The Baron (5 page)

She nodded amicably to the other guests seated on couches and Queen Anne chairs in the sun-splashed room. Her gaze finally settled on the Don’s friendly face. “You’re looking quite dapper this morning, Don Siciliano.”

The aging minister rose as if drawn by a magnet.

“Thank you, Contessa. I’m feeling absolutely marvelous! Well, as marvelous as one can feel when immersed in a dreadful murder investigation!”

Halley chuckled and let Nick lead her over to an empty love seat where they sat down side by side. A servant appeared as if by magic and offered coffee, tea, and crumpets.

“The Contessa doesn’t drink coffee. Tea, please.” Nick’s attention drew knowing smiles from those nearby.

Halley shot him a look. “You have a fine memory.”

He winked and shifted his body until his thigh
pressed closely against the ultrasuede of her skirt. “But it was only last night, darling …”

Eyebrows lifted, and Halley vowed to keep her cheeks a pale rose rather than the bright scarlet that was threatening to color her whole body. “Yes …” she murmured, calling upon the role of Contessa to help her through. “Ah, last night—” she said, and then turned to the guest-butler who hovered over the sofa, capturing any bit of attention Halley was willing to throw his way.

But there was no way on earth she could blot out the heat of Nick’s body next to hers, nor was Nick about to let her forget he was there. “Be careful what you say to him. I think he did it,” he whispered carefully into her hair as she tried to talk calmly with the butler.

“Why?” Halley turned slightly toward him, wondering what would happen if she sighed aloud in the elegant parlor.

“It’s the ears. One can always tell by the ears,” he said, his voice laced with seductive laughter.

Halley nodded slowly, as if she had actually absorbed what he’d said rather than the searing rays created by his fingers on her thigh.

Just then the Hercule Poirot look-alike entered the room, and everyone hushed in giddy anticipation.

“The murder weapon has been found!” he announced jubilantly. “Mr. Lucius A. March has been killed with a large knitting needle, one sharp stick—clean, quick, and oh, so deadly.”

Nick’s hand moved to the rhythm of the actor’s words, tapping out the course of the crime on her leg the whole time the detective questioned the guests. He outlined a ray of sunlight that landed conveniently on her thigh, and whispered sensuous comments about their supposed rendezvous in Antibes.

By the time the detective got around to questioning Halley and Nick, Nick’s arm was around her
shoulders, the color in her cheeks was brilliant, and the detective commented in a charming French accent on the incredible eroticism of young lovers sitting in sunlight. Halley groaned.

Lunch was a brief respite, served on glass-topped tables out on the terrace, thanks to the Indian summer weather. The guest-butler had finally managed to get seated next to Halley and wasn’t about to let Nick edge his way in. “Sorry, Baron, but she’s mine for lunch.
All
mine.”

Halley took full advantage of the cooling-off period, breathing in the fresh air and filling her mind with thoughts other than of the Baron’s hands on her body.

But her break was short-lived.

After the raspberry meringue dessert and champagne, Herb announced that the next several hours could be spent looking for clues. The guests were on their own until six o’clock, when they’d all gather on the terrace and make their final assessment of the crime.

“I have a hunch,” Nick whispered close to her ear.

Halley was standing near the edge of the terrace, watching one of the maids wander down to the dock. “You do?” she asked.

“Follow me.”

He led her down a path that led to a wooded area bordering the lake.

“Shh,” he cautioned with one finger to his lips as they walked stealthily along the tree-rooted path.

Halley followed directly behind him, her eyes tracing the firm ridges of muscles beneath his forest-green polo shirt. He hadn’t dressed as carefully in character today as she had, but then, how was she to know what barons wore when sleuthing? She laughed softly into the fragrant air. Her head felt light from champagne and fantasy, and her skin
was warm from the sunlight falling through the branches.

The lake curled around to their right, and on the other side the woods thickened, pathways spreading out in several directions. “What should I be looking for?” Halley asked softly, wishing she’d been able to change into jeans and tennis shoes.

“Snakes,” Nick whispered back. “The place is full of them.”

“Nick!” She flew into his back, her arms wrapping around his waist.

“You called?” He turned slowly, his arms slipping around her and pulling her close to his chest.

