One

Halley Finnegan raised one white-gloved hand to her carefully made-up lips. Her large emerald green eyes grew larger as she leaned through the open car window and stared at the elaborate house she was about to enter.

“Good grief,” she said, choking. “I’ll need a tour guide just to get me through the weekend!”

Reluctantly she opened the door of her tiny Volkswagen and got out. She teetered sideways almost instantly, her slender body weaving like a reed in a high wind. Grasping the door handle for support, Halley stared down accusingly at the unfamiliar spike heels. She’d never make it inside in them. She grimaced as she scanned the crimson dress that hugged her hips like a girdle and squeezed her pale, full breasts so tightly that she felt sure a sneeze would leave her naked. It had to have been Rosie’s cheap wine. Nothing else could possibly have made her agree that the dress was perfect for the occasion!

The thought of Rosie Wilson brought a smile to her face. Rosie had delighted in rummaging through every shelf and dusty box in her antique clothing shop the previous night to outfit Halley for the weekend, and the venture had ended in hilarious laughter as the two friends finally settled on the sexy crimson dress and filmy shawl that did little to cover Halley’s skin.

“Finnegan, it’s the chance of a lifetime!” Rose had insisted, her dramatic flair with words making the ridiculous sound sensible. “A whirlwind weekend of mystery and charade! And the more exotic you look, the more you’ll melt into the crowd. If you try to dress like Halley Finnegan, you’ll stand out like a sore thumb!”

It was only after the second glass of wine that Halley had tried on the dress. It was after a third glass that she had agreed to wear it. Rose had stared at her lean, lovely curves with envy. “I’d look like a fortune-teller in that, Finn. But you look positively regal. No one will ever guess you’re a fill-in houseguest!”

Houseguest. The thought jolted her attention back to the magnificent house that stretched out before her. The mansion sat atop a gentle rise like a jeweled crown, its opulence and grandeur borrowed from another time. Off in the distance, beyond the rolling lawns, Halley could see a shimmering lake, its surface streaked in shadow by the setting sun. She didn’t hear any violins yet, but the graceful strains of Mozart and Beethoven fit the scene so perfectly, she fully expected to tune in to them at any moment. It was the perfect setting for a Fitzgerald novel, Halley mused as she cautiously approached the wide fan of marble steps leading up to the entrance. Or a romance. Or a murder.

The last thought sent an uncomfortable ripple of apprehension through her body. That was, after all, why she was there. She shivered, drawing the lacy shawl up over her bare shoulders, and walked slowly up the steps.

Why, oh, why had she let Leo Thorne talk her into coming, anyway? She’d give almost anything to be somewhere else, preferably curled up in her favorite library chair, burying herself in a wonderful musty book! But when her kindly benefactor had asked her to go as a favor to him, he had left her no room for a refusal. His dear, dear friends were hosting this charming party—a murder-mystery weekend, plotted and directed by a professional troupe—and all the guests would participate.

“Such a clever idea, Halley, eh?” His grin had been barely visible beneath his bushy white mustache. The problem was, he’d explained, that one guest had come down with the flu at the last minute and he didn’t think Halley would mind filling in. Furthermore, he had insisted it would actually be a wonderful thing for her to get away from the Thorne Estate Library for a brief vacation. A fortuitous change of pace. Refreshing. Invigorating.

Halley had stared at him wide-eyed, assuming he’d been nipping from the bottle he kept on a bookshelf behind the fat, leather volume of Banking Strategies. Luck wasn’t on her side, however. Mr. Thorne had been dead serious.

There was no way on God’s earth she could turn the man down. Aside from her family, he had done more for Halley Finnegan than any other human alive, and when she reluctantly agreed, the spread of happy wrinkles around his eyes almost made having to go to the party worth it.

Until now. Halley wet her lips nervously and glanced back toward the circular drive, her gaze settling on the tiny green Volkswagen. It looked pathetic in the grandiose surroundings. “Don’t worry, my green knight,” she whispered softly. “If I can do it, so can you.…”

With a feeble burst of energy Halley Finnegan spun around to face her first—and last, pray to God!—murder-mystery party.

She paused on the top step. She could hear voices coming from around the side of the house and through the open windows. The happy clink of ice against fine glass mingled with laughing chatter. She hadn’t missed the cocktails, after all. So much for that effort!

