Chapter Three

Royal Opera House

Covent Garden

Mary breathed in deeply once they had entered the Royal Opera House, and then she sighed. There was a certain smell here that couldn't be replicated anywhere else. The scents of candle wax, rich and heavy fabrics, excitement, perfumes and pomades, along with that certain aroma of age and worn wood filled her nostrils. Oddly enough, it was quite comforting.

"We're just through here," the inspector said as they gained the second level of the opera house. "My brother's box should be the second one on the right-hand side of the theater."

She said nothing while she followed him through the maze of corridors. They had arrived far too late for dinner, but that didn't matter. Excitement fluttered through her veins. Bright might not wish to use his brother's coin or have to make his way through life as a viscount's second son bound by society's narrow-minded viewpoints, but on occasion, he did use the privileges afforded to his position. While Mary respected him for that, she also admired the dedication to finding his own way in the world. In that, he was different than many other men of the ton .

Suddenly, the thought occurred to her that once she married him tomorrow, she would also be part of the beau monde . Would that change his expectations of her? Would she need to act differently or become a society lady and enter that shallow world where women weren't supposed to do anything exciting?

It was something she needed to discuss with him.

"Here we are," he murmured and then stood back at the door so she could precede him into the box. "And it seems that we have the space nearly to ourselves."

There was one other couple sharing with them, and they were older. They both glanced over at her and Gabriel. Mary nodded at them and offered a smile. They were seated on the other side of the box, so there would be no opportunity for conversation. It was quite cozy, and she marveled again at how different it was being with Gabriel over how her life had been with her first husband.

"We have a lovely view," she murmured to him as they settled into their seats. The cushions were soft, the frames of the chairs were gilded, and the curtains on either side of the box and along the rear were of heavy red velvet, no doubt to help with acoustics. "This is so exciting."

"Well, I know how much you enjoy this particular play," he said in a whisper as she leaned toward her.

"True, but I meant being here with you. I adore that." He was such a darling man thinking of her and securing the tickets. It was surprising how two men could be at such completely opposite ends of the emotional spectrum, and time out of hand, Gabriel had patiently shown her how a gentleman should act.

His grin was a thing of beauty. "I strive to make you happy, Mary. We are not all bounders like your first husband."

Flutters went through her belly. "Thank goodness." But she smiled to herself as she read the playbill and waited for the performance to begin.

Throughout the play, they both sat spellbound, for the actors were passionate and genuine in their roles; the backdrops amazing. At some point, Bright rested an arm on the back of her chair, let his fingers drift along her shoulders, her nape, gently teasing. In those moments, Mary was very aware of him, and she reveled in that too, for she'd never craved the touch of her first husband as she did with Gabriel.

At the end, she sighed, for it had been very well done, and because of that, quite satisfying. "That was delightful. Thank you."

"You are welcome, of course." He glanced at her with a half-grin and mischief in his eyes. "What would you like to do with the break before the comedy gets underway? Stay in the box, seek out glasses of champagne, wander the gardens and eat from street vendor carts?"

"Mmm, champagne sounds lovely. I wouldn't mind a glass of that."

"Then I shall fetch you one."

"Such a rogue." But she smiled. "While you do that, I'm going to stretch my legs." So saying, she stood and shook some of the wrinkles from her gown.

He scrambled to his feet as well. "Once I procure the champagne, I will join you. Perhaps we can find a shadowy corner in one of the corridors."

"Oh? Why is that, Inspector?"

"Isn't it obvious? I want to kiss you. Quite desperately, in fact."

Heat seeped into her cheeks. "Haven't you had enough after what we did before coming out to the opera?" she whispered so the other couple wouldn't overhear as she and Bright went back through the curtain and then out the door to the corridor beyond.

His hand was at the small of her back and warmth emanated from that touch. "You are soon to be my wife, which means I will never have enough of you."

"So romantic, Bright." But her smile continued to grow as she turned to go the opposite direction of him in their errands.

"I can't help it, and I've changed my mind." As she looked at him with a frown, he took one of her hands. "I'll go with you. Perhaps we can skip the comedy in favor of walking through the gardens. Suddenly, I'm finding it far too stuffy in here."

"You won't find argument from me." The weight of his hand in hers, the way he threaded their fingers together all worked to bring her contentment.

The corridors were dimly lit with guttering gas lamps on the wall. Some of the halls were crowded with people either wishing to stretch their legs or heading out to seek punch or champagne. When they encountered a few acquaintances, they either nodded or paused briefly to greet them.

"Come, Mrs. Tomlinson." Gabriel tugged on her hand until they'd found a short corridor that led to what seemed to be a backstage area on the second level. "Surely there are hiding places through here."

