She glowered at him. "That's a risk I'm willing to take."
"Not I."
"Very well, then I'll tell Lord Northrop I've been compromised. He'll have to send in someone else or arrest you."
He stared at her, saw the determination in her eyes. Damn it! He couldn't be arrested. Not now. Not when he was so close to finding Armand. Even more of a concern was Sarah. What would happen to her if she admitted she had failed? Would this Sir Northrop really throw her out on the streets?
He could not allow that to happen. And he was angry that he cared so much, that he felt this need to protect her.
She had turned away from him and was climbing back into bed, but he grabbed her arm and spun her around. "You want to come tomorrow night?"
Eyes wide, she nodded.
"Petite sotte." Little fool.
He took her by the shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. "Don't you care anything for your safety? This won't be a day at church. This could be dangerous."
"You'll take care of me."
He stared at her, shocked by her response. "Why the hell do you say that?"
"Because you see it as your duty."
He flinched, not wanting to admit she was correct. Devil take it! He did not want to take her into danger, but he could not leave her behind either. The woman was damn exasperating.
Damn attractive too. His mind might have been debating whether or not he could leave her behind, but his body was all too aware that they were alone, in her bedroom, and he was holding her in his arms.
She pulled back, eyeing him warily. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
He slid his hand behind her back, pulling her closer. "You're right that I'll have to protect you,
chérie
. I can't have my fiancée accosted."
She put her hands on his chest to hold him at a distance. "I'm not your fiancée. You're engaged to Serafina."
"
You're
Serafina."
"No, I'm not. I'm—"
He lowered his mouth to hers, cutting off her protest. At first she resisted, her hands pushing him back, but gradually she melted into him, her arms wrapping around his neck.
He liked the feel of her in his arms, liked the way her body trembled and her breath hitched. He slanted his mouth over hers, deepening the kiss, tangling his hands in her hair and cradling her head.
Gently breaking the kiss, he brushed lips against her cheek, her eyelids, her chin. He dipped to her neck, sorely tempted by that knotted fabric at her throat. One tug with his teeth, and he could loosen the laces, kiss her bare flesh, plunge a hand inside.
He looked up and saw that Sarah's eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed, her head fallen back.
She trusted him completely.
With a deep breath, he moved back and slowly released her. Her eyes fluttered open in surprise.
"Meet me in the library at nine tomorrow night. I'll come up with an excuse for my mother. You hold off the Foreign Office."
She nodded.
"Can you meet with them tomorrow?"
"I'll try."
"Good. I need time, and I need you to get it for me."
And then against his every bodily instinct, he turned and walked away from her.
Fifteen
Sarah was starving by the time nine o' clock arrived. She had been too edgy all day to even think of food, but at least her skills at lying were improving.
First, she had to lie to the duchesse. She told Rowena that she wanted to go shopping. The duchesse offered to go along, of course, and Sarah spent the entire morning walking along Bond Street, driving through Hyde Park, entertaining the duchesse and, at the same time, attempting to be seen and contacted by The Widow or Sir Northrop.
After four hours, the duchesse begged off, and Sarah took a footman to Gunther's on the pretense of buying a flavored ice.
She had just given up on meeting with the Foreign Office and ordered a strawberry ice, when she heard a familiar voice in her ear. "You had better have something for me."
Ice in hand, Sarah whirled to see Sir Northrop frowning at her. She took a deep breath. Each time she saw him, he seemed more impatient and angrier. She needed him to believe her lies.
Sir Northrop pulled her aside. Gunther's was not crowded, and it was easy to whisper in a corner without being overheard. "Did you acquire the key?"
"Yes." That was an easy question and required no lying whatsoever.
"Did you use it?"
"Yes." Another easy question. Buoyed by her success, Sarah ate a small spoonful of the ice. "I was able to open the hidden drawer in Valère's desk."
"What did you find?"
"A large cache of correspondence." This was not exactly true, but she had found that one letter. Her hand was cold, and she set the ice aside. "Unfortunately, I wasn't able to read much of it." Deep breath.
"Why not?"
"Valère came in."
Sir Northrop gripped her arm savagely. "Did he discover you?"
Sarah winced and tried to free her arm from his punishing grip. This lie was the most difficult. "No." She swallowed. "I managed to escape into the parlor without him realizing anything was amiss."
Sir Northrop frowned. The story was vague and implausible, and Sarah knew it. But she was too nervous to be able to remember any of the details she had fabricated while lying in bed last night.
If
she had fabricated any details. It seemed she lay there thinking of Valère's kiss for most of the night.
"Did you manage to read anything?"
She nodded. "A little. Something about someone called Armand." She watched him closely now, wondering how much Sir Northrop already knew. If Valère had lied about his brother, Sir Northrop might not know of him. If Valère told the truth, the Foreign Office—if they were any good at their work—should know something about this lost sibling.
"The duc's brother." Sir Northrop nodded, his eyes narrowing. "So he's still looking for him." Sir Northrop made the statement almost to himself, and Sarah felt her heart speed up. Valère had spoken the truth!
"Do you know where he is?" she asked.
Sir Northrop gave her a long look. "Somewhere Valère will never find him."
She thought that was all he would say, and her heart sank. But then he smiled, looked almost cocky. "Locked in the attic."
"Where?"
Sir Northrop waved away her question. "It need not concern you. Do you still have Valère's key?"
