anger pulled her spine into a rigid line. She tightened her hold on her glass, drank a bit more, and forced her resentment into a box before slamming it shut. She could not afford to reveal what she thought of the man who'd raised her, or let her feelings get in the way of tonight's plan. It was too important to botch for any reason.

Spotting Melody near the refreshment table, she made her way toward her. "Is Lady Heathbrooke not insisting you stay by her side?"

Melody glanced away from the plate she was filling. "She's found a seat for herself in the gaming room and has asked me to bring her some food."

"I can see to that if you'd like. Might give you a chance to dance for a change."

"Thank you, but I'd rather play cards if possible."

"Hmm…" Samantha made a deliberate show of looking toward the entrance while craning her neck.

"Waiting for someone?"

"In a way." She finished her drink and set her glass aside. "Croft said he would be here."

Surprise flickered in Melody's eyes. "I thought he was meant to stay away from social events for a while. Because of his outburst at the musicale."

"Yes, but I also need to be able to form a closer attachment with him. Balls allow for that more easily than anything else, especially when there's a waltz."

"And I suppose there shall be since you and Harlowe have made the arrangements?" She gave Samantha a wicked look. "Perhaps you've a private spot in mind too – somewhere for you and Croft to sneak off to?"

If only that were true. "Maybe."

Melody shook her head, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. "I hope you know what you're doing."

So did she. "Of course."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Just make sure Lady Heathbrooke suspects me and Croft of being involved." One seed was all it would take for the rumor to spread, lending fuel to the fire once everyone saw them together.

"I can do that, but are you sure?"

Samantha's attention shifted toward the front of the room, to the new guests arriving and to the man flicking his dark gaze in her direction. "Trust me. Public opinion will make a world of difference."

She gave her friend a firm look before making her way to Adrian, whose strong presence dominated the ballroom. Tall and smartly attired in evening black, he stood beside Marsdale, surrounded by whispers and scowls from those who'd noticed his entrance. If it bothered him, it didn't show in the slightest since his attention was placed on her as she made her approach.

Try as she might, she couldn't ignore the effect it was having. Being Adrian Croft's sole focus proved more intense than balancing along the edge of a building. Her cheeks burned by the time she reached him. More so when he looked directly into her eyes, his smoldering gaze reminding her of the heated kisses they'd shared.

She swallowed, extended her hand for him to catch, and dipped into a low curtsey – a sign of allegiance and surrender to everyone present. If Melody did her part, no one would doubt Adrian's claim to her.

"Miss Carmichael." The velvety softness with which he whispered her name fanned out across her skin. Raising his voice, he added, "You're absolutely stunning."

"I completely agree," said Marsdale, his compliment carrying with enough strength to be heard by those who lingered nearby.

Clever.

Allowing a timid smile, she affected a look intended to show that he too had the power to flatter her ego. "You're much too kind, my lord."

Adrian sent him a stern look and drew Samantha close to his side, away from Marsdale. A part of the act, or something more real? She wasn't quite sure.

His palm settled firmly against the base of her spine in a scandalous show of possessiveness few men would dare exhibit in public. He seemed not to care. "Let's take a turn of the room, shall we?"

Guided by his touch, she allowed him to steer her past the inquisitive looks from the guests standing closest. Pretending indifference wasn't an option. No amount of training could have prepared her for the spark of awareness his touch instilled or the hot little shivers that shot through her limbs.

It was like an assault on her nerves and she hadn't the skill or the will to fight it.

Linking his arm with hers, he dipped his head. "I have a confession to make, Samantha."

"And what's that?" She'd never sounded so raspy before.

"You're making me go slightly mad."

A powerful revelation from someone who always appeared in control. Provided it was the truth.

Not that it had any bearing on how she would answer. "Perhaps I should make a confession too."

"Please do."

She took a deep breath, made sure to lock her gaze with his when she spoke her next words. "I've missed you."

A world of meaning in those few words. They'd seen each other frequently during the last few days, but one shared moment stood out above all the rest.

His eyes sharpened, revealing the instant he understood. The walls seemed to tilt in toward them, making the ballroom too small to contain the fire that burned between them. An almost desperate expression strained his features.

He leaned in, his breath hard and heavy against her face. "I want to kiss you."

She glanced toward the end of the room, her gaze catching Mr. Nigel Lawrence's for a brief second. His eyebrows dipped even as he sent her a nod. She dismissed him, her attention back on Adrian. "As much as I'd like that, you can't. Not if I am to fit the killer's profile."

The look he gave her was fierce. Pained, even. He steered her sideways, circumventing a group of women who blocked their path, not stopping until they'd reached the wall. Releasing her arm, he faced her. "You're right." His palm found her cheek – improper but proof of the intimacy they wished to evoke – before falling away. A disingenuous smile followed. "We'll dance the waltz and I'll take my leave so the rest of this blasted charade can play out as planned."

She hesitated, not liking the cool aloofness with which he addressed her. "Adrian."

"It's fine." Not a warmly spoken assurance but rather the bite of steel.

Uncertainty crept through her veins. If he failed to play his part to perfection then what was the point? Her hand caught his wrist, pulling him farther away from the rest of the guests. "You know it will just be an act. I have no interest in Marsdale."

"Doesn't make it any easier to accept."

"Listen to me," she insisted. "I am yours. I have been since the moment you kissed me. But this, what we're doing here tonight, must take priority."

He paused in mid-stride, his gaze searching hers until she feared he might see every action she'd taken against him. A satisfied nod suggested he'd only found the truth in her most recent statement. "I'll try to remember that after the fact, so I don't end up killing my friend for something I asked him to do."

