“Yes,” Jane said.
“Now let go of my sister.” I tightened my grip.
“Or what?” He sneered at me.
“Or I might need to include a few more details in my next article about what I saw you doing at the Knightley’s charity dinner last week.” I narrowed my eyes.
He flushed and released Jane.
“So glad we could come to an understanding. Come on, Jane.” I glared at him and pulled Jane away before he could catch up.
“Thank you,” she muttered. “I didn’t know what to do.”
She never did. Which was why we were such a good team. I helped extricate her from situations she was too nice to escape from on her own, and she kept my temper under control. It was almost like the shape of our facesreflected our personalities. We were similar enough that you could easily tell we were sisters, but Jane’s was a perfect heart shape to reflect her sweet nature, and mine was all sharp angles to match my sharp tongue.
My attention landed on a beautiful woman with a faint silvery outline dancing in the middle of the club. She wore a dress similar to Lydia’s, but she wore it with the style and confidence of a runway model.
Best of all, while I’d never seen her in Austen Heights before, I was pretty sure I’d seen the long-haired woman in a few magazines. If I wasn’t mistaken, that was Caroline Bingley.
Her appearance brought up the million-dollar question again: What were the Bingleys doing in Austen Heights? They lived in New York, so I had no idea what would bring them to Maine. Their family was one of the highest among the highborn fae, ranked right below the fae royal family. Only a few other families, like the Knightleys or the Ferras, held as much esteem.
Jane and I slunk along the edge of the dance floor, drawing closer to Caroline while keeping our backs nearthe wall. If we went into that crush of bodies, we’d likely lose sight of her.
Jane leaned closer. “What now?”
“Let’s keep an eye on her for a bit.” My instincts told me that last night’s fae was connected to the Bingleys, so if I kept an eye on her, maybe I’d find the murderer.
I leaned against the wall and folded my arms. While it was hard to imagine a family as well-to-do as the Bingleys being involved in something so shady, they still might have answers for me.
The wall behind me swung inward, and I stumbled back with a gasp into a dim room lit by floating purple candles hovering near the ceiling. My arms windmilled at my sides to help me regain my balance, but my high heels betrayed me. A sharp pain shot through my left ankle as it twisted. I toppled backward with anoofand a glowing forearm wrapped around me as I landed.
Heat bled through the thin fabric of the back of my dress, and a broad chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm behind me. A woodsy scent mixed with cardamom filled my nose.
“Are you okay?” a rumbling voice asked way too close to my ear, the vibration coming through where my back pressed against his chest. There was something familiar about the voice, but it was difficult to place with my pulse still racing and a blush heating my cheeks. His arm fell away from my waist.
Oh, hex. I hadn’t landed on a chair in a VIP room. I’d landed in someone’s lap—a man’s, based on the muscular forearm wrapped around me.
“Of course. I’m so sorry.” I stood and pain shot through my ankle. I winced and almost collapsed, but pride kept me on my feet and out of the stranger’s lap.
“I should be the one apologizing,” a second voice said from in front of me. “I didn’t mean to surprise you like that with the door.”
I stiffened. I hadn’t even noticed there was anyone else in here aside from the man whose lap I’d stumbled into, which was embarrassing on so many levels. How could I call myself a reporter when I hadn’t even been paying attention to my surroundings?
“Not at all. I’ve simply been practicing ways to make an entrance.” I gave a self-deprecating laugh and looked upinto the second man’s glowing face—a face that I was all too familiar with.
Charles Bingley.
I’d found him.
But then, who was the man climbing to his feet behind me?
His proximity sent my pulse skittering and my heart thumping in time with the music. He was like a wall of heat, close enough that if I leaned back, I’d be flush against his hard chest once more.
No, what was I thinking?
The tumble must’ve addled my brain. That was it. Because I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about a sexy rumbling voice or a forearm that I was strangely attracted to. I was supposed to be gathering information and getting answers.
I snuck a glance over my shoulder, but the candles around the man weren’t lit, casting his face more in shadow than not.
