It didn’t bear thinking on.
No, she had to avoid having the duke speak to the new head of the Sûreté, who would use any excuse to dismiss Tristan. She would talk to Vidocq, who was Tristan’s friend. He might know what this was about.
But that meant she had to be there. The wily Vidocq would never reveal anything to the duke.
“You have lost your bloody mind,” Lyons said in a low hiss.
She squared her shoulders. “I have not. I know how men like you work. You run roughshod over whomever you please, because you can. Well, you’re not going to run roughshod over my brother.”
He glowered at her. “And you won’t stop me from prosecuting him to the fullest extent of the law if I find he has attempted to defraud me.”
A chill froze her blood. She ignored it. “And I won’t try, either. If he’s guilty of such a horrible thing, I’ll hand you the shackles to secure him, myself.”
Clearly that caught him by surprise. “Is that a promise?”
“It is,” she vowed. “But I’m not doing anything until I determine that you have the right culprit.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “How do you propose to do that?”
“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “I only know that if I hand you the means to find him and you muck up his life and future in France, I will never forgive myself. He and Dom are my only family. I owe them better, for all the years they’ve looked after me.”
That seemed to give him pause, thank goodness. He scrubbed one hand over his face, and she realized that he looked quite weary. If he’d been up since yesterday morning . . .
A sudden pang of sympathy made her scowl. Why should she care if he was tired? He was threatening to hunt Tristan down like some common criminal, with nothing more to go on than that note.
And Tristan’s inexplicable disappearance.
She suppressed that thought. Tristan couldn’t be guilty of fraud. He could not!
“What if I swear to treat your brother fairly?” he said.
She eyed him with suspicion. “Men like you do not—”
“You know nothing about men like me,” he snapped.
“I know more than you think.” She thought of George’s determination to destroy Tristan. “Besides, I have connections of my own to the authorities in France. If you attempt to malign Tristan unfairly, I’ll have some recourse. But only if I am there when you do it.”
The duke prowled before the desk like, well, a lion . . . all tawny hair and muscular brute of the forest. He was a rather frightening fellow in a temper. His words and manner might be cold, but a terrifying anger simmered just beneath the surface, showing only in the wild glint of his eye and the tautness of his jaw.
So she didn’t wait for more of his protests. “I can be a help to you. I know not only where Tristan lives, but how he works, how to find him, where his haunts are.” And Vidocq still had friends in high places. Not to mention, a few in low places who might be useful.
The duke glared at her. “But you cannot travel alone with me, so I’ll lose precious time finding a chaperone for you.”
Was he joking, for pity’s sake? “I don’t need a chaperone. No one cares about my reputation. I’m a nobody.”
“You’re a respectable woman.”
She snorted. “That’s not what you said earlier.”
That brought him up short. He stared at her, his gaze unreadable. “That was rude of me, and I apologize.”
“No need,” she said, though the apology gratified her. She doubted he offered one very often. “I’ve grown used to people making such assumptions through the years. What people think of my mother is bound to reflect upon me.”
That’s why she was so wary of men. Even Tristan’s soldier friends were only interested in dallying with her. Her brothers couldn’t see that; they seemed to believe she could find a husband anywhere if she just tried. She knew better.
“All the same,” he said earnestly. “I won’t ruin any chance you have for a decent marriage by carrying you off with me unchaperoned to France.”
A bitter laugh burst from her. “I assure you I have few prospects for a ‘decent marriage.’ I’m nearly twenty-seven. I have no connections or fortune. Not to mention that I’m the daughter of a French actress.”
“And a viscount.”
“Who chose not to marry my mother.” When he looked as if he would say more, she added, “If the thought of damaging my reputation truly bothers you, just tell people I’m your relation. Your sister, perhaps.”
He shot her an incredulous glance. “I’m the Duke of Lyons. Everyone knows I don’t have a sister.”
“Then choose something else, something they would never know was a falsehood. Tell them I’m your mistress.”
She regretted the flip statement the moment something hot and fierce and raw flared in his eyes, something distinctly ungentlemanly. It provoked the oddest fluttering in her belly.
And then it provoked her temper. She braced herself for whatever sly innuendo he was sure to make, about how he would happily take her along as his mistress if she would be his mistress. Or some lecherous comment about her bosom—that one happened a lot.
Instead, the glint in his eye abruptly vanished, and he flashed her his cool, mocking smile. “As intriguing as that sounds, Miss Bonnaud, that would never work.”
She eyed him warily. “Why not?”
“Because you have no idea of the gossip that attends me wherever I go. The moment I announce myself, nay, the moment I arrive in my crested coach, the tongues start wagging. By the end of our first day on the road, whomever we meet will have resolved to find out your name, your family’s name, your rank, and your personal connection to me. In under a week, they will know everything about you, and you will be ruined.”
Good Lord, he really was concerned about her reputation. How astonishing.
He strode up to the desk, his gaze hard upon her. “Not to mention that the world will no doubt learn that my brother may be alive, and I will be confronted with even more impostors and defrauders.”
