Manolos in Manhattan (41 page)

She only hoped that she and Hugh could remain civil long enough to solve the mystery of Daisy Drayer’s death...

...and learn why the flapper had vanished before marrying her one true love.

The doorbell rang.
Ciaran
. Holly jumped up to answer it, grabbing her feather boa and clutch off the bed. Before he left, Chaz had promised to stop by the party with Klaus.

“Ciaran?” Holly couldn’t help laughing as she flung open the door and took in his wide-lapelled, pinstriped suit and rakishly tilted fedora. “Who are you supposed to be?”

“I’m a gangster, sweetheart,” he said in his best Edward G. Robinson imitation. “I heard there was a good-looking dame here. I’m here to take you to the party, see?”

“That’s the worst gangster imitation I ever heard.”

He feigned hurt. “Sorry, but there aren’t too many British gangsters. In fact – there aren’t any.”

Holly draped her feather boa provocatively around his shoulders. “If you want my advice, Bugsy, don’t talk. Just be handsome.” She leaned forward and kissed him. “You’re very good at that.”

The costume party at Dashwood and James was well underway when Chaz arrived with Klaus. They wore the attire of eighteenth-century gentlemen, with matching lavender frockcoats and lace cuffs and breeches tucked into silk stockings. Even Klaus’ Maltese, Maximilian, had a tiny ruffled lace cravat around his neck.

“I love it!” Holly squealed as she rushed up to Chaz and grabbed his hands. “You look like the Scarlet Pimpernel.”

Chaz unfurled his fan with a flick of his wrist. “Sink me,” he drawled, “’tis a flapper I behold, perchance...or a spy?”

“’Tis a hungry flapper, in search of her gangster boyfriend,” Holly answered. She glanced around them at the colorfully dressed crowd. “You haven’t seen Ciaran since you came in, have you?”

Chaz shook his head. “Alas, fair lady, I have not. But rest assured, if I do, I shall send him to you…” He thrust out his leg and bowed “‒posthaste.”

Although she looked everywhere, from the downstairs bar to the second- and third-floor bathrooms, Holly couldn’t find Ciaran anywhere. She last remembered seeing him in a small group of costumed revelers, deep in conversation with a devil.

Where had he gone?

“Holly! There you are,” Coco exclaimed, and made her way through the crowd holding her drink aloft. She was dressed as Little Bo Peep. A young woman with dark hair, pretty and somehow vaguely familiar, followed behind her.

“Have you met Jane?” Coco inquired. “She’s in town visiting Ciaran, so I invited her to the party. Jane, this is Holly James, Alastair’s daughter. Holly, this is Ciaran Duncan’s sister, Jane.”

Startled, Holly took the girl’s hand. “It’s – it’s very nice to meet you,” she said. “Ciaran speaks very highly of you. How do you like New York?”

“Very well, thank you,” she replied, in a cultured Home Counties accent. “Of course, I haven’t seen much of the city yet – I’ve only seen the inside of my hotel room.”

Holly smiled. “I’d be happy to show you around.”

“I’d quite like that. That’s very kind.”

Just then, Holly spotted Hugh Darcy – dressed, appropriately enough, as a judge, in black silk robes – standing across the room. He was engaged in conversation and hadn’t noticed them yet.

She took Jane’s arm and drew her aside. “Perhaps I should warn you,” she said in a low voice as Coco took her leave, “but Hugh Darcy is here tonight.”

“Oh, is he?” Jane glanced around her with interest. “I should love to see him. But...why would you
warn
me, exactly?”

“Ciaran told me what happened,” Holly murmured, and eyed Jane sympathetically. “I’m
so
sorry.”

“Oh ‒ he told you that we dated a few times?” Jane asked, and shrugged. “That was yonks ago.”

“But Mr Darcy treated you horribly!”

Jane frowned. “Miss James, I’m not sure what my brother has told you. But Hugh and I only went out two or three times. We realized very quickly that we had little in common, and that was that. We’ve kept in touch, sporadically. Hugh is a wonderful man, kind and steadfast, and he’s never treated me with anything but the utmost respect.”

Holly stared at her in confusion. “He – he is? He has? But Ciaran said—”

“Ciaran,” she said firmly, “has always been unaccountably jealous of Hugh. I’ve no idea why. It started when they were at Oxford together. If I were you,” she added as she patted Holly’s hand, “I wouldn’t believe a word my brother says about Mr Darcy.”

