Leslie Lafoy (17 page)

A saboteur
. Not for the love of country. Not for the glory. But because she liked the feeling of danger flooding through her veins. Because it made her feel alive as nothing else did. Because, in the moments when her heart thundered and her mind chattered, she couldn’t hear the relentless whisper of death.

In the darkest days of his life he’d raced along the same fragile edges, courted the same fate and dared it to take him. For the very same reasons. He’d known at the time why he was doing it. Just as she had. In the years since … He’d always looked back on that time in a largely detached, shrugging sort of way. But looking at Belle and knowing …

With one hand on the newel post to steady himself and scrubbing the other over the stubbled lower half of his face, Barrett exhaled long and hard. She’d taken the same risks he had. It had been her choice and he fully understood the why of her decision. Logically, what she’d done shouldn’t affect him in the least. But it did. Greatly. That it was all in the past didn’t seem to make one iota of difference, either. The center of his chest was hot and tight, his limbs chilled and his skin prickling. Jesus. It was one thing for him to knowingly put his life in jeopardy. It was entirely another for Belle to do the same.

And, he silently growled, it was ridiculous in the extreme to stand at the top of the stairs and let himself be consumed by imaginary, absolutely pointless fear. The solution was as simple as it was obvious. If, in their time together, there came an instance when real danger threatened, he’d draw the line. Firmly. And make damn sure that Belle stayed on the safe side of it.

Resolved, he propelled himself forward and down the squealing flight of stairs. Given the obnoxious warning of his approach, it was no surprise to find his friends turned and waiting for his arrival in the parlor.

Ignoring their obvious curiosity for the moment, he strode forward, offering his hand to each in turn. “Card,” he said, quickly gripping his friend’s hand before releasing it to take the other’s. “Aiden. Thank you for dropping your lives for me this morning.”

Aiden half smiled and shrugged dismissively while Carden cocked a brow and said, “Your note arrived roughly five minutes ahead of your father.”

Larson had moved fast. Cecil Stanbridge even faster. And both of them ever so predictably. “You didn’t tell him about it, did you?”

A conspiratorial smile slowly turned up the corners of Carden’s mouth. “He said you were on your way to Paris. And I let him continue thinking so. He asked me to pass that information on to the constables if they came to make inquiries. I said I would.”

“Thank you,” Barrett offered, his mind clicking through the likely course. Larson would be led down the primrose path and call off his surveillance. Which was exactly what Barrett needed the man to do. So far, it was all going according to plan. Such as the plan was, he silently amended.

“Your father also thinks that you’re traveling with a…”

Raising a brow, Barrett considered Carden and waited, knowing what was coming by the tone of his friend’s voice and the devilish, expectant spark in Aiden’s eyes.

“Client.”

“I’m sure he didn’t put it quite so diplomatically,” Barrett countered acerbically, irritated not only by his parents’ presumption to judge, but also by Carden’s and Aiden’s amusement and open curiosity. He tamped it down, reminding himself that, given his proclivities, his friends were making only reasonable assumptions. They didn’t know Belle, didn’t know that she was a world apart from the women who typically passed through his life. How to tell them that, though? Without sounding defensive. Or worse yet, like some blindly besotted fool.

The creak of the uppermost stair tread brought him a smile and no small sense of relief. He wasn’t going to have to explain.

“Wait right here,” he instructed, turning away. They’d see for themselves in just a moment or two. Belle would set them straight in an instant, would wipe the rakish, knowing smirks off their faces. Despite her protests otherwise, she was a lady. More a lady than Mignon—with her fine wardrobe and public airs—had ever been. How the hell his parents hadn’t been able to see that …

Isabella stopped as Barrett filled the space three steps below her. The hard line to his jaw, the determined glint in his eyes … And then his tension was gone, seemingly erased in the instant it took for his gaze to sweep down the length of her.

“You changed your clothes,” he said softly.

She waited until his gaze came up to meet hers. “I’ve lived with pretenses too long to comfortably abandon them in a single morning.”

He nodded in acceptance and reached out, offering his hand. As she took it and let him assist her down the remaining stairs, he leaned close to whisper, “Thank you for not taming your curls. I like them.”

