The Syndicate (Timewaves Book 1) (34 page)

I’d done what Cyrus asked and found out the name of Charles’s tailor. If the small square of silk was any indication, my date was not the Night Gentleman, and so my interrogation was done. I vowed to relax and just enjoy the rare evening away from my job, dressed to the nines, and with a handsome guy.

Unfortunately, I was not the only one at our table playing an angle. Complimenting my outfit was a natural segue to my locket. Which he smoothly took. Had I not been well-versed in the arts of interrogation, deception, and manipulation, I may have believed his interest was innocent. Except, of course, he’d asked about the damned thing two nights before. Charles DuPree had a lot to learn about subtle information gathering.

“It is a beautiful piece,” Charles continued. “I have not seen many like it.”

His hand traveled slowly across the table, towards my throat, as if to touch the necklace. Those golden-brown eyes became unfocused, like he was under a spell.

For the briefest of moments, I wondered if it called to him the same way it did to me. But that was ridiculous. It was
my
necklace.
My
family heirloom.

I drew back out of his reach, inhaling sharply. The action caught him by surprise and he dropped his hand.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you are more interested in my necklace than in me,” I joked, though my tone sounded flat and distinctly not amused.

Then, a horrible realization hit me with the force of an emotional wrecking ball: Charles
was
more interested in my necklace than in me. That was why he’d asked for this date.

I am so stupid.

Why, though? Why would a guy from this time period be interested in something from hundreds of years in the future? I thought about his words,
“I have not seen many like it.”
Which implied he’d seen at least one other. Across the table, Charles was rambling excuses to explain away his interest.

“The metal work is just so—”

“Have you seen another like mine?” I cut him off abruptly. I gripped the locket in a tight fist, irrationally wanting it hidden from his view.

“I have,” he admitted. “When I was a very young boy. A woman, a friend of my parents, had one very similar.”

“Similar?” I pressed, no longer caring about etiquette. “But not the same?”

“No, not the same. At least, I do not believe it was the same. It was so long ago, I cannot really be certain. All of my memories from that time are a bit hazy.”

“How long ago are we talking?” I was in full-on future mode, speaking to Charles as if he was one of my island friends. “Ten years? Fifteen? You said you were very young, right? And you’re how old now? Twenty? Twenty-two?”

“I am twenty-one. It has been approximately twelve years, if I had to wager.” His eyes were rolled up and to the right, as if trying to recall a memory. “Yes, well it would have to be twelve years exactly. It was right before I moved to live with the DuPrees.”

“I thought you said the woman was a friend of your parents?” I accused, not liking the holes in his story.

I’d rattled him.

Clearly flustered, Charles replied, “Well, yes, she was. Tessa was a mutual friend of both my natural parents and my adoptive parents.”

Tessa? Unsurprisingly, the name meant nothing to me. Even if I had an ancestor by that name, I’d never have known.

I was so focused on the name that the rest of his statement nearly flew over my head.

Nearly.

“You’re adopted?”

Was that why I felt so drawn to him? Because we were both displaced as children?

Charles took a deep breath and reached for his champagne.

“I am. It is not something I tell most people. In fact, even my closest friends are not aware of my past. I would appreciate it if you did not share that particular bit of information. I do not care to be the subject of gossip.” He sounded impossibly prim and haughty.

“Of course not,” I replied, taken aback. “I would never.”

Charles relaxed slightly. “I apologize. I did not mean to accuse you of anything. The adoption is a sensitive matter that is all.”

“Sensitive? Why is that?”

“It is difficult to explain. The situation was…complicated,” he answered, looking as lost as I often felt.

“What happened to your birth parents?” I asked, decorum totally going out the window.

He met my gaze levelly.

“They were murdered.” Charles gestured to my locket. “I owe my life to the woman who was wearing a necklace very much like that one.”

SO, THAT HAPPENED.

My lips clamped shut, Charles’s admission effectively putting an end to the brief interrogation session.

I was at a loss. I’d never known my parents, but Charles had. He’d spent at least part of his life with them. Was that better or worse in the long run? I’d always said I would give anything to spend one day with my mother and father. Now, those words seemed silly, childish even.

In the end, I said the most useless phrase one can utter in these situations.

“I am so sorry, Charles.”

Head held high, expression perfectly neutral, Charles replied, “As am I. But things could have been far worse. I could have been with my parents when it happened. I might have even suffered the same fate.” His tone was so matter-of-fact that I had to imagine he’d practiced the response for situations such as this one. “The DuPrees are lovely people,” Charles continued after a brief pause. “They’re wonderfully kind to me, and exceedingly generous. I have been very fortunate.”

