“My new favorite couple,” she crooned, clapping her hands together. She shooed away her other guests like flies from a plate of food. When she air-kissed Delilah, she paused to squeeze her wrist. “And how are you feeling my dear? Did your husband take care of you after the other night?”
“Of course he did,” she promised, laying a hand gently on Victoria’s shoulder. “There’s a reason why I married him literally on the spot.”
I stood back, smoothing down the black vest of my tuxedo. When Victoria presented her hand to me, I kissed her ring as usual.
“We brought you a gift,” I said, indicating the finely-wrapped book I held in my hand. “Is there somewhere private we can give it to you or is right here fine?”
She tilted her head. “Right here is fine. No one would dare do anything to me here, Mr. Thornhill.” I nodded, presented the book into her waiting hands.
She made an approving sound, unwrapping the packaging with manicured fingers dripping with rings. The cover of A Room of One’s Own revealed itself, looking out of place in a room overflowing with such grandiose decadence.
I suppressed an urge to snatch it back.
“First edition. Signed by the author. We thought it would make a nice addition to your private collection.”
A look of recognition flitted across her face—in the wake of the Los Angeles theft, there’d been a brief renewed interest in Virginia Woolf’s literary legacy. I guessed Victoria Whitney was the kind of woman who had the papers read to her every morning as she sipped her espresso.
“Virginia is one of my favorites,” she said. “How did you know?”
We hadn’t, so I culled my knowledge as quickly as I could.
“A pioneer, a feminist, a woman who understood the crucial role of her independence,” I hedged. “There are some parallels to what you’ve done in your life.”
Victoria brightened, leaning in conspiratorially. “She was quite lonely, you know. Her writing brought her a kind of divine madness.”
My gut twisted. Bernard had said the same thing once.
“Yes,” I agreed. “Yes, I believe it did.”
She reached forward, touched first my arm, and then Delilah’s. “What a thoughtful gift.” She held up a single finger, and Sven appeared seemingly out of nowhere. “Prepare this for safe transport.” He took it without further instruction—I thought again about that portable case and all of its nefarious possibilities. She held up a second finger and cocktails arrived.
“To Virginia,” she toasted. “And new friends. That book must have cost you a pretty penny.”
“Not in the traditional sense,” Delilah said. Victoria’s gaze sharpened. “We took a little trip to Los Angeles.”
The recognition on her face returned—but this time it was filled with greed. “How interesting. And how were the falls this time of year?”
Delilah’s secretive smile was more real than feigned. “Quite lovely. And certainly a little more notorious than Henry and I usually like. But we thought you would appreciate this more than most, given the impressiveness of your collection.”
Victoria sniffed—as if receiving gifts of stolen books was an everyday affair. “Yes, well, you would be correct.”
I stretched my arm behind the back of Delilah’s chair, stroking my thumb across the back of her neck.
“We hoped we could trust you with a gift like this,” I ventured.
“Trust, my dear Henry, is the most valuable social currency in the world,” Victoria said. “I’ve lived a very bold life. Bold and a little reckless at times. But life is short, and coloring outside the lines makes things so much more interesting. Don’t you agree?”
Coloring outside the lines was an interesting way to say break the law. But we nodded loyally, which seemed to please her. The opening notes of “Round Midnight” drifted through the crowd and it made Victoria sigh. “This song always makes me think of Bernard.”
Goosebumps broke out across the nape of Delilah’s neck. I stroked my thumb in circles, attempting to soothe her even as those words put me on the same high alert.
“Victoria,” Delilah said, leaning in close, “did you and Bernard date?”
Victoria’s coquettish giggle proved Delilah’s instincts—and my memory—correct. “Oh, years ago. Nine to be exact.”
Just as I’d remembered. One year into working with Bernard and he’d returned from a vacation sullen and weary, with no further explanation. He didn’t speak about his “Lady Love” after that.
“And it wasn’t that much of a thing, darling,” Victoria mused. “Merely a whirlwind few years. I’ve had many suitors in my life.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Delilah tilted her head with a teasing smile, causing her hair to slide through my fingers. “I told you when we met that I figured you for a heart-breaker. Have you ever been engaged? Married?”
Victoria gave us a sly look over her martini. “Engaged five times. I’ve never been married.”
“Who was your favorite fiancé?” Delilah asked. She placed her hand on my thigh, squeezing.
“Reginald,” she said immediately. “He owned exotic animals. Taught me how to tame a lion once.”
A few men—all dressed in top hats and carrying canes—were moving through the crowd with their eyes set on Victoria. “It appears as if you have a few new suitors coming for you now,” I murmured.
She touched her hair discreetly. “I always do.” She glanced toward the open dance floor, where couples were beginning to sway to the music. “When was the last time the two of you danced? Was it your elopement?”
“Last night in our kitchen, actually,” I said.
Delilah dipped her head, as if to hide a blush. Victoria practically squealed.
Three men arrived at Victoria’s chair at the exact same time, and she examined them with a critical eye. She selected the one to the farthest right. As he held out his hand to escort her, she turned to us. “You lovebirds should join us on the ballroom floor.”
“Of course,” Delilah and I said in unison. Victoria waltzed off, and I held out my hand toward my partner. “Shall we, wife?”
“I don’t really know how to dance,” she admitted, color in her cheeks.
“But you can subdue an attacker with a throat punch?”
“Well, that’s easy,” she said, looking around my shoulder at the dance floor. I leaned down to her ear, brushing the hair away. “All we have to do is sway together. I’ll take the lead.”
Hands clasped, I walked us to the dance floor, where Victoria and her chosen date were in the center. I half-expected a spotlight to descend upon them. We found a spot close to the edge; I placed my palm low on Delilah’s back, clasped her hand to my chest. My head lowered until we were cheek-to-cheek. The music swelled around us—I kept her snug against me, moving us in time to the bass player’s notes.
“I thought Henry and Delilah Thornhill fought over household errands. Not slow-danced in their kitchen,” she said.
“Abe and Freya said romantic,” I mock-chided. “And actually, I think a couple slow-dancing in their kitchen together would be, well…lovely. Don’t you?”