“Right now?” Lila asked. The only way she’d managed to sneak La Roux up the stairs was due to Ms. O’Malley, who had the good sense to keep her brood downstairs upon Lila’s
return. The old woman had manned the front door herself, had taken their coats, had offered to bring up wine and anything else they desired, promising that she would answer all pages herself for the evening. She had nodded specifically to her mistress, a vow of discretion etched in every line on her wrinkled face.
Lila had returned it, glad that she hadn’t discovered Alex or Isabel peeking at her from behind a door. It was hard enough enduring such knowing glances and smirks the morning after a guest stayed the night; it would be even harder to endure them after she sent La Roux away within the hour, for the man would not be staying.
She only wanted evidence. She only wanted a look at his palm. After she managed that, she would put in a call to her father and Chief Shaw. Bullstow would make an arrest, and then she’d have to deal with an entirely different set of questions, for she still needed to go through the Liberté data and all the information she’d gathered from BullNet. The Baron had a very long reach.
“I don’t believe I need a tour tonight,” La Roux said, pouring them both a glass of Sangre. He’d seen her eyeing the off-limits wine during their conversations. Before they left, he had excused himself, whispered into the ear of a bartender, slipped a wad of cash into the man’s pocket, and returned with the bottle tucked beneath his arm, with no one the wiser.
La Roux handed a glass to her, put an arm around her back, and kissed the top of her head. Her senses filled with the smell and taste of wine.
“It occurs to me that I never got a chance to dance with you tonight.”
“I didn’t know you liked to dance.”
“I don’t like it. I don’t dislike it. But more to the point, I’ve heard that you enjoy it very much. Perhaps even as much as my cousin, which I didn’t know was possible.” He moved to her desk, put down his wine, and slipped his palm out of his pocket.
“Here. Use mine. My speakers are fussy.” She withdrew her palm from her clutch and scrolled through a dozen screens, searching for a public music site. Then she handed over her palm. She couldn’t very well steal his and search its contents if it was otherwise engaged, especially if it was busy making an awful lot of noise.
La Roux leaned against Lila’s desk and scrolled through the public playlists, smirking occasionally at the choices available. After making his selections, he slid the palm into a slot near her computer. Seconds later, soft jazz pumped through the speakers.
La Roux bowed theatrically with all the grace and charm of Bullstow, ratcheted up to near silliness, and kissed her hand. “Ms. Elizabeth Victoria Lemaire-Randolph, would you do me the very great honor of a dance this evening?”
Lila giggled. “Very great honor?”
He shrugged and kissed her hand again with a loud, melodramatic smack. “Hush, woman, it’s tradition. I do know how much you love tradition. You did rush to become prime, after all.”
“I don’t recall dancing to jazz in any ball I’ve ever attended.”
“Ah, well, now you’ve seen my fatal flaw. My good humor only goes so far.”
“I think it goes just far enough.” Lila smiled, enjoying the man far too much for own good. It was the same with Tristan, enjoying a man she knew she shouldn’t get involved with, a man she’d never get to keep because of circumstance.
Oh gods, she was that sort of woman.
When had that happened?
La Roux grinned, wiping a thumb over the little frown that crossed her face. “I could change the music if you wish, but I dislike all that fussy piano music. This is a public list I created. I put it on in my office sometimes.”
“Just your office?”
“Sometimes other people’s offices too. Jazz is so much more expressive and evocative than classical music, don’t you think?”
Lila put down her glass. “I like anything I can dance to.” She slipped off her heels and placed them by the door.
La Roux joined her, toeing his shoes to line up beside her heels. “Ah, now, don’t they make a pair? At least for now?”
“They seem to,” Lila agreed, tugging on the edge of his jacket, hinting. He removed it, taking care not to crease it as he laid it across the end of her couch beside her crimson coat.
“They make a pair as well.” La Roux rested his hand on Lila’s waist and clasped her fingers, leading her around the room song by song. He handled her knuckles so delicately that she barely felt any soreness. With every note, every bar, and every verse, his grasp closed tighter and tighter. Eventually she realized that she’d placed her head upon his shoulder.
Perhaps La Roux’s good humor and charm had been behind it, or perhaps she was merely tired, due to a second attempt on her life and her fight with Tristan.
“Will you excuse me?” he said, jerking his head abruptly toward her bathroom.
As soon as the door closed behind the senator, Lila shook herself awake. She lunged at La Roux’s abandoned jacket and cycled through his palm. She scanned his contacts and found no one questionable. She scanned his messages for the last several days and found no smoking gun. She even scanned his logs and found no evidence of mischief, definitely nothing linking him to the Baron, Reaper, Zephyr, or Sergeants Muller and Davies.
What she did find was far more telling that what she did not. Evidence of the deed that Senator Dubois had mentioned, in nearly every message he sent and page he visited. Rather than planting traps in the BullNet to snag hackers, rather than attempting to snag a potential heir in some scheme, Senator La Roux had busied himself with crafting a resolution for inclusion into next year’s legislative session.