None of that was to be, for near the door lay the body of a woman lay with a pool of dark blood beside her. She lay on her side with one arm flung up over her head.

Mary gasped. "Gabriel!" Her hissed whisper sounded overly loud in the sudden quiet of the space.

"Dear God," he said as he gazed down at the body. "Quickly. There might be a possibility she's still alive." Wasting no time, he kneeled on her other side to avoid the blood.

"I rather doubt she is." Her utterance was quite a choked whisper, for the bottom dropped out of her stomach. The longer she peered at the body, the more apprehension gathered about her person. She knew the woman, and what was more, the jeweled handle of a letter opener— her letter opener—stuck out from the woman's chest. Blood stained the front of the woman's gown in mustard-colored silk.

While Bright removed his gloves and then checked for vital signs, Mary bit her bottom lip as cold foreboding played icy fingers up and down her spine. The woman who lay on the floor, the woman who'd lost her life in a violent manner, had, at one time, been a mistress of her first husband.

While it was true Mary hadn't been fond of the woman—for her husband had made her watch him pleasure and bed the lightskirt—she had never wished her dead. Much. As her farce of a marriage had dragged on, those thoughts had changed. All emotions and feelings for the man had fled, and she'd washed her hands of him, had told him he could bed whomever he wished just to leave her out of it. To her way of thinking, she was no longer his wife after that.

"The woman is dead," Gabriel pronounced with disappointment clinging to his tone. "However, she is just barely warm. Death probably occurred within the last hour or two while the play was in progress. No one would have passed through this area, and even if they did, the noise from the stage would have blocked the sounds of a scuffle or even a muffled scream."

Mary didn't comment; she couldn't, for it would betray far too many things, but her pulse pounded so loud, she feared he would hear it. Instead, she nodded but couldn't bring herself to look directly into the dead woman's face.

The woman who her husband had apparently enjoyed bedding far more than he had her.

Gabriel didn't notice her unease as he continued to do a cursory examination of the corpse. As she wandered about the tight area, the toe of her slipper bumped against something that skittered over the floor, rolling away into the shadows. When she bent down to retrieve it, she frowned, for it was a tiny brown bottle of essence of clove.

"I wonder if this belonged to the dead woman or if someone dropped it earlier." She held the bottle between her gloved thumb and forefinger.

"It is impossible to say right now. Tuck it into your reticule and we'll start building a trail of clues, same as always," he said as he removed his notebook from an interior pocket of his tailcoat. The well-worn leather was as familiar to her as everything else from his person, but this notebook she would never forget. It was the first time she realized he was serious about investigating the death of his brother's butler last Christmas, and that she was his number one suspect.

As she thought about that, her unease grew. So much so that hot saliva filled her mouth, prompting her to swallow heavily a few times to stave off retching. Bright would not be pleased when he discovered how she was connected with the dead woman. And he would find out, but she owed him the truth, which meant she would volunteer that information before he uncovered it. The thought had knots of worry pulling in her belly.

"Uh, I am going to step away for a few minutes to compose myself."

He nodded. "I'll admit, stumbling upon a dead body, and one that has met a violent end at that, does take a person by surprise." With the leaded end of his pencil, he examined the ruffle that lined the bodice of the woman's gown. "Don't stray far. We will need to begin our investigation soon, and I'm going to want my partner there every step of the way." When he flashed her the grin that never failed to leech the strength from her knees, Mary nodded.

She hurried off even as her heart squeezed. Every time they worked a case together, he treated her as his equal. It was one of the things that had made her fall in love with him to begin with. "I'll return shortly." Needing to put distance between herself and the dead woman wasn't an excuse because she really did feel as if she would retch. The past that she'd worked so hard to put behind her was now rushing up to meet her and sink its claws into her person.

Barely had she turned down an intersecting corridor that would lead to the sweeping staircase when she ran bodily into a man moving at a fast rate along the hallway toward her. For a few seconds, she struggled to keep her footing while disentangling herself from the man.

"I am so sorry," Mary mumbled as she stepped far enough backward to sweep her gaze over his form. "I wasn't paying attention."

"I'm the one who should apologize." His voice was proper enough, but it wasn't cultured. "I shouldn't have been in such a hurry." The man was decent looking, well put together. Though he didn't wear a tailcoat or any of the other pieces of clothing that was de rigueur for attending the opera, he did have on a black jacket of superfine, gray breeches, and his boots were shined. However, he was one of those men that a person could easily overlook after the first meeting, because there was nothing unique about him. He blended in with the masses. "You seem ill, miss. Do you need assistance?"

Stop woolgathering or letting your emotions control you, Mary.

