The Price of Pleasure (16 page)

“We looked everywhere for you and feared you were dead. If not for your grandmother, we might have given up.” He chuckled. “She threatened me, you know.”

“I know, she told me.”

Porter turned serious. “Explain how you were apprehended. You are too smart to make dangerous mistakes.”

Reed’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I was betrayed, by someone within the organization. I’ve gone over this again and again in my head and it’s the only explanation. If Peter Weldon hadn’t been so thorough in his search, I would not be alive today.”

“Betrayed? Are you certain of this? Very certain?”

“There is no other explanation. I was living in a small flat in Paris, mixing with the local citizens and gathering information about troop movements and such. No one suspected a thing. When I was arrested, the soldiers addressed me by my real name during interrogation. How would they have known my name if an informer hadn’t supplied it? It’s obvious that a double spy is working within our organization.”

“A double spy, you say? I cannot imagine it, but rest assured that your claim will be thoroughly investigated.”

“How did you come to recruit Lady Fontaine?”

“I knew her aunt and recalled she had a niece who had married a Frenchman. When I learned Lady Fontaine had lost her husband and was still in France, I asked Weldon to find her and recruit her to our cause. We owe that courageous lady our thanks for bringing you and two other operatives out of Devil’s Chateau.”

“We owe her more than we can ever repay,” Reed replied. “She is the reason I am standing here today. I was more dead than alive when she located me.”

“Weldon’s communication told me you were in a bad way, but I didn’t realize how greatly you had suffered. Did you learn anything helpful to our cause after you were incarcerated?”

“No, there’s scant information available in Devil’s Chateau. It’s considered a place of no return. If not for a greedy guard and Fleur Fontaine, escape would have been impossible. There are now three anonymous graves outside the prison that supposedly bear our operatives’ bodies.”

Porter’s gaze bored into Reed. “Were you forced to divulge any classified information under torture?”

“You insult me, Porter,” Reed retorted. “I gave up nothing, not even my name, though they already had it.” He fell silent, fighting the demons conjured up by talk of his ordeal. “Shall we change the subject? Thinking about Devil’s Chateau is something I would rather avoid. I am home—that’s all that matters—and ready for a new assignment.”

Porter searched his face before letting his gaze slide over Reed’s thin form. “You have outlived your usefulness to the organization, Hunthurst. I wish it were otherwise, for you are a good man and have served us with honor and courage. Nevertheless, your cover has been destroyed. I suggest you devote yourself to the earldom. Rest assured, however, that I won’t hesitate to call on you should your services be useful to us in the future.”

“So it’s over for me,” Reed said with a hint of sadness.

“I fear so.”

“What about the traitor? He needs to be caught before another good man is forced to go through what I did.”

“Agreed. Every resource at my disposal will be used to smoke out the traitor.”

“There’s one more thing I wish to discuss,” Reed said. “I am concerned about Fleur Fontaine’s safety. Each day she remains in France increases the danger of her being caught. She’s appeared at Devil’s Chateau three times under the persona of the Black Widow. It cannot go on. You must bring her home immediately.”

“You understand, of course, that it was Lady Fontaine’s decision to undertake this assignment.”

“I understand her reason for agreeing to work with Weldon, but that still doesn’t excuse you for keeping her in a dangerous situation. The occupants of the cottage are already under suspicion. Fleur and I had to hide while French soldiers searched the area. You should have insisted that she leave France.”

“Actually, I did. After I was informed that you had reached England safely, I sent word to Weldon about her removal to England. The last communiqué I received from him said that Lady Fontaine had one more mission to complete before leaving France.”

“And you allowed it? You condoned her recklessness?” Reed exploded, leaping to his feet. “Who is the man she is to rescue? I thought all the operatives in France were now accounted for.”

“Indeed they are. From the scant information Weldon relayed to me, this rescue is personal.”

“That’s it!” Reed exclaimed. “I’m returning to France.”

“You will not! And that’s an order. I don’t want your grandmother on my back again. She’s a veritable tigress. Besides, Weldon is there to look after the countess. If anything goes awry, he will protect her.”

“Porter, I . . . ”

Porter raised his hand. “Say no more. Look at you. You’ve scarcely recovered from your incarceration. Go home and see to your health, Hunthurst.”

Reed left Porter’s office in a rage. One more rescue could prove fatal for Fleur. What was she trying to do, commit suicide?

Still fuming, Reed made his last visit of the day to his tailor on Bond Street. The tailor welcomed him warmly, and together they chose material for his new wardrobe. By the time he had been measured for clothing to fit his thinner figure, it was tea time, and he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He thought about going home but decided to have tea at White’s first. He needed the company of old friends to take his mind off his frantic worry about Fleur. If there were some way he could protect her, he would move heaven and earth, but he couldn’t think of a damn thing to do.

“Reed Harwood, where have you been keeping yourself?” a man greeted him shortly after he entered the staid establishment. “Forgive me, old man, I should have said Hunthurst. Your brother’s death came as a shock to all who knew him.”

Reed didn’t want to talk about Jason. His death was still a raw wound. “I’ve spent the last year rusticating in the country,” Reed lied. “What have you been up to, Tolland?”

“Mostly I’ve been trying to keep one step ahead of matchmaking mamas casting their lures out for me.” Viscount George Tolland chuckled. “Your title and single status will put you in the same league as the rest of us trying to escape the parson’s mousetrap. Are you in town looking for a potential bride?”

