The Secrets of a Scoundrel (20 page)

She wondered if he had somehow sensed that contradictory need in her all along, for he had satisfied it in spades last night. Maybe he had simply seen through her, she mused. He knew a lot about the world and people.

And, apparently, women.

And just to prove how deftly he had turned the tables on her, she found herself wondering, like some wistful, seventeen-year-old mooncalf, what she meant to him. How and where and even
if
she fit into his plans?

What did last night really mean to him?

Probably just an affair,
she thought, and o
h, God,
it was not a good sign that she already felt her heart clench at the possibility—the probability—that whatever this was, it couldn’t last.

Surely such dizzying happiness could only lead to pain. But she could not stop herself. It was too late. She had already made up her mind to take the gamble.

He was everything she had ever wanted, and yes, he had his problems, but they didn’t scare her. She did not require perfection. Eyes open to the risks, she could not pass up the chance to know what it meant to fall recklessly, passionately in love with the man of her dreams.

If it was not to be, well, then, the coming agony was worth it for the chance to have had this time with him.

Even so, it was a little scary. What had become of her hardened attitude, seemingly overnight? He had cracked her worldly shell and found the vulnerable woman’s heart beneath it.

Ah, but it turned out the assassin had a softer side, too, she mused fondly as she scanned the street with her telescope, seeing nothing of any consequence.

She had discovered his vulnerable side for herself, indeed, had quite fallen in love with it last night during her “interview” of him.

Somehow, she had coaxed him into letting her in. Answering her questions. Lowering his guard. What she did now with this rare trust from the Order’s lone wolf could make all the difference in the world where his life might go from here.

She took it as a grave responsibility. Never in a million years would he ever say he needed to be loved, but it was so plain to her that he did.

He was starving for it, after all he’d been through, and she could do naught but pour out all her tenderness on him in response. She knew it was exactly what he needed. Already the change in him was nigh miraculous, after just one night. Which was why, for however long this lasted, she felt sure she could make a difference for him. Maybe even change the whole course of his life.

He had certainly changed hers.

Yes, she decided, whatever pain might come when they parted ways, seeing Nick Forrester walk away healed would be reward enough in itself.

Through her telescope, she saw him pause on the curb across from the hotel, waiting as a delivery wagon of some sort went clattering past.

Then he crossed the street, hands in pockets, the wind billowing through his long, dark greatcoat. Head down, he had his collar turned up against the gray drizzle. He walked toward the hotel with the air of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

A sigh escaped her. But the truth was, taking him for a lover was not the only gamble she had made.

In the midst of all this, she was keenly aware that she had not been fully honest with him yet.

She had not lied, but she had not told the truth, either. Knowing him, the longer she put off coming clean, the worse it was going to be.

But, God, she did not want to break this little magic bubble of happiness in which they two had unexpectedly found themselves yet.

It was too precious.

What if it actually
could
somehow last between them? she wondered. What if he fell in love with her, too?

But he was Nick. He never fell in love with anyone, according to her father’s scribblings on each of his agents’ temperaments. Nick Forrester, the hard case, the skeptic. Moody, broody, difficult.

But not to me,
she thought with a happy little sigh.

She had known she could manage him.

Lowering her telescope to take a sip of coffee and another bite of her very French breakfast of
pain-au-chocolat
, she found herself wondering how her relationship with Nick might impact Phillip’s life. Or, for that matter, what her son would say if he wound up with a baby brother or sister as a result of last night. Or even what Society would say if she bore Baron Forrester a love child?

Well, they’d say she was as much of a hussy as her mother, the Countess of Ashton, she supposed.

But to hell with the ton. She had a title, lands, her own fortune. She need answer to no one. Her days of living at the mercy of other people’s opinions were long behind her.

In truth, heaven help her, the prospect of having Nick’s baby made her quiver with nervous, giddy joy down to her very toes. She loved being a mother, and he was, to be sure, excellent breeding stock.

Of course, if a baby came . . . there was always marriage.

I am obviously losing my mind.
She adjusted the focus on her telescope and strove to shake herself back to sanity. Hadn’t she vowed never to marry again after that dreadful experience?

But maybe, just maybe, she could make an exception.

For the baby’s sake, merely. Should a baby arrive.

In any case, daydreaming about what sort of father Nick would be was easier than dealing with the question of how to tell him the rest of the story.

Why they were really here.

You should have told him by now,
her conscience accused her.

She did her best to shrug it off.
No, I shouldn’t. I wasn’t even sure if I could trust him. Look where I found the man!

Besides, she had warned him from the start that he would only be given information as he needed it.

He hadn’t needed it yet.

Admittedly, he was going to need it soon.

Oh, but what if this belated revelation drove him away from her now, that he had only just begun eating out of her hand like a wild horse?