An idea took form in her mind. “Then don’t announce yourself. Don’t travel in your crested coach. Travel as a regular person. Then you could pretend to be my relation without comment.” She couldn’t resist a mischievous smile. “We’ll be nobodies together, and no one will give a fig for my reputation. Or yours. Or the possibility that your Peter is alive.”
The words echoed in the still room. He stared at her with a blank look.
She hastened to fill the silence. “It will make everything easier. If you masquerade as another of my brothers, there will be no attendants to accommodate, no questions to be answered. We will travel to France, find out what we can, and return without anyone’s being the wiser.”
“And what about the advantages my rank offers?”
“What advantages? In France you will still be a foreigner, a lord in a world that recently lopped off the heads of as many lords as it could find.” Her tone turned arch. “You may discover that being an English duke is actually a disadvantage in France, Your Grace. All things considered.”
She held her breath, waiting for more protests, but to her surprise, he grew thoughtful. “A regular person, eh? I’ve never been one of those, to be sure. That would be novel indeed.” He sounded almost wistful. Then his expression hardened, and he shook his head. “No, it will not work. I’ll be recognized.”
“Not if you dress and behave appropriately. People notice only what you reveal, and the key is to reveal only what you want them to see.” Not for nothing had she watched Vidocq manage his agents, who moved seamlessly through Paris’s underground, uncovering criminals. “You look about the same height and build as Dom. I can give you some of his clothing, so you aren’t bedecked in your usual finery. If we travel by mail coach to Brighton—”
“Why Brighton?” he cut in.
“Because coaches leave frequently for Brighton on Sundays. In fact, there’s one that leaves from the Golden Cross In
n at two. Since we can’t take a steam packet, we can still move forward and be ready tomorrow morning for the packet to Dieppe.”
“Ah yes, Dieppe shortens the route to Paris by ninety miles,” he said smoothly.
But she caught the calculating glint in his eye. The sly devil was still trying to figure out where Tristan was. “It shortens the route to Rouen and Dijon, too. And any number of French towns.” She wasn’t about to reveal that they were headed for Paris, not yet. She couldn’t take the chance that Lofty Lyons would abandon her once he knew their eventual destination.
With a scowl, he crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re really not going to tell me where Bonnaud has been living or who he’s been working for.”
“No.” She tilted up her chin. “Not unless you take me with you.”
“I could travel to Edinburgh to find your half-brother. No doubt he would tell me where Bonnaud lives and works.”
“He might. But Edinburgh is only where Dom is disembarking from the ship—he’s traveling on elsewhere in Scotland, and I’m not going to tell you where that is, either. So while you’re rambling about Scotland, I’ll be off to France to warn Tristan that you’re hunting for him, and if you’re right and he’s guilty, he’ll be long gone by the time you reach him.”
What an idle threat—she couldn’t afford a trip to Dover, much less a trip to France. But he didn’t know that.
Lyons studied her a long moment, the small crease between his eyes deepening until it mirrored the small crease in his chin. The intensity of his gaze sent tremors of apprehension down her spine.
Apprehension, yes. That’s what it was. She knew better than to feel tremors of anything else for an English lord of his consequence. A very attractive, very virile English lord of the highest consequence in the land.
“So what’s it to be, Your Grace?” she said, as much to remind her of the gulf in their stations as to stop that intrusive stare. “A masquerade? Or are you going alone to search for a needle in a haystack in France?”
He scowled at her, then propped one hip on the edge of the desk. “I would play your brother,” he said, as if trying the idea on for size.
“Yes.” She fought to hide her relief from him. At least he was considering her proposal. “We’ll make it simple, which is always best. You can use your real surname, since that will make it easier for you to remember. No one will connect Mr. Cale with the Duke of Lyons, especially since Cale can be spelled so many ways. And I’ll be Miss Cale. It’s probably less conspicuous than my own French name anyway.” She tapped her chin. “Oh, but I’ll want to call you by your Christian name. What would that be?”
Though that impertinence made him raise an eyebrow, he said, “Maximilian,” in that oh-so-cultured voice of his.
“That won’t do at all. I’ll call you Max.” At his dark stare, she added wickedly, “To throw off suspicion. ‘Maximilian’ sounds far too lofty a name for plain Mr. Cale, the cotton merchant.”
“Cotton merchant? You said to keep it simple. What the blazes do I know about cotton?”
“You don’t need to know anything about it; I know plenty already. Dom had a case once involving the industry. I’ll field any questions you’re asked.”
“Right. Because that won’t look odd in the least,” he said sarcastically. “Nor will anyone notice that we have different accents. And before you suggest it, no, I cannot change my accent. Unlike you, I’m unaccustomed to playing a role.”
Was that supposed to be an insult—implying yet again that she and her family were devious? “What do you mean—‘unlike you’? Do you think I play roles routinely?”
“You must,” he said dryly. “You seem to think it the easiest thing in the world.”
“Oh,” she said, slightly mollified. “Well, it is. My mother was an actress, you know.”
“Have you ever done any acting yourself?”
She colored. “No, but I know all the techniques. I spent years helping Maman prepare for her roles.”
