Page 28 of Murder in Moonlight
They sat alone in the morning room, where they had agreed to meet to compare notes. Grey lounged on the window seat, his long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. Constance sat at the little bureau, drawing up a table on a sheet of paper. She had the names of everyone in the household written down the left-hand side and was recording their answers under various columns.
“However,” she added, setting her pen in its stand, “it gives us a head start, and still might prove useful if someone gives the police different answers to the ones they have given us.”
“There could be any number of reasons for that.”
“There could. But we can still learn from them. What do you make of our suspects so far?”
“No real surprises,” Grey said. “The Boltons and the Albrights both claimed to have been in bed with their spouses all night until the household was roused. No one heard anything except Randolph’s footsteps to your room, and I don’t even know if that was true or if Davidson said it just to annoy Randolph. Or you.”
“No one heardourfootsteps,” Constance observed.
“You walk very quietly for a woman.”
She glanced up at him in surprise that he had noticed. Was that a hint of darkness creeping along the fine blade of his cheekbone?
“Most woman rustle,” he said, a little too quickly. “Particularly in such ridiculously wide skirts.”
“Fashionableis the word you are looking for. Not ridiculous. And in my profession, as you may know, a woman learns to move quietly.”
She said it to annoy him, just to see the effect, now that she suspected he observed her more than he appeared to. It worked, too, though not in any way she had expected.
A frown tugged down his brow. “Why do you do that?” he demanded.
“Do what?” she asked, genuinely bewildered. Idly, as though she had no interest in his words, she picked up the rather ugly statuette on the table beside her.
“Remind me constantly of your profession.”
“Hardlyremind,” she said, turning the figurine in her hands. It felt too smooth and cold. “I’m sure you never forget it.”
His gaze held hers, unreadable but curiously…turbulent. “Why do you still continue with it? You must be wealthy enough to retire or invest in some legitimate trade.”
“Why should I?” She kept her voice carefully amused, though her fingers tightened on the ornament. “In order to be invited to respectable houses such as this under my own name? If you believe that wouldeverhappen, Mr. Grey, you are considerably more naïve than you look.”
“You could travel, live anywhere, do whatever you want.”
“Iamdoing what I want,” she said. How could such meltingly dark eyes pierce so sharply it was an effort to meet them? “I happen to enjoy my work.”
Mockery was her best weapon, but he didn’t rise to it. Neither embarrassed nor angry now, he simply held her gaze until it became damnably difficult to withstand.
“Do you?” he asked deliberately, just as if he had seen or guessed the truth.
“Of course,” she said, smiling. “I am good at it. You are welcome in my establishment any time you choose.”
Surprising her again, he quirked his lips into a half-smile, but at least he released her eyes. “I do not care to pay for such favors.”
“And yet you do. One way or another. One always does.”
“Who has hurt you, Constance Silver?” he asked softly.
The figurine fell into her lap, and his eyes followed it before lifting slowly to hers once more.
She laughed. “Oh, no one hurtsme, Mr. Grey. One needs a heart to be hurt. Contrary to popular belief, it is my mind that is my strength. Women do think, you know. Many of us are good at it.”
“I know.”
She replaced the ornament on the table, appalled by the slight tremor of her fingers. Picking her pen back up, she returned to her notes.
“Ellen,” she said, determinedly writing the girl’s name. “She claimed to be asleep and to have seen and heard nothing.”
