Farrington wanted Rhys to question some of his former friends, men who knew most of the seedy goings-on among the upper class. Rhys thought it was much too early for any of these men to be awake, much less dressed and out at the club, but he intended to partake of a hearty breakfast and peruse the morning paper.
To his surprise, he spotted Viscount Langley sitting alone at a corner table. Of all the men he’d hoped to see, Langley was the one he trusted most. Several years ago, Rhys had let the man in on one of his operations. This time, he couldn’t reveal the deeper motivations for his investigations, but if necessary, he could tell Langley enough of the truth to obtain his assistance.
“Good morning,” he said, approaching his friend’s table.
“Ah, good morning, Stanton. I wouldn’t have expected to see you out and about this early.” Langley gestured to an empty seat and Rhys took it.
“I was thinking the same of you.”
Langley smiled. “I took an early night last night. I’ve hosted two gatherings in the last week. It’s sad to say, but I think I may be getting too old for that level of activity.” Rhys laughed. “Don’t say such things. I’m not many years younger than you, and I never intend to get too old for amusement.”
Langley raised his brow. “I haven’t seen you at many amusements lately.”
“No, I’ve been looking for entertainment elsewhere. In more traditional paths I suppose you could say.”
Langley laughed. “I cannot imagine any of your pursuits being traditional.”
“Perhaps not, but I’ve found myself requiring a different sort of entertainment.”
“Understandable. I sometimes feel the need for change myself.”
“So you say you’ve given two parties recently?”
“I have. Big ones too. My father would roll over in his grave if he saw the debts I’ve racked up.”
“Thank God you’re not the spendthrift he was. The ton would have missed many lively amusements otherwise.”
“I’m glad to be of service.” Langley studied him for a moment and then continued.
“You look like you’ve got something on your mind.” Rhys nodded. “I saw someone at my uncle’s ball last night, a man I thought I recognized. Something about him bothered me, and I need to find out who he is.”
“There were a few new participants at a card evening I hosted two nights ago. What does he look like?”
“He’s a few inches shorter than you. Stout. Brown hair, rather flat features. Crooked nose, but his most distinctive feature is an eye patch.” Langley nodded. “I’ve seen him. He came to the party but kept to himself.
Something about him unnerved me too. He acted as if we’d never met, but I felt like I should know him. He claimed this was his first visit to London.”
“Where is he from?”
“Paris, or so he claims.”
Rhys nodded.
Langley’s eyes narrowed. “That’s what you were after, wasn’t it? You haven’t been around, because you’ve returned to your old profession.” Rhys hesitated. He wasn’t sure he wanted anyone to know he was working for the government again, even someone who’d worked with him before.
Langley smiled. “Never mind, I shouldn’t pry.” Rhys felt his tension dissipate. “What else do you know about this?”
“He is going by the name Andreas Mouton. If I have met him before, he did not use that name.”
“I don’t recognize it either.”
“He is interested in coming to more events like the one I hosted, although he says compared to the parties he attended in France, ours are much too tame.” Rhys was instantly reminded of Viscount Reddington, Cassandra’s first husband, a man who thought nothing of watching a young woman beaten to death if it furthered his pleasure and the pleasure of his friends. Thank God the man was dead. “Do you think his tastes run more like Reddington and his cronies?” A strange expression passed over Langley’s face. “Interesting you should ask that.
There was something about him that reminded me of Reddington. Something in his demeanor. He showed no inclination toward violence with any of the women he entertained, and I heard no complaints. But he might have been acting with caution since he is allegedly unknown to us.”
Rhys nodded, disturbed by the possible connection but not wanting to pursue it further until he talked with Farrington. “Any idea where he is staying?”
“No, but if I learn, I will let you know.”
“Please do.” Rhys took a deep breath. He didn’t want to ask the next question, but he knew he had too, especially if there was any connection between this man and either his investigation or the threats against Amanda. “I know I’ve been away for a while, but do you suppose you could secure me entree to the next entertainment?”
“I believe so. Barton is hosting a large gathering next week. I hadn’t planned on attending myself, but now that you’ve brought up these concerns, I think I will. I will see if I can secure an invitation for you as well. Will you be bringing a guest?” A picture of Amanda flashed into his mind. She would insist on accompanying him if she knew what he was about. He would just have to see that she did not. “No. I’ll come alone.”
Langley nodded. “I will send word after I’ve spoken to Barton.” Rhys stood. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Call on me again if I can assist you further.”
“I will.”
Rhys pulled his watch from his pocket as he exited. It was early yet to call on Farrington, but Farrington never had a problem visiting at whatever hour suited him.
Ignoring convention, he turned in the direction of Farrington’s townhouse.
*
Amanda’s heart pounded. She looked up and down the hallway one last time. No one in sight. She turned the knob on her aunt’s door and dashed inside. For some reason, searching for her father’s letters had her more frightened than seeking out the man who wanted to kill her.
Did that mean she was more afraid of her aunt’s disappointment than she was of death? She laughed. Perhaps she was as strange as most people thought.
