A couple of women with passable voices sang. A lord with a deep bass was delightful. And then Ternberry rose for his turn. He had a decent tenor but he liked to hit a higher note than was particularly suited to his voice. It caused a wince from Calliope every time and she shared a grin with Roth. He had obviously known what to expect.
"Esmerelda, please favor us with a.selection," Pettigrew boomed.
She could decline, but listening to the others had brought forth the familiar itch.
"I’d be delighted to accompany you, Esmerelda," Roth announced, stunning more than `
one person in attendance.
Roth sat at the pianoforte. "What’s it to be?"
"Do you know, 'A Bluebird’s Love’?"
Roth looked at her strangely for a moment and then nodded. Calliope was actually surprised he knew the piece. It was an obscure song, but it had been her mother’s favorite.
He plunked the opening bars and she began. Calliope had a strong mezzo-soprano voice, and she immersed herself in the song and forgot about the audience. She was transported back in time and place to when she was a very young girl singing in the little music room with her mother. She remembered her mother twirling and smiling and her father playing the pianoforte.
It had been a long time since she had inserted her father into a happy memory.
Roth played the last bar, drawing Calliope back to reality.
There was a brief silence and Calliope wondered if she had committed a faux pas. Monstrous applause drowned her imaginings. Roth winked at her and they returned to their seats.
"I say, that was well done!"
"Wonderful! "
Everyone was smiling except Lady Flanders, who was scowling; and Angelford, who wore an unreadable expression. Numerous selections followed until the last volunteer’s spindly voice hit the final note.
The guests moved to their chosen destinations. Charades were taking place in the drawing room; cards and dice were set up in the gaming rooms. James was busy talking to Roth and Calliope took the opportunity to excuse herself. She headed toward the ladies’ retiring room.
She reached an intersection in the hallway and started to turn left when she heard loud voices. Cautiously she peered around the corner and observed Ternberry and Pettigrew exiting a room halfway down the corridor. They were engaged in a heated argument.
"That is not how one handles these matters."
"l have more experience in these situations. Give me the document and I'll-"
A servant rushed to Pettigrew, interrupting Ternberry, and gave him a slip of paper. Pettigrew glanced at the missive and Calliope heard him swear. He motioned for Ternberry to follow. They were heading straight toward her. She slipped into an alcove, hoping they wouldn’t glance her way.
"Ternberry, rejoin the guests. This cannot wait. We will continue the discussion when I return."
Their footsteps faded and she peered down the empty corridor.
It was too good an opportunity to miss.
She strolled toward the room the men had vacated. She heard no footfalls, but forced herself to tread slowly. If she were questioned about her presence, she could claim ignorance.
She cast a quick glance behind, but she was still alone. She touched the door handle and heard a click as the door swung open.
The room was dim; the only light streamed from a small oil lamp on the desk. An unlit fireplace was in the corner, a full-length Oriental screen to its side. The screen seemed totally out of place in the otherwise English decor.
Calliope closed the door and moved toward the desk. Papers were scattered about its surface, as if a frustrated hand had smeared them. Glancing at the mantel clock, she sifted through the pile. She would allow herself five minutes. Staying in the room any longer would be foolish.
She paused and scanned the paper under her left hand. It looked like a contract from the Foreign Office. She flipped the page over, looking for the nature of the agreement.
The door handle clicked. She dropped the paper and dove behind the screen.
For an interminable moment there was total silence in the room. The hairs on the back of her neck were the only sign that a person advanced. Her breath held as she felt the presence stop on the other side of the Oriental cover.
A hand shot out and grabbed her by the arm. Harsh features and a menacing hand chopping toward her face were the only things her mind registered.
The raised hand stopped mere centimeters from her neck and she heard a muttered curse.
"What are you doing here?" Calliope hissed, staring into the familiar dark features and trying to regain her equilibrium.
James gave her a sharp look and motioned for silence as he shoved her back, squishing them both behind the delicate panels. He pushed her to the ground and crouched next to her.
She heard the door open, then a clumsy, hesitant footfall cross the floor.
Rustling papers, muffled curses and the intense beating of her heart were the only sounds in the room. She chanced a look upward at James. He was absolutely still, his eyes trained on the side of the screen.
There was a click of the door, then a solid thunk, as if someone’s head met the edge of the desk. Calliope winced for the other intruder and was rewarded with a waist-tightening squeeze from James. Did he think she couldn’t keep quiet?
A fourth person entered the room and Calliope resisted the urge to peek around the screen. This was becoming absurd. Besides, there were no more available hiding places.
"Where did I put that?" The low growl indicated Pettigrew was the fourth person. Papers were shuffled and he doused the light and then he strode back out.
A bump and curse indicated the other prowler had extricated himself from the desk. The person fumbled around, knocking papers and something made of glass to the floor. The tinkling sound reverberated through the room. The intruder must have been looking for the lamp and found it.
He beat a hasty retreat, not bothering to clean his mess in the darkened room. The door closed softly.
Calliope released her breath and stared up at James in the shadows. His fingers slid up and down her arm rhythmically. He was trying to soothe her. It was making her arms tingle.
"What are you-"
The hand tightened on her arm and he swung her toward him. She was locked to his chest. Her recently restored breathing sped up again.
"What the devil were you thinking? I thought I told you we were just going to observe tonight."
She raised an eyebrow, and wondered where she found the spirit. "Yes, you did, which doesn’t explain your skulking about."
"We’ll discuss this later. Let’s see if we can clean up and then get out of here. There’s entirely too much traffic in this room."
James grabbed her hand and pulled her around the screen. He somehow managed to locate a candle and light it. The lamp had indeed been the casualty of the other intruder.
James swore. "We can’t do anything about the lamp. Let’s go."
Calliope glanced at the desktop, but the agreement and other papers were gone. James extinguished the candle, and led her into the deserted hallway and up the stairs.
Chapter 9
James didn’t release her hand until they were safely inside her room. He was unsure what he wanted to do more-kiss her or shake her.
"Won’t we be missed?" she asked.
He shrugged and removed his coat, laying it across the paisley silk armchair.
She frowned. "Well, then shouldn’t we go back?"
He glanced around the cheerful and inviting room. Yellows and muted blues mixed together to create a relaxing atmosphere. It was interesting that despite her flare for the spectacularly vivid colors when she was Esmerelda, this soft feminine room suited Calliope.
"The guests are already thinking exactly what we want them to think. Why should they question my being with you?" He moved slowly toward her. "I’m with an alluring woman who has charmed every man in the house. No one will be surprised by my desire to have you to myself for several hours. In fact, they would question my masculinity and sanity if it were otherwise."