Heart Wounds (A Miranda and Parker Mystery) Page 7

  But when a door opened and delicious aromas of fancy food began to fill the room, she forgot all about her uneasiness. She remembered all she’d had all day was that awful imitation of a candy bar at the police station and started to salivate like a mad dog.

  Servants placed steaming bowls of something green in front of the guests. Miranda eyed hers carefully when it came. It had leafy things floating in it and looked a little gross but it smelled wonderful.

  After figuring out which spoon to use, she dipped it into the thick liquid and ventured a taste. Pea soup? Zucchini? With a light kick of spice. Yum. She didn’t care what it was. She was tempted to pick up the bowl and slurp the whole serving down in one gulp.

  But since she might want some answers from these people, it was best not to offend them. She glanced over at Parker and caught him watching her with a look of amusement as if he were reading her mind.

  She knew he was glad she was eating. He cared about things like that. And maybe if she kept her ears peeled, she’d learned something that would help with their investigation.

  While the two Lords on either side of her chatted away about the real estate business Lord Eaton seemed to own, Miranda attacked the soup and finished the whole thing just before the next dish was served.

  It was salmon. Flaky and delicate in a creamy, rich-tasting lemon sauce dotted with capers. Miranda dived in. She was halfway through it when Lionel turned to her as if he’d just noticed her. “So sorry, Ms. Steele. We do go on about our business.”

  She paused, fork nearly to her mouth and blinked at him, surprised he was addressing her. “Oh, no. That’s fine. I don’t mind.”

  His brown eyes twinkled. “Lovelace and I are on the board of a real estate firm,” he explained. “We do luxury properties. You wouldn’t be in the market for a small estate in the country, would you?”

  She decided to play dumb and innocent. “Oh, you’d have to talk to my husband about that.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll take that as an invitation.”

  On the other side of her, Lord Lovelace uttered a very British laugh. “Eaton, you’re such as salesman. Can’t you give it a rest?”

  “You never know who your next customer is going to be, now do you?”

  Lovelace shook his head. “I apologize for him, Ms. Steele. And for our weather, too. I know it’s frightful to most Americans.” How smoothly he switched to a neutral topic.

  “It’s not so bad.” She smiled before scooping up the last bite of salmon and putting it in her mouth.

  Lionel reached for his wineglass as the next dish was served. Some sort of poultry leg in a thick brown sauce. “It’s rabbit,” he whispered when he saw her staring at it.

  Miranda picked up her knife and fork and grinned as if she ate it every night. “My favorite.” She took a bite and tasted garlic, red wine and shallots over lean, fresh meat. Delicious.

  Lionel studied her for a long moment as he set his glass down and picked up his own fork. “It must be sunny in—where is it you’re from? Atlanta?”

  “Yes. It’s starting to get hot this time of year.” Unlike this conversation. She really wanted to ask him what he knew about his stepdad’s dagger. “Sun, sun, sun,” she laughed.

  He leaned in closer, his Van Dyke beard nearly touching her shoulder. “I know it’s a forbidden topic but my mother isn’t listening right now.”

  Lady Davinia was engrossed in a conversation with Trenton Jewell, the lawyer, her face tight and drawn.

  “I understand you’re a private investigator?”

  Miranda swallowed the bite in her mouth and reached for her wineglass. “Yes, that’s right.” Sir Neville must have told him.

  “How intriguing.” His gaze roamed over her face then descended to her cleavage. “It must be very exciting work.”

  Miranda swallowed a sip of wine and laughed as she set down the glass. “Sometimes. Hours of boredom interrupted by moments of sheer panic.” Something Parker had said to her once.

  “Nonetheless, interesting enough to draw the attention of an attractive woman such as yourself.” His gaze remained between her breasts. Was he coming on to her?

  Her instinct was to belt him. Not only because she didn’t take that kind of shit, not even from an English duke or whatever he was, but because he dared to do it at a table with both of their spouses present. This guy was a cad.

