You Only Love Once (27 page)

“Of course.”

Ian grabbed his cap and gave her a tormented glance. “I'll be back in the morning. You can tell me what to do then. I can't think any more of it tonight.” And he was gone, banging the door behind him.

“I don't like this,” Nate said.

“Neither do I. But I want to be free, once and for all. I cannot go with you if I must spend the rest of my life in fear.”

Nate scowled and folded his arms. “You won't. I won't let it come to that.”

She came across the room to him and touched his face. “You are not in control of that.” His expression darkened. “Thank you,” she said softly.

He looked at her a long time. “You don't have to thank me. I would do it even if not for …” He stopped and turned away. “If you change your mind about coming with me, you can say so at any time. Then we would not need to go through this…this masquerade.”

Her lips parted in shock. “You think I will change my mind?”

“I wouldn't blame you,” he said with a sort of
philosophical detachment. “It is an enormous sacrifice, even before asking Wallace to stab you in the chest.”

“Debilitating,” she agreed. “I will lose my home, my employment, the country I have lived in almost all my life, even Melanie…Everything, really.”

Nate jerked his head in a nod. “Everything.”

“Except you,” she whispered. “And that makes it infinitely worthwhile.”

He didn't say a word; he didn't have to. Nate looked at her with his heart in his eyes, tormented and fearful and bright with love. She stepped into his arms and they clung to each other.

“I can't believe I'm agreeing to this plan,” he whispered. “You know that if something goes wrong—”

“Nothing will go wrong,” she said, stroking his back.

“I hope.” But his arms didn't loosen.

“Trust me,” she said. He sighed and pressed his lips to her temple. “What Ian said earlier—about Dixon walking away free—”

“If I thought letting Dixon go free would ensure your safety, I'd do it,” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. “Without hesitation.”

“I know you wanted to take him home for trial.”

“No, I wanted to clear Ben's name,” Nate replied quietly. “A confession from Dixon will do that, and repaying the money will put an end to it.”

Despite what he said, Angelique knew what he was giving up—for her. Her heart swelled. “Trust me,” she whispered again.

After a moment he nodded. “I do.” Then he released her. “I have to see Prince. I'll be back before dark.”

She nodded, and he left. Angelique felt weak and shaky; unsurprising, after she had just faced down Nate and Ian both and persuaded them to help stage her death. Perhaps she had gone too far…But she thought of the deeds Stafford had had her commit and knew she was right to fear him. Harry had once compared Stafford to a spider, sitting in the center of his web waiting to see what got caught. She had seen how Stafford dealt with those he feared, and she knew how wide his web spread. But with Nate and Ian working with her, she was sure the three of them could outwit the spider.

But to do it, they must be prepared for everything; there was no time to lose. She hurried up to her room, threw open the wardrobe doors, and began digging through her dresses, looking for a pale colored one.

“Lisette,” she called. “Lisette!”

The maid came running. “
Oui
, Madame?”

Angelique pulled a dress from the wardrobe. It was light blue, a soft comfortable dress that was a little worn and loose. She wore it about the house mostly. “You must alter this tonight,” she said, “from the inside only.” She turned it inside out, running her fingers along the bodice seams. “And you must go to the butcher in Whitechapel.”

“The butcher?” Lisette blinked in astonishment.

“Yes. We require blood.”

S
he rose at dawn. Nate stirred and rolled over as she slipped out of bed, but she tucked the blankets around him and left. He'd made love to her last night, not with the driving hunger of before but more leisurely, his hands lingering on her as if he meant to spend the entire night memorizing her body and letting her memorize his. Angelique had luxuriated in every moment. In many ways he was her first true lover—the one man she had loved, fully and completely. If something went wrong today, this might be the last night they had, and she didn't want it to end.

But the sun would not be held back. Before the first rays of light penetrated the windows, she was awake, clinging to the last moments of warm happiness in bed with Nate's lean body relaxed and easy against hers. No matter how she might wish to delay, the day was upon her. Her time to be easy and relaxed and happy was over. Today she must be at her best, sharp and clear and on guard at all times, and lying in bed wouldn't accomplish that. Success today would mean many more nights in bed with Nate. Failure…was unacceptable.

She performed her full range of exercises, working her muscles until they burned. When Nate finally appeared in the doorway between their bedrooms, she was keenly awake and alert, her skin taut and warm with exertion. “You should have stayed in bed longer,” he said, his voice still scratchy with sleep.

She stretched her arms above her head, feeling sleek and strong. “I needed to be awake.”

“Then you should have woken me.” He came across the room and hefted her iron bar. “Your weapon?”

“For training only.” She laughed as he swung it through the air as she did. “It is heavy for me.”

“Oh, it's heavy for me, too,” he assured her, still wielding it with an ease that belied his words. “I just can't admit weakness in front of a woman. See, my arm trembles from the strain already.” He raised the bar as if it were a fencing foil, pointed at her. “Do you yield?”

She folded her arms and cocked an eyebrow. “To a man who cannot lift a mere bar?”

He grinned, then flicked the bar around, hooking it behind her back and drawing her to him until she had to tip back her head to look into his face. “It's not
that
heavy,” he whispered, and kissed her.

