They were admitted by a footman, who accepted a swiftly passed entrance payment and took Kiri’s cloak and Mackenzie’s greatcoat. As they moved into a large gaming room full of laughing, talking people, Madame Blanche greeted them.
The gaming house proprietress was of indeterminate age, and she had the shrewd eyes that Kiri was learning were the mark of the breed. Her casual glance as she introduced herself was stilled when she looked at Mackenzie. A spark showed in her eyes, but her expression gave nothing away. She treated them like new customers, gave them an idea of the delights within, and sent them on to enjoy themselves.
They moved off, Mackenzie using his cane with one hand while Kiri held his other arm. She whispered, “Good that Madame is discreet.”
“Indeed.” Raising his voice, he said, “Shall we look around before settling down to a game, my dear?”
“I’d like that. This is such a lovely house.”
He slanted an amused glance from behind his spectacles and they set off to explore. There were almost as many women as men present and the crowd was lively, making enough noise that Kiri and Mackenzie could talk if they kept their voices down.
Kiri was able to get close enough to other guests to identify their colognes and perfumes. She attracted some glances, but only a few, and they were more casual than when she was her usual self. She had become safely unmemorable.
When they entered the first card room, she caught a whiff of Alejandro. Her senses went on full alert. The smell didn’t seem quite right for the man she sought, but she still moved toward the table where the scent originated. Using her best brainless voice, she said, “What is this game, darling?”
“Baccarat. It’s a French game. Do you wish to try it?” He used the indulgent tone of a man who knew his woman was not very intelligent, and who preferred it that way.
“Oh, no. I was just curious.” She started walking again.
As they moved away, he asked, “What did you sense?”
“Alejandro, though not on the right person.” She shrugged. “That woman with the gray hair wore it. There is no law saying a woman can’t wear a man’s scent.”
She batted her lashes at him. “Can we watch the dancing for a while?”
“Very well.” He sighed. “Sorry I’m too decrepit to dance, lass.”
“That doesn’t matter.” But it did matter, Kiri realized wistfully as they entered the ballroom. She found herself marking time to the music with her free hand. A pity she and Mackenzie couldn’t join the quadrille, for they might never have another chance. But given Mackenzie’s apparent infirmity, they must remain on the sidelines.
They promenaded around the ballroom, staying close to the walls to keep out of the way of the dancers. Most were fairly young and energetic, but a few older couples had joined in. As she looked at a white-haired couple, she wondered what it would be like to be that old and still dancing together.
That wouldn’t happen for her and Mackenzie. He belonged to another world, and he wasn’t the marrying kind. But he was hers for now. That was enough.
They were halfway around the ballroom when she caught a scent that turned her rigid. Feeling the change in her touch, he asked, “What?”
“That group of men we just passed,” she said softly. “Let’s move back a few steps and pause. She sniffed carefully, watching the men out of the corner of her eye. When she was sure, she took Mackenzie’s arm and began walking again.
When they were a safe distance away, he asked, “Could you determine more?”
She frowned. “One of those men wore Alejandro, and the scent was almost exactly right. But . . . not quite. I don’t think he’s the right man. Also, he isn’t tall enough. The one in the dark blue coat with his back turned to the dancing.”
“I know him,” Mackenzie murmured. “Lord Fendall. He’s on our suspect list. He’s a regular at Damian’s and a friend of my manager, Baptiste, but I don’t know much about him except that he’s a gambling man who wins and loses large sums of money. Kirkland is the one who put him on our suspect list. I’m not sure why.”
“If he’s a friend of your manager, he might know the back passages of Damian’s,” Kiri speculated. “But he’s still not tall enough. He’s also too broad.”
“Like Rupert Swinnerton, he needs to be watched closely. Too many coincidences.” Mackenzie frowned. “Do individual scents change enough day to day that at another time, he might smell as you remember?”
Kiri hesitated. “Perhaps. But he’s still not tall enough, and he just doesn’t feel right. I don’t think he was one of the kidnappers. But perhaps he associates with them.”