She eyed the shiny brass door knocker with renewed determination and smoothed her palms down over the flaming red dress. Well, Finnegan, here goes. With a forced bravado that painted a crimson blush across her high cheekbones, Halley lifted the knocker and let it drop firmly against the heavy oak door.

In seconds the door opened wide and a gray-haired butler filled the opening. His gaze met hers, then fell almost immediately to her dress. Halley felt a rush of damp heat travel up her neck, then back down to the cleavage the elderly man eyed so admiringly.

“Ah,” he managed, pulling his gaze upward and wiping away the tiny beads of perspiration that dotted his forehead, “welcome, madam. Please, won’t you come in?” He backed up stiffly against the door to let Halley pass.

Halley paused, her heart hammering beneath her ribs. There was still time to feign a polite excuse and leave, to hurry back to the warm security of the Thorne Estate, to slip into her familiar warm-up clothes and tennies and sink her teeth into any one of a million projects she was halfway through. She could … No, of course she couldn’t. Besides, she decided with a sudden grin and a lift of her head that brought the doting butler to full attention, she was anonymous, playing a part. Rosie was absolutely right! She could be whoever she wanted to be. It was the only way to get through the crazy weekend, and she’d do it come hell or high water.

A tingle of childlike pleasure eased through Halley, pushing the nervousness aside, as she began to look at the situation as a challenge. When it came right down to the wire, she’d always been able to tap into her ever-ready reservoir of strength and make the most of it. Wasn’t that what Joe Finnegan had always taught his kids to do?

With head held high and her thick auburn hair cascading down the bare, creamy skin of her back, Halley Finnegan whisked gracefully past the butler, then turned and faced him with a smile so alluring, it caused the elderly gentleman to cough behind his hand.

“Please, sir,” Halley said huskily, “kindly tell the Harringtons that the Contessa Ambrosia is here.”

At that moment a tiny silver-haired lady appeared from the other side of a giant fern, her bright oval eyes sparkling and a flowing Grecian gown trailing behind her.

“My dear, welcome!” She grasped Halley’s hand and looked up into her face, smiling. “I am Sylvia Harrington. And you must be dear Leo’s friend. He’s told us so very much about you, and I cannot tell you how grateful we are that you agreed to come at the last minute like this!” Her small head bounced along with the words. “Now, tell me, just to remind me, of course”—she touched her cheek lightly with one finger, a small crease lining her still smooth brow—“you are …?”

Halley smiled. “Halley. Halley Fin—”

The woman reached up and covered Halley’s mouth with her small gloved hand. “Shh! No, no, no, dear. We won’t use any of those names this weekend. No, no. This weekend you are …” She reached over and picked up a small scroll lying on the side table in the formal entrance hall. “Ah, here! You are the Contessa Ambrosia, of course.” She stepped back and looked Halley over from head to toe, “A perfect contessa, I should say. My, oh, my.” Her eyes traveled over the silk gown. “What a lovely, lovely dress, my dear. You are ravishing!”

Halley smiled back and felt the fantasy taking shape around her. Her hostess, dressed as an Italian princess, was lovely, and her own dress hadn’t been condemned—not yet, anyway—and she—plain Halley Finnegan—was a contessa.

“Ravishing, indeed!” The deep, husky voice that swept into the conversation was disembodied at first, and Halley delighted in the resonance of it. It was a marvelous voice, the kind one would sit back and enjoy from the last row of a theater as it rolled off the stage in huge waves.

“And who is this ravishing creature?”

The owner of the voice took her hand and swept her gloved fingers to his warm lips, which kissed her fingers through the thin material and left hot imprints on her skin.

“This,” Mrs. Harrington said graciously and with a great deal of enthusiasm, “is our final guest. The Contessa Ambrosia.” She curled her arm around Halley’s waist.

“And this, Contessa, is Baron von Bluster.” Sylvia Harrington giggled at the fictitious name. “Goodness, Nick, how perfect a name for you!” She tweaked his cheek affectionately.

Halley raised her head slowly, her thick lashes lifting until she looked directly into the Baron’s eyes—soft black eyes that nearly swallowed her.