It was silly to warm at such a simple compliment. And the butterflies swirling around her stomach were an absolute embarrassment. Hopefully, no one would know they were there, wreaking havoc. And, with any luck at all, they’d think that the blush fanning across her cheeks was the consequence of meeting strangers under what anyone had to recognize as strained circumstances.

She saw his friends the instant he turned her toward the parlor doorway. Both of them blinked before snapping to attention, looking between her and Barrett, and then passing a quick look between themselves. The obviously older of the two, the one who looked enough like Barrett to be his brother, tilted his head to the side and worked hard to rein in a smile as he watched them advance. The other man, the younger, sandy-haired one with brilliant green eyes, either didn’t try to contain his smile or lost the battle almost instantly. She hadn’t the slightest inkling as to what so plainly delighted Barrett’s friends, but since there wasn’t any tension in the hand wrapped around hers, she calmly let him lead her to the spot directly in front of them.

“Isabella,” he began, ever so slowly releasing her hand. “May I present my friends, Carden Reeves, the seventh Earl of Lansdown, and Mr. John Aiden Terrell? Gentlemen, my client, Mrs. Isabella Dandaneau.”

All of her mother’s lessons in graciousness tumbled through her mind at once. Not a word of it clear enough to save her. Was it Lord Lansdown? Or Lord Reeves? Mr. Reeves? My lord? Oh, Lord. The butterflies in her stomach swelled to the size of turkey buzzards.

Barrett felt her hesitation and started in realization. He’d forgotten that she was American, that she wouldn’t know the proper terms of address. He’d barely opened his mouth to save her, to redeem himself, when she plunged ahead on her own.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, your lordship,” she said, extending her hand toward Carden.

Barrett silently sighed in relief even as Carden rolled his eyes, shook his head, and gallantly took her hand in his. Bending over it, he grinned and said smoothly, “The pleasure is entirely mine, Mrs. Dandaneau. And
please,
call me
Carden
.”

“Belle,” she countered as he released his claim to her hand. Without the slightest pause, she offered it to Aiden, saying sweetly, “Mr. Terrell, it’s a pleasure to meet you, as well.”

“Truly charmed,” he replied, his eyes twinkling as he bent. “And
Aiden
will do for me,” he added, straightening and seeming, to Barrett’s way of thinking, just a tad too slow in relinquishing her hand.

Barrett softly cleared his throat, but it was Carden who broke the silence with words.

“All right,” his friend drawled, folding his arms across his chest, “now that we’ve dispensed with civility, would you care to tell us why we’re skulking around and meeting in secret?”

Isabella watched as Barrett folded his arms in a similar fashion. As Aiden Terrell did the same. She was tempted, purely for the devilment of it, to make it a foursome. Resisting the urge, she instead slipped her hands into the side seam pockets of her dress.

“Michael Larson,” Barrett explained blithely, “and his merry band of constables arrived on my doorstep this morning to arrest me for the murder.”

Aiden rocked back on his heels as his brows shot upward. “And you bolted? Jesus, Barrett!”

“You could have made bond,” Carden offered with considerably more calm but no less apparent concern. “We would have had you out of there by noon.”

Barrett barely shrugged. “You’re assuming they would have let me post one. I’ll admit to having entertained the same notion yesterday. However, a conversation with my father changed my thinking on it.” He gave them a quick, weak smile and added, “As much as I’m loath to admit it, I had to accept that he was probably right. Given the circumstances of the crime and the brutality of it, they very well could have denied the petition. I couldn’t take that chance.”

Both Aiden and Carden instantly looked at Belle and she nodded. “Yes, because of me,” she admitted. “Mignon Richard was my cousin. To make a very long story as short as possible, we shared in an inheritance that requires us to find a buried pirate treasure. The hunt brought Mignon to London and I followed. Someone else obviously did, as well.”

“And that someone,” Barrett supplied, “is the person responsible for her death in the alleyway behind my house.”

“After she’d hidden her half of the map in various places inside it,” Isabella added. “We’ve recovered all but two of the pieces.”

