Then Comes Murder

Dangerous Games (part five)

"Of course he's staying for the wedding, Maxwell," George said darkly. A threat lived in his voice, unwinding with venomous implication. What the threat was, however, Nora could not discern.

Neither, did it seem, did the rest of the party. The lieutenant frowned at his brother as if he did not recognize him. Swift and Lord Grey raised their eyebrows. George and Maxwell, however, held the other's gaze with furious and dark purpose.

"Perhaps, then," Nora said casually, "we'll avoid the gavotte."

The group stared at her incredulously.

"To avoid any premature departures."

After a beat, George returned to laughter, and the sound of it dimmed the bright flare of tension. Save for the lieutenant. The taut wrinkle between his furrowed eyebrows was not eased. Nora shrugged with a tempered smile—perhaps he did not like being left out on the joke.

"Though speaking of leaving early," Nora said. "I fear I have the most stubborn of headaches."

George protested loudly, but, as he'd returned to cheerfulness, he only asked if she'd be alright returning home alone and offered to call for the carriage.

"It's barely three blocks from here," she reminded him. George had sent the carriage for them after Caroline had demanded the carriage to ensure she'd arrived perfectly on time and perfectly put together. Already rumpled, Nora had no need of it. She forced herself to smile brightly. At the rate she was swallowing her irritation, she really would develop a headache. Or at perhaps a speech impediment. "I don't imagine I'll fall victim to another attack by slippers."

The lieutenant choked on his lemonade. George clapped his sputtering brother on the back with a fresh breath of chuckling. Lord and Lady Grey, Miss Osborn, and Mr. Swift all smiled good-naturedly and offered their remedies for relieving the sudden burn of acid in one's windpipe. Ian Maxwell, however, did not take his eyes from Nora. Save to glance, barely a heartbeat's span, at the coughing lieutenant and his volatile older brother.

"How un-gentlemanly," he drawled. "To let a lady walk unaccompanied. I'd be more than happy to escort you home."

After years of 'finishing' from Caroline's over-bearing mother, after a season and a half of studying the perfect smiles and responses of her peers, Nora knew what she was supposed to say. Oh! I couldn't ask you to leave the party or It would be so selfish to deprive everyone of your company would have been perfectly acceptable replies. It was a pity—though it felt more like a triumph—that she said the first thought that came to mind.

"I'd rather you not."

It was not witty, but Jacob Thornton-Spencer inhaled another mouthful of lemonade that threatened to send him back to asphyxiation by sugared-beverage. His eyes watered as George returned to thumping his back, but when the lieutenant waved off his brother's assistance and finished gasping, his stilted breaths were full of incredulous laughter. Behind a thin layer of tears, his green and gold eyes crinkled.

Nora felt her breath catch. She lowered her head as the threat of a blush rose to her cheeks. When had she become as silly as the rest of the unmarried girls?

"I fear that I, too, have a headache," Margaret suddenly said. Her eyes, too, were narrowed in amusement. "Marcus, darling, do walk us home."

Maxwell complained that Swift owed him an evening at the club; Swift protested that Maxwell still owed him from their last round gambling; and Lord and Lady Grey bemoaned the time; which naturally led to George's loud lamentation of the loss of his favorite party guests. Eager for the removal of any distractors to his attention, Miss Osborn batted her eyelashes at him.