The Adventuress by TASHA ALEXANDER Read Free Book Online

“What made you think Amity would have gone to your rooms?”
    â€œNothing specific, Em, and in hindsight the idea seems preposterous in the extreme. You won’t tell her, will you? She would despise me on two counts: first, for having entertained the notion that she would have such low morals, and second, for not having saved my friend.”
    â€œI can agree with you, but only on the first count. Really, Jeremy, to think such a thing! No unmarried lady, no matter how modern she may be, would ever wait unaccompanied in a gentleman’s hotel room.”
    â€œI do recall a time in Vienna when you insisted I leave you alone in Hargreaves’s rooms to wait for him, and that was before you were married.”
    â€œThat was entirely different. To begin with, his rooms were not in a hotel.” I could feel heat rising in my face. “In the midst of a murder investigation it is sometimes necessary to strain the bonds of propriety. Oh, never mind. I shall not torment you with it any further. The loss of Mr. Neville is a terrible blow, and I am here, as your friend, to offer any comfort that I can. Anything you need, you have only to ask.”
    â€œThank you, Em. I never could do without you.”
    *   *   *
    Mr. Neville’s funeral was a depressing affair. Out of the fifty guests Mr. and Mrs. Wells had hosted in Cannes, only a handful of us stayed on to attend the service, which was held at the Eglise Saint-Georges, built in honor of Queen Victoria’s son, Leopold, the Duke of Albany, who had died in Cannes in 1884. The rest of the group departed, many of them making no attempt to hide the fact that they were merely decamping to Nice, where, they believed, the society would not be so grim. Mr. Neville’s shyness had kept many of the party from getting to know him, and they had felt nothing but discomfort at the news of his death. After the burial, Mrs. Wells hosted a subdued tea, where we all told stories about the deceased. No one there could doubt how deeply Mr. Neville’s loss had affected his friends or have come away without admiring the man even more than they previously had.
    â€œI hate funerals,” Colin said later that afternoon, as we walked along La Croisette, doing our best to ignore a misty rain that seemed all too appropriate for the day. “Do remember, when the time comes, what I have told you in the past about pyres, will you?” He gripped my arm tighter and cleared his throat. “Bainbridge says he doesn’t want to go back to England right away, and asks if we will stay on as well. I told him we would, of course. Mrs. Wells has abandoned all ideas of her party, although I can tell she mourns the loss of her fireworks more than that of Neville.”
    â€œTo be fair, she hardly knew him, and although it is wickedly unjust, she blames him for taking away a piece of her daughter’s happiness,” I said. “Jeremy blames himself, you know.”
    â€œThat is not unusual in cases such as this,” Colin said. “None of us thought Neville was unsound of mind. I suspected nothing of the sort. If anything, he proved himself a steadying influence on Bainbridge time and time again.”
    â€œWhat happened that night at the casino? Do you remember anything that might have sent him careening over the edge?”
    â€œI did not stay long, but while I was there it was the usual sort of thing. Conspicuous consumption of whisky and champagne, excellent cigars, a bit of gambling.”
    â€œWhy did you leave so early?”
    â€œI missed you.” He squeezed my hand and we stopped walking. The benches lining La Croisette were too damp to sit on. I rested a gloved hand on the railing above the sandy beach as Colin leaned against it, carefully holding his umbrella so that the rain would not fall on me.
    â€œI know you say that, and it is not that I doubt your veracity, but I do know you so very well, Colin. There is