“The trouble with being dead is that I can’t talk to Baptiste about Fendall,” Mac muttered. “Kirkland will have to do it.”
“We seem to be making progress, so you won’t be dead much longer.” That would be good for Mackenzie, but not so good for Kiri, who would have to return to her normal routine. Life in the country would be very tame after this.
Enough people were coming and going at Madame Blanche’s that they stayed till after midnight so Kiri could check out all the guests. She found no other possibilities.
They were leaving the house at the same time as several other groups when she caught one of the scents she’d been looking for. Garlic, Frenchness, a perfume she couldn’t name but clearly remembered.
Her nails bit into Mackenzie’s arm as they descended the steps to street level and her eyes darted about as she tried to identify the source of the scent. Mackenzie said quietly, “Who?”
Her gaze fastened on a pair of broad shoulders belonging to a man heading down the street on his own. “Him,” she whispered. “He smells exactly like the Frenchman who was at Damian’s.”
“I think it’s Paul Clement, from our suspect list. Convenient that he’s heading toward our carriage.” Though he still used his cane, Mackenzie’s pace quickened.
They passed their hackney at a fast walk, and Kiri saw their driver come alert as they followed their man around the corner into an empty side street. “I’ll talk to him,” she said under her breath. Raising her voice, she said, “Sir? Sir? I do believe we’ve met, haven’t we? At Almack’s, perhaps?”
The man ahead hesitated, then turned. Warily he said in fluent but French-accented English, “I do not believe I’ve had that pleasure, madame.” He bowed gracefully. “I would never have forgotten so lovely a lady. Now if you’ll excuse me . . .”
By this time, they were close enough that Kiri could catch his scent. Yes! And he had the scar on his left cheek. Compact and conservatively dressed, he didn’t look like a French agent, but she had learned that being unmemorable was part of an agent’s stock in trade. “He’s the one,” she told Mackenzie. “I have no doubts.”
Hearing the hard note in her voice, the Frenchman sprang into action. He whipped a pistol out from under his coat and cocked it. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I assure you that I am of no interest. If your aim is robbery, I suggest you find an easier victim, because I will not hesitate to shoot.”
Before Clement had finished speaking, Mackenzie swung his cane like a club. The weighted end smashed into the Frenchman’s hand, damaging flesh and bone and sending the pistol skittering along the street.
Kiri dived for the weapon while Mackenzie went for Clement, all traces of age and infirmity gone. Swearing in French, Clement fought to escape, but Mackenzie used his cane to block the other man’s furious blows.
The fight ended when Mackenzie twisted the other man’s arms behind his back and Kiri cocked the gun and pointed it at Clement’s heart. “Be still,” she ordered. “Or you will never move again.”
Clement stopped fighting, his expression flat. Mackenzie snapped something metallic behind the Frenchman’s back, then moved away. “He’s handcuffed, but keep a close eye while I search him.”
“You were carrying handcuffs?” Kiri said, startled.
“One never knows when they’ll be useful,” Mackenzie said as he searched Clement.
Kiri grinned. Someday she would like to go through all the pockets of his greatcoat. Heaven only knew what she’d find.
Mackenzie removed a knife and some papers, then gestured toward their carriage, which had followed them into the side street. The driver held the reins in one hand and a shotgun in the other. A useful man, as Mackenzie had said.
Opening the carriage door, Mackenzie said, “Get in. Is Paul Clement your real name? Or is that a nom de l’espionage?”
“I am Paul Clement, but I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the Frenchman said coldly. He appeared to be in his forties, and Kiri guessed he had nerves of hammered steel.
Temper flaring, Kiri stepped forward and jabbed the barrel of the pistol into his midriff. The scar, the scent, the build—this was the man. “Don’t try to lie your way out of this!” she said. “I saw you at Damian’s.”
A flicker showed in his eyes, but his face remained blank. “It is a place I frequent, madame, as do many others. I didn’t realize that was a crime.”
