Leslie Lafoy (29 page)

He started, then tilted his head to the side and drawled, “And you didn’t feel it necessary to mention them when we were compiling our list of suspects?”

“Well, firstly,” she countered, “you have to understand that everyone who ever leaves New Orleans is supposedly on their way to London. Secondly, the only piracy ever committed by the Dandaneaus was in pricing their lumber. And while they might hate me for any number of reasons—most notably for blowing their mills to kingdom come—they were well and long gone before the news of inheriting Lafitte’s treasure arrived. They wouldn’t know about it, wouldn’t know why Mignon was in London, or that I’d followed her. And I can’t imagine that Mignon would have felt threatened enough at the sight of one of them to think it necessary to hide her half of the map.

“And, in addition to all of that,” she went on, setting her coffee aside, “there’s nothing to suggest that they actually made it to England. For all we know they could be in Baton Rouge or any one of a dozen Southern cities. Placing any of the Dandaneaus on our suspect list would be stretching plausibility beyond reason.”

“You never give people the benefit of the doubt, Belle. Not when it comes to the pursuit of wealth or power.”

“Or vengeance,” she added, scooping her hat up off the floor. “But, in this case, the Dandaneaus simply can’t be considered a real threat. The string of coincidences would have to be entirely too long.”

“Are you ready to go?”

He wasn’t quite willing to believe her; she could hear the reservation in his voice. Resigned to the fact that there was nothing more she could say that would convince him to abandon his suspicions, she clapped the hat on her head and replied, “I will be once I get my hair tucked up and put on my jacket.”

He watched her for a few moments, then set aside his cup and came squarely onto his feet. Trailing his fingertips along the curve of her jaw, he looked down into her eyes and softly said, “Promise me something.”

Anything. Everything. She slipped her hands to his waist, steadying herself as she savored the luscious warmth his touch sent rippling through her. “What?”

“After tonight, you’ll save the trousers for the rarest of occasions. Getting past them takes just too damn much time and work.”

She reminded herself that it was silly to be so thrilled by the admission of his desire, but her happiness couldn’t be squelched by the admonishment. “I think I can be accommodating,” she admitted, stretching up to brush a kiss over his lips. “Would you prefer I wear a dress or nothing at all?”

Swallowing a growl, he drew her into his arms and close against the length of his body. “How badly do you want to go treasure hunting tonight?”

Oh, Lord, he was so tempting. Why he ever felt the need to resort to offering chocolates … The more practical and rational part of her whispered that pleasure should be like dessert—a reward for having dutifully fulfilled the requirements of good sense. There was a treasure to be found, a murder to be solved. Once they were, once Barrett’s name was cleared, they would have forever and a day to—

Her heart skittered and her mind chattered frantically. There was no forever with Barrett. She knew it. He knew it, too. All they had together was the time it took to accomplish their various, mutual goals. Beyond that … His parents wanted him to marry advantageously. She didn’t want to marry again and didn’t have the temperament to be a mistress. England was cold and damp and dreary. It wasn’t home. And it was utterly ridiculous to feel like crying about it all.

She managed a smile that she hoped passed for composed as she stepped out of his loose embrace, saying, “Business should, I think, come before pleasure.”

Maybe it was the flicker of disappointment that passed over his features. Or maybe it was the chill that washed over her body as she stood apart from him. In either case, she suddenly wanted—with all her heart—to step back into his arms and let the rest of the world careen on without them. Practicality battled with desire. And barely won. “But, if it’s all right with you,” she said, smiling up at him, “let’s not spend one more moment at it than we have to.”

His smile was bright. “An acceptable compromise. One I can live with for the next hour or so.”

Yes, an hour or so, Belle thought, retrieving her jacket from the cabinet by the water pump. Just long enough to satisfy her conscience and the requirements of obligation and not so long that an awkwardness and hesitation could creep between them. Although, she had to admit, glancing around the kitchen before leaving, making love with Barrett wasn’t at all like it had been with Henri. There had been no division of her mind with Barrett as there had always been with her husband. And the pleasure that came of that … Smiling, she went out the door, knowing deep in her bones that for as long as she lived there would never be a moment of awkwardness or even so much as a second’s hesitation when it came to tumbling into bed with Barrett Stanbridge. She was absolutely shameless. And utterly, thoroughly happy.