She wouldn’t likely be caught. Her aunt had gone to her book club, and Elise was taking a nap which was unlike her. If Amanda had to guess, she would say something had gone awry with Mr. Whittaker last night. Later, she’d seek out her sister and see what was wrong.
With her aunt and sister occupied, the main risk she faced was a maid catching her.
If so, she intended to say that she’d come to retrieve a shawl she’d loaned her aunt. The strangely chilly weather they were having would lend plausibility to her excuse. She’d even brought a shawl which she could pretend to have found. But no matter how foolproof her plan, she couldn’t stop her hands from shaking.
She sat at the desk in her aunt’s sitting room and pulled up its rollaway top. The cubbies at the back of the desk contained much of her aunt’s correspondence, but nothing from her father. Did this mean he hadn’t written recently, or did her aunt keep her letters from him elsewhere?
Amanda tugged on one of the drawer handles and found it locked. The catch felt weak, so she pulled a pin from her hair and began wrestling with the mechanism. The lock gave way under her prodding, and she slid the drawer open.
A thick ledger lay on top, but under it, she found a large envelope. Her father’s name was scrawled across the front in her aunt’s distinctive handwriting. Before she could glance at the contents, she heard footsteps approaching the hallway door. She managed to slam the drawer shut, wrap her shawl around the envelope and rise from the desk before her aunt’s maid, Nan, opened the door.
Nan entered carrying a large stack of linens. She didn’t notice Amanda until she turned to close the door behind her. Startled, she almost dropped the towels in her arms.
“Oh, miss. I beg your pardon. I didn’t see you.”
“That’s quite all right. I was just searching for a shawl Lady Morgan borrowed, but I found it.” She lifted the shawl slightly so Nan would be sure to see it.
&nbs
p; “Of course, miss. I can return later if that would be better.”
“I found what I needed. I’ve no reason to keep you from your duties.” Amanda breathed a sigh of relief as she closed the door behind her. She walked quickly to her room. She met Elise in the corridor. Her sister’s tear-stained face told her she’d have to put off reading the letters.
*
Farrington looked as pale as death when he entered his study. “I should run you through for awakening me at such an hour.”
Rhys chuckled. “My, aren’t you cheerful this morning?” Farrington’s look would have withered a lesser man. But Rhys only laughed. “After all the times you’ve woken me, I think you deserve some turnabout. I have some important information as well as some requests.” A footman entered with a tray bearing a pot of chocolate and some scones.
Farrington poured himself a cup and offered one to Rhys who looked at the pot of sweet, thick liquid and shook his head. It was more than he could endure after a full breakfast.
“Suit yourself,” Farrington said after taking a sip. “Now talk.” Rhys told him about seeing the familiar man at his uncle’s ball then explained what he’d learned from Langley, including how the man reminded Langley of Reddington. He
wasn’t sure how much Farrington knew about Reddington’s death and the events that led to the threats against Cassandra and Mark, but he wasn’t inclined to reveal any more than he had to.
Farrington nodded. “Your findings fit in well with other information I’ve received.
This Mouton definitely bears watching. Attending Barton’s party is an excellent idea. I was afraid you’d remain obstinate about going back into that crowd.”
“I said I’d assist with the investigation. But I expect some consideration in return.”
“Yes, you mentioned you had some requests.”
“A friend of mine has been threatened. I need to use some of your men to find out who is making these threats and see that he is stopped.”
“Just who is this friend?” Farrington asked in a tone that said he knew she was a woman and that they were more than friends.
Rhys clenched his hands, letting his nails dig into his palms. “That is none of your concern.”
“On the contrary, if my men will be involved, I insist on knowing what they are walking into.”
“It’s nothing you wouldn’t support. You can trust me on that.”
“I trust no one. It’s why I’m still alive.”
Rhys gritted his teeth.
“Who is she? The young woman from the other night? The one you felt obligated to dance with?”
Rhys wanted to throttle him, but he knew protesting was useless. “Yes. Her name is Miss Halverston, but I’m sure you already know that. Her life is in danger, and I’ve promised her bother-in-law that I will protect her.”
“Your friend Mark is a formidable man. However, you wouldn’t have made any promises you weren’t happy keeping.”
Rhys didn’t want to contemplate what Farrington knew about Rhys’s friendship with Mark. “How stupid of me to forget that you know everything. I will protect Miss
Halverston whatever the cost. Either I have help from you, or you can find someone else to run your investigation.”
“My men are at your disposal. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to dear Miss Halverston lest you become useless to me.”
Rhys gave Farrington a cutting look which he ignored.
“I’ve gotten word that a group who may be connected to Les Centimes is meeting at a tavern called the Black Eagle.”
Rhys felt as if the floor had fallen away. Were the men who’d attacked Amanda connected to this French plot? He tried to hide his surprise at hearing the tavern’s name, but he did not succeed well enough to fool Farrington.
