☆ ᴡᴀᴛᴛʏꜱ 2024 SHORTLISTER!! ☆
A tragic misunderstanding. A murder. A secret. An unlikely partnership. A spirited countess and an enterprising racketeer.
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Manchester, England. May 1925.
The Roarin' 20s. An era of glamor, decadent parties, jazz mus...
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Heads turned when Kitty strode through the ballroom doors. Fashionably late, of course. The rich emerald green of her satin gown caught the light at all the most attractive angles as she walked. A tuxedo-clad man old enough to be her father — and almost certainly a past client, by the look of him — nearly missed his mouth with his hors d'oeuvre, so bewitched was his gawk.
Kitty graced him with a knowing smile, but kept walking. There was only one man she desired to see react like that tonight.
When she spotted Liam, he was in the midst of an intense conversation with some red-headed tart. By his close proximity and the incline of his head, he was either trying to intimidate her or coax her into bed. Kitty's gut twisted with envy at the thought of the latter, but after a few more tension-filled seconds, the tart walked away. Her parting with Liam was cordial but chilly.
Good. So, she was no one. Despite her impressive rack.
Kitty's footsteps were muted into silence by the music from the small orchestra as she approached Liam from behind. Resisting the urge to touch him, she paused immediately to his right. “'Evening, Liam,” she murmured.
He gave her a brief sidelong glance, his focus on the horde of attendees. “Kitty,” he said.
“Brilliant turn out,” she remarked. “And I doubt this'll be the end of it. The night's still young. Plenty of time for more guests to arrive.” She leaned in closer and lowered her volume to a purr. “Plenty of time for all manner of happenings.”
“Aye,” Liam said in monotone.
Kitty's eyebrow twitched at his disinterest. What did she need to do to get his attention? Cartwheels? In the nude?
This is an important night, and he's on edge thanks to James Gallagher, she silently chided herself. Cut him a bit o' slack.
“So…” she said, a subtle amount of suggestion coating her words. “What d'ya think?”
“What do I think?” Liam repeated. He still had not looked at her.
“Aye. What d'ya think?”
“'Bout what?”
Kitty let out a little sigh. “The dress, Liam. My dress? O'course, formin' an opinion will require ya to actually look at it.”
She swished the floor-length skirt and pivoted this way and that, striking a pose she felt was quite vogue.
With a tilt of his chin, Liam gave her an impassive glimpse, then his eyes returned to the ballroom at large. “Ya look nice, Kitty. Green's your color.”
Nice? Kitty frowned. She'd hoped for something far more provocative than ‘nice.’ But then again, it wasn’t like Liam to shower her — or anyone else — with compliments. Especially in public. Especially at a stuffy affair like this.