“I’m glad,” I said, truly meaning it. “They should be very proud of the man you’ve become.”

A whisper of a smile crossed his lips at the compliment. His honey-colored gaze became wistful.

Just then, the waiter arrived with the final course, a selection of cheeses and fruits, along with the bill. With six courses already under my belt, I worried that Charles was going to have to roll me out of the restaurant if I so much as nibbled on the newest spread.

It seemed my date did not have the same qualms as I did. He dove in immediately.

The faraway expression was still present in Charles’s eyes, and he did not attempt to resume our earlier conversation. In fact, Charles remained quiet through most of the final course, only breaking his silence to insist that I try the Brie topped with fig jam.

To be polite, I sampled the concoction. I was
so
glad that I did. The mixture of salty and sweet was enough to make my eyes roll back in my head, an embarrassing reaction that Charles, thankfully, was too preoccupied to notice.

When it became obvious the few crumbles of cheese and stray grapes still on the wooden cutting board were going to remain there, I decided that enough was enough. I’d given Charles ample time to mourn days long past.

I opened my mouth to apologize for bringing up such a painful topic, when Charles spoke first. “Perhaps you would care to take a walk before returning home?”

Figuring that my inadvertent insensitivity had upset him enough that he’d be glad to see the back of me, I was pleasantly surprised.

“I’d like that.”

As Charles pulled a thick stack of Francs in a gold money clip from his pocket, and discreetly counted out the bills, I considered everything I’d learned over the course of a single meal. I wondered how much more information I might be able to glean on our walk. Supposing, of course, that Charles was willing to revisit the topic of Tessa.

His birth parents and their deaths were likely off the table, but Charles brought up Tessa in the first place. He’d hinted, or maybe just hoped, that there was a connection between our necklaces. The reason he’d asked me on this date was the same reason I’d accepted: To get answers.

At the start of the evening, my questions had been business-related. Now it was personal. I wanted to know every scant detail from Charles’s spotty memory that involved this Tessa woman.

What did she look like? Did I bear a resemblance to her? Was she still alive? Was Charles looking for her? Did he think that I was capable of helping him locate the woman who’d saved his life? And if Tessa’s necklace was identical to mine, were the two lockets actually one and the same?

“Are you ready, Stassi?”

Caught up in my own frantic thoughts, I was startled to find Charles standing beside the table. He extended his hand to help me from my chair.

“Oh, yes. Thank you.”

Slipping my fingers through his, I let Charles pull me to my feet. “Tonight was wonderful—the restaurant, the meal, the company.” I grinned cheekily, channeling my inner flapper as I dialed up the charm.

My previous approach—the rapid-fire questioning that lacked both finesse and tact—made Charles clam up. This time around, I planned to use a more tried and true method of information gathering.
Flirting
.

Molly always said that lust made fools of even the most brilliant of people. I was going to put her theory to the test.

“Seriously, Charles. Thank you for a lovely evening. After the past couple of days, it was exactly what I needed.”

He gave me an adorably embarrassed smile in return.

Once outside, I found that the night had turned cold while we were dining. I shivered as we began walking down the quiet street in front of
La Coupole
.

“Where are my manners?” declared Charles, halting abruptly in the middle of the empty sidewalk and shaking his head.

He shrugged out of his suit coat and draped it over my shoulders.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” I objected.

Charles silenced my feeble protest with a look of mock sternness. “I insist.”

“Then who am I to refuse?” I teased.

Charles grinned, and I felt a twinge of shame. For some reason, using him for personal reasons felt more duplicitous than using him to further my mission. I assuaged my guilty conscience by reminding myself that Charles’s reasons for inviting me to dinner had not exactly been pure.

I snuggled into his jacket, still warm with his residual body heat, and the scent of freshly laundered clothes left outside to dry in the sun wafted over me.

“Better?” asked Charles, tugging the lapels together in the front to block the wind.

His hands moved to my shoulders under the pretense of smoothing the material into place. Even in my heels, which brought my height to well above average for a woman, Charles towered over me. I tilted my head back to see his face. Those honey-colored eyes churned with an emotion I couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“Much better. Thank you,” I replied.

The cool breeze ruffled my hair, causing several auburn strands to fall into my eyes. Charles reached down and tucked the wayward locks behind my ear, fingertips skimming lightly over my cheekbone as he did. His hand lingered on my face for several beats past innocent, before sliding down the side of my neck to rest on my shoulder again.

My stomach performed a series of cartwheels in fast succession. I suddenly felt breathless and acutely aware of just how near our bodies were to one another. Charles’s palms slid down my arms to clasp my hands, leaving a warm, tingly trail in their wake. Threading his fingers through mine, he pulled me even closer.