A smile spread across his darkly handsome face. Halley shivered. She opened her mouth to speak, but her hostess gushed on in warm, silvery tones. “And such a happy chance that you should have walked in, my dear Baron, because the lovely Contessa happens to be your partner for the weekend. Ah, such a good match; I shall have to commend my dear Herbert on his farsightedness.” She chuckled happily, patted Halley’s shoulder, then swept off, leaving Halley and the Baron facing each other in the middle of the spacious hallway.

Halley realized with a start that the tall, tuxedoed stranger still held her hand. She slipped it from between his fingers and crossed her arms delicately over her chest.

The Baron’s husky laughter echoed in the marble chamber. “Ah, already I’ve learned something about the beautiful Contessa. She isn’t accustomed to wearing such daring—albeit beautiful—attire.”

Halley dropped her arms immediately and tilted her chin up. “Not really, Baron. A slight draft, that’s all.”

He nodded, but his eyes reflected warm laughter. “Good. Come, then, and we’ll find a cocktail to ward off the chill.” He circled her waist with one arm and guided her through the hallway and toward a set of French doors.

Halley hadn’t bargained on this at all. She’d anticipated the tedious cocktail chatter and having to mingle with strangers, but she hadn’t anticipated, not for one blessed instant, having her own baron for the entire weekend. The thought was humorous and utterly terrifying at once. Halley wet her lips and hurried to match his long, loose stride. Please, God, she begged, let’s emphasize the humor here!

The man beside her was calm and collected and probably had never known a second of terror in his life. Halley sighed silently.

“Now, tell me, beautiful lady,” the Baron’s deep voice whispered softly into her hair, shattering her thoughts, “what else is the enchanting Contessa not accustomed to, so I may help put you at ease?”

She glanced up into his smoky eyes and noticed the slight brush of gray at his temples. Put her at ease? She lifted one hand to her cheek and smiled coyly. “Absolutely nothing, Baron.”

“Nothing?”

His gaze was hungry now, and Halley swallowed hard around the lump in her throat, keeping her smile firmly in place, her chin tilted upward, and her gaze locked tightly to his. She wasn’t Halley Finnegan, she was the Contessa, she reminded herself. It was all a crazy game. “Nothing of consequence, Baron.”

“Good! Then let’s move on to cocktails. Oh, and I suppose we ought to squeeze in falling in love.”

Halley stumbled over the edge of the carpet and grasped his arm for support. “Falling in love, you say?”

His fingers moved playfully on her waist as he spoke. “Didn’t you read your invitation, Contessa?” His smile was charming and teasing and sexy.

“Seems I missed something. Was it in the small print, perhaps?”

“Exactly. There it was, right after the date and place. ‘The Baron von Bluster and Contessa Ambrosia,’ it read, ‘are both recovering from wild affairs and are thrown together after a separation of many years. In spite of the suspicion and suspense wrought by the murder, they find the old flames rekindled, and love blossoms in the shadow of murder and intrigue.’ ” The Baron cleared his throat dramatically, causing Halley to laugh softly as he continued. “ ‘But when the Baron admits he is bankrupt and stands to inherit millions from the deceased, tension builds.’ ”

“It said that?” Halley’s brows narrowed suspiciously.

He held up one hand and grinned. “Scout’s honor. That’s who we are. The token lovebirds—”

A contessa … a baron … and now a wild affair? It was too much for Halley. Bubbly laughter welled up inside her chest. If she had tried to imagine a life as far removed as possible from her plain, comfortable job at the Thorne Estate Library, this would fit the bill perfectly!

“So, lovely Contessa,” he went on, holding open the French doors, “as you can plainly see, we have much ground to cover!”

“All those years apart.” Halley shook her head.

“Yes, I’ve been damn lonely, my dear!”

“But the wild affairs, sir? Certainly the nights weren’t too lonely.”

“Wild only in a mechanical way, Contessa. Nothing could compare to the pure passion we shared!”

Their light laughter mingled as they walked over to the far edge of the stone patio and looked out onto the breathtaking panorama before them. The fiery ball of sun was settling on the far edge of the lake, seemingly held up only by the clear line of the horizon. Below, the rippling waters caught the fading light, and centered perfectly, as if by an invisible artist, a lone sailboat glided across the magnificent vista.

“What a beautiful sight!” Halley pressed her palms flat against the cool surface of the stone wall edging the terrace.