"No, I will be all right." Slowly, she shook her head. The longer she stood there with the man, the more a vague scent of… gingerbread blended with the citrus of his cologne or shaving soap. "I merely have a bit of a stomach upset. With something to drink, I should be well enough." Why she felt the need to tell a stranger that, she had no idea, but knowing who the dead woman was had upset her greatly. And knowing how Gabriel would react kept her on edge.

"All right, then." He nodded but frowned as he looked at her. "Did you at least enjoy the play?"

"Of course." This time, she didn't offer up anything else.

"Well, I should go, but it was a pleasure to meet you Miss…?"

"Mrs. Tomlinson." For the love of God, Mary, stop talking!

"Ah, well Mrs. Tomlinson, I am Mr. Dempsey." He smiled but the gesture didn't reach his eyes, and a rivulet of sweat went down one temple. Perhaps he was overly heated after running through the corridors. It was a bit warm. "Call me a patron of the arts or a slave to them. Seems like I'm always here in some capacity or another."

"Oh?" Truly, she wasn't all that interested in this man or his life, but she didn't want to offend him by moving away.

"Yes. One of my friends was in the play tonight; we are going for drinks afterward at his club since I'm not scheduled to work."

"How lovely for you." She made to move around him. "Enjoy your evening."

"Wait." When she drew even with him, Mr. Dempsey dared to lay a hand on her arm. Gooseflesh rippled on her skin, and not from pleasure, but she didn't know how else to explain it. There was a certain intensity in his hazel eyes she didn't care for, and the skin beneath his left one ticced. "Perhaps you and I can meet at a tea house sometime or perhaps walk in Hyde Park. I'll wager we have much in common. Don't you feel that affinity between us?"

Oh, dear. "I do not, in fact." Gently but firmly, she removed his hand from her person. "And I'm afraid I need to decline your invitation. I'm getting married tomorrow." She frowned as confusion gripped her mind. Was this younger man truly thinking she could be a romantic match for him ?

"But you aren't married yet," he said with a wink.

The cheek of him! "I'm sorry, Mr. Dempsey, but this conversation is over. Good night."

For the space of a few heartbeats, he held her gaze. Then he nodded. "A pity. Of course a woman like you would already have been snapped up." With an unreadable expression, he cleared his throat. "Well, I must run. Perhaps we shall meet again, and in better circumstances."

"I hardly think that accidentally running into someone in a corridor is an unfortunate circumstance." Perhaps she wasn't in the correct frame of mind just now, but the whole conversation was exceedingly odd.

"The better circumstance would have been you taking tea with me." When he winked, it still didn't make him remarkable in any sort of way.

"Don't let me keep you. I'm sure your friend must be wondering what has become of you." With a sigh of relief, she watched the man lope off down the corridor, but what made the whole encounter even more queer was the fact he ran in the opposite direction from whence he'd come. Where was he going to begin with? Not knowing, Mary paused at the wall and briefly closed her eyes. She drew in a deep breath and let it ease out. After repeating that for a few times, she opened her eyes and stared at the opposite wall.

A handful of patrons strolled by, but no one seemed overly interested in her. Laughter and chatter filled the air. Somewhere nearby, the clink of champagne glasses reached her ears. Perhaps she should return to Gabriel, even though she desperately could use a drink of something right about now. The sooner she admitted what she knew to the inspector, the better it would probably go. And the longer she lingered in the corridor, the more likely it was that some other man would think she needed to suffer through his unwanted conversation.

Stiffening her spine, Mary retraced her steps. As she walked, she wound the strings of her reticule about her fingers. What would she say to Gabriel that would soften her connection to the dead woman? Already, she could imagine the disappointment and resignation in his dark eyes, and she absolutely didn't want him to think less of her, especially on the eve of their wedding.

Will I ever break free of my past?

Eventually, she arrived back at the crime scene, for there was only so much dawdling she could indulge in.

"Ah, Mary. I'm glad you are here," Gabriel said without glancing up from his work as he examined the soles of the woman's half-boots. Already, the page of his notebook was filled with scribbles. "I sent a young theater worker out to summon a constable, so we need to be quick with the remainder of our own examination. If I have to shoo away another gawker, I will probably go mad. This isn't an ideal situation."

No, it is not. There was no point in delaying any longer. Once more twisting the strings of her reticule around her fingers, she hovered on the fringes of the scene. "Gabriel, I—"

"Come, now, Mary. Help me search for clues and odd things regarding this woman. I suspect that once the constable comes ‘round, we'll lose control of the body."

She stifled the need to sigh. Everything he said was correct, and the first twenty-four hours after finding a dead body was crucial, but this would only postpone the inevitable.

Please forgive me when we come to that crossroads.

Then she dropped to her knees behind the body, avoiding the blood, and went to work.