Elizabeth Boyle (27 page)

“She gave me a message for you,” Aldo said.

Giles nodded, his gaze still fixed on the crowded shores.

“She told me to say that you must keep your promise.”

“Why should I? She never promised me anything in return.”

Aldo shrugged his shoulders. “Women are strange, my friend. They don’t understand honor as we do.”

“I disagree,” Giles commented. “I think they understand it all too well.” Just as he’d vowed to marry another for the sake of honor, she’d made him promise to keep her family safe, because she knew he would do it. She’d mocked his obligations and steadfast dedication to his beliefs in honor and then used them to see him safely back to England.

And to England he must now go.

Giles knew enough of her operations to realize that this time she would disappear deep into Paris, making a search useless.

Yet eventually she would have to return to England, return to rejoin her family. She’d known he would come to the same conclusion and see the reason behind her refusal to make a promise. He’d go to England because it was the one place he could count on finding her again.

Damn, she was good. Too good.

Aldo called out an order to his son and turned back to Giles. “There is one other thing she said to tell you.”

Giles looked up, resigned to one more of her lectures. “She said to tell you that you’ve been looking in the wrong city for the man who betrayed your friend. This Webb, she spoke of, he was betrayed by an Englishman.”

S
trolling into a St. James gaming hell, Sophia paused at the doorway and surveyed the lively crowd before her from behind her black mask. Her masked appearance hardly stood out, for if a lady dared to show her face in such a low place, she did it properly concealed.

As far as she knew this place had no name, and entrance required payment of “dues” to the tall, elegant Persian, Namir, who ran the establishment. The clientele consisted of the wealthy and the worst kind who clung to their fringes—schemers, aging mistresses, and cheats.

Though putting on the Brazen Angel’s mask had always lent itself a secret thrill, tonight the strings binding the silken covering to her face felt too tight.

Emma had argued against this plan, as had Oliver, but now more than ever Sophia needed to raise money quickly. She’d been unable to locate her parents, and she’d promised a fortune to Balsac if he could find the Comte and Comtesse D’Artiers before Madame Guillotine did.

Tonight she intended to raise that fortune.

“Ah, my lady, it is a pleasure to serve you,” Namir said with a low bow.

She nodded to him. “I am looking for a gentleman.”

“So many ladies are,” the host laughed. “Is there one in particular you favor?” He offered his arm and they began to stroll through the room.

“Yes. Lord Selmar.”

Namir stopped. “You cannot be serious, my lady.”

Sophia took a deep breath. “If you don’t mind, which table is he at?”

Her host gave his head a rueful shake and led her to a private room in the back. The walls were lined with red velvet curtains, the rich, deep color shaking her reserves.

This time she stopped Namir.

Blood. It seemed to be everywhere. Her nightmare, which was now a nightly occurrence, began to repeat before her eyes.

“Are you all right, my lady?” Namir asked.

Pinching her fingers at the bridge of her nose, she shook off her fears, for there was no turning back now. “I’m quite well.”

Glancing around the small party filling the private room, she spied Lord Selmar. For him and him only, she smiled seductively.

Arrogant and vain, Selmar preened under her attention. “Won’t you join us?” he asked.

She nodded and took the seat he offered.

Now in his late forties, Selmar had been married years before, sired an heir, and promptly shipped his wife to the country, where she’d died a few months later under mysterious circumstances. Still a handsome and virile man, he’d taken a mistress or two, though the ladybirds never lasted long. Selmar wasn’t known for his generosity or gentle regard for the fairer sex.

Namir’s hesitation to make the introduction, Sophia knew was because Selmar was reputed to be ruthlessly jealous in both love and business as well as a deadly shot if his honor was affronted. There were few who dared cross him. But what did she care if he could shoot? He’d be unconscious and on the floor before he could find a pistol.

She cared only that the man was horribly rich, his holdings consisting of an extensive collection of gems and gold. Some had been inherited from his late wife, others amassed through cheating at cards.

A perfect, irresistible target for the Brazen Angel. And more than enough to pay off Balsac’s greedy demands.

