nothing out of the ordinary. Do you have reason to believe the culprit was a guest?'
'No reason to believe anything at this point except we've got a dead woman on our hands,' Mayne broke in. 'We've a witness who says you spoke to Lady Crawford last night.'
'I did. We exchanged a few words.'
'On the terrace?' asked Rayburn.
'Yes.' After Carolyn had departed, he remained outdoors for nearly half an hour, lost in his thoughts. Blythe had stepped outside and approached him, pulling him from his solitary musings.
'What did you talk about?'
'Nothing of consequence. The weather. The party. A musicale we're both invited to next week.'
'How long were you together?'
'No more than five minutes. The air was damp and chilly and she grew cold. I escorted her back inside then left the party.'
'What time did you depart?'
'I'm not absolutely certain, as I didn't consult my watch, but I'd guess it was approaching two a.m.'
'And where did you go?'
Daniel raised his brows. 'Here. I came home.'
'Can anyone verify that?' Mayne broke in. 'Your coachman or house servants perhaps?'
'I'm afraid not. I dismissed my carriage and driver after arriving at the party and therefore walked home. My staff was asleep when I arrived.'
'Even your butler and valet?'
'I'm afraid so. Barkley and Redmond are not young men. I do not require them to wait for me to arrive home.'
Rayburn made notations in his small notebook then looked up. 'Do you know of anyone who might wish Lady Crawford harm?'
'No. She was a lovely, personable woman. Surely her death is the result of footpads.'
'Perhaps,' Rayburn said, 'although 'tis clear robbery was not the motive.'
'Why do you say that?' Daniel asked.
'Because Lady Crawford's jewelry was intact. She wore a very distinctive pearl choker.'
An image of a triple strand of perfectly matched pearls flickered through Daniel's mind. 'Did the choker have a diamond and ruby clasp?'
Interest flickered in Rayburn's eyes. 'Yes. How did you know?'
As he had nothing to hide and they could easily find out anyway from a number of sources, including the jeweler, he said, 'It sounds like a piece I gave Blythe.'
'Quite an expensive bauble to give a mere friend,' Mayne remarked. 'When did you give it to her?'
'Late last year. And yes, it was quite valuable. Perhaps the killer meant to steal it but was frightened off before he could do so.'
'Perhaps,' Rayburn said, jotting another notation in his notebook. 'Do you know if Lady Crawford was currently… involved with anyone?'
He'd heard a vague rumor that Lord Warwick-whom he neither liked nor admired-was Blythe's latest conquest, but since it wasn't his habit to repeat unsubstantiated gossip, he said, 'I'm not certain. I just arrived in Town yesterday afternoon after an extended stay in the country. I can only tell you that she wasn't involved with me.'
'Currently,' Mayne said.
Daniel shifted his attention to the Runner and offered him nothing more than a cold stare. He wouldn't lie, but he'd be damned if he would say anything that might sully a dead woman's memory. Especially to this brusque Runner who was glaring at him as if he'd committed the crime. His affair with Blythe had lasted less than two months-a torrid few weeks that had flared quickly then burned out. He'd soon realized that beneath her stunning beauty lurked a vain, selfish, and not particularly nice woman. It was quite possible she had enemies, although who they might be, he didn't know. Regardless, she didn't deserve the horrible end she'd come to.
'Is there anything else?' Daniel asked.
'Your costume,' said Rayburn, 'Can you describe it?'
'It was quite plain-black shirt, breeches, boots and mask, and a long black cape.'
'The rat catcher saw someone wearing a black cape leaving the mews just as he entered.'
Daniel's brows rose. 'I'm hardly the only guest who wore a black cape. Perhaps this rat catcher is the fiend you're looking for.'
'Perhaps,' Mayne said, but in a tone that made it clear he didn't think so. Indeed, everything in the man's demeanor indicated that he considered Daniel a suspect.
'That's all, my lord,' said Rayburn.
'For now,' added Mayne.
Daniel rose and led the way to the foyer. 'Thank you for your time, my lord,' said Rayburn at the door.
'You're welcome. Please let me know if I can be of any further assistance.'
'We will,' Mayne said, accepting his hat from Barkley. He then gave Daniel a curt nod and departed, with Rayburn on his heels. The instant the door closed behind them, Samuel entered the foyer.
'Well?' he asked, his white-gloved hands clenched, his face drawn and pale. 'Are they lookin' for me?'
'No.' He told Samuel and Barkley about his conversation with Rayburn and Mayne, concluding with, 'I cannot believe this has happened. Cannot fathom that Blythe is dead. And that she died in such a horrible way.'
A frown furrowed between Samuel's brows. 'Ye'd best be careful, milord. 'Tis clear they're sniffin' in your direction for this killin'.'
Daniel nodded thoughtfully. 'I had that impression myself. Especially from Mayne, who looked as if he wanted nothing more than to cart me off to the gallows. But they said they intended to question everyone who attended the party. I'm not the only man who wore a black cape or who spoke to Blythe last evening.' Nor was he the only man with whom she'd had an affair.
But instead of looking relieved, Samuel appeared even more worried. 'But the necklace she wore were one ye gave her. I know how these men of the law are, milord. They get an idea in their heads and it don't much matter if they're wrong. I've seen more than one innocent man arrested.'
Daniel forced a smile. 'Not to worry. They were merely doing their jobs and being thorough. The good news is that their inquiries had nothing to do with you.'
Samuel's stiff posture relaxed a bit. 'That is good news indeed.'
Daniel glanced toward the ormolu clock and noted with relief that it was no longer impossibly early. 'I'm going out for a while. When I return, I'll prepare myself to meet Baldy.'
In the meantime he had a goddess to see-and now for an even more pressing matter than discussing their terrace interlude. With a murderer on the loose, he needed to make certain Carolyn was protected.
Carolyn stood in her foyer, her feet rooted to the black and white marble tiles as she watched Nelson close the door after Mr. Rayburn and Mr. Mayne. Her brief interview with them had shocked her.
Still stunned, she slowly made her way back to the drawing room, trying to absorb the incredible, horrible news that Lady Crawford was dead. Murdered.
A shudder ran through her. They hadn't been close friends, barely more than acquaintances, but of course she knew the beautiful widow. She'd told Mr. Rayburn and Mr. Mayne everything she knew, which was next to nothing, and answered all their questions, thinking the entire time that some awful mistake must have been made.
After closing the drawing room door behind her, she crossed the Turkish rug to her desk and sat. Picking up her quill, she tried to resume the chore she'd been attempting to accomplish when the magistrate and Bow Street Runner arrived-to write a note to Lady Walsh thanking her for the lovely party last evening. But now, as before, all she managed to do was stare at the blank vellum. And remember.
Him.
The sound of his voice. The touch of his hands. The scent of his skin. The taste of his kiss. The heat that had poured through her, melting her until she felt as if she'd dissolve into a puddle at his feet.
With an exclamation of disgust, she set down the quill and rose. Paced the length of the room several times, then halted before the fireplace. And looked up. To stare at the handsome face, the beautiful green eyes, of the