The Baron edged up close beside her and rested one hip against the rough wall. “It’s a wonderful place. Why Syl and Herb ever venture off the property is beyond me.”

“Are they good friends of yours?”

He nodded. “Yes, and more so. They’re relatives—Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Herbert.” He rescued two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray as he spoke. “And they coerce me into many of their gatherings. I think they consider my being unmarried a devastatingly lonely existence. But tell me, Contessa, how did you happen upon this soiree? I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before.”

Halley smiled. “No, you haven’t. I’m here by default, actually. One guest couldn’t make it, and a dear old friend of mine plugged me into the vacancy as a favor to the Harringtons. Apparently the mystery weekend needed all the characters to be a success.”

The Baron lightly tapped his glass against hers and flashed her a charming smile. “Well, it certainly needed you! Here’s to the Contessa-by-default. Long may she live.”

Halley sipped the champagne, then smiled broadly. “How appropriate a toast! What does one do if one doesn’t live long at a murder-mystery party?”

The Baron’s answering smile held a hint of a dimple in one cheek. “Oh, the important people—like you, my Contessa—will survive. The victim will be one of the acting troupe mingling so subtly among us. But, fair lady”—his thick brows drew together ominously—“we’re all suspects.”

“Aha!” Halley took another sip of the champagne. “So I’m cavorting with a would-be, could-be murderer?”

“But what does it all matter?” He moved closer to her. “We’ve found each other again, dear Contessa, and that’s all that matters.” His husky laughter hung in the warm evening air.

Halley rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms to ward off a shiver.

“Still cold?” One thick brow lifted in concern.

Halley shook her head quickly. “I’m fine, thanks.”

The Baron watched her closely, his eyes lingering on the rise of her breasts.

She recognized the look that played briefly across his face. What would he do when he discovered with whom he’d been saddled? Not a sophisticated jet-setter at all, not even a sophisticated lady of the night, as her friend Leo so delicately put it, but a librarian who ranked formal parties right below measles on her list of things to avoid! She hid her laughter behind a quick question. “Tell me, Baron, besides falling in love, what is expected of us tonight?”

“You can handle more? Well, dinner, I believe, and meeting and mingling, music and laughter, that sort of thing.”

“And the murder?”

“Ah! I’ve probably got a real life P.I. on my hands.…”

He lifted one brow questioningly, and Halley tossed her head. “Not even close, Baron.”

He watched her intently and tried to read beneath the incredible emerald color of her eyes. More emerald, that was all he found. A deep, wonderful sea of it. But there was something different—enchantingly different—about the Contessa, he realized. The Baron smiled, then edged even closer. “All right, I’ll tell you about the murder.” He whispered the words conspiratorially into her ear. “The victim is out there somewhere. And the dastardly perpetrator of the crime is too. And the clues are everywhere—”

“I suppose we ought to see about finding them—”

The Baron grinned and stood tall beside her. “Yes, and I’m being terribly unfair to keep you all to myself like this. Syl will have my hide; she wanted me to introduce you around to the other guests in this little drama. I guess I’ll have to share you.” He took her hand and tucked it inside the crook of his arm. “But only for a while. After all, we have all those lost years to catch up on, my lovely Tessa.”

My lovely Tessa … Halley basked in the fantasy of it all for a second, then smoothly swept across the room on his arm, her eyes lustrous and her head held high.

As they approached each group, Halley noticed the admiring looks, the questioning brows that indicated the people were wondering who she really was, but the Baron introduced her only as the Contessa, and before long, Halley began to feel as if her slippers were made of glass and her pumpkin were waiting just outside the door. She had a long time to go before midnight.

Dinner was a whirlwind of animated conversation and rich food served at round, linen-draped tables. Dozens of servants hovered over the guests, and a string quartet played on a small balcony off the dining room.

There were twenty-four guests in all, and Halley marveled at how eagerly each one of them fell into his or her role. There was a proper spinster, a fading movie star, and, of course, a butler among the guests, and near her at her table sat a Mafia don in black tie, chewing a fat cigar. Kids playing dress-up and finding unexpected delight in being someone else, she mused. Just as she was doing.

