CHAPTER 5
Howard's aching body slipped into the burgundy leather wing chair. It was under the watchful gaze of an El Greco on the mantle. The soft reading lamp's pleated shade covered him. Tonight was hard work; guests who had formerly appeared to him as so glamorous now seemed nothing more than a bunch of tiresome drunks wrapped up in sequins and themselves. Except for Miss Dumas, the one thing he felt was removed from the vulgarity of the party and the house itself, Camelot’s greatest treasure.
At that moment, the personal sun of his pool of light was overcast by an immense lumbering shadow; he was no longer alone. A bead of sweat traced his lips as an authoritative, yet not unfriendly, voice spoke.
“Not having a good time?”
Howard sat in the chair and saw before him his worst fea