*   *   *

Barrett watched appreciatively as she flipped herself over the top of the iron gate and dropped neatly to her feet beside him inside the cemetery. How long had it been, he wondered, since he’d had a partner like her? There had been a time, in the army, when Carden had gone along on the forays. But those had involved a great deal of drinking and no small amount of skirt chasing. And then they’d returned to London and their hunts had become more sophisticated and civilized. Not to mention largely boring. He and John Aiden had worked as partners, but it had been brief; just a single expedition that Aiden had led.

But neither Carden nor Aiden was remotely like Belle, Barrett mused as he handed her the map she’d drawn earlier. And the difference was far more than could be accounted for by a consideration of luscious breasts and delightful curves. He grinned. Not that those were unimportant attributes.

No, working with Belle was satisfying in a way that went beyond mere companionship and a shared quest. There was something deeply right about wandering dark streets with her, about climbing locked gates and poking around a graveyard with her at his side. It was certainly the most unconventional activity he’d ever undertaken with a woman and yet it didn’t seem the least bit odd. In fact, if someone were to push him into explaining the feeling, he’d have to admit that it felt as though they were meant to work together, that he’d simply been biding his time, waiting for her to come into his life and step to his side.

“So where do we start?” he asked, watching her glance between the map and the field of gravestones sprawling out before them. “Any ideas beyond wandering about and hoping to stumble across someone named Lies?”

“There has to be some reason why all the lines were included. I keep trying to see if there’s any resemblance between them and the paths.”

“And?”

“I don’t,” she admitted, refolding the map and tucking it into her coat pocket. “Which way do you want to wander first?”

“People tend to favor their right.”

She nodded and moved out of the shadows and into the moonlight to make her way along the path on their right. They were some twenty feet into the maze when she sighed and observed, “Judging by the dates I’m seeing on the stones, this is a very old cemetery. The odds of Lafitte tossing the treasure into an open grave aren’t all that good.”

“Frankly, I’m more than a little relieved. I wasn’t looking forward to digging up some poor soul. I’m already accused of murder. Adding grave robbing to my crimes would send my mother into apoplexy.”

“You’d think that, over the years, she’d have become accustomed to your dangerous behaviors.”

He shrugged. “Mother lives in a world of illusions. Deep in her heart—and despite all the hard-edged realities—she still hopes that I’ll marry a title.”

“It would be a way of making up for the social disdain she’s endured over the years.”

Barrett started and frowned. He’d never considered the fact that his parents might have endured the same sorts of personal slights he had. Which didn’t, he realized, reflect very well on his sense of empathy or compassion. But now that Belle had presented the truth, he could easily understand why his parents were so intent on his marrying well. He could also see that while Isabella Dandaneau was the perfect woman for him, she wasn’t at all the daughter-in-law his parents were envisioning. An American. An impoverished widow. A woman with a decidedly strange upbringing, who delighted in turning structures into smoldering rubble.

Christ, it was going to be unpleasant. At first. But once there were grandchildren, they’d—

“Barrett, look. George Lies.”

Pulling his mind to the present, he focused his gaze on the headstone in front of them. He glanced to the right. “And Robert Lies,” he pointed out. He looked to the left. “And William Lies and Herbert Lies.”

“You’re being a pessimist,” she blithely accused, turning a slow circle.

Actually just the opposite, he countered in silence, shoving his hands in his pockets. He’d been thinking of the more distant aspects of the future and figuring out how to navigate through the difficulties—without having given any thought to just how he was going to get to the point of having the problems to solve. He’d assumed that Belle loved him. He’d assumed that marrying her was the course he wanted to pursue. And somehow he’d simply set aside her repeated declarations otherwise and presumed that she would happily marry him if and when he asked her to.

“Cross.”

