Then Comes Murder

Dangerous Games (part three)

Lieutenant Thornton-Spencer's fingers curled around her wrist, and, for the second time that day, Nora was unceremoniously pulled to her bottom. Fortunately, this time, she was pulled back onto the bench rather than into the dirt. She turned to give the man the tongue-lashing he so clearly deserved, but his hand tightened. He raised his other finger to his lips.

Nora bristled before the sound of voices reached her ear. Combined with the taut, nervous expression on the lieutenant's face, she realized he was worried. Her injured pride flickered as the pieces fell together: he did not want to be caught alone with her. It is I who do not want to be caught alone with you, she itched to say, but as conversation caught her ear, her lips tightened. There was something familiar in the whispers that slipped between the hedges.

"Please, listen to me," a male voice begged. It was touched with urgency and misery. And affection. It came in such a desperate, pleading whisper that, though it was familiar, Nora could not discern its owner. "Caroline!"

Her heart dropped. Caroline should have been surrounded by jealous admirers, not creeping through the hedges unchaperoned. What on earth could have dragged her from the party? There was nothing Caroline loved more than basking in the heady glow of attention. She would not have left her fiancé's side without reason.

"I will not!" Nora had never heard Caroline speak with such harshness. She had a wicked tongue when it came to private humor, but her cousin was never intentionally cruel. As if he meant to counter her thoughts, Jacob's mouth tightened in a grim frown. Nora snatched her wrist away from his grasp and leaned forward to listen more closely. From beyond the dense foliage, Caroline's voice continued, "Do not ask me again."

"Caroline, please," the man said. "You do not love him."

There was a pause and a intake of breath. Nora heard the faint rustle of skirts, the held breath, the heavy silence between them. From the corner of her eye, the lieutenant seemed to be her mirror. They were matched in taut stillness.

"I said I will not. Find someone else."

"You're the only one," his voice dropped lower. "I can't do this without you. It's you. It's only you. I—I love you."

"You do not," Caroline answered, vicious and soft. Then it came softer still. "You cannot."

"Please."

Another pause. The whispers, barely louder than a breath, were too quiet to hear. Nora leaned further.

It was the lieutenants' sudden hand at her waist, perfectly inappropriate for their quickly chilling acquaintance but perfectly suited from keeping her from tumbling from the bench, that stole her attention away from the secret conversation. How could she pay attention to hushed whispers with his hand against her middle? She ignored the way it made her stomach twist and, her cheeks aflame, glared at him.

Even with the sharpest reproach Nora could muster with her narrowed eyes, he did not remove himself. His posture did not relax from that strained, listening pose—even as the voices faded into retreating footsteps. Thankfully he did not seem to notice the flush of color in her face

Nora, however, was less grateful for the size of the bench. Tucked into its end, there was no where to escape his touch save another dive to the earth. Nora considered it. Mussed as her dress was, another tumble into the dirt would hardly make a difference. Walking back to the party was already going to be a nightmare. Her pride, however, could not stomach the thought of giving any sort of credit to the man. She pretended that he had no effect on her.

"Please remove your hand, lieutenant," she hissed between her teeth. Her ears still ached to find the whispers of conversation beyond the hedge, but footsteps had faded into nothingness.