A/N: So, here we are again...and the fun from last chapter continues...sort of. I'll put another warning, just because and want to thank ShadowSamurai83 for her help.
Enjoy.
Nobody Move - part IX
Dinner started out inconspicuously enough, with all of them settled around the large dining table. It looked a little odd, the women with hats and hair pieces while the men kept their hats nearby. Almost involuntarily, Grace wondered how many of them were carrying a weapon holder underneath their suit jackets.
It would be fitting on one hand and disconcerting on the other, since she knew for a fact that Boyd was not carrying one. The thought made her look and search for his eyes. As soon as they connected, however, it drove a blush back into her cheeks, remembering what they had done less than an hour ago.
Naturally they had been late, which had, naturally, led to suggestively raised eyebrows. Boyd had put on his best glare, an impressive thing to begin with, which kept most of the guests silent. Sir Miles, however, was a completely different matter, and he either didn't see or just ignored Boyd's behaviour.
With a conspiring smile, he had leaned into their personal space, which had made Boyd pull her more securely against him, and expressed his hope that they would enjoy the dinner as much as they had their earlier activities.
Through their physical closeness, Grace could feel Boyd tense, rage surging up in him, and she had squeezed his hand in order to calm him down. If they lost their cool, they'd be on the losing end.
It was all about control, what happened tonight. The tableau in front of her was as much part of a play as their outfits were the costumes. They were actors who'd receive their keys as it went. Sir Miles would make up things on the go, took his pleasure from throwing them off.
His constant insinuations were no more than a diversion, just like Mia the maid. It was all a set up to extract a reaction from Boyd, if possible an aggressive one. Why, however, she wasn't completely sure.
Of course, there was still this nagging feeling from a week ago. And it grew stronger as time went on.
Shaking her head a little to push the thoughts away, she looked at Boyd again and found him smiling. It was natural to smile back, warmth permeating the connection. Refusing on principle to think of the ramifications of this weekend, Grace just leaned back with her glass of wine and kept smiling at Boyd. Strangely, it was a little like holding an entire conversation without saying anything.
Nothing new, really.
"I'm so glad that your health and your mood has improved so dramatically since this afternoon. I was a little worried, dearest Grace."
Starting, she turned to their host and pasted a different, less open smile onto her face. "Thank you, but there really was no need. It was just...I guess an exhausting week catching up with me."
"Good. I'd be really disappointed for you, if you hadn't been able to enjoy the entertainment tonight."
"Why?" Grace laughed. "Don't tell me you are bringing in a live-band for dancing, Miles. Charleston has never been my best dance."
"But you can do it?"
"Heaven's, no! I'd never even attempt something that leaves me out of breath within seconds."
"Nothing, Grace?" Sir Miles murmured confidentially.
Grace's eyes narrowed and even across the table, she could feel Boyd stiffen. "I've never been one for sporty dances, Miles," she replied guardedly.
Her expression and Boyd's body language seemed to give away enough, though, as Sir Miles pulled back and raised his hands apologetically. "No offence, of course."
"Of course not."
The atmosphere remained rigid for a few moments, before Annabelle chimed in, "If it isn't dancing you offer, Miles, and the crime has fallen flat, what are you actually offering? I hope it's not a game of Whist or something equally boring."
"Annabelle, Annabelle, you are even more of a doubter than I remembered. How many of my parties have you attended?" He paused for a moment to laugh. "And at how many have you really been bored?"
Despite the fact that the last words were delivered with a laugh, for the first time both Boyd and Grace could detect an unpleasant edge to their host's behaviour. So far he had, at least outwardly, been all ease and friendliness, overly eager to please his guests. In this moment, however, it became clear that almost all of them were on his payroll and that Rockton intended to use the fact in his own favour.
Making eye contact, they both drew a breath while communicating their thoughts. With a bit more alcohol in play, the evening could turn ugly very quickly.
"We could always play a game of a charades." Arthur sounded a bit disinterested in his own suggestion while he studied his fingernails closely. "Or have a bit of music over in the music room."
"Over my dead body!" Marlena screeched. "Don't let him anywhere near an instrument! He'll kill it! And my eardrums!"
"There, there," Evan interrupted. "Don't beat each other up over dinner, darlings. I'm sure Miles has it all planned out."
There was a pause in which visual daggers were thrown around the table, but after a few moments things calmed down a little.
"I do indeed, darling. I do indeed," Sir Miles insisted.
After dinner they retired to the lounge where drinks were passed around once more. Again, both Boyd and Grace kept their intake level low, which led to a bit of teasing from the other guests. It seemed as if their behaviour was really a source of amusement. It galled Boyd, but he was beginning to realize that the more closely they kept their cards to their chests, the better it would be.
Both of them nursing a glass of red wine, they had moved to a corner to hold a whispered conversation. Hints and deductions were turning in circles, though, as long as the twist was still unknown. It was possible that the twist meant nothing, but until it happened... With their costumes stemming from the times of the 1920s, the options for a typical crime seemed a little limited, but they couldn't be sure of it.
Eyeing the rest of the party across the room, Boyd shook his head and whispered, "What wouldn't I give for being home on the sofa and watching footie right now."
"Me too." Grace sighed.
"On my couch?"
Blushing a little, Grace gave him a small grin, noting with satisfaction that his words weren't just a smug quip.
"We'd fight over which team is better."