Angelique wound her arms around his neck and pressed against him. The iron bar clanked loudly as it hit the floor, and his arms were around her. “Are you nervous?” he whispered, feathering kisses along her cheek.

“No more than usual.”

He gave a rueful huff of laughter. “I forget this is normal for you.”

She shrugged. “Today will not be. But this…the preparation is normal.”

“Perhaps it's a good thing.” Nate squeezed her closer. “I'm nervous enough for two people.”

His heartbeat was strong and steady beneath her cheek. No tremor shook his body, not even his hands. Angelique smiled. “I do not believe it.”

“I am,” he said. “And fearful that I've led you into something dangerous.”

“You have not led me.” She laid her palm on his cheek and kissed him once more. “You have been beside me all the way, but I couldn't say either one of us led the other astray.”

His eyes closed. “I bloody well hope not.”

“All will end well.” She stepped out of his embrace. “But first I must bathe, and you have things to do as well. Out with you.”

“A bath!” His eyes gleamed. “I can help you…”

She laughed. “Tomorrow. And the day after, and all the days to come after that.”

He grimaced, but kissed her again and left.

 

Nate went downstairs to the dining room. Lisette jumped to her feet with a guilty look. Prince rose more deliberately. A plate heaped with food sat in front of him, a cup of tea in front of Lisette. “Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning, Nathaniel,” said Prince.

“I shall bring you breakfast, Monsieur,” Lisette murmured, hurrying out.

Nate looked at Prince. “Finally friends, I see.”

“You are not the only one who can charm a lady out of her prickly mood,” Prince replied with a grin. “Although I believe her opinion of me improved
greatly after we removed the laboratory and its foul smells.” He paused. “She reminds me of your mother.”

“Well, that may come in handy today.” He prowled about the room, and after a moment Prince sat down and began eating again. “You brought the trunk?”

“It's in the drawing room.”

Nate nodded. It was a bright clear day, but with clouds gathering on the horizon. “Is everything else ready?”

“Only your belongings are still here. Once we remove them and Mr. Dixon, we will be ready to sail.” Prince pushed back his plate and watched Nate with a steady gaze. “You agreed to this plan; you authored parts of it. Are you changing your mind?”

“No,” said Nate, still staring out the window. Those clouds drew his eye. A gentle rain to wash away the grime, or a storm to endanger them all? “But there is a last-minute change to the plan.”

“What?” Prince lowered his voice, too.

Nate looked over his shoulder. Lisette could return at any moment. “I'll tell you later. It doesn't involve Lisette or Angelique; just a minor adjustment on my part, to allow for more possibilities.”

The door swung open then, Lisette with a plate of food. Nate made himself eat, though he didn't taste a bite. Then he and Prince carried the empty trunk, the largest they had brought with them, up to the attic.

Jacob Dixon eyed the trunk in distaste. “Surely there's an easier way,” he muttered.

“Absolutely. We could get a coffin,” Nate told him, unlocking the manacles. “And send it directly to Lord Selwyn with my compliments.”

Dixon glowered at him, but climbed into the trunk, rubbing his wrists. “Am I not to be fed first? After I was up so late creating that journal for you…”

“No. You can eat later.” Nate closed the lid on the man's scowling face, and locked the trunk. He gave the key to Prince, and grimly they carted their load down the stairs. As they passed Angelique's door, Nate heard a splash and knew she was in her bath. She was going about her day as usual: her strengthening exercises, her bath…He knew when he returned, he would find her as beautiful and as calm as always, and ready to defy the man she had worked under for ten years, the man who might want her dead once he realized what she was doing. Nate gripped the trunk handle more tightly, and tried to push his fears for her aside.

They loaded the trunk with Dixon onto the cart Prince had brought. Nate bounded back up the stairs and finished packing his own trunk, dumping everything inside without care. He could sort it out later. He set it at the top of the stairs for Prince to take down, and tapped on Angelique's door.

She sat at her mirror, wrapped in a dressing gown. Lisette was combing out her wet hair. At his entrance, she put up a hand to the maid. “What is it?”

“Prince and I are taking our things to the ship, then Dixon and I will collect whatever is left of the stolen funds. I'll be back in a few hours.”

She nodded, her dark eyes steady. “I will wait for you.”

Nate nodded once. “Right.” He hesitated. “Do not do anything until I return.”

She arched her brow. “You think now I will strike
out on my own? I will be right here, regretting I cannot be with you to help chain him like a goat belowdecks.”

He grinned in relief. “Very good. I'll see you soon.” He crossed the room and kissed her, softly. She broke it off, reminding him they needed every moment of the day. Reluctantly Nate left, but as soon as he closed her door, his steps quickened. They did need every moment of this day. And as they drove to the docks, he explained to Prince how he was changing the plan.