“I’m not ready for marriage,” Reed acknowledged, “even though Grandmamma has a bevy of debs lined up for my inspection. I’m off to the dining room, Tolland. Will you join me?”

Tolland stroked his smooth chin. “Actually, you look like you’ve been starving yourself, old man. You haven’t been ill, have you?”

“I’ve been perfectly well, thank you. Will you join me or not?” Reed asked, hoping for company to distract him.

“Another day. I have to call on my mother. She wants to lecture me on my duty to provide an heir. I’ll call on you soon. Perhaps we can visit some of our old haunts together.”

When Reed could not spot any other acquaintance, he ordered a light repast to take the edge off his hunger and then left the club. On his way home, he made a courtesy call at the Hunthurst mansion, relieved to learn that both Helen and Violet were out for the day. The less he saw of Violet the better.

When Reed returned home, he was introduced to the new servants: Williams, his new butler; footmen Holmes and Gordon; maids Lil and Peg; and Mrs. Wickham, the new cook. Then he enjoyed a long bath in the brass tub and partook of an excellent dinner of roasted lamb, potatoes and assorted vegetables followed by a fruit cobbler with crust so flaky it melted in his mouth.

“Will you go out tonight, my lord?” Updike asked.

“I believe I will. I intend to visit a few of my old haunts. It’s been a long time.”

Dressed in ill-fitting evening wear, Reed left the townhouse and rode Ebony to one of the gambling establishments he had frequented in the past. He found a place at a gaming table and greeted the men, pleased to see that some were friends from his carousing days. But as the play progressed, he realized he was no longer the devil-may-care rogue who lived to gamble and womanize. The old thrill of the game was missing.

About the time Reed decided to go home, Gallard Duvall showed up. He spotted Reed at the gaming table and came forward to greet him.

“We meet again, my lord. How are Lady Helen and Lady Violet? Did they accompany you to London as they planned?”

“Hello, Duvall. The ladies did indeed accompany me to London.”

“Then I will make an effort to visit them. Are you all staying at the Hunthurst mansion?”

“Only the ladies; I am quite happy at my bachelor quarters for the time being. Are you enjoying your stay in London?”

“
Oui
, very much. I met a group of émigrés like myself and attend salons and such with my fellow compatriots.”

“I’m happy things are working out for you.”

After a time, Duvall wandered off. His eyes narrowed, Reed watched him leave. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring himself to trust the man. His appearance at Hunthurst Park was suspect. He would definitely bear watching in the future.

Shortly after midnight, Reed excused himself and left. He’d rather spend one night with Fleur than a thousand nights gambling and taking his pleasure with the nameless, faceless women he had enjoyed in the past.

Who was the man Fleur was attempting to rescue this time? Reed wondered. Porter had said it was personal. The man must mean a great deal to Fleur. Jealousy struck deep in his gut. He’d never felt jealousy before, but now it raged through him like an untamed storm.

After a good night’s sleep, Reed spent the next day taking care of details associated with the succession. By the time he left the bank and finished with Jason’s solicitors, he was legally and irrevocably the new Earl of Hunthurst. When he returned home, he found a note from Helen, asking him to escort her and Violet to the Washburn ball two days hence. While checking the rest of his mail, he found an invitation to the Washburn ball in addition to several other soirées to be held over the next few weeks.

As Earl of Hunthurst, it was his duty to attend at least some of the entertainments provided by the
ton
. He supposed the Washburn ball would be a good start.

The first of Reed’s new clothing arrived the following day. Thus, when he picked up Helen and Violet on the night of the ball in his recently purchased carriage with a newly hired driver holding the reins, he was decked out in the latest London style: tight-fitting black breeches, blue waistcoat, silver brocade vest with an abundance of lace spilling from his sleeves and neck. He disdained a wig and wore his dark hair tied back with a black ribbon.

Helen wore black, of course, embellished at the neck and sleeves with lace. Violet had chosen a pale yellow gown, close fitted, cinched under her ample breasts and dampened, making it nearly transparent. Although other ladies were similarly garbed, they seemed indecently exposed even to Reed’s jaded tastes.

The moment their names were announced, Reed became the center of attention. His newly acquired title and social status made him fair game for every young girl looking for a titled husband. Reed led Violet onto the dance floor first. After two more dances with giggling young women who seemed unable to put two sentences together, he retired to the card room.

When it came time to leave, Helen rode home with friends, leaving Violet and Reed alone in the carriage.

“We don’t have to return to the mansion, Reed,” Violet purred. “I would love to see your townhouse. Helen won’t mind. She approves of a match between us, you know. No one cares if we anticipate the wedding.”

Before Reed guessed what she intended, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled down his head and kissed him. As quickly as possible, Reed removed her arms and set her away from him.

“Behave, Violet. I have no intention of wedding any time soon. You’re wasting your time on me. Set your sights on someone who will appreciate your efforts.”

Violet snuggled closer. “Make love to me, Reed. I know how to please a man. Let me prove how good we can be together.”

Reed didn’t want Violet, not even for a brief affair. Mentally, he shook his head. Brief affairs were all he had ever wanted in the past. Had imprisonment in Devil’s Chateau addled his brain? He had joined Porter’s organization as a lark, tired of the London whirl, gambling and ladies who weren’t really ladies. Now he could barely stomach the thought of bedding the parade of women vying for his attention. What had happened to him?

The answer came to him in a blinding flash.

Fleur had happened to him.

What in bloody hell had she done to him?

Chapter Eight