Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
J ack turned up the collar of his coat to ward off the damp chill seeping into the darkened carriage. “Hell’s bells,” he grumbled, twitching back the window draperies for another quick glance up and down the side street. “How can ladies talk this long about political philosophy?”
The only answer was the rattle of glass as the rising breeze gusted against the windowpanes.
Uttering a low oath, he slouched back and crossed his arms.
After waiting for what felt like an age, the squish of steps through the puddles finally sounded.
Setting his hand on the inside latch, he waited until Harriet had mounted the iron rungs and cracked open the door before pulling it open and yanking her inside.
“Quiet,” he hissed, clamping a hand over her mouth and rapping on the trap with the other. The coachman flicked his whip and the horses set off.
“What the devil are you doing here?” she snapped, as soon as he released her. “And where is Ellie?”
“At Gunter’s,” he replied, rubbing his sore shoulder. “Damn Wills for teaching you to throw such a hard punch.”
“He wanted me to know how to defend myself against brutes,” Harriet retorted with a hint of satisfaction.
“Well, next time you feel the urge to practice as a pugilist, hit someone else,” groused Jack.
She settled herself against the squabs. “I ask again, what are you doing here?”
“Hoping to have a private conversation.” Reaching up, he struck a flint to steel and lit the oil lamp. The flame wavered, then brightened, painting her scowl in an oily light. “Sorry, it’s rather important, so I didn’t wish to wait.”
At that, Harriet sat up a little straighter. “What’s happened?”
“Your talk about faces at the Royal Academy yesterday stirred up a memory from the afternoon I was attacked. It was only a fleeting glance, and it was jumbled in the rush of all the other things until you reminded me of it. But a shaft of light broke through the clouds just as I spun around, and in that moment I saw there was a man lurking in the side alleyway, watching what was happening.”
“Red Lion Square is not far from the rookeries, Jack,” she pointed out. “Men looking for trouble sometimes stray into the area.”
“This was no ordinary footpad or cracksman,” he replied.
A frown pinched between her brows. “Are you saying you recognized him?”
Jack nodded. “Yes. It was Pierre La Rochelle’s batman.”
“Are you sure?” she asked slowly. “As you said, the glimpse was only for an instant and you were under duress.”
“I am quite sure,” he replied. “Etienne Verdunne has a very distinctive broken nose. I saw it countless times during my recovery, as he helped tend to me during the French army’s retreat. It is indelibly imprinted in my mind’s eye.”
“Ye God,” muttered Harriet. “That would mean...” Her gaze slid down to her lap, leaving the rest of the thought unspoken.
“That would mean that after saving me from the grave, my dear friends apparently now want me dead.”
Her hands twined together in a tight knot. “There may be some other explanation.”
A laugh, bitter-tasting as bile, rose up in his throat. “I am willing to hear it.”
When she didn’t answer, Jack stretched out his legs, trying to uncoil the twist of pain in his gut. Confiding in Harriet had somehow eased the hurt a little, though it did nothing to salve the sense of utter betrayal.
“How could I have misjudged Camille so badly?” he uttered softly.
“Because you are the soul of honor and can’t imagine such a treacherous lack of loyalty,” answered Harriet stoutly.
His lips compressed in a thin smile. “You make me sound like a na?ve schoolboy.”
“No, I make you sound like a man of integrity.”
The jangling of the harness sounded loud as gunfire in the moment of silence that followed.
“Thank you for that, Harry,” he whispered. “It makes me feel less like a bloody fool.”
Harriet found his hand and carefully unclenched his fisted fingers. “You may be a stubborn arse at times,” she murmured. “But never a fool.”
The carriage wheels bumped and jolted over the uneven pavement, and yet Jack felt his muscles relax. Her friendship was a balm for bruised spirits.
“Assuming you are not mistaken about the man you saw, the question is why are you enough of a threat to them that they want you dead?”
“You can be assured I have been asking myself the same question, and so far, I can’t come up with an answer.”
“Well, then, let us think harder.” Her chin took on a determined tilt, a look that did not bode well for any conundrum that dared stand in her way. “We must apply logic. You have either seen or heard something that endangers them, or they fear you are close to uncovering a vital clue. And since you’ve been trying to trace the whereabouts of Pierre La Rochelle, it seems likely it has to do with him.”
Jack nodded.
“Perhaps his batman had been bribed to help one of the émigré factions kill him, and they are afraid you will uncover the truth.”
“Have you considered writing horrid novels?” asked Jack drily. “You have a very vivid imagination.”
“You have to admit, it’s plausible.”
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I suppose so.” And yet, his mind rebelled against believing it. Etienne had been a very pleasant fellow, and seemingly devoted to Pierre. But with the wavering lamplight weaving in and out of the darkness, and the rain drumming down on the varnished wood of the carriage, he was aware of how easily perceptions could become twisted.
