Death Wears a Mask by Ashley Weaver

Mrs. Barrington and perhaps see if she still harbored suspicions about the theft of her jewelry. It had crossed my mind that the recent thefts and the unfortunate death of Mr. Harker might be in some way related.
    A thought came to me suddenly.
    â€œMilo?” I asked as he carried me down the stairs. “Who else was on the first floor with us when it happened?”
    He paused a moment to think it over. “When I went into the hall, Dunmore, Barrington, Foster, and Douglas-Hughes were already there. That inspector also had both the Echols sisters and Mrs. Douglas-Hughes in the library.”
    An odd, uneasy feeling settled over me.
    It was Mrs. Barrington’s group of suspects, almost to the person.

 
    8
    THE BALL WAS still in full swing as Milo carried me across the foyer and out into the night. The revelry had increased to the degree that our departure generated very little notice. I suspected I was not the last woman that would be carried out before the night was over. That is, if the party was allowed to continue. Apparently, the arrival of the police had been handled with extreme discretion thus far, but something like this could only be kept quiet for so long.
    Milo deposited me on the backseat, and it was only then, with my body no longer pressed against his, that I realized how cold the night had become. Lord Dunmore’s butler had brought out my fur, and Milo handed it to me. I draped it over myself, trying to cover my bare arms as Milo went around to the other side of the car and got in. He sat close, but not quite touching, and neither of us spoke.
    In addition to feeling distraught over the tragedy that had just occurred, I couldn’t help but be furious about Milo’s arrival with the French actress. I also suspected that Milo, beneath his calm exterior, was in something of a temper over finding Lord Dunmore removing my stockings.
    I could only imagine what Markham thought of our cool behavior toward one another. What a difference one night could make.
    We pulled up in front of the flat after riding the rest of the way in a silence heavy with mutual disapproval. Milo got out before Markham could open the door and came around to assist me from the car.
    â€œPerhaps if I just leaned on you,” I said, hoping in vain that I might be able to walk on my own.
    â€œNonsense,” he interrupted, sweeping me up into his arms.
    The doorman and the lift operator both took in the scene with perfect equanimity, but I was relieved once we had reached the privacy of our flat. Winnelda, I hoped, was asleep, and Parks, Milo’s valet, had been given the night off. Milo frequently dispensed with Parks’s services; I had always suspected it was because Milo didn’t like witnesses to his misdeeds.
    He carried me into the dark bedroom and deposited me on the bed before he switched on the lamp. The room was decorated in black and gold, and the lamplight seemed to do little to push back the shadows; perhaps it was just that everything seemed darker this evening.
    â€œShall I send for Dr. Easton?” he asked.
    â€œI saw the doctor while you were…” My words trailed off. “He says it’s only a sprain.”
    I sat up, easing myself to the edge of the bed, and reached to unfasten my dress as the chiffon of the skirt caught beneath me and welled up around me. What had started out as a dream of a gown had turned into an incredible nuisance. I couldn’t wait to be free of the wretched thing. Unfortunately, the side closures were difficult for me to undo myself.
    â€œIf you’d wake Winnelda for me,” I said, not wanting to disturb her, but wanting even less to ask him for assistance.
    He ignored my request as he sat beside me on the bed, the mattress shifting under his weight, and began to unfasten the innumerable little hook closures that held the dress closed.
    I looked down at the top of his dark head as he leaned to unhook me. I wanted to say something, but