“I … I like bugs and most animals, but I have this thing about reptiles.” Her voice was a frightened whisper. “And my legs are … so bare!”

Nick looked down at the stretch of firm, creamy skin. Yes, they were. So were her shoulders,
and
a goodly portion of her chest. And every inch of her smelled lovely, a clean, soapy smell that was far more heady than the champagne they’d had at lunch. “Don’t worry, Tessa. I’m here.” His words were murmured, and he held her close.

“Is—is there perhaps a snakeless place we could look for clues?” she asked, her voice still shaky.

“There’s a little cottage ahead that’s sometimes used for guests. There, see?” He pointed through some trees, and Halley noticed a small clearing right on the edge of the lake.

“That looks like it should be packed full of clues.” Halley nudged Nick toward it and followed close behind.

They stepped together into the well-mowed clearing, and Halley breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, Baron, now you know my vulnerable spot.”

Nick looked her over carefully, and she discovered his eyes had the same effect on her that his hands had. “That’s it? That’s your only vulnerable area?”

She blushed. “Yep. That’s it. Other than a fear of snakes, I’m made of iron.” There was no reason to be as close to Nick as she was, but no matter how hard her mind tried, her body refused to pull away. His touch was so gentle, and all the sensations that raced through her and glued her to the spot were mesmerizing and wonderful.

“Oh, now, my Contessa, there you’re dead wrong. What I’m feeling isn’t cold iron at all; it’s warm and quite grand.” Nick’s hands moved up and down her arms. They had walked as far as the low steps that led up to the vine-covered cottage, and Halley bumped the back of her leg against the bottom step.

“Clues?” she murmured from somewhere in the back of her throat.

“Ah, yes, clues. They must be here somewhere,” Nick agreed, his gaze searching her face. “I’m sure we can find some.” His hands slipped from her shoulders down to the center of her back. He pulled her close.

The searing warmth of Nick’s body electrified her. She tried to get her mind to work, but nothing registered. Her lips parted, and his slanted down over them in delicious possession. He kissed her hungrily this time, his excitement fueled by her own.

It had to be the clothes, Halley thought wildly. They were somehow drugging her, making her act like someone else. But deep down inside she knew The surging desire she felt for the Baron belonged to no one but Halley Finnegan. Then she allowed the kiss to deepen, her body delighting in the taste of him.

“Seems,” a hearty voice said, “that everyone thought the old guest house was the place to head for clues.”

Halley instinctively jerked away, and Nick was left standing apart from her, a brilliant green scarf dangling from his fingers. They looked up into the dancing
eyes of the guest who had been playing the part of a fading actress.

She was standing in the doorway of the cottage, just in front of the man dressed as the butler. “We didn’t mean to interrupt,” her tone was apologetic, “in fact, we were just leaving.”

Nick chuckled and took a step that brought him back up beside Halley. “Joanna, I should have known you’d head this way.”

Halley marveled at Nick’s composure, his deep voice teasing the woman nicely, his expression friendly and calm. She couldn’t have spoken if her life depended on it. Halley had never been kissed quite like that before—or at least she’d never experienced such resounding aftershocks. Her legs were wobbly, her lips felt deliciously bruised, and she was sure every freckle on her nose was dotted with perspiration.

Nick slipped an arm around her waist, and they stepped aside as Joanna and the guest-butler walked down the steps.

“Well,” Nick asked as they walked by, “have you two solved the mystery?”

“Actually we haven’t a clue,” Joanna said, smiling enigmatically.

“Well, then,” Halley said, finally finding her voice, “I guess we might as well not waste our time here.”

“Oh, Contessa,” Joanna said pleasantly, nudging Nick at the same time, “I wouldn’t call it a waste of time at all!”

“Nor I,” Nick agreed, and slipped his fingers up beneath the thick fall of Halley’s hair.

“Nevertheless,” Halley said more calmly, her chin rising in contessalike confidence, “perhaps if we all explore together, we’ll have better luck.” The words hung falsely in the air, but she tried to follow them up with a dazzling smile. The thought of that empty cottage and the unbridled desire racing crazily through her body was more than she could handle
right now. Casual tumbles weren’t her style at all, but Nick—the Baron—was exerting a power over her she knew she couldn’t fight.