Pulse pounding erratically in my throat, gaze inexplicably drawn to Charles’s perfect mouth, one thought drove all others from my mind:
He is going to kiss me.

Wait…did I
want
Charles to kiss me?

Yes. The answer was a resounding yes. Complications and consequences be damned.

Just when I was positive that Charles was going for the gold, his eyes landed on the locket nestled between my collarbones. The fleeting moment of intimacy passed, leaving me torn between disappointment and relief.

“Stassi…,” Charles began tentatively. He inhaled sharply, as though preparing to make a difficult speech. Which was why his next words came as a surprise. “The River Seine is lovely at night, why don’t I show you?”

What was he going to say? Why had he changed his mind at the last second?

“Yeah, sure. That sounds great,” I said aloud, forcing a smile.

Charles released my hands, but offered me his arm instead. The two of us set off down the sidewalk.

We walked in silence for several blocks. Numerous times, I started to ask about Tessa, but could never seem to find the right words. Charles was distracted, and I had the impression that he was also debating how best to broach a touchy subject. He kept fiddling with something in his pocket, which made me smile. The nervous habit reminded me of the way I toyed with my locket to ease my mind.

Finally, we reached the cobblestone path that ran along the water’s edge. By unspoken mutual consent, we paused to admire our surroundings. Twinkling lights off in the distance illuminated the various bridges that stretched from one side of the river to the other. The night sky was velvety black, causing the countless stars to appear brighter than usual as they shone down on the quiet city.

I drank in the beautiful backdrop, committing the intricacies to memory so that I would be able to recall them on a whim. In my present, Paris and many other once-great cities lay in ruins. The Epic War had destroyed sites that’d been standing for centuries.

Beside me, Charles stared out over the Seine, too. It was highly doubtful that his thoughts were as bleak as mine, since he did not know the perils that would befall his city over the next half a millennium.

“It’s just as lovely as you promised,” I said, when the silence became oppressive.

Charles turned to face me, letting his arm fall away from mine. Light from a nearby lamppost illuminated his handsome features, highlighting the fierce determination glinting in his eyes. I steeled my nerves to hear whatever he’d been working up the courage to say since we’d left the restaurant. Sending up a silent prayer, I hoped it was about Tessa.

“Stassi, I must make a confession.” Charles spoke the words quickly as though they’d been fighting to break free for a while. “That first night that we met at Scott’s book party? I saw you sitting at the table with Ines and your brother, and I had to meet you.”

My cheeks felt like they were on fire.

Now who’s flirting to weasel information?
I thought wryly.

One look at the regret in Charles’s expression, and the flames of embarrassment were quickly doused.

“So, I invited you to dance, anticipating that we would share a few cocktails afterwards and see where the night took us. But we started talking, and I found you so delightfully refreshing compared to my usual dance partners. I thought I would ask you to dinner so that I could get to know you better.” He swallowed thickly. “Then, I noticed your necklace.”

Almost as though his hand had a mind of its own, Charles reached out and his fingers drifted towards my throat. In my own subconscious gesture, I cupped the locket in my palm. His hand fell to the side, then slid in his pocket to play with the object inside.

Charles cleared his throat loudly. “As I told you over dinner, Tessa always wore a very similar locket. No, not similar.
Identical
. I know that must sound crazy to you. But I am certain of it. The pattern around the sapphire is unique and quite distinctive, and I have never seen another like it. I thought maybe….”

“I might know this Tessa woman?” I guessed, relieved that this was his big secret. I had already surmised as much. “I’m so sorry, Charles,” I added, taking his free hand with one of mine. “I would love to help you find her, but I don’t know anyone called Tessa. I truly am sorry.”

And I
was
sorry. For both of us. Whether Tessa’s locket was similar, identical, or the exact same one as mine, I wanted to know her, too.

I squeezed Charles’s hand and he squeezed back, smiling sadly.

“May I ask what happened to her? And why you are looking for her?” I inquired, studying his reaction for an indication of how far I would be able to push him on the subject.

“I understand that she saved your life,” I was quick to add, when Charles answered my initial questions with a blank stare. “But didn’t you say she was a friend of the DuPrees? They must know how to contact her, right?”

Thankfully, Charles was too distracted to pick up on the note of desperation in my voice. I didn’t want to tip him off that I wanted to find Tessa just as much, if not more, than he did.

“Tessa passed away some years ago.” Charles’s voice was gruff with emotion.

“Oh, Charles, that’s awful. When did it happen?” I hoped my question came across as innocent curiosity.

“Not long after she arranged my adoption with the DuPrees. It was very sudden, or so I understand. A heart condition, I believe.”

I felt as despondent as Charles looked.