Despite the annoyance rippling off him, it took but a second for him to leash and conceal it behind a fa?ade of charm that gave nothing away.

For the next two hours, he proved himself the doting suitor – a gentleman who exuded pride at gaining her notice, who praised her to anyone willing to listen, and who hung on her every word.

It was unsettling, this ability of his to play the love-sick pup with a level of skill that nearly convinced her of something she knew wasn't true. So much so she was almost relieved by the time he bid her goodnight and departed, the dreamy look in his eyes making more than a few other ladies sigh with envy.

Incredible .

No sooner was he gone from view than Marsdale stepped up beside her. Leaning in, he spoke so softly only she could hear. "Pretend I've just said something vastly amusing."

Her lips twitched at the unexpected request and she laughed with genuine humor. She turned to him, allowed her gaze to catch his. "Lord Marsdale. How positively delightful to find you still here."

A smirk added a hint of mischief, easing the grave expression he so often wore. "I've been wanting to dance with you for the better part of the evening."

"You should have said."

"I'm doing so now." He winked, his playfulness affording him with a boyish appearance that made him look five years younger. A reminder that this man had once known what it was like to have fun – to be happy – before his ability to do so was cruelly snatched away.

She pursed her lips and glanced at the dance floor. "We'll have to wait for the next set."

"Or the one after that." He extended his arm. "In the meantime, I'd love nothing more than to chat with you in a quiet corner."

They took the long route to the adjacent room where settees and armchairs stood scattered about, whispering and chuckling, making every guest they passed privy to their flirtation. Shocked expressions suggested severe disapproval from most. Mr. Lawrence looked especially critical. As did Birchwood. The viscount even went so far as to warn them of Croft's disapproval.

Samantha's response was clear. "He doesn't own me." She promptly waved Birchwood off with a laugh and clung harder to Marsdale's arm.

What followed was made to appear like an intimate conversation between two people who longed to be alone behind closed doors. Although they mostly spoke of Adrian, they made sure to add the occasional touch, to lean in a bit too close, and to send each other needy looks.

"Shall we take this show back to the ballroom?" Marsdale asked when their conversation eventually started to drag.

Samantha sent him a sly look. "By all means, my lord. Please lead the way."

They reached the edge of the dance floor soon after and paused to wait for the current dance to end. Dipping his head, Marsdale whispered, "Pretend I've told you something shocking. Maybe gasp a little and fan yourself with your hand."

She did exactly as he suggested, even going so far as to add a chuckle and making a pretense of telling him off. Several guests shook their heads. Another censorious look came from Wrengate, who watched her as though he'd enjoy biting her head off.

For one fleeting second she worried he might know that she'd been Wycliffe's masked companion, but then she recalled their clash at Reed's and allowed herself to relax. Of course the duke would resent her for that.

Someone tapped her shoulder, prompting Samantha to turn and find Harlowe there, his brow furrowed and his eyes full of censure. "A word?"

"I'm afraid it will have to wait," Samantha informed him. "The Earl of Marsdale and I are about to dance."

Harlowe glowered. She'd made a deliberate use of Marsdale's title so it would be more difficult for him to interfere. He narrowed his gaze on the earl before shifting it back to her. "Afterward then."

"Of course."

"What will you tell him?" Marsdale asked as soon as they'd positioned themselves in preparation for a quadrille.

It was a question she'd pondered at great length as soon as she, Adrian, and Marsdale had all agreed to move ahead with the plan. Harlowe was certain to wonder at her behavior. Explaining it wouldn't be easy unless she told him what she was up to.

A conversation she'd rather not have for a number of reasons, the most important one being discretion. The fewer people who knew what they meant to accomplish, the lower the risk of mucking things up.

Beyond that, there was the issue of trust. If Harlowe wanted Adrian gone so badly he'd whore her out just to get the deed done, then what might he do if he figured out Adrian's ultimate goal? Lurk in the shadows and wait for him to unleash his wrath? Tell Kendrick so he could attempt to set up a trap?

No. She'd not risk it.

"I'll think of something," she promised Marsdale, despite having already done so.

The dance started and he caught her hand, his gaze holding hers as they spun in a circle. If looks could undress, he'd certainly mastered the skill. A ploy, she realized, to draw the kind of attention they sought.

Beyond the dance floor, a few older matrons started to whisper behind their fans. Evidence that their attempt at creating a stir seemed to be working, though she would have to do better. For while the earl might be dashing and rather good looking, he didn't affect her in the slightest.

So she let her thoughts wander to someone who did, to the burning desire in Adrian's eyes and the basic possessiveness binding her to him with increased force whenever they met.

The earl caught her hand and her pulse fluttered. His fingers curved round her waist and illusion took over, her breath quickening as she pretended his touch belonged to another.

"I could whisk you away right now," Marsdale murmured, his voice so raw she wondered if he thought of someone else too. "Help you avoid the chat with Harlowe."

Tempting. But would it work? Or would Harlowe just track her down and prevent her from seeing this through?

She shook her head. "Make your way to our agreed upon spot in about half an hour. I'll meet you there as soon as I can."

The music faded. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a much-too-long kiss to her knuckles. Samantha withdrew slowly, allowing everyone standing nearby to get a good look at the scene playing out.

She turned, and was met by Harlowe's thunderous glare. He caught her upper arm with punishing strength and forced her into a hasty step that brought her straight to his study. The door clicked shut behind them.