Harriet was watching his face carefully. “There’s another possibility. You will like it even less.”
As he shifted, his dark hair fell across his face, curtaining his expression.
“Go on.”
“You won’t like,” Harriet said again in warning, trying to gauge his reaction.
The shadows gave nothing away.
“You have said before that you can’t believe that Camille would be involved in any attempt on your life,” she said, trying to keep her voice flat and devoid of emotion. “You’re convinced that she is desperate to find her husband, and any erratic behavior is spurred by confusion and fear, rather than any less laudable emotions. But have you considered that she is not being forthright with you? Perhaps she isn’t as anxious as you believe to be reunited.”
“And yet she is here in England,” replied Jack. “How does your logic explain that?”
“In any number of ways.” Was it only jealousy that had her so easily imagining the range of possibilities?
The whisper of wool brushed over the leather seat as he crossed his legs. “Such as?”
“Perhaps she and the batman are amorously involved, and they have come to England in order to do away with the inconvenient spouse.” The image of Amirault’s handsome face flitted through her mind’s eye. “Or perhaps she’s secretly a Royalist and has been involved with the Comte for some time. It seems a rather odd coincidence that she has turned to him for advice. Or... I could go on and on. There are a great many more speculations I could make.”
“Each more lurid than the last,” he growled.
“Someone tried to murder you, Jack.”
His silence was unreadable.
Leaning back, Harriet said nothing more. The air in the carriage, heavy with vapor and smoke, was oppressive. Her damp skirts were tangled uncomfortably around her legs.
“So what would you suggest I do?” he asked abruptly. “Heed Beaumont’s warning and back away from further questions in hopes that they won’t come after me again?”
“And if I said yes, would you heed me ?”
A flicker of light danced down the curl of his smile. “That would be the reasonable thing to do, but as you pointed out, I’m a stubborn arse. Now that I’ve been drawn into this devil-cursed mystery, I mean to learn the truth of what is going on, no matter where it leads.”
Her gaze roamed over the tiny cracks and crevasses etched into the age-dark wood paneling. “Then we need to map out a strategy. Right now it seems obvious that Camille, Amirault, Beaumont and Etienne Verdun are somehow intertwined—and at the heart of the spiderweb of questions is the missing Pierre La Rochelle. But the answers won’t be easy to unravel.”
“It’s done one thread at a time,” said Jack. “I’ve several old military comrades I can call on for a favor. One can tell me more about the émigré factions and their activities, and one has the resources to delve into the underworld and track Etienne Verdun to ground.”
That leaves Camille , thought Harriet, feeling a lurch in her stomach that had nothing to do with the carriage wheels rolling over the uneven stones. Steadying herself on the seat, she repeated the thought aloud.
“Yes, Camille,” mused Jack, sinking deeper into a slouch. His lashes lowered, enough that she was sure his eyes had fallen shut.
Loath to interrupt his reveries, Harriet toyed with the cuff of her new gown, studying the intricate stitching and delicate lace. A great deal of meticulous work, she noted, went into fashioning such a small detail.
“I have been thinking,” he finally announced.
“I thought perhaps you had been sleeping.”
His brows flicked up in mock outrage. “I can, on occasion, use my brain,” he drawled. “Which I shall endeavor to prove. Hear me out. I trust you will think me exceedingly clever.”
“I am waiting,” she said, “with bated breath.”
“During one of my first meetings with Camille—that day, in fact, when I first encountered you in Red Lion Square—she inquired about my friendship with you, and asked about arranging for her to meet your father.”
Harriet looked up in surprise. “You never mentioned that.”
“Because I immediately told her that I wouldn’t consider such a thing. It was clear that she hoped to coax a favor from him with her womanly wiles, and it struck me as a shabby thing to do to both you and Pierre.”
“That explains her interest in me,” she mused. “At the ball, she seemed anxious to form a friendship with me. She was pressing to meet for tea at Gunter’s, and was the one who suggested a visit to the Royal Academy—though Beaufort interrupted that plan.”
With this new information, her earlier wild speculations, said half in jest, no longer seemed so far-fetched. “I assumed it was to learn more about you and your life in England. However, this gives a new perspective to things. The interest in my father is puzzling. What did she hope to gain?”
“Influence, information, access to people who could help find answers quickly. A senior diplomat who wields power within the government could be very useful in finding Pierre.”
“Assuming she is looking for him,” responded Harriet.
He expelled a long sigh. “Yes, but?—”
“Amirault also evinced interest in my father when he struck up a flirtation with me last week.” Suddenly recalling the interlude, Harriet couldn’t refrain from overriding his words. “That cannot have been coincidence,” she said, a sense of rising excitement taking hold of her. “I need to draw out the reason.”
Jack let out a loud growl.
“Let me finish,” she chided. “Then you can snap and snarl.”