And she’d always wanted to be an agent for Vidocq, to pretend to be someone else while traveling to exotic places and infiltrating the highest and lowest levels of society. To be a spy. It sounded very exciting.
He was watching her now, his gaze hooded. “All the same, no one will ever believe that you and I are brother and sister. We sound too different, look too different.” His voice dropped to a rough thrum. “And I can assure you, I will never be able to treat you like a sister.”
That got her dander up again. “Because I’m too far beneath you?”
“Because you’re too beautiful.” When she stiffened, he added ruefully, “I can’t pretend I don’t notice. And the last time I checked, brothers weren’t supposed to notice such things about their sisters.”
The bald statement threw her off guard and made a stealthy warmth creep under her defenses. She steeled herself against it. He was probably using flattery to try to get his own way, since blustering hadn’t worked. Obviously he thought she would melt at the idea of being thought beautiful by a duke. Then she would relent in her plans.
Arrogant beast. “It doesn’t matter if people believe it. As long as they don’t know who we really are, they can speculate all they want. We are two relatively anonymous travelers. No one will ever connect the real me to the real you. Hardly anyone knows me anyway. I only returned to England six months ago.”
He cocked his head to one side. “Yet you backed out of the doorway to keep your neighbors from seeing you speaking to me in your nightrail and wrapper.”
A blush heated her cheeks. “That’s different. I can’t have my neighbors gossiping about me, because it would reflect badly on Manton’s Investigations.”
“Exactly,” he drawled.
“But my neighbors won’t be taking the coach to Brighton or the packet boat to Dieppe. As long as I don’t join you in your coach to travel to the Golden Cross Inn, no one will be the wiser. We’ll arrive there separately, and let Shaw deal with my neighbors. He’s good at telling tales. He actually is a professional actor.”
“Your butler is an actor?” he said incredulously.
“Well, he’s not exactly a butler, more like a jack of all trades. But he’s an excellent actor. So you see, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Right.” He lifted his gaze heavenward. “Just the possibility of disaster when either you or I let something slip that unmasks us.”
“Come now, Your Grace, think of it as an adventure,” she said firmly. He was not going to talk her out of this. “It sounds as if you could use one, quite frankly.”
He shot her an arch glance.
“The coach from the Golden Cross will land us at the coast well before midnight,” she continued, “and we can be up at dawn to take the packet for Dieppe.”
“Can we indeed?” he said dryly.
She ignored him, determined to have her way in this. “I know that leaving at two allows us only a few hours to pack, but you won’t want to take much with you anyway—just Dom’s clothes and a few essentials. Nothing fancy that will call attention to yourself. And no big trunk, either—public coaches don’t have room for such.” She walked to the window. “You mustn’t show up at the inn in your coach either, or—”
“You’re forgetting one thing, Miss Bonnaud.”
She turned from the window to find him standing with legs apart and hands clasped behind his back, looking every inch a duke as he fixed her with a steely glance.
“And what is that?” she asked, feigning nonchalance.
“I haven’t yet agreed to your plan.”
She girded herself for battle, ignoring the tremor of alarm that swept down her spine. “But neither have you suggested any other workable plan that I will agree to. So unless you can read my mind for the information you seek, you will have to work with me. Or let the matter of your brother’s handkerchief remain an intriguing mystery.”
He scowled at her. She stared right back at him.
At last he let out a low oat
h. “Given that time is of the essence, you leave me no choice.”
“None,” she agreed. She’d actually won!
She headed for the door, now that the worst was over. “I’ll see what clothes Dom might have that would fit you—”
“I’ll find my own clothes,” he interrupted. “I’m sure one of my servants can provide attire different enough from my ‘usual finery’ to suit you.”
“Oh.” How could she have forgotten that he would have legions of servants to order about and borrow clothes from? “Of course.”
They walked out into the hall and down the stairs in utter silence. When they reached the entrance, where Skrimshaw already had the duke’s great coat and hat waiting, Lyons faced her with eyes glittering.
“Forgive me for being blunt, Miss Bonnaud,” he said irritably, “but I think you should know that the reason you’ve remained unmarried until now isn’t your age or lack of connections or even your illegitimacy. It is the fact that you are a royal pain in the—” He caught himself as Skrimshaw cleared his throat. “In the derriere.”
She burst into laughter. “Dom said exactly the same thing to me before he left yesterday, except that he used the more colorful version. It appears that you can play the role of my brother. after all. Obviously it comes naturally to you.”
The duke must have missed the humor in that, for he glowered at her. “Then it’s a good thing I never had a sister. Because I would have throttled her before she was even grown.”
The statement was so similar to something her brothers might have said that she couldn’t resent it.
“You wouldn’t have done any such thing,” she said softly. “You would have fought to protect her with every ounce of your strength, the same way I’m fighting to protect my brother.”
He studied her with eyes the color of a summer forest. “Then for your sake, I hope that Bonnaud proves worthy of your faith in him.”
“He will.” He’d better, in any case. Or she would throttle him.
“Very well then. It seems we have a plan.” Taking his coat and hat from Skrimshaw, he dipped his head. “I shall see you in a few hours at the Golden Cross.”
Ten Reasons to Stay Page 9
