Page 71 of Unmasking the Diamond
Charlotte shot him a sharp look, knowing his words struck too close to the truth. She hadn’t been acting just now, not really. That had been the mortifying part. Everything she’d said, every glance she’d held, had come far too easily, too sincerely. And that realization left her feeling terribly exposed.
The orchestra struck up a new melody, the lilting notes of a waltz sweeping across the ballroom. Luca extended his hand towards her, a half-smile playing on his lips. “May I have this dance, darling?”
“Will you stop calling me that? I have a name.”
“And what a lovely name it is,” he replied.
Reluctantly, she placed her gloved hand in his. “I am going to start calling you Dunderhead if you persist.”
His grin widened. “You may call me whatever you wish. It seems to please you.”
“It doesn’t please me—itvexesme.”
“Then I am doing something right,” he said as he led her towards the chalked dance floor, the crowd parting to let them pass.
Charlotte sighed, deciding a change of topic was in order. “Did you have the opportunity to speak with Miss Dawlish?” she asked quietly.
The teasing light vanished from his eyes. “She was gone.”
She frowned. “Gone? What do you mean gone?”
“The townhouse was boarded up,” he said grimly. “The furniture draped with sheets, as though no one had lived there for ages.” He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “But that isn’t the worst part.”
“What happened?”
He drew in a slow breath. “Mr. Griffin was murdered.”
Charlotte stopped short, her pulse leaping. “Murdered? By whom?”
“I don’t know,” Luca said through clenched teeth. “But I intend to find out.”
Before she could respond, they reached the dance floor and Luca turned to her, his gaze softening. He rested his hand gently at her waist, the warmth of his touch seeping through the muslin of her gown. With his other hand, he lifted hers into position.
Charlotte looked up at him, her irritation forgotten. Beneath the steady exterior, she saw the tension in his jaw, and the shadows in his eyes. He was trying to appear unshaken, but she could sense the turmoil beneath.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I will be.”
The honesty in his tone stirred something deep inside her. “How can I help you?” she asked.
He held her gaze, his expression unreadable. “Just dance with me.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then the music carried them forward, and Charlotte allowed herself to be swept into his arms. Their steps fell into rhythm, gliding across the floor as if the rest of the world had faded away.
Luca sat in his office atThe London Gazette, the morning light spilling through the small, square windows and pooling across the cluttered surface of his desk. The scent of ink and parchment hung heavy in the air—comforting, familiar—and yet his patience was fraying. Before him lay the ledger Mr. Griffin had given him before his death.
He had been through the blasted thing a dozen times already, and still, it yielded nothing useful. His fingers drummed against the edge of the desk as his eyes scanned the neat rows of figures and coded notations. Line items markedA,B, andCmocked him. He knew instinctively they mattered—but for the life of him, he couldn’t decipher what they represented. Shipments? Bribes? Names disguised as letters? Every theory led him in circles.
A knock came at the door, sharp and unwelcome.
Without looking up, he said, “Enter.”
The door creaked open. “Sorry for the intrusion,” came his secretary’s brisk voice, “but Hillstead wants a moment of your time. I told him you were busy, but he refused to listen.”
Luca sighed and rubbed his temple. “Send him in.”
“Sir, youarebusy,” Mr. Wright persisted. “And Hillstead is a nuisance. I am sure he will just?—”
