The man whose back she saw retreating down the hall was definitely not Liam. He was shorter, dressed in a different kind of suit, and his hair was very black. Chen, she surmised. She was certain Liam had mentioned his name before.
A sense of self-preservation ended her speculation. Best to get back to the ballroom before she was missed—or before Liam caught her. What she’d heard gave her plenty to think about.
The tongs, raids, informants, betrayal—it sounded ominous indeed. And dangerous. She remembered something about the tongs—powerful criminal associations that had ruled Chinatown with an iron fist for most of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.
What kind of raid would Liam be making on them? Something he wanted kept secret. Something that might be likely to win him enemies.
And just as ominous was his confirmation that he planned a certain proposal tonight…
Footsteps sounded inside the room. Mac lifted her skirts and jogged down the hallway toward the ballroom doors. She reached them and had just slipped through when Liam came striding after, the light of battle in his eyes.
He came to a stop when he saw her. “Well, Mac. You look a little distracted. Have you been dancing?”
She sucked in a steadying breath before she thought to wonder if she might pop out of her low-cut bodice. This was almost as much as he’d said to her in a week, and she felt oddly giddy.
“Actually,” she said, bluffing her way, “I’ve been up to no good. Isn’t that what you’d rather hear?”
“I’d certainly be more inclined to believe it.”
“Well, I haven’t been dancing.” She grimaced. “I’m not exactly great at it, I’ll admit. It’s probably a good thing for the gentlemen’s toes that I’ve been bowing out.”
“What? Caroline hasn’t succeeded in her transformation of you? She’ll be distressed.”
“Oh, I doubt that. She’s keeping herself busy. I’d say this is her perfect milieu.”
Liam scanned the room. Mac could tell when he located Caroline—still gossiping, still flitting about like a brilliant butterfly, the center of attention and loving every minute.
“So I see,” Liam said, with no smile to spare for his ward’s antics. But when he turned back to Mac the smile came, edged with the usual mockery. “Do you know, Mac, that when I first came to San Francisco I wasn’t much of a dancer myself.”
It took her a moment to absorb the fact that Liam had just admitted to an imperfection in himself, and for no other apparent reason than to make her feel better.
Nah. He must have an ulterior motive. But the very notion made Mac’s heart fill to overflowing and her throat catch.
“You can dance,” she said. “I was watching.”
“And were you now?”
Her ears caught fire. “There isn’t much else to do around here. Except maybe contemplate how profitable it would be to introduce the local ladies to the virtues of high-top sneakers.” She pointed to her slippered feet. “These shoes are killing me.”
“Perhaps you’d prefer to dance barefooted. That should suit you better and provide entertainment for everyone.”
“Hmmm. Maybe you’re right, at that. Might put a little life into this party. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be back in the jungle, climbing pyramids and slogging through the mud and battling mosquitos and scorpions. That’s the life—”
He didn’t respond. He was searching the room again as the musicians came back from their break and began to tune up. Mac followed his look and did a double take.
Good grief. That masked man with the cape, crossing the room directly to Caroline, was Perry. He was going to ask Caroline to dance. She was still laughing as she turned to him; she stopped and went very still.
Liam was watching. Liam was clearly wondering, and he was getting ready to—
“Liam!” Mac said brightly. “Since you’re talking to me again, why don’t you ask me to dance?”
He glanced at her, distracted, and slowly focused on her face. “I thought you didn’t dance.”
“This is a waltz, isn’t it? That I can do, more or less. And since you’ve been there, maybe you can teach me a thing or two.”