 

It took a little longer than expected, but the results were also better than Nate had hoped. Jacob Dixon had deposited jewels and funds in a handful of banks around the City, and he didn't seem interested in quick and speedy visits. Dixon wanted to enjoy the flattery of the bankers who regretfully relinquished jewel cases and, in one case, a stack of gold coins. Nate did what he could, but the value of the recovered items kept his temper at bay somewhat. As jewels and gold piled up in his valise, Nate realized Dixon hadn't spent much of his stolen hoard; there would be a great deal of money to return to President Monroe, probably enough to fully redeem the pledges Ben had made. At least Dixon had put his head for money to some good use. That, along with the signed confession from the thief, should be enough to clear Ben's name.

“I trust you've remarked my considerable cooperation,” Dixon said when they were on their way back to the ship.

Nate nodded. “Yes. I appreciate how you've spared me the trouble of shooting you.”

Dixon inched away from him in the hackney. “Always
violence
…”

“It wasn't how I intended to proceed, but given altered circumstances, I believe I've gone to remarkable effort to protect you.” Nate gave him a cold smile. “It may have made me a trifle testy at times, for which I do apologize.”

He returned Dixon to the ship's brig and had a last word with the captain and Prince before returning to Varden Street, where he found Angelique at her desk.

“Did all go well? Is everything in readiness?” she asked when he came in. Nate nodded, and she sighed in relief. “I was just about to have Lisette take it.” She held out the note she had written.

Nate glanced at the note, promising Lord Selwyn news of a most urgent nature relating to Mr. Jacob Dixon if he replied to Mr. Stafford at Bow Street at his earliest convenience. “What if he does not go at once?”

“Lisette will wait to see if he does and send word to all of us.”

He handed back the letter. “You are ready, then.” Her dress didn't look different than usual, but it was the same light blue one he had seen laid out on her bed when he left with Dixon.

She laid one hand against her bodice, just below her left breast. “It was cold at first, but I barely feel it now.”

His eyes fixed on the spot. It didn't look remarkable in any way—thank goodness. “We could just shoot Stafford and Selwyn, then run.”

“Do not be ridiculous.” She rose. “We would never make it out of England alive.”

She was right and he knew it. “Send the note,” he told her. “Let's be done with this.”

 

Angelique rang the bell at the narrow boardinghouse, keeping her eyes fixed on the door. The landlady rented rooms by the hour, mostly to whores whose customers wanted a bit more privacy than an alley off Covent Garden offered. Angelique knew her well, having often found herself in need of a private room for an hour here and there. When the woman opened the door, Angelique simply said, “A shilling an hour, if the room overlooks the street,” and the landlady nodded curtly, showing her up to a small dingy room. The bed was barely wide enough for one, and the windows were grimy with dirt, but they did overlook the street.

She laid her cloak across the bed and drew the shabby curtains almost closed, opening one window a few inches to allow her to hear as well as see. From this angle, she had a clear view of the front of the Bow Street Magistrates office.

Now she only had to wait.

She tried not to let herself think of Nate much. His role in this was almost concluded. This morning he had collected whatever remained of the stolen funds. Everything of his was secure on his ship, including Dixon, safely hidden away on board. At a moment's notice, Nate was ready to sail. She was glad for that, even though it would mean she didn't see him again for some time. He had gotten far more than he bargained for in London, but he hadn't flinched from a single challenge—including those she threw at him herself. In spite of herself,
Angelique's thoughts drifted to the sensual memory of Nate's lips on hers, his hands on her skin, her name on his tongue.

Until a glossy black carriage stopped in front of Bow Street, and a tall dark man with a long nose stepped down.

 

Nate was waiting by the kitchen door when the knock came. “Half an hour, sir,” said the ragged street boy who stood there.

“Good work.” Nate flipped him a pair of shillings, and the lad was gone the instant his fingers closed on the coins. Nate pulled on his coat, the same unfashionable brown coat he'd worn to Stafford's office that first time, just a few weeks ago. He glanced around the Varden Street kitchen for the last time, checking off things in his mind to ensure nothing had been forgotten. Then he slipped a small glass bottle and a wooden tube into his pocket before he let himself out and closed the door.

 

Ian had just poured another tot of whiskey into Phipps's glass when the sound of the outer door reached his ears. Slowly he closed his flask and set it aside, listening. “Someone's come to make a report,” he said, gesturing to the door. “I'll leave you to it.”

“That would be best,” Phipps agreed, gulping down the whiskey and hiding the glass in a drawer of his desk. “Off with you, Wallace.”

Ian took his time getting to his feet and collecting his coat. He'd been sitting here with Phipps for over an hour, freely sharing his whiskey, but now dawdled until the footsteps passed the door. “Eh,
must have been mistaken,” he said with a wink at Phipps. “Or someone's not reporting to you.”

The pale little man scowled. “Everyone reports to me.”

“Ah, everyone except her.” Ian had opened the door and stuck his head out to look. “Madame Martand.”

Phipps crowded past him to look. The hood of her cloak was down, revealing her glossy dark hair and unmistakable profile as she reached the stairs and turned to climb them. “Her,” Phipps muttered in a petulant tone. “Too proud for her own good, that one.”

“Aye, but good enough to earn some pride. She must have caught that American swindler,” Ian said, still lounging in the doorway. “Miserable doings there, I gather.”