Unpredictable as he was, it was impossible to anticipate what he was going to say when she gave him the full revelation.

It was not that she feared his flying into a rage. She doubted a cool-nerved agent with that many years of experience would blow up at her.

It was simply that when she admitted her blunder that had led to all this, he would probably assume she had made the mistake because she was a woman daring to take on tasks that were usually the purview of men.

And so help her, if he dared say to her that a woman had no place meddling in such things, she did not think she would ever forgive him.

She knew full well that everyone thought that way, men and women alike, but somehow from Nick, she knew she’d take it personally.

Deep down, she wanted his respect almost as much as she had wanted Virgil’s. Real respect, not pretty chivalry, so he’d see her as an equal.

But having to tell him what had happened, admit that she had trusted John Carr more than she ought, was going to play right into that old, wearisome misapprehension that she did not know what she was doing because she was a woman daring to play a man’s game. Therefore, any small mistake she ever made was magnified.

Especially mistakes that weren’t so small.

She swallowed hard to think of the near disaster she had created. Bloody hell, how was she to know John Carr would betray her in a fit of pique at her rejection?

That little lying vermin of a thief.

But she could not keep putting it off forever.

It was just that she cringed to think of Nick’s looking at her the way her father sometimes had when she tried to involve herself in intrigues. That patronizing, I-told-you-so, why-don’t-you-stay-home-knitting-dear sort of look.

It was enough to make a spirited woman despair.

Well, she’d tell him soon. She just hoped that when she did, he would not overreact even though the implications of John’s theft were horrifying, indeed.

If she did not get her father’s journal back before the auction, in starkest terms, then John Carr would sell the Order’s secrets to the highest bidder.

Loyal assets could be hunted down and killed in retaliation long after the fact. Traps could be laid all over the place for the now-retired agents.

All their blood would be on her hands, simply because she had underestimated her hired assistant, all the while indulging him, taking him for a harmless, pretty fool.

Ah, well. She assured herself she’d soon get the journal safely back into her possession. But she was going to need Nick’s help, and for that, she was going to have to tell him the full truth.

Which meant breaking this silence of hers and getting over her own stubborn pride.

Yes, she dreaded the thought of losing his respect, but she had no right to keep the secret any longer than necessary when so much was at stake.

As soon as he got back from casing the hotel, she decided, she would sit him down and tell him how her father had provided for her protection after his death.

And how she had thoroughly botched it.

Chapter 15

P
ast the gaudy lions and through the frosted-glass doors, Nick stepped into the huge, bustling entrance hall—now the hotel lobby—of the Grande Alexandre.

Sauntering in discreetly, he moved unnoticed among the elegant travelers coming and going. A party of rich, loudmouthed, fashionable matrons waited for their carriage to take them out on their Parisian shopping spree. They talked incessantly among themselves, snapping an order now and then at their attending maids, while their spoiled children ran about at a wild game of sliding on their feet across the sprawling marble floors, slicked by the damp and mud from everyone’s shoes. The wee hellions’ uproarious laughter echoed under the colonnade.

Nick frowned at seeing all these children on hand when such unsavory folk as the attendees of the Bacchus Bazaar were also in the building.

But where? He kept his eyes open for anyone who fit the bill.

He counted up the exits and the large footmen placed here and there who looked capable of security duty. Then he turned his attention to the concierge’s stand, quite the hub of activity in the center of the entrance hall, several yards from the foot of the grand staircase.

The uniformed concierge, obviously annoyed by the noisy children, strove to answer guests’ questions in several languages and to meet the ceaseless demands of the morning crowd of tourists gathered around his desk.

Nick scanned the area, but nothing seemed out of place as the concierge labored on, pointing guests this way and that, giving directions, arranging for carriages, and suggesting plays and concerts, lectures, galleries, and exhibitions that the holidaymakers might enjoy.

Bloody hell, that chap had the patience of a saint. Nick bought a newspaper from the old man selling stacks of them in the corner, then strolled over to the sprawling, once-aristocratic music room, which had been converted to a café for hotel guests and the public. The very wide doorway looking into the entrance hall gave him a good view of everything.

He had a cup of coffee, watching everyone and everything for a while. Though his senses were on high alert, taking in as many details as he could absorb, he had to take care to keep Virginia out of his mind.

He missed her already. How absurd.

Nevertheless, he smiled as he sipped his coffee. It was a happy thought, knowing she was waiting for him back in their room across the way. But he pushed her out of his mind. Thinking of her would only distract him.

A few possibly suspicious-looking people walked through the lobby as he sat there, but Nick homed in on one rugged fellow who trudged into the café and ordered breakfast. He could tell he was English the moment he spoke. Sounded like a Geordie, and then he had to go and order bangers and eggs for breakfast to confirm it.

He was not well dressed, a large man with weathered skin like a sailor and a scar on his face, all of which made him very out of place in the elegant Grande Alexandre.