Her glance swept around the elegant table for the twentieth time that night and paused as it had each time on the profile of the magnificent Baron, sitting directly to her left. It would have been hard not to look at him, so imposing a presence was he. Halley Finnegan’s Baron—for two days. The thought sent unexpected chills up and down her spine. Who was he really, beneath the elegant tux and lovely talk? He fit the role of baron so perfectly, it was difficult to think of him as anyone else. Most of the guests had greeted him warmly and familiarly, some slipping and calling him Nick. Nick the Baron, with the laughing, dark eyes and the splash of gray at his temples. He was laughing now at something the older woman on his left had said, and Halley watched him over the rim of her wineglass.

A deep, bellowing voice interrupted her thoughts. Herb Harrington leaned toward her, the buttons of his four-star general’s costume straining against his chest. “Ah, the Contessa is enjoying herself. Good!”

Halley pushed her thoughts to the back of her mind and nodded to her host. “Leo Thorne was right on target, Mr. Harrington. Your parties are unusual! This is the nicest group of could-be murderers I’ve mingled with in some time.”

He laughed heartily and patted her hand. “Well, Syl and I like a good time, Contessa. Yes, we do. And the Baron, is he introducing you to people?”

“Oh, yes. Baron von Bluster certainly seems to know his way around.”

“Ah, so I see his reputation can’t stay under wraps, even under that baronial title.”

Halley shook her head quickly. “Oh, no, I only meant here. Everyone … well, he seems to know all the guests.” She glanced at Nick, but he was busy talking to someone.

“Oh, that he does! Yes, ma’am, the Baron knows everyone, right, Abbie?” Herb smiled at an elderly woman with clear brown eyes who was sitting to his right.

Halley had noticed her earlier with a distinguished-looking man who had thinning gray hair, and whom Halley assumed was the woman’s husband. They seemed to take special note of her when Nick had introduced them on the patio. She searched her memory for names, and when they came to her, she realized they weren’t using their real names, anyway. She knew them only as the once famous vaudeville team of Otto and Olive Bailey.

The woman smiled warmly at Halley. “Yes, the Baron does know many people. And you seem to be getting along well, Contessa. So the Baron is being good to you?”

Halley smiled. “Oh, he’s being very patient with me. I’m new at all this, you see. I—” She suddenly felt embarrassed. The woman was watching her so closely. It was not an unkind look, though, but rather one of intense interest.

“Well, young lady, I can see in our Nick’s eyes that he’s enjoying himself. That’s good.” She nodded her head carefully and thoughtfully.

Herb rested one hand over the woman’s and spoke kindly. “You see, Abbie? Who knows …” His voice drifted off then as he turned to summon a waiter for dessert, and the older woman’s attention was taken by the gentleman seated next to her.

Halley pondered over the strange conversation for a moment, then realized she simply wasn’t used to dinner party chatter, that’s all. And barons.

A gentle pressure on her leg beneath the drape of the tablecloth scattered her thoughts. For a fraction of a second she thought it was a dog, until a soft, very human whisper caressed her ear. “You’ve been giving far too much of your attention away to others, Contessa.”

Halley jumped slightly. “Baron, you scared me! Is that you playing games with my knee beneath the table?”

“Hmm, perhaps we should both go down to check?”

“Wouldn’t that be a perfect moment for the murder? No, Baron, I don’t think it’s a wise move.”

He nodded in mock seriousness. “You’re right, of course. We’ll save that until later. For now, though—” he cupped her free hand in his and pressed it to his lips—“we can simply relax in the pure delight of being together.” His kiss lingered on her fingers long after she had rescued her hand and slipped it down into her lap.

A gravelly voice from across the table broke in. “Ho, Baron von Bluster, you have found yourself a lovely woman there, I see!”

Nick looked over at the Mafia Don and chuckled. He was really an Episcopalian minister and was obviously enjoying his role immensely. “Well, sir, the way I see it, we need to make this party a success. And the only way is to play our parts to the hilt.”

The plump man lifted his glass in wholehearted agreement, then swallowed its contents in a single gulp. “Right you are, Nick. Eat, play games, and be merry, for tomorrow you may die!” He laughed at his own joke, and Halley found herself joining in. He was having so much fun playing his role that it was contagious.

“So, lovely lady, who are you?” The Don sat back and patted his wide girth.

“This, Don Siciliano,” Nick said, “is the exquisite Contessa Ambrosia, named for the gods’ nectar and every bit as sweet.” Nick leaned sideways and kissed Halley gently on the cheek.

