The Spook Lights Affair

27

“Sabina, dear, allow me to introduce Mr. Carson Montgomery.”

Cousin Callie, in full formal regalia, with a tall, slender man in tow. Sabina, who had just arrived at the Frenches’s Victorian home, smothered a sigh. She should have known that her cousin had had an ulterior motive in insisting she attend “a small dinner party Hugh and I are giving, just a few of our more interesting acquaintances.” Forever the matchmaker, that was her plump, bejeweled, and spritely cousin.

She was prepared to be her usual polite but aloof and disinterested self at such planned introductions, but when she’d had a close look at Carson Montgomery, she changed her mind. Or rather, had it changed for her. He was her age, or perhaps a few years older, and well turned out in a gray cutaway morning coat with matching trousers and a light-colored waistcoat. He had fine ascetic features and curly brown hair, but it was his eyes that held her gaze. They were a brilliant blue — exactly the shade Stephen’s eyes had been. And they had the same kindly softness, but with a similar glittery light that told her he knew and responded well to danger. Eyes such as those could be understanding or harshly disapproving; loving or sparking with anger; thoughtful or suddenly gay and frivolous. In her too-brief time with her husband, she had seen just such a full range of expression in his eyes.

Callie nudged her — hard, in the small of her back. It was only then that Sabina realized she was staring, and that a warm flush had crept out of the high collar of her evening dress.

“How do you do, Mr. Montgomery?” she said, offering her hand. When he took it, his fingers felt electric on hers.

“Quite well, thank you. And you, Mrs. Carpenter?”

“Fine,” she said. The one word was all she could think of.

Callie said, “Mr. Montgomery is one of the Montgomerys.”

“Really?” Another rather lame one-word response. She couldn’t seem to draw her gaze away from his.

“Yes. The Montgomery Block, you know.”

“I know your name, of course,” he said, “from the newspapers.”

“You mustn’t believe everything you read, Carson,” Callie said. “The St. Ives matter was blown completely out of proportion.”

“I have no doubt of that.” He smiled at Sabina. “Your work must be fascinating, if sometimes hazardous.”

“Yes. It is.”

Callie excused herself, saying, “I’ll leave you two young people to get better acquainted while I tend to my other guests.” She was beaming with satisfaction as she withdrew to join her other guests gathered in the parlor.

When Carson asked Sabina if she would like some refreshment, she nodded and allowed him to take her arm and guide her to where a huge punchbowl sat on the buffet table. As he poured a cup for her, he said, “You’re not the first eligible and charming lady I’ve been introduced to by well-meaning matchmakers such as your cousin. Debutantes, distant relatives, titled ladies, visitors from exotic foreign lands. Not to mention a woman in Modesto with three children and a grandchild on the way.”

He chuckled when he said the last, and Sabina found herself responding in kind. The fact that Carson Montgomery had a sense of humor was a point in his favor. She had never been able to abide humorless men.

“If you don’t mind my saying so, Mrs. Carpenter,” he went on, “none has caught my eye in quite the same way you have.”

“That’s a rather forward statement, Mr. Montgomery.”

“But honestly given as a compliment. Do you mind?”

“I suppose not.”

“I’ll be even more bold. I was waiting, perhaps, for someone like you.”

Stuff and nonsense, Sabina thought. Where did men come up with such pronouncements? And yet, to be fair, all men — and women — had golden words that they believed would entice, seduce, and secure. She herself had used a few upon occasion in her younger days.

“You see,” he went on, “most women seem interested only in the fact that I have money and position in San Francisco society. You strike me as an exception — an independent woman with means and a mind of your own. I suspect you’d find the fact that I am also a fairly competent metallurgist who spent several years in the Mother Lode goldfields more interesting than my net worth.”

She nodded, the warmth still in her cheeks. Those blue, blue eyes of his were almost mesmerizing.

While they sipped Callie’s champagne punch, Carson spoke more of his experiences in the goldfields. They were interesting; he was an excellent raconteur. But far from the egotistical sort who spoke only about himself. He soon shifted the conversation to her and her detective work, his questions revealing a genuine curiosity and admiration for her accomplishments as a Pink Rose and as a partner in Carpenter and Quincannon, Professional Detective Services. They untied her tongue and allowed her to speak freely, to relax and completely enjoy his company.

By the time a hovering and still-beaming Callie announced that dinner was served, Sabina had permitted him to call her by her given name and had agreed to the same privilege. And when the evening ended and he asked if he could see her again, for luncheon or dinner, cocktails or a buggy ride in the park, she agreed to that, too. With enthusiasm and a stirring of excitement. He was the first man she had responded to this way since Stephen’s death. Not even John had succeeded in turning her head in quite the same fashion.

John. He would be hurt when he found out, she thought on the cab ride to her flat, as he surely would if she continued to keep company with Carson. But, really, it was none of his business, was it? Her private life was her own; she had made it clear to him all along that she had no intention of mixing business with pleasure.

Then why, for heaven’s sake, in spite of her attraction to Carson Montgomery, did she feel as if she were being disloyal to John?