“You know the place?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t realize any gentleman would know of it, even those who dabble in more exotic entertainments,” Farrington said with a sneer.
Rhys tried to relax his clenched fists. Somehow he would get through this meeting without killing Farrington, but this would be the last time he worked for the man. The very last.
“In any case, I’d like you to go there tonight. See what you can find out. Needless to say, it would be best if no one recognized you.” Rhys nodded and stood. “I’ll report to you tomorrow.” Rhys’s mind raced as he walked in the direction of Amanda’s aunt’s house. Were both investigations related? And if so, how? He needed a way to get more information out of Amanda without alerting her to his other mission or sparking her curiosity. It was now more important than ever that she stay home where she could be watched.
Chapter Six
“I told you I had every intention of going.” Rhys sighed and settled into a chair. He’d been arguing with Amanda for what felt like hours. He’d never met a more stubborn woman.
“You will stay home if I have to lock you in your room and instruct my men to see that you stay there.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I would.”
“Then I’d simply find a way around you.”
“Amanda—”
“You have two choices. I can go with you, or I can sneak out and go on my own. I think you will agree that I’d be safer with you.” Rhys ran his hand through his hair and resisted the urge to throttle her. Silence reigned for several minutes. Amanda stood and began to pace, betraying the nervousness she’d been trying to hide.
Rhys couldn’t help but watch her. She wore a silver-gray dress that clung to her breasts and her trim waist. The lines of her legs were defined by the thin material as she paced. The fact that unlike most beautiful women she seemed oblivious to the picture she created only made him want her more. Her passion, her appeal, all of it was natural, and he wanted everything her body could offer.
Finally she stopped in front of his chair. “Are we in agreement then? You’ll meet me in the garden at midnight.”
His first instinct was to tell her he had no intention of letting her manipulate him like this. But caution held him back. Any woman who would strike out alone to face a potential murderer would think nothing of defying him. She was right. The only way to keep her safe was to have her with him from the start.
“Dress as a boy, and do a better job with the disguise than you did the other night. At the first sign of trouble, I’m bringing you home.”
“I found some letters in my aunt’s room, but I’ve not had a chance to read them, because my sister needed my attention. We can discuss the contents tonight. I will construct a most careful costume. Even you will doubt my femininity.” Rhys nearly groaned “I hardly think that possible.” She smiled. “Thank you for agreeing to take me. I’m glad we understand each other.” She rose to go.
He leaned forward and took her wrist in a firm grip. “I don’t think you understand me at all. No matter what you may think, I agreed to help you because I will not see you hurt.”
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. Then in a soft voice, she said, “And because for some strange reason, you’ve decided you want me.” With any other woman, such behavior would have been an act, a piece of artifice designed to lure him in. But Amanda was truly baffled by his need for her. He could see it in her eyes along with frustration, fear, lust. His control broke. He pulled her onto his lap and took her mouth in a demanding kiss.
He expected shock from her, perhaps a struggle. Instead she melted against him and returned his passion measure for measure. She tasted divine. He pulled her to him until her firm breasts were pressed to his chest. He longed to be naked so he could feel their hard peaks against his flesh.
Of their own volition his hands began undoing the hooks at the back of her dress. He had to touch her, to feel more of her creamy skin. He pulled the silk apart and let his fingers skim her back. She moaned and pressed her lips against his. Her tongue flicked across the roof of his mouth, and he felt the caress in his groin as if she’d touched him there.
His control slipped further. If he didn’t stop now, he’d pull her to the floor, and all ability to stop would be lost. For God’s sake, they were in her aunt’s drawing room.
Someone could walk in on them at any time. What the hell had he been thinking?
He pushed at Amanda’s shoulders and broke off the kiss. Amanda remained on his lap, staring at him and trying to catch her breath. Her eyes were darker, a stormy gray tinged with purple. He wanted to say something, to apologize for taking such a liberty.
Instead, he simply refastened her dress without saying a word.
Finally, Amanda stood and smoothed her skirt. As she turned to walk away, he whispered, “Tonight.” The single word was all he could manage.
She faced him for a brief second and nodded. Then she ran for the door.
He found his way to the foyer and called for his coat and hat. As he walked home, he couldn’t help but replay the scene with Amanda. No matter how he analyzed it, he could not figure out how an innocent could tie him in knots when the most exquisite, experienced women of the ton had never been able to do more than satisfy his physical needs.
He prided himself on his ability to choose his partners rationally, but Amanda took all choice away from him. He had to have her, no matter the consequences. He’d clung to his cool control in the most disturbing of situations, else he never would have come through the last years of the war alive, not with the games Farrington had asked him to play. Now Amanda threatened his sanity like nothing he’d experienced before.
Why had he agreed to let her accompany him to the Black Eagle? He’d spent years outsmarting men trained by Napoleon himself. Surely he could figure out a way to counter the manipulations of one young woman. If something happened to her because he’d been too soft, his mind too clouded with lust, he’d never forgive himself.
A Persistant Attraction Page 7