“Aha, the Contessa! How lovely you look. And how lovely for you and the Baron to have found each other again. Lovers should be together.” He chuckled merrily, then added with a wink, “You see, I read my invitation carefully.”

Halley felt Nick’s fingers once again doing tap dances on her knee. The silky material of her dress slid back and forth beneath his fingers, and she wondered how soon it would be before her labored breathing would cause her breasts to spill out of the form-fitting gown.

“Yes,” the elderly female vaudeville star chimed in from Halley’s right, not seeming to notice her plight. “I agree, Don Siciliano. It’s about time Nick—ah, the Baron, excuse me—found a love.”

Nick smiled at the woman, and Halley noticed it was a softer, more intimate smile than he offered to the others. The Baron cared a great deal for Olive Bailey, whoever she was.

Halley managed a smile about the time Nick’s fingers began a slow massage. Fighting him was simply too tiring, she realized as she bit down painfully hard on her bottom lip. And there was no need to, anyway. It was all a game … and no one had ever accused Halley of being a poor sport! Playing along was the only practical course of action.

“Yes, and being apart has been dastardly!” Halley announced with gushing enthusiasm. She wound her arm through Nick’s and pressed her cheek against his smooth tux, her face tilted up to smile at him with sensuous longing.

Nick grinned down at her and fingered a lock of silky hair. The evening was getting better and better, he decided. “Remember the last time we met?”

“In Antibes, wasn’t it, darling?” Halley asked, fluttering her eyelashes. Antibes—where was Antibes, anyway?

“Hell, why couldn’t I have been cast as a baron?” the butler complained. “Care to trade, sir?”

“Not on your life! It’s about time I got lucky.” Nick wrapped his arm around the back of her chair, and his fingers pressed lightly on the bare flesh of her upper arm. “And my Tessa here is about the most beautiful good-luck charm a man could hope for.”

His look invited a response, and Halley smiled a sophisticated, sexy contessa-like smile at him that surprised even herself.

A shuffling of chairs and the ringing of a tiny silver bell by Herb Harrington quieted the guests, and Herb rose from his seat.

“Welcome, friends,” he said in deep Shakespearean tones. “By now you have probably all met, but I’d like to introduce you one more time, just in case you may have missed one or two of our treasured guests. Take careful note as I do”—his voice plunged ominously—“because right here among us we have someone who will no longer be here on the morrow, and another who is responsible for his or her demise.”

A ripple of laughter swept through the room, then Herb went on, introducing each guest and following up the introduction with a humorous note about the character.

Halley was introduced right after a Russian Czar, and she managed to keep her smile bright and level, even during Herb’s declaration that she “and the Baron could certainly be using their reconciliation as a front to plot something far more dangerous.” Nothing, she knew with clear certainty, could be more dangerous than a “reconciliation” with the mysterious Baron.

“And now,” Herb continued, his eyes sparkling brightly, “the party will continue outdoors with music and dancing and boat rides. As you mingle, you are to keep your ears and eyes open to hints and clues. And once the crime is committed, no match-book cover should go unchecked, no torn business card overlooked, no strange packages left unopened. And … no guest should be overlooked as a possible suspect.”

Animated chatter once again filled the room, and Herb quieted them for one final directive. “The party will end with a buffet tomorrow evening, at which time all of you will demonstrate your deft powers of deduction and attempt to point the finger of accusation in the right direction. A prize—marvelous, of course—will be awarded our supersleuth. Meal schedules and such are in each of your suites, and the staff is available for anything you might need. Go now”—his large hands swept the air—“and mingle, my friends. With … murder!”

The room was filled instantly with excited conversation and the shuffling of chairs as people got up from their tables.

Nick whispered into Halley’s ear, “What will it be, my Tessa? Dancing? A boat ride? Or perhaps we could retire to my guest suite and renew old acquaintances?”

“Oh, I hardly think we’d find clues in your suite. Much too obvious!” Halley’s words tumbled out on top of each other, her mind racing. Even the Contessa wasn’t ready to tackle that last choice! And although she’d love to dance, her feet were beginning to feel like bruised cucumbers in Rosie’s skinny heels; she knew she wouldn’t last on the dance floor. “How about a short walk?”

