“You knew Lucian’s father?” Mara asked.
“Everyone important knew Silas.”
Lucian’s hand tightened slightly at Mara’s waist.
Celestine noticed.
Her smile deepened.
“Your mother’s name?”
“Evelyn.”
A pause.
Almost invisible.
But it was there.
Celestine released Mara’s hand.
“I believe we met once.”
“My mother never mentioned you.”
“People often forget brief encounters.”
“My mother remembered everything.”
Celestine’s expression did not change.
“Until illness took her, I heard.”
Mara’s blood cooled.
She had not said Evelyn was ill.
Lucian stepped forward.
“How did you know?”
Celestine looked genuinely sympathetic.
“Greyhaven is a small city when tragedy is involved.”
She turned to Mara.
“I was sorry to hear about your loss.”
Then she walked away.
Mara kept smiling until Celestine disappeared into the crowd.
“She knew my mother,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“She also knew she was sick.”
“Yes.”
“You expected this.”
“I suspected it.”
Mara faced him.
“You used me to confirm your suspicion.”
“You agreed to watch who watched you.”
“You did not tell me Celestine might have known my mother personally.”
“I did not know.”
“One lie I can prove.”
“An omission.”
“That is a lie wearing a better suit.”
Lucian looked toward Celestine.
“Leave now, and she will know you learned nothing. Stay, and we may discover why she fears your name.”
Mara hated that he was right.
“After tonight, no more omissions.”
“Agreed.”
The orchestra shifted into a waltz.
Lucian offered his hand.
“Dance with me.”
“I don’t know how.”
“I do.”
“That does not solve my half of the problem.”
“It solves enough.”
He led her onto the floor.
Mara placed one hand on his shoulder.
His palm rested against her back.
“Follow my steps,” he said.
“You say that as though following instructions is one of my strengths.”
“I have noticed it is not.”
They moved among Greyhaven’s most powerful families.
Lucian guided her with quiet confidence. He never looked down, never rushed her, and never allowed anyone close enough to separate them.
Mara became aware of the strength beneath his formal jacket.
And of the fact that when his attention rested fully on her, the entire ballroom seemed farther away.
“You’re staring,” she said.
“I am maintaining the illusion.”
“You look like you’re planning a murder.”
“That is my relaxed expression.”
She almost smiled.
His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth.
The air changed.
Mara remembered the diner.
The shock of his hand at her waist.
The heat of the kiss.
Lucian’s voice became quieter.
“I regret taking that choice from you.”
She had not expected an apology.
“You should.”
“I do.”
“But you would do it again.”
“To keep those men from entering the diner?”
“Yes.”
“Then your apology is incomplete.”
“It is honest.”
Mara studied his face.
“You really don’t know how to be good, do you?”
Something shadowed his eyes.
“No.”
The music slowed.
“But I know how to want something I should not touch.”
Before Mara could answer, a waiter collided with them.
A glass shattered.
Lucian turned instantly, placing himself between Mara and the disturbance.
The waiter apologized and hurried away.
Mara looked down.
A folded card had been slipped beneath the bracelet on her wrist.
She opened it behind Lucian’s back.
THE FOURTH BELL OPENS THE WAY.
She showed him.
His expression became still.
“Who delivered it?” he asked.
“The waiter.”
Lucian scanned the room.
The waiter had vanished.
Celestine Vale stood across the ballroom beside an open terrace door.
She raised her champagne glass toward Mara.
Then she smiled.
CHAPTER THREE
At midnight, Mara and Lucian entered the abandoned harbor signal office where Evelyn Bell had once worked.
The building stood at the end of Pier Nine between a customs warehouse and a condemned ferry terminal.
Dust covered the consoles.
Old radio equipment remained beneath canvas sheets. Tide charts curled away from the walls.
Mara ran her fingers over a wooden desk.
“My mother used to bring me here.”
“You remember?”
“Only pieces. A red chair. Headphones too large for my head. The smell of warm wires.”
Lucian switched on a flashlight.
“Celestine controlled the harbor authority when your mother resigned.”
Mara opened a filing cabinet.
“Why did she resign?”
“The official record says personal reasons.”
“And the unofficial one?”
“Your mother intercepted a transmission she was not supposed to hear.”
Mara looked at him.
“You knew that?”
“I found a security report after you showed me the photograph.”
“What transmission?”
“The night my father died, someone used a restricted marine channel to order the Blackwater beacon extinguished.”
“Why?”
“So his vessel would approach the rocks without visual guidance.”