Might this be the mysterious Rotgut, captain of the
Black Jest
? Nick watched him like a hawk as he scarfed down his breakfast in a few huge gulps.

When the waiter brought his bill, Nick saw the man ask for a pencil, then scribbled his name and room number, adding it to his hotel tab.

The moment the brawny suspect got up, wiping his mouth roughly on his napkin before tossing it onto his empty plate, Nick engrossed himself in his paper. The man trudged past his table, but as soon as he left the restaurant, Nick rose and moved over stealthily to the waiter’s stand to sneak a look at that bill.

It was right on top of the stack, easy to find.

He spotted the name,
E. DOLAN
, though he doubted it was his real one.
There,
though, on the second line, there was his room number: fourteen.

The waiter returned from delivering food to another table. “Can I help you, monsieur?”

Nick turned impatiently. “More coffee, please. I’ve been trying to get your attention for some time,” he said curtly, distracting the lad from his snooping with a show of annoyance.

“Oh, I am so sorry, sir! I did not see you—”

“Never mind,” he grumbled. “What do I owe you?”

He paid and stalked out, eager to pay a call on Room Fourteen. If E. Dolan was in there, he’d confront him. If he wasn’t, Nick would search his room and dig up any clues about where Rotgut was hiding his “merchandise,” the girls. They had to be freed before the auction.

On the far end of the lobby, he spotted the opening to the main hallway that gave access to the guest rooms upstairs. A mansion of this size probably had seventy chambers for guests. A plaque on the wall beside it spelled out which blocks of rooms were situated where.

Nick headed for it, but marching past the concierge’s stand, he overheard a snippet of conversation that stopped him in his tracks.

“Please send a servant up to tell him John Carr is here to see him.”

John Carr?

“Oui, monsieur,” the concierge replied, and sent a nearby servant running to bring another guest a message.

Nick turned, homing in on the young man in a tan greatcoat waiting restlessly at the concierge desk.

Well, what have we here?

A ridiculously good-looking young peacock, he had taken off his gloves and clutched them in his hand, tapping them nervously against his pantalooned thigh as he waited with his elbow on the edge of the concierge’s little desk.

Nick shook his head to clear it, staring at the princely young fellow in his early twenties.

This didn’t seem right, or even possible, according to what Virginia had told him.
I thought he got abducted.

“John Carr” was a reasonably common name, but still, this would have to have been one hell of a coincidence.

It had to be the same man, Virginia’s so-called apprentice. More like her toy boy, Nick thought as he approached warily to investigate.

Room Fourteen wasn’t going anywhere for the moment.

An irksome beat of jealousy added extra vigor to his pulse. Her “beautiful boy” looked like he’d stepped out of a bloody Raphael painting. Tousled golden curls, fine-boned profile, blue eyes.

Eyes full of fear, Nick noted as he studied him covertly.

Carr’s anxious gaze darted all around the lobby; thus, he quickly saw Nick sizing him up.

The pretty fellow must have been used to people staring at him, for he merely gave a taut nod and mumbled a gentlemanly greeting.

At once, Nick decided on a whim to seize the element of surprise. “John Carr?” he asked, going toward him with a cordial smile.

“Yes? Yes!” The lad drew in his breath, then lowered his voice. “Mr. Truveau? I just had them send a servant up for you. I didn’t realize you were standing right behind me.” With a nervous smile, he put out his hand.

Nick did not accept the offered handshake, for his blood had run cold at the name.

Truveau?

That name belonged to one of the great French families of the Prometheans.

What the hell?

He knew that the old man Truveau, the patriarch, was newly dead. Nick and his colleagues had dealt with many vicious younger members of the conspirators’ clan in their day, but one must have survived.

Carr withdrew his rejected hand awkwardly. “Um, I’ve brought it with me,” he murmured, touching the opposite breast of his coat to indicate some hidden shape beneath.

Nick nodded as if he had any idea what the lad was talking about. “Good.”

“Of course, it’s all in code,” Carr said nervously. “I can’t begin to decipher it.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” he assured him, as if he knew exactly what he was talking about.

Relief filled Carr’s face. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Nick glanced discreetly around the lobby, wondering how long he had before the real Truveau appeared.

He had apparently stumbled upon a very interesting meeting.

The concierge arched an eyebrow, looking on in curiosity, now that the tourists had finally left him alone. Had the hotel attendant already realized that Nick was not the real Truveau?

“So, um, would you like to see it? I assume you’ve brought my money?”

“Yes, of course. Give it to me.” Nick flicked his fingers impatiently and put out his hand, keen to know what all this was about.

Carr looked at him in surprise. “Here, sir? Shouldn’t we go somewhere more private? You’re not the only interested party, as I mentioned. Thus the price. I think a couple of them are following me.” Carr glanced around again, pale with nerves, and suddenly saw something that made him blanch. “They’re coming!” he forced out all of a sudden. “What do we do?”