Nick’s warm smile was her answer, and they walked outside and down the cobbled path that cut through the rolling lawns as it wound its way to the lakeshore. Halley breathed in the crisp night air. So this was what Cinderella had gone through. Lovely …

“What are you thinking?” The Baron’s deep voice matched her dreamlike mood, and she smiled.

“That I’ve had enough champagne tonight to last me the rest of the year. That the meal was absolutely fantastic. That it’s a lovely, beautiful night and that I’m enjoying myself.”

“You forgot one thing.”

“Oh?” She tilted her head sideways.

“You forgot to mention that the Contessa is surprised at her enjoyment.”

“Well, sure, a little surprised. I did have other plans for the weekend—”

“Oh? Let me guess.” His arm slipped around her waist as they walked, his brows drawing together in an expression of exaggerated concentration. “You were planning on spending it in the solitude of a great museum, admiring magnificent works of art.”

She shook her head and smiled.

“No? Well, then, let me try again.” His free hand swept the air in front of them. “I have it! You were to be the guest of honor at a gala charity dinner for the preservation of pigeons, a lavish event attended by the rich and famous.”

Halley laughed as she loosened herself from his hold and slipped down a side path and onto a curved bench that was surrounded by a cluster of bushes. A circle of thick-growing cedar trees backed the foliage and formed a grove, lit only by the moonlight trickling through the branches.

“Please, may we sit for a second? I find your conjectures delightful, but my feet are absolutely killing me.” She slipped off the shoes and sighed deeply. “Oh, that feels wonderful! I’ve been wanting to get out of those high heels all night.”

Nick sat down beside her and watched the slow graceful movement of her legs as she stretched them out before her. “Here, let me.”

Before Halley could respond, he bent over and lifted both her feet, sliding them across his knees while her whole body rotated automatically on the cool stone. “I know just the trick,” he said calmly. With both of her stockinged feet in his lap, he slowly began to massage the tender arches.

Halley’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open, but there wasn’t time to refuse. She clasped the bench tightly on either side of her. “You … you’re a masseur back there in the real world, right?” Her voice sounded choppy, reaching her ears in starts and stops. But Nick’s fingers gently rubbing and pushing into her tired feet felt magnificent, and she closed her eyes and let her head drop back on her shoulders. “Hmmm, that feels absolutely wonderful. Even if it turns out you are the murderer.”

His answering laugh filled the dark cove. “Contessa, you surprise me.” Nick watched her face closely as he spoke. “Here we are in our own private grotto, just the two of us. Aren’t you afraid?”

“Certainly not. Why would I be afraid?” Because he might seduce her? No, no one, most especially a handsome baron, would seduce a quiet librarian with freckles on her chest. Didn’t he know that? A small smile teased up the corners of her lips.

“Good.” His palms enclosed her ankles, and he rotated his hands gently, trying to ease the tiredness out of her bones. “I’m not afraid of you, either, although contessas, I’m told, are born to passion and are often quite aggressive.”

Halley held her face up to catch the breeze and cool the hot blush that swept across her cheeks. His hands, on her ankles, were doing surprising things to her heartbeat as well as to other parts of her body. She took a quick breath and sought a contessa-like answer.

“Yes, Baron,” she finally said, smiling at him down the length of her nose as the power of the masquerade rescued her. “But we’re also taught the fine art of control. And, dear Baron, I’ve mastered it beautifully.” There, she’d handled that well—well enough to make her wonder briefly if perhaps she had been royalty in another life.

The Baron sneaked his fingers beneath the hem of the slinky red dress and crawled them slowly over the smooth, firm skin of her legs. Her dress collected around the stiff white cuffs of his shirt and rode up along with his movements.

“Hey!” Halley shot up, her eyes wide as her body reacted violently to his explorations.

Nick grinned slowly. “Perfect control, hmm?”

“Baron,” she demanded feverishly, “remove your hands from beneath my dress immediately.”

Nick Harrington wasn’t at all used to listening to the pleas of ladies in situations like this because the women usually meant the opposite of what they said. But then, the freckled Contessa was not like anyone Nick had ever met before. He removed his hands and smiled softly. “Sorry, just wanted to know the extent of that control. You’re a pretty sensuous lady, you know.”