Nick’s head was angled to one side, and he looked at her carefully. The weekend was definitely turning into more of a mystery than was promised on the invitation, he decided. He slipped an arm around her waist and started toward the path. His voice was a husky whisper. “Whatever you say, Contessa, but we have hours to go before we slip off into the real world.…”

The half hour before cocktails was a “rest period,” as Sylvia had called it, a time for people to think through their clues, ready their bags for departure, and freshen up before the buffet dinner.

Halley spent it pacing the length of the patio. The few clues they had gathered—some cotton yarn found beside the path and a piece of black nylon stocking caught on a bush—went unheeded as thoughts of Nick filled her head.

They had wandered through the rest of the afternoon as acutely aware of each other as if they had stayed on in the deserted cottage. Nick touched Halley constantly, and she marveled at the power of those touches. A palm placed flat on her lower back, a curved finger along her cheek, his hip brushing against hers—each was enough to send waves of warmth rushing through her until she felt no part of her was left untouched.

No, the identity of the murderer wasn’t the real mystery here. The
real
mystery was how in the world she was going to get through the final hours intact.

“And what do you want to keep intact, Finnegan?” she asked herself with a grimace.

“Everything! My fine, sterling reputation as a
woman who is wise and cautious in the ways of love.”

“Which is why you never have any fun!” chided a voice in her head that sounded curiously like Rosie’s.

“Fun,
schmun!
I’ve had a
grand
time.” Yes, of course she had, and there was no need to worry. She took a deep breath and walked back into the suite. “No need to worry,” she repeated aloud, trying to reassure herself. “It will all be fine. The Baron and the Contessa will chitchat through one more meal, then go off into their own separate,
real
worlds. And no one but her guardian angel will ever know how fiercely she was tempted to taste the delights of a one-night stand.”

With renewed strength she tossed her few belongings into the small suitcase, zipped up the clothes bag Rosie had loaned her, and touched up her makeup.

Cocktails, dinner, and a polite good-bye. She could handle that much. Yes, surely she could.

When Halley wandered back to the main house for cocktails an hour later, the patio and terrace were transformed into a mystery fantasyland. Low lights outlined the area and cast flickering shadows across the bricks, while in the background, soft music drifted along with the breeze. Flower arrangements dotted with tiny magnifying glasses and Sherlock Holmes hats were set on low tables, and in the center of the patio a long, lovely buffet table was draped in linen, readied for a feast.

Halley looked around. A dozen or so people milled around, chatting and drinking cocktails, but her Baron was not among them. Strange, she thought, how she knew he wasn’t there even before she checked. It was all becoming too predictable, too instinctive. Too wonderful.

“Contessa, won’t you join us?” An attractive blond woman wearing a sexy black dress beckoned to her. She was playing the part of a niece of the wealthy, deceased man, and her dress, Halley presumed, was her “mourning” attire.

Halley joined the group, accepted a cocktail from a maid, and was soon deep into a speculative discussion
on the identity of the villain. Slips of paper and pencils were passed around on silver trays, and each guest was instructed to write down his or her conjecture about who did it and why.

“You haven’t many clues, Contessa,” the niece said. “What have you been doing all afternoon?”

“Keeping her Baron out of mischief,” a familiar voice intoned near her ear.

Halley felt shivers travel down her neck.

The group laughed, and Don Siciliano jovially slapped Nick on the back. “Ah, to be young again!”

“Don Siciliano, you are certainly not old,” Halley offered, at a loss as to what else to say.

“Thank you, my dear, thank you. But you’ll notice I wasn’t paired with a ravishing contessa!” His lined eyes sparkled with enjoyment. “It was a concentrated attempt to avoid cardiac arrest this weekend.”

“Ah, Don Siciliano, they say sex is good for the heart muscle,” the blonde in the black dress said teasingly.

Halley felt the flush travel up between her breasts. She knew it coated her neck and wondered if she’d soon break out all over in a sweat. “Isn’t the table lovely?” she said quickly.

“It is. Let’s take a closer look.” Nick took her arm and smoothly led her away from the group. “Contessa, I do believe you’re blushing.”