Chapter Seventy-Three

Why had Ciaran lied to her?
Holly wondered as she went upstairs in search of him.

And where
was
he, anyway?

He’d been gone for over an hour. As a result of Jane’s revelation, followed by Ciaran’s disappearance, Holly felt the beginnings of a headache. There was a bottle of aspirin in her desk drawer. She’d just run upstairs to her cubicle and get it before her headache morphed into a migraine.

The rise and fall of voices, low and angry, sounded at the end of the fourth-floor hall. Holly stopped at the top of the stairs. The voices came from behind her father’s closed office door. She moved closer.

“…can’t believe it!” Alastair thundered. “I can’t honestly believe you’d do this!”

“I have no other choice. I’m deeply in debt.” Ciaran’s reply was calm. “And that’s partly your fault, by the way.”

“
My
fault? And just how in hell can you blame me for your financial tailspin?”

“When my men’s cologne came out, you refused to carry it in any of your stores. Not very sporting of you, old chap. I lost a good deal of exposure and a large market share in London thanks to you and your wounded male pride.”

“You were having an affair with my
wife
, Mr Duncan!” Alastair roared. “Did you honestly think I’d market your cologne in my stores?”

Holly froze. She couldn’t quite process what she was hearing. Had her father really just said that her fiancé, Ciaran Duncan, the man she planned to marry, the man who’d said he loved her, had slept with...her mother?

“You were separated at the time,” Ciaran pointed out, unperturbed.

“It wasn’t enough that you lured her into bed, was it?” Alastair demanded. “She called me late one night, drunk and crying, and told me all about it. How you were a guest on
Good Morning NY!
and how the two of you had a coffee after the show, and one thing, as they say, led to another. But screwing my wife wasn’t enough. You had to go after my daughter, too!”

“I’ll gladly break off the engagement. All you have to do is write me a cheque for £500,000. We both know you can afford it. I’m up to my ass in debt, and I need the cash. Once I have your check in hand,” Ciaran finished, “I’ll break things off with Holly and be on my way.”

“I’ll be glad to see the back side of you.” Alastair’s words were harsh with contempt. “A half-million pounds is a relatively small price to pay. The problem is – I suspect it won’t stop there. Will it?”

There was an infinitesimal pause. “It’ll go no further than this. You have my word.”

“Your word?” Alastair snorted. “I know how much that’s worth.” He paused and added, “And I know about you and Darcy’s sister. Hugh told me the entire, sordid story. Perhaps the press would like to know about
that
.”

For the first time, there was an edge to Ciaran’s voice. “Oh? And what did Darcy say? I’m sure it’s a pack of lies.”

“He told me you got his sister pregnant, and her barely eighteen...and then you pushed her to get rid of it. She was so distraught afterward that she tried to kill herself. You nearly ruined that poor girl’s life, you promiscuous, amoral piece of shit—”

Holly jumped as her father’s fist slammed down against his desk.

“And you won’t don’t the same to my daughter, do you hear me? I knew you planned this...this sham of a courtship with Holly, right from the start,” her father raged. “I knew nothing good would come of it when she told me she was seeing you. You fully intended to blackmail me, and you knew just how to do it.”

“I knew you and Cherie would be dead set against Holly marrying me.” Ciaran paused and added, “I’m truly sorry about that, of course. She’s a sweet girl. I’ve actually grown rather fond of her.”

Holly didn’t realize she was crying until a small, choked sob escaped.

“But I must say,” Ciaran continued, “the publicity’s already helped my sagging film career. I owe Holly for that. The press loves her. And if you refuse to write me a cheque, I’ll marry your daughter, heiress to the Dashwood and James retail fortune, as planned. She’ll be happy and I can look forward to a nice boost to my finances eventually. So I really can’t lose either way, can I?”

Holly couldn’t listen to another word. She turned away and stumbled, half blinded by tears, down the stairs.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she barreled straight into Hugh.

“Hold up!” he exclaimed, smiling as he untangled her from his voluminous robes. His smile faded as he caught sight of her tear-stained face. “Holly? What’s wrong?”

She looked up at him and shook her head, unable to speak. The hurt was too new, too raw.

“It’s Ciaran, isn’t it?” he said grimly. “What’s he done?”

Several police officers – real ones, with guns on their hips – pushed through the crowd and made their way past them and up the stairs.

“Never mind that,” Holly sniffled as she took the bit of tissue he produced and blew her nose. “What’s going on? Why are the police here?”