Nick glanced over his shoulder, following Carr’s stare.

Three mean-looking men in crisp black clothes were marching toward them.

“Quickly, give it to me.” Whatever the item in question was, it was obviously important.

“Not until you’ve paid me!”

“I’m not Truveau, you young fool,” he whispered as the three henchmen bore down on them. “Now, would you like me to stop them from killing you or not?”

Carr looked at him in shock. “Who are you?”

“A friend of Lady Burke’s,” Nick replied.

At that, the lad cursed, spun around, and sprinted, fleeing past Nick right out the door.

A baffling reaction.

Damn it, Virginia, what the blazes haven’t you told me?
Nick thought, already in motion.

He heard indignant shouts and exclamations of alarm from behind him in the lobby as Truveau’s Promethean henchmen (as best he could judge them) pushed travelers out of their way, racing after them.

Nick dashed out the door, past the gaudy lions and the pillars, looked to the left, then spotted the lad tearing off down the street to his right, past La Maison de Maxime.

“Get back here!” he bellowed.

Carr kept running.

Nick gave chase, sending a look of fury toward the balcony as he ran past.
I’m going to turn you over my knee in earnest for this one, girl.
Then he pounded on, his stare fixed on the fleeing young idiot.

W
ith a gasp of shock, Gin burst out onto the balcony, still clutching the folding telescope in her hand. The last thing she had expected to see was Nick chasing John Carr down the street.

Oh, no!
That wasn’t supposed to happen! He was only supposed to be there on surveillance, not to intervene! More to the point, her deception was unmasked. John Carr was clearly not a kidnap victim. What Nick must be thinking right now, she could not begin to guess.

Something must have gone seriously wrong in there.

Then she realized it was even worse than she had thought, as three black-clad men came racing out of the hotel after them.

A curse left her lips; crushing guilt filled her. How could she have sent Nick in there without knowing the full story?

This was her fault. She had to help him.

Whirling away from the railing, she rushed inside and grabbed her pistol, then ran out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

Her bootheels pounding on the wooden stairs, she raced down the steps and across the lobby. Monsieur de Vence looked up in astonishment from organizing something under his desk as she went dashing out the door.

Out on the curb, Georges was holding a horse’s bridle for a dandyish guest who was just returning, perhaps from a morning gallop. The gentleman dismounted and tipped his hat to her as Gin brushed past him in the doorway.

At once, she ran over and commandeered the horse. “Sorry, Georges, I need to borrow him.” Swinging up into the saddle, she did not waste a second thinking about scandal—or basic property rights.

“Madame!”

“I’ll bring him right back.”

“But he belongs to that gentleman!”

She gathered the reins and kicked the tall, leggy bay into motion. “I’ll buy him if there’s any trouble. Tell him to name his price!” She turned the horse around and urged him into a canter.

It was cold without her coat and hat, but she ignored the chill, racing to catch up to Nick.

Thankfully, she spotted him as soon as she turned the corner, and being on horseback gave her an obvious advantage. Within seconds, she rode past the three black-clad strangers, and was already gaining on Nick.

When he heard hoofbeats coming up behind him, Nick looked over his shoulder as he ran. He saw it was her and glared. “Are you mad? Get back to the hotel!” he yelled, as she pulled ahead of him. “Virginia, what are you doing?”

Getting back what’s mine,
she thought, her jaw set with determination.

John Carr was now in her sights, the little thief.

Coaxing the horse to a faster gait, she was able to get ahead of the fleeing man; she turned the horse, abruptly cutting in front of John, forcing him to halt.

His chest heaving, his cheeks scarlet from his sprint, he glared at her and tried to back away. She used the horse to herd him and hem him in.

Shifting the reins into her left hand, she held out her right. “Give it back, you ungrateful little viper.”

“Go to hell, redheaded witch!”

“Give back what you stole from me,” she repeated.

He sneered. “I told you you’d regret the way you brushed me off.” Then he saw his chance.

Without warning, John dodged sideways into a narrow walkway between the brick buildings.

The horse was too broad across to fit into that cramped passage, but Nick caught up just then and took over from there. “Go back!” he ordered as he slipped into the dark, narrow walkway after John.

She fumed at the command. She had no intention of doing that, obviously. But with an angry glance, she saw that the three men were coming.

It terrified her to contemplate what they wanted. Could it be that John had already found an interested party who wanted to buy her father’s journal before it even reached the auction?

Her throat constricted with dread, she clucked to the horse and headed for the intersection ahead. She’d have to ride around the blasted block to continue her chase.

But when she saw the three strangers fling around the corner, dodging into the shadowed passageway, she saw fit to yell out a warning to Nick.