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She nodded. Her rush of words was gone, the giddiness in her head emptying like a tipped goldfish bowl.
“You’ve made things much more difficult, Mrs. Cordial.”
“Sorry,” she said.
Yes, she apologized to a murderer for uncovering his bloody crime. Even in this moment, about to be killed, Charlotte was aware enough to cringe at herself.
“I do not know what to do with you,” he said.
“Take me to the ball?” she suggested with a hopeful smile that she managed to scavenge out of the hopeless dread. “You can have the first two dances.”
He studied her face then looked down. “I know what I must do, but I do not want to. Killing Mr. Wattlesbrook was one matter, but you are another entirely.” He met her eyes again. “Can you offer me a way out?”
“Yes! Of cour
se. A way out. Let’s talk about it. What do you need from me? I’m a very reasonable person. I can be your partner in this secret. With pleasure!”
Her cheery speech was spoiled somewhat by the intense shaking of her hands and the sickly tremble in her voice.
Hold still! she commanded her hands. Be cool! she told her voice. They didn’t obey. Traitors.
Mr. Mallery’s frown deepened. He took a step toward her. She took a step back.
“I wish I knew I could trust you,” he said. “But are you as you seem? Or are you someone else entirely? So many secrets in this place. So many falsehoods.”
She heard a slick scrape as he pulled a knife from his belt. She barely processed the silver flicker of the blade before she turned and ran for the door.
Her finger slipped on the hidden knob, but on her second press, it opened. She leapt away from the swinging door and heard it collide with Mr. Mallery behind her.
Mary peered out her door and blinked at Charlotte, as if she had been expecting to see someone else.
“Run for help,” Charlotte pleaded. “Mallery killed Wattlesbrook.”
Charlotte barely got out the words when he grabbed her from behind and pulled her back into the room with such force that she tumbled across the floor.
She looked up to see Mary not running for help but holding open the door and staring at Mallery. Even in her thoughts, Charlotte could no longer muster up a “mister” title for him.
“Do you have need of me, sir?” Mary asked, her voice mostly breath.
“Mary, you’ve always been a very good girl,” he said. His hair had pulled free of its restraint and hung loose around his face. He looked wild.
“Mary, hurry!” Charlotte shouted.
Mallery approached Mary leisurely, and the girl held still, waiting for him, faintly trembling, a mouse caught in a cobra’s gaze. He moved Mary’s hair behind her shoulder and ran a finger along her long, white neck in a way that seemed practiced. Mary’s faint trembling escalated to a full-body shiver. She gazed at Mallery with wet eyes.
Oh no, Charlotte thought. Mary would throw herself into a volcano for him. That does not bode well.
He fingered the neck of Mary’s blouse and slipped it off her shoulder. Her collarbone was tense and standing out like a skeleton’s.
“Would you give us some privacy to take care of business,” he whispered into her neck. “And then I will come find you. To thank you. You have proven to me that you are the only woman I can trust.”
Mary seemed scarcely able to move, let alone speak, but she managed to nod jerkily.
“Mary, please, he’ll kill me,” Charlotte said, pulling herself to her feet with a grunt. The bruises she felt forming on her hip were added to her Things Not Regency Appropriate list.
Mallery held his face close to Mary’s and touched her lips with a finger. “You know how much I value your discretion.”
He kissed the corner of her mouth, a tease, the promise of more, then stepped back and nodded, as if giving her permission to depart. She took a deep, unstable breath.