"Nobody would watch us having fun when we come to an agreement."
"And then?" Grace lowered her voice so that it came out as a throaty whisper rushing through their bloodstream.
"Boyd, I've barely been able to talk to you all day, and I am so curious, because your dear wife mentioned that you are the history expert. I'm sure you can answer me a few questions." This time it wasn't Annabelle but Marlena who rudely interrupted and hung herself onto Boyd's arm. Even though he resisted, she pulled him away to the other side of the room and started to talk about some sort of tapestry.
Having been pushed aside so insolently once again, Grace narrowed her eyes, but didn't have much time to contemplate revenge as Sebastian sailed towards her and pulled her over to a group of the men. They were basically falling all over each other in their compliments on her appearance and if she had given one moment to actually believe them, Grace would have been very flattered.
As it was, however, in her mind she had already received all the flattery she wanted and therefore wasn't overly impressed. Still, keeping a polite smile and within minutes a laugh at the outrageous compliments, the time began to pass much more quickly.
Across the lounge she could see Boyd becoming more and more agitated as Marlena and then Annabelle were getting more and more on his nerves, but he seemed to soldier on, throwing her a pained smile. At least, it was a smile and she began to relax.
Until all hell broke loose.
The door to the lounge was thrown open with a bang, forcing all the guests to shoot around and stare at it in shock. For a moment, all Boyd wanted to do was to laugh, but the urge didn't last long.
In the door frame was a group of four people. Three men and a woman, all dressed in period style suits and hats, just like the guests were. They all held guns in their hands and from that distance, there was no telling whether they were fake or very real.
"Nobody move!" the woman snarled, making it clear that she was the leader of the pack. "Anybody move or talk back and I'll send him to meet his maker."
She swaggered further into the room, the three men following closely behind.
It looked a little ridiculous from his point of view, but apparently from the other end of the room it looked even worse, leading to Arthur snicker.
The strange woman marched towards the sound, her pistol trained on the entire group, and Boyd felt his heart drop. Though he could see Grace being calm still, he didn't like the idea of her looking down a gun barrel one bit.
"Think you're being funny, Mister?" the intruder snarled again, building herself up in front of Arthur. Though she was quite a bit shorter than he was, it didn't look like it at all. Determination to push her will through radiated off of her, and even though he could not imagine that this was supposed to be a real ambush, Boyd considered it a good idea to not provoke a reaction.
Grace seemed to agree with that, for she placed her hand on Arthur's arm and shook her head in warning.
The man didn't heed to the warning, however, and kept grinning broadly. Their new 'guest' tensed and in a quick move trained her gun directly on Arthur's forehead. "A regular clown then," she noted sarcastically. "Wants to find out how it feels with a hole in his skull." Turning around, the woman looked at her three companions, who had quietly spread around the room and were now pointing their own guns at people.
"Looks to me as if he'd have wind blowing through his empty head when the bullet's gone through," the woman snickered and the men returned it.
The next moment a shot whipped through the air, followed by shocked screams. Boyd leaped from his spot, desperate to get across the room, shield Grace from the shot, even though he knew it would be too late. Squeezing his eyes shut to gather his wits about him again, he felt a gun poking into his chest, stopping him from any further movement.
"Going somewhere?" one of the ambushers asked him almost pleasantly.
He shook his head, shoulders slumping a bit.
"Have I made myself clear now?" the woman snarled again.
There was no verbal reply, only whimpering in the otherwise silent room.
Desperate to see the scene he feared to see just as much, Boyd opened his eyes again and almost sagged with relief.
The strong smell of gunpowder was in the air and its slight dust flurried down, but the group next to the fireplace was still complete, though Arthur was pressed against the wall, shaking in his shoes and white as chalk. The other men, so cocky beforehand, were huddled close to him, all of them trying to get as far away from the gun as possible. The only one still standing in the same spot was Grace.
She eyed the woman before her with clinical interest and Boyd could almost see her cataloguing events and behaviour patterns in her mind. It was so normal and so absurd at the same time that he barely held a laugh in.
The gun, still poking in his chest, stopped his forward momentum, and from what he could see from this distance, the bullets were at least real enough to blow holes into the wall. It didn't bode well, should the young man here decide to use his gun on Boyd's chest.
"Good." The leader of the group seemed satisfied with the way she had gotten her point across and began to slowly walk around the room. She stopped in front of each member of the party, eyeing him or her closely. The jewellery of the female guests seemed to catch her interest, but none was deemed agreeable. Stopping in front of Boyd, she pushed her 'colleague' away to get as close as possible.
Boyd could feel her body heat through the layers of their clothing. He kept his expression neutral though and looked her square in the eye. The staring contest lasted for a minute or so, until the woman gave up and moved on. A quick gesture with her head, though, called her companion and especially his gun back to Boyd.
From there the woman moved back to the other side of the room, directly towards Grace. They didn't even need the eye contact to communicate, but both Boyd and Grace knew that the move was deliberate. It was just another part of the special interest that had been paid to them all weekend.
As the woman began to round Grace in ever closer circles, Boyd felt his tension growing. If that woman touched her...
"Archie..." At the bellowed command, another of the men closed in on Grace.
The woman, now standing directly behind Grace, brushed her gun over her shoulder and arms. Then she smiled. "Archie? What do you think?"
Archie grinned.
Hope you enjoyed. Comments would be greatly appreciated.