He blinked and forced himself to take a settling breath. Belle was striding between the graves off to his left, obviously making her way toward a headstone capped with a large granite cross. “That’s a bit too obvious, don’t you think?” he wondered aloud as he followed after her.

“And who says this has to be difficult?”

“Well, why go through the trouble of making a map and writing cryptic clues if following them doesn’t take any more acumen than that of the village idiot?”

“Perhaps the hard part was intended to be the finding of the graveyard.”

Hard? Hell, Lafitte had made it almost impossible. They wouldn’t be there if Belle hadn’t waved a candlestick over a city map. As long shots went, it was one of the biggest he’d ever taken. Unless he measured it against falling in love with her. And then it paled. “You’re being an optimist again,” he countered as she swept a circle around the stone, examining the inscriptions.

“Humor me,” she laughingly challenged.

“Do I have any other choice?” Just as he didn’t have any choice in whether or not he loved her. Done was done and life was life. All he could do was ride it out and hope it came to a reasonably happy end.

“There’s Park!” she exclaimed, quickly slipping between stones. “Joseph and Gloria Park. Oh,” she added, her voice softening with melancholy. “She died a week after he did. Probably of a broken heart.”

“More likely of whatever disease it was that killed him.”

She threw him a quick look that wasn’t nearly as chastising as it was amused. And then she was off again, sweeping another circle around the stone, apparently oblivious to the fact that she’d melted his heart another impossible degree.

“And here’s Hyde! Walter Hyde.” She barely paused before setting out in yet another ever-widening circle.

So sweetly relentless, he thought, so delightfully determined to follow the trail. And so absolutely certain that not only would she find the prize at the end of it, but that it would be worth the effort. She was a delight, a marvel. And if he could convince her to marry him, he’d be the luckiest damn man who ever lived.

“Do you see a lion anywhere?”

“So it’s not easy,” he murmured, trailing after her, resolving to move heaven and earth to keep her by his side.

“We’re halfway there, Barrett. Now isn’t the time to surrender to discouragement.”

“Was I suggesting surrender?” he posed, smiling and knowing they were on two different conversational courses, knowing that he’d never be able to give her up. If she went back to America, he’d follow her. If she didn’t want to marry him, he’d offer …

He didn’t know precisely what he’d offer. Whatever, he supposed, it took for her to agree to be his companion. His partner. Yes, he wanted that, too. And if there were going to be any little Stanbridges in the world, they needed Isabella Dandaneau to be their mother. She could teach them how to endure, how to laugh and find the joys amid the challenges and sorrows of life. He’d have to draw the line at explosives, though. There were some things that—for the sake of domestic peace and tranquility—children really didn’t need to know.

“Someone has to have a lion carved into the headstone itself. It’s simply a matter of finding it.”

Yes, it was. And he would find a way to get what he wanted, what he needed. In the meantime, though … Setting aside his private musings, he put himself wholly into the search for the next headstone. Looking back over his shoulder, he visually charted the course that had brought them to Walter Hyde’s graveside. It was a fairly consistent line and he stepped off in the direction it seemed to be leading. “Belle,” he called after a few moments. “Over here.”

Together they stood in front of the resting place of Lymon Jones, who had died after fifty years of faithful service to the crown. “Now,” Belle said quietly, “for the gentle bride.”

“It should be this way,” he said, catching her hand in his and drawing her along. “He’s moving us to the northeast.”

It took them several minutes to discover Lafitte had changed the direction slightly, but eventually they stood before a tombstone capped by a bouquet of stone roses. “‘Lydia Nelson,’” Belle read, her voice soft. “‘Bertram’s Beloved, Gentle Bride.’ She was only sixteen.”

“Well, ol’ Bertram didn’t pine for long,” Barrett countered, nodding toward an adjoining grave. “Gloria, his second beloved, was dead just over a year after Lydia.” Leaning to see around Belle, he scanned the tightly placed row of matching markers. “It looks as though he buried a total of three—no four—beloveds before he chocked up his own toes.”

“He seems to have been a bit hard on wives. One would think there would have come a point when women would have been leery of his proposal.”