  But causing a scene wouldn’t get information out of him, so she shifted her weight, picked up her wineglass again and took a slow sip as she studied him right back until he moved his gaze. “If the case is interesting, like this one.”

  His narrow brows rose. “Indeed?”

  “A priceless artifact stolen from right under the museum director’s nose? I wonder if you have any theories.”

  Lionel’s gaze narrowed as it moved to the far end of the table where Sir Neville sat, head down, silently picking at his food. The poor man looked miserable. “Theories?”

  “Ideas about who must have done it?”

  “None, I’m afraid. But isn’t it your job to come up with theories?”

  “Guess so.” She took a sip from her glass and swirled the wine around in her mouth before swallowing it. “You don’t know the staff at the museum very well, then.”

  “Not really.”

  “But surely you must visit the place. You probably have your own private key.”

  His eyes narrowed sharply. He knew exactly what she was implying. “No, I don’t. I’m not really interested in the place. It must be years since I’ve been there.”

  Well, this was going nowhere.

  Lady Davinia must have caught a few words. She turned her head and gave her son a passing scowl, then addressed the older woman to her right.

  “Duchess, have you heard about the Countess of Shefordshire’s daughter?”

  The woman nodded graciously. “I have. She’s getting married.”

  “She must be so excited. I remember how thrilled I was when Lionel and Gabrielle were planning their wedding.” Davinia’s smile seemed forced.

  Lionel decided to join the discussion. Probably to avoid any more of Miranda’s questions. “Oh, Mother. How can you say that? You and Gabby argued for days about the bridesmaids’ dresses and I was caught in the middle of it.”

  Lady Davinia laid her hand against her breast as if horrified. “She was insisting on a bold red silk.”

  From the far end of the table Lady Gabrielle’s girlish laugh rang out. “I’m just a free spirit, Mother. But the dusty rose we compromised on was quite beautiful. I’m lucky to have a mother-in-law with such good taste.”

  Lionel raised his glass to his youthful wife. “And I’m lucky to have gone down the aisle with the Marquis of Camden’s daughter.” He took a sip and gave a casual laugh. “I married up, as everyone knows.”

  Guess that meant Gabrielle outranked him in the aristocrat hierarchy.

  “Then they don’t need to be reminded, do they, my love?” Gabrielle smiled back at him, but there was a bite to her grin.

  Miranda didn’t know if it was her imagination, but it seemed like there was a whole lot of subtext going on here. Secrets hidden under the smiles and laughter. Things that were not very polite at all.

  “They’ve already decided on a December wedding,” the duchess continued as if she hadn’t heard Gabrielle or Lionel at all. “In the evening. Candles and ermine and all.”

  “Sounds lovely,” Davinia said. “Speaking of weddings, I’m so sorry we couldn’t attend yours and Wade’s, Miranda.

  Miranda swallowed the bite of roast lamb in her mouth, the course that had been delivered a few minutes ago, and thought of the way her gown had looked when she’d hobbled down the aisle in a nearly empty church.

  Wouldn’t have gone over big with this group. “I’m sure it wasn’t as grand as your son’s.”

  The hostess smiled and nodded and went on with other local gossip.

  As Miranda concentrated on her food, she caught the twinkle in Parker’s eye and felt
a swell of triumph. She was getting pretty good at not sticking her foot in her mouth at uppity social get-togethers.

  Too bad she wasn’t getting much information on the stolen dagger.

  A few more courses were served and the conversation turned to more talk about people she didn’t know. Jewell went on for a while about his boyhood in a town she’d never heard of and how he’d taken up law to follow in his father’s footsteps, although the profession was far from his first choice.

  By the time the meringue with strawberry sauce was served and the meal ended, Miranda didn’t know whether she was more bored or frustrated. But at least she was as stuffed as the roast lamb.

  As she rose Lionel held her chair. His demeanor seemed to have switched from flirtatious playboy to a serious businessman.