“Ah, my dear lady, do you play macao?” Selmar asked, leaning over his cards, more interested in staring at the low cut of her gown than the hand he held.

“I love any game of chance.” Beneath the table her foot slid up Selmar’s leg. “I’ll wager just about anything if I think I can get what I want.”

“And what do you offer for the stakes?” He winked at the other players.

“Myself.”

For a moment he stared at her in stunned silence.

One portly gentleman nearly choked on his aperitif. “Did she say—”

Selmar held up his hand to stop the man. A slight, greedy smile pulled at his lips. “Would you like to deal the first hand?” he said smoothly, handing her the deck.

And so her evening began—handily winning the first hand and then proceeding to lose the next five. Selmar staked her losses, so obviously determined to collect her “marker” before the evening’s end. His assessing gaze as he looked at his cards and then at her sent chills of revulsion down her spine. But she had no choice—this was her best bet for taking a boundless fortune in one night.

But she did have another choice—go to Giles and ask for his assistance.

That had been Emma’s suggestion. After all, the man had offered her a house to become his mistress. Her engagement gift was proof the man was anything but tight-fisted. Emma urged her to demand a bevy of presents up front and use them to finance her parents’ rescue.

As much as she wanted to, Sophia couldn’t do it.

Giles would help, that she knew only too well. But he’d also demand she stay in England while he returned to France. Alone.

The thought of him in Paris, in danger, with her so far away and unable to help, left her resolved to the only course open to her. The dream had become too real, and there was nothing she wouldn’t do to prevent it from coming true.

He’d already risked too much, having guided Lucien and his family to the French coast, where his ship, along with Emma, Lily, and Julien, awaited them. From what Emma had told her, it had taken a hefty exchange of gold, Giles’s gold, to get the ship cleared by the port authorities for sailing. With such a noble cargo, a delay was not unexpected, but even Sophia had been staggered by the sum the marquess paid to save her family.

Emma and Lucien had followed her directions and slipped away from Giles not twenty-four hours after they reached London. Emma had hidden outside London at a small inn they had used in the past for just such purposes. Lucien and the D’Artiers brood presented a larger problem, since they would be easily spotted traveling on the roads to Bath or York, so instead Sophia had told him not to venture outside the city, but instead to take their family to Lady Dearsley’s town house near St. James’s Square.

Sophia assumed it was the last place Giles would venture.

Her aunt had welcomed her long-lost family with open arms and accepted their unlikely tale of escape as nothing less than a miracle. Already, the twins were starting to fill out, and Noël—well, the damage to Noël was, according to the doctor, a matter only time would heal.

She hadn’t confided her current plan to Lucien, for he, like Giles, would insist she stay at home and allow him to return to Paris.

Then there was the subject of her engagement. Auntie Effie had accepted Sophia’s tearful apologies for running away from Lord Trahern. Now the old dear fully intended to see her niece wed to Lord Trahern, if she had to haul him to Gretna Green and perform the ceremony herself.

There would be no hiding Lady Sophia from Giles this time. It would take more than yellowing agents and an ill-fitting dress to conceal her identity if Lord Trahern was to arrive at Lady Dearsley’s house to call on her.

It was time indeed that she push forward with her rescue plans.

She glanced down at her hand and realized she held the perfect cards.

Damn, she was supposed to be losing. As she tried to consider a way to throw away her best cards without appearing obvious, a strange air surrounded her, not unlike the whispers of caution she’d heard in the Sow’s Ear the night Giles had found her in Paris.

Someone was watching her.

She twisted in her seat and scanned the room, disappointed not to find his dark gaze studying her from a corner.

Disappointed and relieved.

It was bad enough she’d failed to save her parents; now this added guilt over Giles left her feeling that she was betraying him as well.

And maybe she was, in manner of speaking.

Selmar was saying something to her, and she realized all eyes were on her to lay down her cards.

“… what do you think?” he was asking.

Startled, Sophia looked up, struggling to concentrate. “What ever you think, milord,” she replied, hoping that was the desired response.