Sarah wavered for a moment, and then decided to tell the truth. "No. But I know I can get it," she added hastily. "Now that I'm Valère's fiancée, I have more freedom within the house."
"When will you have it again? I
need
those documents. My other sources are telling me that Valère is planning another trip to France. He's made inquiries. This time I intend to catch him."
Sarah blanched and gripped the back of a chair to steady herself. He knew about Valère's plans to return to Paris.
"When can you have the documents?"
When she did not answer, he twisted her arm, causing her to cry out in pain. "If you can't do this, say so now. I'm running out of time."
"I can do it," Sarah said through the pain. "But why are you in such a hurry? If I just had more time—"
"We're out of time! Do not fail me or—" He pressed his lips together, forming a razor-thin line.
Sarah swallowed. "You'll do to me what you did to The Widow?"
He grinned at her, slow and evil. "What do you know about our friend?"
"I know I have not seen her. I know she was frightened of you."
He nodded, satisfaction on his face. "You should be frightened too. My back is to the wall. I have nothing to lose by killing you."
Sarah inhaled sharply, fear stabbing through her. "Is that what happened to The Widow?"
"Worry about what might happen to you." Sarah's blood ran cold as he gave her a look that said he meant every word. "I'll look for you at Mrs. Southwick's musicale."
"Mrs. Southwick's musicale?" Sarah frowned. She had not realized she had anything but Valère's mysterious appointment on her calendar. They had told the duchesse they were going to Vauxhall Gardens.
"You had better be there."
"Of course."
"Eat your ice before it melts." He handed the treat back to Sarah, who took it. She dug in her spoon and pretended to eat, but when Sir Northrop was gone, she had to struggle not to gag.
Later that day, she was still lying. This time to Valère himself. She knocked on the library door at nine, hoping he would be so engrossed in his plans for the evening that he would not question her too closely about the meeting with the Foreign Office. If he knew how much danger she was in, he might turn himself in just to protect her. She could not allow him to do that. She could not allow him to fall into Sir Northrop's plan. There was more to this than a simple investigation by the Foreign Office, but whatever Sir Northrop had planned, until she acquired unquestionable proof that Valère was innocent, he was in danger.
"Enter," he called, and when she walked in, he looked up from his desk and said, "How did your meeting go? Did they find you?"
"Sir Northrop found me at Gunther's."
"And?" He rose, and she noted he was wearing all black except for his shirt and cravat—black breeches, black coat, and a black greatcoat draped over the couch. The greatcoat would certainly cover the white linen.
"And they're very anxious for progress," she told him. "They want documents. They know about the drawer in your desk"—he frowned at that—"and they want to know what's in it."
"But you held them off?"
"Of course." That wasn't exactly true, but she thought she sounded convincing.
"For how long? I may not be able to sail right away."
For a moment, she wondered if she should reveal what Sir Northrop had said about Armand. Then she decided to wait. It didn't make sense to her, and she might need the information later. "About your travel plans," she said, eager to leave the topic of how patient the Foreign Office was prepared to be, "they know you've made inquiries about leaving the country."
He stared at her, blue eyes blazing. "How the devil do they know that?"
"
I
didn't tell them."
He gave her a dubious look.
"They are spies, you know. They have ways of finding out these things."
"Right."
She frowned at him. "You're going to have to trust me at some point."
"Are you ready to go?" he asked, neatly evading her statement.
"I suppose."
"Is that what you're wearing?" He gestured to her crushed cranberry evening gown.
She looked down at it, surprised she felt almost natural wearing it. Amazing how, after mere days, she had grown accustomed to dressing in velvet and silk, draping herself in diamonds or rubies, such as she wore tonight. She almost looked forward to dressing in the morning. When she dressed as Serafina, she felt beautiful. It was easy to notch her chin up and look others in the eyes. She could almost look Valère in the eyes. "It's the only dark evening gown I have," she told him.
"What about that blue gown you wore the day you arrived?"
She raised a brow, surprised he remembered such a detail. "It's a day dress."
"Well, you can't go about in that." He walked past her, opened the library door, and called for his valet.
"Why not?"
"Shows too much flesh."
She glanced down again. Compared to the dresses
other women wore, it was quite modest. But she smiled slightly at his protectiveness.
The valet appeared at the door and bowed obsequiously. "Monsieur le Duc?"
"Fetch my cloak."
"I thought Monsieur le Duc was wearing the greatcoat."
"The cape isn't for me. It's for Mademoiselle Serafina."
The valet looked past him to her, then back at him again. "Oh, no, Monsieur le Duc. She is too short. The cape will drag on the ground."
Sarah covered her mouth to keep from laughing. Valère's valet was actually arguing with him, and she could tell the duc was annoyed.
"Luc, get the cape."
"But I worry. The hem will come back dirty and frayed. Doesn't the lady have a cloak of her own? I can have it fetched in just a mom—"
"Get. The. Cape.
Now."
Not in the least intimidated, the valet sighed heavily. "If that is what you wish."
Valère turned back to her, giving her a look that precluded any comments about his valet.
"Where are we going?" she asked instead.
"Covent Garden." He led her out into the vestibule, locking the library behind them.
"The theater?"
He did not answer, seeming impatient for his valet to return. The house was quiet. The duchesse had gone on to the musicale alone because she expected they would spend the evening at Vauxhall Gardens. His mother was more than happy to give the couple time alone, but Sarah worried about what would happen when Sir Northrop realized she was not coming to the musicale.