  He leaned close to her shoulder and whispered. “I won’t pry into your investigation, Ms. Steele, but I do hope you’ll wrap this case up soon. It’s such an embarrassment to the family.” He glanced down at the far end of the table and watched Sir Neville get to his feet.

  Lionel’s eyes glinted with fury. And if she wasn’t mistaken, Miranda could almost feel hated for his stepfather radiating from him.

  Chapter Twelve

  The party relocated back to the great hall for after-dinner digestifs, but after several more long moments of fruitless chitchat, Parker strode over to their hostess.

  “I’m so sorry to be a wet blanket, Lady Davinia, but my wife and I have had a very long day. I’m afraid we’ll have to say goodnight.”

  Miranda wanted to jump into his arms and plant a big sloppy kiss on his mouth right in front of everyone. Instead, she nodded. “He’s right. It’s been lovely, though.”

  “Perfectly understandable,” their gracious hostess replied.

  Before they could say good night to Sir Neville, Gabrielle’s voice rang out. “But you are coming to the match tomorrow, aren’t you?”

  “Match?” Miranda regretted the question as soon as it was out of her mouth.

  “The Ashton Downs Polo Match.”

  “Lionel will be riding in it,” Lord Lovelace offered. “And the weather’s supposed to be smashing.”

  The young woman scampered over to Miranda and took her by the arm. “It’s for charity. You simply must come. Both you and Mr. Parker. You will, won’t you?” Her pleading bottle-green eyes gleamed like gems and her red-gold curls shimmered around her pretty face as she gave a little childlike pout.

  But from the odd twist at the corner of her lips and the vice grip on Miranda’s arm, she guessed the child could turn into a hellcat pretty fast if she didn’t get her way.

  And why was it so important to her that they be at some sporting event? Maybe she longed for female companionship. Maybe she wanted to flirt with Parker.

  Miranda usually didn’t like Parker to rescue her, but she was glad when he reached for the woman’s wrist and eased it off his wife.

  “We’ll have to see in the morning, Lady Gabrielle.”

  They said their goodnights and left quickly.

  As they made their way up the grand staircase in the neighboring hall, Miranda whispered to Parker. “The only thing we got tonight was good food.”

  He gave his head a slight shake. “Along with the meal we were treated to a good serving of tension and resentment.”

  So he’d sensed it, too.

  Upstairs, she’d wanted to discuss the case. Maybe over a lovemaking session but as soon as they pulled off their clothes and climbed into bed, Miranda’s eyelids shut of their own volition. After going twenty-four hours with jet lag and a few hours sleep, she was finally losing it.

  She snuggled against Parker’s shoulder. “I think Lionel Eaton hates Sir Neville.”

  “I got the same impression,” he murmured in a weary voice. So they were on the same page.

  “Could be a motive for taking the dagger. You know, to destroy him?”

  “Could be.” Parker slipped a strong arm around her and pulled her close. She felt his breath in her hair.

  But why would Lionel do something he found so embarrassing to the family? Or was that just an act to throw off the American detectives? She didn’t know and her thoughts were blurring together.

  She wanted to say more, but before she could, she fell fast asleep in Parker’s embrace.

  Lionel pulled off his tie and sank into a chair, too furious to even undress.

  He’d drunk too much sherry after Neville went off somewhere with Trenton Jewell and the detectives went to bed. He’d been left with the ladies, listening to female prattle about shopping or some such nonsense and thought he needed it to settle his nerves.

  The drink hadn’t calmed him a whit.

  He got to his feet, stomped across the bedroom floor and slung the tie over the wooden valet. All he could think of was that damned dagger. “This incident is going bring even more reproach on this family than when Mother first took up with that museum curator,” he grunted under his breath.

  “Lionel, you’re boring me.” He spun around and glared at Gabrielle who was stretched out on her stomach on the big bed, examining her nails.

  “How could Mother think of marrying someone who wasn’t a one of us? He doesn’t understand our ways. He never will.”