Barrett nodded and seamlessly picked up the explanation. “We have several tasks to accomplish. The first is to find the rest of the map. We’ve searched the house from top to bottom and haven’t had any luck. We’re down to thinking that she must have hidden them somewhere on the property as she was leaving the next morning.”

Aiden nodded, his gaze pinned on the floor at his feet. “Which means you have to go back to the house sooner or later.”

“Preferably sooner,” Barrett clarified.

“Our second task is to find the treasure itself,” Isabella interjected, continuing the explanation. “There are no location references on the portions of the map we have and we doubt that there are any on the two missing pieces. But we’ve concluded that there’s reason to believe that the treasure is somewhere in London.”

“Which,” Barrett drawled with a smile, “is where you come in, Carden. We need city maps for—roughly—the last forty years. Comparing the treasure map to them is a long shot, but it’s the only one we’ve got.”

“All right,” he said, barely nodding, his jaw set. “I can get them easily enough.”

“Our third task is to find Mignon’s killer,” Isabella went on. “Then turn him over to the authorities and clear Barrett’s name. We’ve yet to work out a strategy for accomplishing that, though.”

“And all of that has to be done,” Barrett added crisply, “while keeping whoever killed Mignon from finding Belle and killing her for her half of the map.”

Isabella resisted the urge to smile as both Carden and Aiden looked at her expectantly. “And keeping Barrett out of jail at the same time,” she provided, not wanting to disappoint them.

“Christ Almighty,” Carden said on a sigh, shaking his head and looking back at Barrett. “You two certainly know how to pick your challenges, don’t you?”

“If you help us, you’ll be guilty of aiding and abetting a fugitive,” Barrett pointed out quietly. “If you don’t want to be involved in that, I’ll understand completely. You both have families to consider.”

“Which we wouldn’t have,” Aiden observed firmly, “if you hadn’t helped us when we needed it. We’re in. And grateful for the chance to help.”

Carden Reeves nodded. “Aside from getting you the city maps, what else can we do?”

“Do you want us to search the grounds for you?” Aiden asked, his eyes sparkling at the prospect. “Find the missing map pieces?”

Barrett slowly shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but it would be better if you stayed away from the house. If it’s being watched, they could follow you back to us.”

“Or to your own homes,” Isabella felt compelled to add. “The constables may not be the only ones watching Barrett’s.” Carden’s brow shot up and he turned his full attention to her as she went on. “In killing Mignon, they proved themselves to be both dangerous and desperate. If they were to follow you home, hoping to force information out of you … It would place your families in danger. Very needlessly. We’ll go back to the house and make the search ourselves.”

Barrett’s gaze snapped to hers so unrelentingly that her heart skipped a full beat. “We’ve yet to work out the particulars of the foray,” he said quietly but firmly. His manner noticeably, instantly eased as he looked between his friends to add, “When we do, I’ll let you know your respective parts. Mostly what we need from you two is logistical support. We’re safe here, but only if we can manage to stay out of sight. Which obviously restricts us to moving under the cover of darkness. And markets aren’t open at night.”

“Speaking of which,” Isabella ventured, unsettled by the fleeting hardness in Barrett’s manner and suddenly feeling a sudden, acute need to escape the intensity of the all-male company. “I picked up some things on my sweep through them this morning.” Easing away from Barrett’s side, she added with deliberate brightness, “If you don’t need me for anything, I think I’ll go fix us something to eat.”

Barrett’s smile was gentle and appreciative. Not even a shadow remained of the granite that had been there only seconds before. “I am a bit on the hungry side. And I’d kill for a cup of coffee.”

Coffee would be divine, she had to admit. Nothing cleared the cobwebs from one’s mind quite like a cup of steaming black magic. Unfortunately, they didn’t have coffee beans. Or a grinder. Or so much as a pot to cook in. “I’ll do the best I can,” she promised over her shoulder as she left them.

Once out of sight, she knitted her brows and considered the ebb and flow of the exchange just past. Carden Reeves was much like Barrett in outward temperament; serious and businesslike, direct and practical. Aiden was a much more open person, clearly given to more genuine and immediate displays of his feelings. At least on the surface. Her father had always maintained that still waters weren’t the only ones that ran deep and she suspected that Aiden Terrell was the sort of man he’d been talking about.