“It isn’t,” she said softly. “But kidnapping and murder are.”
“He won’t talk to you,” Mackenzie said. “But we have associates who are very persuasive. They will be able to find out what he knows. If Monsieur Clement is cooperative, he won’t even lose any body parts.”
She wasn’t sure if Mackenzie was serious, or if his aim was to intimidate their prisoner. It would take more than words to frighten Clement. She stepped back and lowered the gun, though she kept it cocked.
Mackenzie bundled the Frenchman into the carriage and gave an address to their driver. Kiri climbed in, keeping the pistol aimed at the spy. He said dryly, “I hope that Madame won’t accidentally shoot me if we hit a bump in the street.”
“When I shoot men, it’s never an accident. One of your kidnappers at Damian’s learned that.” Not that Kiri had done any shooting, but she liked sounding ruthless. “Were you at Madame Blanche’s to speak with Lord Fendall? Or was it someone else?”
Ignoring her question, he gazed out into the darkness. “I always knew the end would come,” he said in a distant voice. “I just did not know that it would come tonight.”
He said no more. The carriage took them to an anonymous building near Whitehall. Mackenzie helped Clement out of the hackney and took him inside. As she waited for Mackenzie to return, Kiri wondered what would happen to the Frenchman. With an urgent need for information, interrogation methods would also be urgent.
Knowing the man would probably be tortured turned her stomach. But if torture was required, she hoped that at least they’d get the information needed to stop the plot.
Chapter 26
Kiri was yawning when Mac returned to the carriage. As they started back to Exeter Street, she asked, “What happens to Clement now?”
“He was locked in a cell. As soon as Kirkland arrives, the interrogation will begin.” Which meant Kirkland would have another night without sleep. Mac knew from experience that his friend’s endurance was impressive. But every man had his limits.
After a long pause, Kiri asked, “Torture? Thumbscrews, the rack, hot irons on the soles of the feet?”
“Certainly not as a first resort.” Mac frowned. “Torture probably wouldn’t do much good. Clement seemed aware of the hazards of his occupation. I don’t think he would break easily.”
“That was my impression. “
“I’ll join the interrogation in the morning.” He looked at her, unable to see her expression in the darkness of the carriage. “Do you wish to come also?”
“Am I needed?”
“No. You’ve provided the identification. No more is required of you. Unless you want to come?”
“I think I will stay inside and write letters and make perfume until we venture out tomorrow evening.” She sighed. “Tonight brought home that this is not a game. Because of me, a man is imprisoned and might die. It’s . . . sobering. Very cold-blooded compared to injuring or killing in self-defense.”
“It’s the nature of this work. The enemy seeks intelligence about us, we seek to counter them. It’s a great chess game.”
“I think assassination is in another category,” she said. “Stealing information is one thing. Stealing lives another.”
“I agree.” Though stolen information could end up costing many lives. “Particularly the lives of sixteen-year-old girls.”
“Which is where we come in.” She took his hand.
Mac interlaced his fingers with hers, glad for her touch. “If Clement tells us who the other conspirators are, this could be over in a day or two.” And then Lady Kiri Lawford could go back to her life, and he could return to his. Alone.
When they reached Exeter Street, Kiri kept hold of Mackenzie’s hand as they went inside. After the night’s excitement, she yearned to go into his arms, but thought she could just about manage discretion until they were safe and private in her room.
At the top of the stairs, she glanced toward the front of the house and saw a shadowed man scratch at Cassie’s door. Rob Carmichael. Cassie opened the door and went into his arms. They kissed urgently, then moved into her room.
As the door closed behind them, Kiri whispered, “Are they having an affair?”
“They are friends and comrades.” Mackenzie took her arm and guided her down the hall to her own room. “What they do behind closed doors is their business.”
“Yes, but it’s interesting!” As he guided her into her room and shut the door behind them, Kiri tried to imagine the laconic Carmichael and Cassie together. “Despite the evidence, it’s hard to see them as lovers. They both seem so serious.”