  Gabrielle shook her head without looking at him. “You’re only repeating all the same things you’ve said over and over for years.”

  “It bears repeating over and over until he’s gone from our lives. How long will it take before Mother grows tired of him?” He pulled off his coat, slipped it over the wooden form, then did the same with his trousers. He grabbed his pajamas and headed into the bathroom.

  When he’d finished he returned and found his wife nestled under the covers, a sly look on her pretty face. She crooked a finger at him.

  God, no. She didn’t want sex. “Not now, Gabby. I have a match tomorrow.”

  She pouted as he crossed to the bed and got in, ready to turn out the light.

  Before he could, she pulled him close and kissed him on the cheek. “Not to worry.”

  He scowled at her.

  She was lovely with the glow of the lamplight giving her golden red hair an ethereal look. And her round breasts were always tempting. He’d married her for her position first, but her looks and her bosom had been tied at second. Still, he had little in common with her in the way of interests. Often he found her conversation nauseating. He’d had to find that sort of companionship elsewhere, and it was usually accompanied with enough sex to satisfy his physical needs.

  “What are you talking about?”

  She cocked her head and gave him that schoolgirl smile that had first drawn him to her. “I’m just saying you might get your wish soon.”

  She was confusing him. “How do you know that?”

  “Neville and your mother have been arguing since he got home from the museum.”

  “They’ve argued before.”

  “Not like this. You don’t understand.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “The theft of the Marc Antony dagger has completely devastated Neville. You know how he is. He’ll fret and obsess over it until it’s found. And it probably won’t be found. Your mother will grow so tired of his ruminations, she’s sure to leave him.”

  Her words made him turn over and lift a brow. “You’ve thought a good deal about this matter, haven’t you?” More than she usually thought about anything but parties and clothes.

  “Well, it’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  Her words startled him. He was so used to Neville being about and complaining about his being part of the family, it was strange to think of him gone. And what would that do to his mother?

  He’d had enough of this conversation. Gabby was being silly. He was riding tomorrow. He needed sleep.

  He turned over and shut off the light.

  Gabby’s voice was like a sadly tolling church bell in the dark. “You didn’t answer me, Lionel.”

  He lay his head on the pillow and heaved a sigh. “Yes,
of course it’s what I want. But I don’t expect to get it.”

  She bent over him and pecked him on the cheek once more. “Oh, you might be surprised.”

  Then she turned over and pulled the covers up, thank God. But as he drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t help wondering…could she be right?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Too agitated to sleep, he paced back and forth in the cold, narrow room, the dank air seeping into his bones.

  No one understood. No one knew what this shell of an existence was like for him. Year after year of agonizing disappointment. The memory of loss compounding year after year. Watching your rival achieve anything he wanted with hardly any effort at all. While you labor away striving, working, hoping…only to lose to him again.

  And then the one thing comes along. The culmination of all your desires. The single person who could turn it all around and make your life worth living once again. And he snatches that away as well.

  Damn him.

  He thought of the coin.

  The small silver disk stamped with Julius Caesar’s image. A genuine Roman denarius. How he’d coveted it. But Professor Kent had given it to his prize student instead of him.

  And so he watched him after that, a rotting seething burrowing deeper in his bowels year after year, as Neville Ravensdale achieved more and more and more.

  And now there was the Marc Antony dagger.

  It had reminded him of the coin when he first learned of its discovery. Rare and ancient and beautiful. And in that moment he’d vowed to have it. Or rather that Neville would not have it. And he didn’t have it.

  But now?

  He sank down on the bed and raked his fingers through his hair. He’d known the risks of this scheme but he hadn’t let them stop him. Perhaps he should have thought things through more. He’d gotten in over his head. He might have to pay too dearly for what he’d done. He might be paying for a long while.

  Had it been worth it? Guilt scratched at the edges of his heart. He scoffed at the sensation. Of course it was worth it. Just the look on Neville’s face when he opened that box in front of all those cameras was worth it.