“I think it’s time we departed,” Lord Selmar leaned over and whispered. “I can’t afford any more of your losses.”

She took a deep breath and forced a dazzling smile. “I said I’d make it all up to you. And I am a woman of my word.” Tamping down the urge to flee from this man and head out the back door, she instead rose from her chair and moved closer to him.

“It’s not your words I want,” he replied as he laid her wrap over her shoulders.

“Then I doubt you will be disappointed.”

Since his return from Paris Giles had been unable to locate any information based on the Brazen Angel’s cryptic clues. Even the lady herself had not been seen or heard from. Though he’d expected her to return to her family, even they’d disappeared.

He’d given Lucien the hospitality of his home, which the exhausted family used for a day. Giles arrived home from his club in the early evening, only to find them missing, with no word of where they’d gone.

Back to where he started, without any idea of where to begin, Giles resorted to the only course of action he understood: a methodical reexamination of the clues, and a relentless search for new ones. He’d hired runners to watch the docks and men to question all the coaching stations leading out of London to determine where Lucien and his family had fled.

He’d spent his days prowling near the mercer’s shops on Ludgate Hill, haunting the bookshops near St. Paul’s, and dining in the cafés where
émigrés
congregated. No one seemed to have any clue as to the identity of Piper or her family.

In fact, the only thing he’d been able to turn up in the last month was that his missing fiancée had arrived safe and sound at her aunt’s Bath estate two days after she’d fled their wedding.

This evening he’d promised to join Monty in a search of the round of parties that were scheduled for the
ton’s
entertainment. With the full moon on the rise Giles couldn’t shake the feeling that his elusive Brazen Angel was out there somewhere and up to no good.

As he was finishing dressing he heard a great pounding on his front door. Going out to the foyer, he found a dripping wet Lord Harvey anxiously waiting for him.

“I’ve found her, my lord.” The young lord’s face burst with a grin. “I mean, His Grace found her. He sent me to tell you.”

“Where?” he asked, bounding down his staircase two steps two at a time.

“The gaming house run by that Persian bloke. Namir, he’s called.” Lord Harvey shook his wet hair like an anxious puppy in from the rain. “His Grace sent his carriage, because his driver knows the way.” He pointed at Monty’s carriage waiting for him across the street.

Giles nodded to Harvey and dashed into the rainy night, without a coat or hat or a look back at Keenan’s astonished face. Much to his consternation, the younger man followed.

“My lord, if you please,” he asked as Giles was about to climb into Monty’s carriage.

“What do you want?” Giles barked, his patience clearly at an end.

“An introduction,” the fellow stammered. He blushed and then straightened. “To Lord Dryden, that is. I want to serve my country.”

Nodding, Giles smiled at him. “It’s yours. I’ll make the introductions, but you’ll have to do the rest, young Harvey.”

He barely heard the lad’s gleeful “Thank you, my lord” as he began barking orders to the driver to make haste.

The wild ride through the wet and dangerous streets only matched Giles’s unruly emotions. He’d gone from anger to relief back to anger by the time the driver pulled the horses to a stop in front of the gaming hall.

“What took you so long?” Monty demanded as he shot out from under the dripping eaves of the gaming house. He didn’t give Giles a chance to get out of the carriage, only called out directions to his driver and climbed in.

“Where is she?” Giles demanded. The carriage jerked to a start.

“Gone. At least an hour ago.” Monty shook the rain from his coat and hat.

He couldn’t believe this. She was truly back in London and up to her old tricks. “Why didn’t you follow her?”

“Without you?” Monty snorted. “You would have had my hide.”

Giles took a deep breath. “So that’s it? You just let her go?” He couldn’t believe this. After all his searching, all the dead ends, Monty finds her in a St. James Street gaming hell.

“What was I supposed to do?” Monty’s jaw set like a bulldog. “Why excuse me, madame. Remember me? Would you mind leaving this man you are about to rob and come with me?”

Giles shook his head. “Of course not, but you could have at least followed her.” How could he come this close, only to lose her again?