He glowered but kept his jaw clenched. She could swear she heard his molars grinding over the carriage sounds.
“I’ll need a bold approach, an unexpected angle. They are both clever and won’t give themselves away easily. But my advantage is they underestimate me. Amirault sees a wren who is suddenly wearing peacock’s plumage, so likely he thinks me a desperate young lady who is thinking of naught but attracting a husband.”
Another sound reverberated in his throat.
“And Camille views me in much the same way,” she hurried on, before it could explode into words. “A rather dim-witted unsophisticated English lady who isn’t capable of matching wits with a worldly French woman of the world. I shall find a way to use their assumptions against them.”
“Are you done?” Jack asked politely, though an ominous undertone shaded his voice. “Am I now finally permitted to speak?”
Harriet nodded.
“Good. Perhaps now I may finish my own thoughts.”
She folded her hands in her lap.
“Which were much the same as yours in terms of drawing them out. But we will do so together.”
“Jack, that is not practical. People are already beginning to titter. If we are to be seen spending a great deal of time together, it will provoke gossip.” A clattering of the carriage forced her to pause for a moment. “Not to speak of reflect badly on your reputation.”
“ My reputation?” he asked in an odd voice.
“Yes, as a dashing, devil-may-care rogue with a dark and dangerous reputation with the ladies.” Her mouth quirked. “Dancing attendance on me will dull your horns and pitchfork.”
“You did suggest a bold strategy, both imaginative and unexpected.”
Harriet eyed him warily, trying to spot whatever verbal trap he seemed to be setting.
“Well, I have thought of something very clever that will kill two birds with one stone.”
He so looked vastly pleased with himself that she felt compelled to say, “Pray, don’t keep me in suspense.”
Jack turned his big body, and suddenly the seat felt very small. His leg was half-lost in the folds of her skirts, and the closeness was sending strange pulses of heat up and down the length of her limbs.
“It’s really quite simple. We shall announce our engagement.”
Harriet nearly slid off the soft leather and landed on his knee. “Are you mad?” she demanded, once she had regained control of her vocal cords. “You can’t ask me to marry you?”
“Why not?”
Because you don’t love me, you infuriating man! she wanted to shout.
“To begin with, because you don’t want to be married.”
“I said we shall announce our engagement,” pointed out Jack. “I did not say we would actually go through with the ceremony. That is the clever part.”
Harriet blinked, angry to feel the prickle of tears against the inside of her eyelids.
“Ladies are allowed to cry off without consequence, so you may end it and no one will think badly of you.” A rueful smile tugged up one side of his mouth, giving him a boyish lopsided smile that made her heart hit up against her ribcage. “Indeed, no one will blame you in the least for cutting line with such a ramshackle fellow as me.”
Harriet couldn’t bear to look at him any longer.
“So you may walk away when we have finished our investigation. But in the meantime, it affords us the perfect reason for being in each other’s pockets. And it may prove useful in creating some interesting interplay between us and Camille and Amirault. If they have plans of using you, my presence may make them have to improvise, and in my experience, that is when people can make mistakes.”
She kept her gaze focused on the sliver of windowglass showing through the gap in the draperies, thankful that the familiar landmarks of Mayfair were finally rolling into sight.
“Yet another thing,” Jack added, “is you will be doing me a great favor by saving me from all the managing Mamas who are anxious to dangle their eligible daughters under my nose. I feel like a fox being pursued by a rapacious pack of hounds.”
“Ah, well, if I can be useful , then I shall of course seriously consider it,” replied Harriet a little acidly.
Jack finally seemed to sense her mood. He leaned in closer, the masculine scent of bay rum and smoke teasing and tickling at her nostrils. “Are you upset about something?”
She inched away only to find her shoulder pressed up against the paneling. “I am troubled about a number of things,” she muttered, not wanting to give herself away.
“Harry...” He set his hand on her forearm, a casual touch and yet she nearly came undone. “Damnation, I’m sorry to have drawn you into this muddle. You’ve every right to be angry with me. You ought to be dancing until dawn with the bevy of admirers clinging to your skirts, not studying reams of papers, or consorting with duplicitous Frenchmen on my behalf.”
“I don’t dance particularly well,” said Harriet. “And the only admirers clinging to my skirts are pompous popinjays. Solving problems is far more interesting.”
Jack raised a brow. “Then what is your objection to my suggestion? It seems an eminently practical way of attacking the conundrum.”
Practical. Harriet was beginning to loathe the word. However, he was right that the idea held some intriguing advantages. And the chance to best the supremely confident Camille La Rochelle at her own game was awfully alluring.
“It would serve you right if I said yes,” she muttered under her breath.
“Yes? Was that a yes?” His face wreathed in a broad smile. “Excellent!” He caught her in a hard hug, squeezing the breath from her lungs. “We make a good team, Harry. You won’t regret it.”