“You’re speaking in non sequiturs, Baron. A definite breach of logic.” She swung her bare feet down to the ground and wiggled her toes.

Nick threw his head back and laughed. “Tessa, I think I’m falling in love.”

“Well, good,” Halley said as primly and calmly as she could manage, her palms pushing away the wrinkles on her dress. “You’re following the script nicely, Nick.”

“Nick? Now how did he get in here? It’s not fair, you know, that you know my name and I know absolutely nothing about you.” He sidled closer to her.

She lifted her chin slightly. “Fair? There was nothing on my invitation, dear Baron, that said a thing about being fair. Now come.” She stood and looked down at him in the purple shadows. “Let’s head back. All this fantasy has made me terribly tired. I think it’s time I hit the hay.”

Nick watched her as she rose from the bench. A stray beam of moonlight splashed across her face and lit her remarkably honest green eyes. More women than he could count had said the same thing to him in the past four years—in slightly different words, of course, but she was probably the first one who meant she wanted to go to bed … alone … to sleep.

His smile went unnoticed by Halley, who was feeling around the pebbled walkway with her toes in an effort to find the spike-heeled shoes. Beneath that wonderful makeup job and sexy dress, Nick decided thoughtfully, was someone who had never come within fifty miles of a contessa in her life.

“Here, contessa, allow me.” He bent over and picked up her shoes, slipping each one onto an arched foot while she balanced herself with one hand on his back.

“Thank you. I feel like Cinderella.”

“In that case, you’d have to leave one shoe behind, and those pebbles would hurt like hell.”

Halley nodded. “Right.” She comfortably hooked one arm through his. “I’d also have to run off, and there’s no way on earth I’d be able to manage that tonight.”

“Good.” He looked down and smiled softly. “I don’t want you running off.” He led her carefully back toward the well-lit terrace of the Harrington estate.

Later that night Halley stood barefoot before the French doors of her bedroom. Outside, all was still, except for the gentle breath of a breeze through the giant maple trees and several couples who strolled across the broad expanse of lawn. Tiny gaslights dotted the blackness like fireflies. Halley breathed deeply, then slipped through the doors and out onto the tiny, private patio, shielded from view by a thick, circular hedge of yew bushes and clumps of mulberry.

“A real fantasyland,” she murmured as the breeze ruffled her filmy nightgown.

She thought of her own apartment, a world away on the other side of Philadelphia. It was a cluttered, homey space in the old gatekeeper’s cottage on the Thorne Estate where she worked. Then she looked back through the open doors into the perfectly lit suite to which she’d been assigned for the weekend. Everything was perfect. The glistening white-silk and chrome furniture was accented by a slight smattering of pastel colors here and there on the upholstery and wall coverings.

She tried to imagine all her friends and acquaintances here, in this setting. It was hard to visualize. The Thorne Estate had been donated to the community by the Thorne family, and Halley loved her job there as director of the library, which was located in the main house. She loved the tiny cottage that was open to her friends at all hours of the day and night. She thought of them flopping on her couch and ordering pizza, laughing and crying and feeling completely at home. She thought of Archie, the hobo who lived behind the library in the old stable and sometimes came for tea in the gazebo, and the neighborhood kids who pasted their rubbings from the old cemetery grave markers on her walls.

Halley burst out laughing. No, these were definitely two different worlds.

But she could picture Nick, the Baron, here. Sure, she could see him easily stretched out on that long, lovely couch in his handsome tuxedo. Even when the wind had ruffled his dark hair as they walked along the path earlier, it hadn’t looked mussed. Nothing about him was haphazard, not his long, lean physique, nor his way of conversing, nor his elegant mannerisms. The Baron von Bluster was definitely not haphazard. But what was he, exactly?

Halley looked up into the sliver of a moon that caught her eye and whispered, “A dashing, romantic dream. That’s what the Baron is.”

A piercing scream from out of the darkness shattered her thoughts into a million tiny pieces.

Immediately following was a shot and a bellow and a scuffling of footsteps, although later Halley wouldn’t be able to tell anyone in what exact order these events had occurred.

She stood frozen in place, the hair on her arms and back of her neck standing upright.

And then, in seconds, impulse took over, and without a backward glance she plowed through the carefully manicured yew bushes and ran down toward the lake and the sound, her gown flattening against her body in the breeze.