She stretched out her hand. The locket felt cold to the touch. She ran her thumb along the fine hair that was woven around the circular disk as a frame. Digging her nail into the seam, she opened the locket. Still empty.
“This one.” She swallowed, but her mouth remained dry as ashes. “I don’t recall seeing it on the list of stolen items. Where did you get it?”
“Hmm?” Hereford blinked. “Oh, that old thing? You do realize I relieved many more people of unnecessary burdens than you and your associates knew about? And that I’ve been plying my craft for much longer than anyone knows? You didn’t catch all my indiscretions. But to show Montague and the others my sincerity in turning over a new leaf—”
“But where did you get this?” she snapped. His roguish charm no longer entertained. If he had taken this from Lydia…. She dug her fingers into her thighs. If he had robbed her sister, could he have done something even worse to her?
Her head went light, and she swayed in her seat.
Hereford took the necklace from her hand and held it up. Her fingers itched to snatch it back. The locket had been important to Lydia. Why hadn’t Cassie ever wondered where it had gone? She’d never even asked about it. She’d just assumed it had been buried with her sister.
“This old thing?” He pursed his lips. “This one I freed from Lord Wiltshire, the scoundrel. He always likes to take a prize from a woman he’s conquered. Who it originally belonged to we’ll never know, but I think she’d be happier knowing it wasn’t in the hands of the man who’d bedded and abandoned her. This one I think I’ll ask if I can keep.” He tossed it back into the pile. “There’s so many I wish to keep,” he said mournfully.
Cassie’s body was numb. All the hours searching, lying, scheming, and the answer had just fallen into her lap.
The bloody Earl of Wiltshire. That was the man who’d taken her sister from her. The man Lydia had let into her heart. Had given her prized locket to.
The man whose child she’d carried.
The carriage hit a rut, and her reticule slid off her lap. The top edge of the invitation poked through the drawstrings.
She stared down at it. Such a small square of paper. And to the gayest of events, a masquerade ball.
But that small bit of paper was the answer to all of her prayers.
Lord Wiltshire would be there.
So would Cassie.
It was the five-year anniversary of her sister’s death at that very same ball.
And Cassie would make sure there was another body found there to commemorate the event.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Charles stood beside the screen in the office’s back room and tugged at the lapel to the absurd domino suit he wore. “I understand there will be roughly the same pool of suspects, but how does attending this ball bring us any closer to discovering your sister’s killer?”
Cassie’s day gown was tossed up on the top of the screen. Her voice was muffled as she slid the costume gown over her head. “I can question suspects about the events five years past. Being at the same ball should recollect some memories. I told you that you don’t need to come if you feel it’s a waste of time.”
Hurst stepped into the room. “What do you think of the length of this cape.” He twirled in a circle, and the edges of the heavy black cloak flared out about him. “I think I should give up my greatcoat and return to this fashion. It makes accessing one’s weapons ever more convenient.”
Charles stepped between the agent and Cassie. The screen was covered in a thick brocade and there was no seeing through it, but still. Walter was much too close to Cassie’s half-naked body. “Only the daftest dandies wear capes nowadays, except to masquerades.”
Lord Hereford stepped inside the doorway. “I wear cloaks yet to formal occasions. They are deucedly comfortable.”
Charles inclined his head at the viscount. “As I said.”
The man scowled and left in a swirl of ermine-trimmed silk. He had forgone one of the agency’s costumes and donned one of his own. Even his mask, instead of the basic black all the other men wore, was painted in outlandish curls of red and gold. Real gold, no doubt.
Walter took another step inside. “It won’t hurt to get a sense of the social event where Miss Moore’s sister was killed. It gives us useful background.”
Fabric shifted behind Charles, but no other sounds came from that quarter. Cassie was being awfully quiet tonight. She’d been acting differently for the past couple of days. “You and the rest just want to go for the free drink and food.”
Walter grinned. “That doesn’t hurt. But buck up. We might learn something. And besides, it’s a good opportunity to get close and dance with your lady.”
Charles scowled. It was also a good opportunity for other men to get close and dance with his lady. He waved Hurst away.
“Can you help me with the gown?” Cassie poked her head around the side of the screen. “I can’t reach.”