“There are many kinds of lover.” He moved to the hearth and laid a fire. As slow flames caught, he stood, a tall, dark shadow etched by light. “Both have survived things that would destroy lesser souls. If they find comfort in each other’s arms for now, it’s a gift not to be wasted.”
Kiri interpreted that to mean that Cassie and Carmichael shared a bed, but not a lifetime commitment. She supposed the same could be said of her and Mackenzie. This sweetness and passion might be brief, but it was very real. Before last night, she hadn’t really understood the power of desire. Now she wished the other agents joy for however long they could find it together.
If catching Clement broke up the conspiracy, she and Mackenzie would have only a few more nights together. Desperate not to waste a single moment, she slid an arm around his waist, raising her face for a kiss. “Then let us not waste this gift.”
He gave her the lightest of kisses, then broke away, putting a yard of distance between them. “You’re going to bed alone, Kiri.”
Her mouth dropped. “But I thought you’d agreed we would be lovers for now!”
“Actually, I didn’t agree,” he said ruefully. “It’s just that I was unable to resist you last night. But my misgivings didn’t go away. They got worse. It doesn’t help that Kirkland sensed something between us and tore a few strips from my hide. Thank God he didn’t know what really happened.”
“Kirkland is not my father or brother!” she exclaimed, not believing Mackenzie would walk away from what they’d shared. “He has no right to condemn me.”
“He’s not condemning you, but me,” Mackenzie said dryly. “You are the injured innocent, I the heedless seducer.”
Her jaw dropped. “You know better than that!”
“Indeed I do. You are a strong, independent woman, sure of your own mind.” He frowned, searching for words. “But when Kirkland accepted your aid in this hunt, he also pledged your family that he would protect you as if you were under your father’s roof. He trusted me not to ruin you, and I failed. But I will not fail again.”
“I felt no dishonor last night.” She caught his hands, sure she could change his mind. “Did you?”
He hesitated. “Passion clouds the judgment. Last night I wasn’t thinking about honor. Either yours or mine. Tonight I have no such excuse.”
She wrapped herself around him, pressing into his beauti
ful, hard male body. He wanted her as much as she wanted him; the evidence was right there. “How can another night ruin me any more than I have already been ruined?”
“No!” He jerked away, his breathing ragged. “Imagine that our genders were reversed. If you were male and I was female and you were pressuring me to lie with you even though it was against my conscience and honor—what would you call that?”
She jerked as if he’d slapped her. After a long, shaky moment, she admitted, “I would say that . . . that my behavior is not that of a gentleman.”
“And you’d be right,” he said softly. “You must know that I want you as much as you want me. But not like this.”
“What is honor?” she asked helplessly. “How can it be wrong to desire each other so much?”
“The desire isn’t wrong. Acting on that desire is.” He ran stiff fingers through his hair. “Men define honor in different ways, and by most standards, I haven’t much of it. I don’t have an honorable family name, I left the army in dishonorable circumstances, I live my life in the demimonde. I dare not throw away what little honor I have left.”
She realized that she could probably change his mind. His desire showed in every line of his body. If she drew on the allure her womenfolk were famous for, she could fracture his resistance and soon they’d be lying naked in her bed, mindless with passion and fulfillment.
But that would damage him deeply. Mackenzie had hammered out his own hard-won code of honor, and it would be utterly wrong of her to deprive him of that. Hands clenched, she said, “Very well. I shall not injure your honor further.”
He exhaled roughly with relief. “Thank God. Because I really can’t resist you.”
“I know.” Her mouth twisted. “It is equally hard for me to resist you. Tonight I shall sleep alone and ponder the meanings of honor. But first, please unfasten this gown. I can’t get out of it without help.” She turned and presented her rigid back, which gave her the advantage of concealing her eyes. Her instinct told her that he would be very susceptible to tears. They could keep apart only if neither of them weakened.
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