“Oh – hadn’t you heard? Bad news, I’m afraid. The painting of Daisy is missing. Someone’s stolen her portrait from the attic.”

No one was permitted to leave the brownstone until the police had questioned everyone and gotten their statements.

“What a pity,” Klaus von Karle tsked, dabbing at his mouth delicately with a lace handkerchief. “One cannot even have a party in this Godforsaken town without getting robbed.”

“How much longer will this take?” Coco fumed as she tugged irritably at her skirt. “I can’t wait to take off this bloody Bo Peep costume.”

“Holly, there you are!” Ciaran murmured as he came up behind her and placed his hand on her waist. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Let’s go, shall we?”

She edged away from him. “No one can leave until the police finish their investigation. A painting’s been stolen.”

“A painting?” he asked, and raised his brow. “I didn’t think there were any paintings in this place worth stealing.”

“Some things are worth more than money, Ciaran,” she said as she turned away to take Mr Darcy’s arm. “But I wouldn’t expect you to understand that.”

“What are you talking about? And what are you doing with
him
? We’re engaged, Holly, or had you forgotten?”

“No, we’re not.” She struggled to pull off the engagement ring and flung it at him. It bounced off his chest and fell to the floor. “I don’t want to marry you, Ciaran. Not now...not ever.”

Ciaran stepped closer, disbelief – and panic? ‒ etched plainly on his face. “It’s been a long evening, Holly,” he said in a low, conciliatory voice. “Let’s get out of here, and go someplace where we can talk.”

“So you can spin more lies, you mean?” she flung back. “No. Just tell me – the truth, if you can manage it ‒ why you lied to me, Ciaran?”

His expression grew wary. “Lied? Lied about what?”

About everything, you two-faced bastard
, she wanted to scream, but didn’t. “Coco invited your sister here tonight,” Holly said evenly. “She introduced us, and Jane and I had a very nice chat.”

“
Jane’s
here?” A note of uneasiness crept into Ciaran’s voice. “What could you and my sister possibly have to talk about?”

“We talked about Hugh.” Her glance strayed to Mr Darcy and back again. “Contrary to what you told me, Jane thinks very highly of him. Although it’s true they went out a few times, and became friends, the relationship never went any further.” She met Ciaran’s eyes. “Jane has no reason to lie to me. Which makes me wonder, Ciaran...why did
you
lie to me?”

“I...I didn’t lie, exactly,” he said, and attempted to draw her aside. “Come along, Holly, we can discuss this in private—”

“You can’t lie halfway, Ciaran.” Holly regarded him in contempt. “You either tell the truth, or you don’t.”

“The truth is,” Hugh interjected grimly, “it was
my
sister that Ciaran mistreated. I’ll spare you the details, Miss James, but suffice it to say—” His eyes were black with anger as they locked with Ciaran’s. “I haven’t forgotten what he did. And I never will.”

And then he punched Ciaran, hard, in his nose.

Ciaran staggered back, stunned. Blood spurted from his nose. “You bastard,” he breathed, his face suffused with anger and pain, “I’ll have you arrested for assault!”

Holly glanced at a police officer standing nearby. “If you don’t leave now, Ciaran,” she hissed, “I’ll tell that officer – and everyone else here – that you just tried to blackmail my father. And I’ll tell them why.” She raised her brow. “The media will have a field day with that, won’t they?”

Ciaran glared at her as he fumbled for a handkerchief and tried to staunch the flow of blood from his nose. “You’re making a big mistake, Holly.”

“No, Ciaran, that’s where you’re wrong. I
almost
made a big mistake – I almost married you.”

Ciaran looked as if he might say more; but he knew when he was defeated, and turned away without another word, and left.

Chapter Seventy-Four

Hugh retrieved Holly’s coat and held it out for her. “Would you like a cup of coffee before I take you home?” he asked her as they made their way outside to his car. “Real coffee, mind,” he added firmly, “
not
swill.”

“I would,” she agreed. She needed something to focus her shattered thoughts, and caffeine would do nicely.

Twenty minutes later, clutching a venti coffee with milk, no sugar and a tall pumpkin spice latte with extra whipped cream, they found a table and sat down.

“Who do you suppose took Daisy’s portrait?” Holly asked as she took a long sip of her latte. “Who’s the most likely suspect?”

“It could have been anyone at the party tonight.” Hugh studied her with a frown. “But only we knew about that painting, and your father, of course. Who else knew Daisy’s portrait was in the attic?”