Sebastian watched him walk slowly back to the footpath and offer his elbow to Mercy. Then he forced himself to follow.
The next forty minutes were the longest of his life. Once Mercy was safely behind her front door and the butler had closed it behind her, Sebastian turned to face Nathanial for the last time.
He was gone. The spot upon the pavement where he had been standing was quite empty.
* * * * *
Sebastian thanked the landlord, a Mr. Reginald Smith, one last time before he managed to close the door on him. Then he turned to look around the familiar room, his gut squeezing. Why had he come here?
Because you are sleeping on park benches again. A lack of money outbid conscience and morals, any day.
He tossed the iron key onto the bureau where Nathanial had stored the wine. The bureau was most likely empty, now. He would look later. Perhaps.
There was a knock on the door and Sebastian rolled his eyes. Mr. Smith was a talker. A rambling talker. What had he forgotten to tell him? Sebastian pulled the door open with an impatient yank.
The man on the other side was not Smith. He was a short fellow with black, curly hair and cheerful brown eyes.
“Monsieur Aquila?” he enquired, his accent strong.
“There is no one here by that name,” Sebastian replied, his thoughts racing. A man with a French accent looking for Nathanial could only mean someone had traced his journey from Paris. “And you are?”
“Who I am is not of importance, no? If you are not Nathanial Aquila, you should not care. May I step inside for a moment?”
“I think not,” Sebastian replied and went to close the door. The man shot out his hand and the door thumped against it. “Hey!” Sebastian said indignantly.
“I did not properly introduce myself,” the man said, stepping through the doorway, forcing Sebastian to back up. The door shut behind him. “I am Monsieur Christophe Cloutier, of the Marechaussee. You know this name?”
“No,” Sebastian lied. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“As a friend of Monsieur Aquila, I suspect you know the name very well.”
“He is no friend of mine,” Sebastian said flatly.
“Then you do know him,” Cloutier said and smiled. “I thought you might.”
Sebastian sighed and pulled the bureau drawer open. Inside were three fat, short flasks of wine, all of them sealed, almost as if they were waiting for him. He let out a silent sigh and pulled one out. The knife for cutting the seal was still sitting on the top of the bureau, resting on a silver tray.
He busied himself with cutting the seal away.
“You might be able to assist me,” Cloutier added, “as I ‘oped Monsieur Aquila might. There is a lady that Monsieur Aquila is acquainted with. You may know her. Miss Anne Beecham.”
Sebastian shrugged and poured himself a glass. “The name isn’t familiar.” He took a deep swallow of the ruby liquid.
“She has been using the name Beatrice while she was in Southampton,” Cloutier said.
Sebastian thought it through. If Cloutier had spoken to Mercy Wandsworth, then the connection between them would have been confirmed. If not, it would only be a matter of time before he did speak with her.
“I know a young lady called Beatrice,” Sebastian confirmed, swirling the wine around the glass carefully. “She is pleasant enough. What is your interest in her?”
Cloutier nodded. “Would it surprise you to know that this Anne Beecham is a most successful thief? She is wanted for questioning in Paris and here in England.”
“You came all the way to Southampton for a thief?” Sebastian asked.
“Miss Beecham is not an ordinary thief.” Cloutier tugged the fronts of his coat closer together. “She stole a necklace of incalculable worth and hurried to England to have it broken down into over three thousand diamonds, which she will sell off at nothing close to their true value.”
Sebastian stared at Cloutier, his wine forgotten. “Anne had the necklace?”
“Indeed,” Cloutier confirmed. “You must understand, Monsieur, this necklace is a most precious belonging of France’s. Its disappearance is causing embarrassment of the most abject kind, all the way as high as the throne itself.”
Sebastian sank down onto the nearest chair and pushed the wine glass across the table, his thirst gone. “Anne had the necklace,” he repeated, familiarizing himself with that fact.
“I see you know something of this matter, then,” Cloutier said, sounding satisfied.
Sebastian looked up at him. “The necklace that Anne had...it was the real one? It wasn’t a copy?”
Cloutier frowned. “Monsieur, are you at all familiar with the style and beauty of this necklace?”
Sebastian shook his head. “It was just gossip in the newspapers. I paid it no mind at all.”
Cloutier reached inside his coat and pulled out a sheet of paper and held it out to him. There was an engraving printed on it, of a woman wearing a necklace. The necklace itself was a complex pattern of ropes and pendants, each of them made from thickly clustered diamonds. Each rope was at least an inch wide. The pendants at the end of each rope were single diamonds the size of his thumbnail, surrounded by even more diamonds.
Sebastian stared at the image, amazement filtering through his stunned mind. “No one could copy this,” he said to himself. “It would take half a lifetime.”
“Indeed,” Cloutier agreed, taking the picture back.
Anger stirred in him. Sebastian looked Cloutier squarely in the eyes. “She told me Nathanial had a copy of the necklace. That she was going to steal it from him and sell it to another as the real thing.”
“Nathanial Aquila?” Cloutier reached into his coat again and pulled out a letter which had been unsealed and unfolded. “’e is the reason I came to England – as soon as I got ‘is letter.”
Sebastian squeezed the edge of the table, holding himself steady. “He wrote to you?”
“’e said ‘e suspected Mademoiselle Anne ‘ad the necklace and was trying to rid ‘erself of it in any way she could.” Cloutier lifted the letter again. “A most astute observation by M. Aquila. A necklace so remarkable as this one would not be easy to sell, when everyone in the world knows it is stolen.”
“Indeed,” Sebastian echoed weakly. “You should know that she has gone. She left Southampton three days ago. I presume she took the necklace with her, as she did not foist it upon me, which was her plan, I now realize.”
Cloutier considered him gravely. “You do not know where she ‘as gone?”
“She told a mutual friend she was going back to York.”
“You do not believe that, do you?” Cloutier asked.
“I would look in Land’s End,” Sebastian replied dryly. “It is the other end of the country from York.”
Cloutier nodded again, pushing the letter back into his jacket. “Then she is boxed in. She cannot go back to France and all the waterways out of England are being watched. We will find her,” he said confidently.
Sebastian simply nodded.
Cloutier considered him and his expression grew warmer. “Do not feel too badly about being duped by this one, monsieur. She has fooled some of the greatest men in my country and yours.”
“I take little comfort in that.”
Cloutier smiled. “I will leave you now. I thank you for your candor, M. Worthington.”
“You have known who I am all along?” Sebastian asked. “You knew I was not Nathanial.”
Cloutier’s eyes twinkled with good cheer. “I met the landlord as I was climbing the stairs. That one, ‘e is a chatty man.” He lifted his hand in a graceful wave of farewell, and opened the door, stepped out and shut it very quietly behind him.
Sebastian stared at the door. There was something Cloutier had just said. Something he had not properly heard or understood the significance of those words.
Then he had it. He shot to his feet. “The landlord!” he told the empty room.
Chapter Seven
The Excelsior Gentlemen’s Club lay in the heart of Edinburgh, almost at the foot of the castle, on King’s Stables Road. Perhaps because of its royal observers, the club was one of the most exclusive in the kingdom. Acquiring a membership required high connections, for one had to be sponsored before a membership could be considered.
It had taken Sebastian two weeks of expensive brandy and cigars, and careful diplomacy to earn the invitation he needed but finally, he was inside the red carpeted salons, with their wood-paneled walls and hushed tones. Cigar smoke was thick in the air, and everywhere, there was the soft shuffle and flap of cards.
He finally shrugged off his host after three rounds of whist, by saying he needed to stretch himself. He made a slow circuit of the salons, hiding his impatience and the need to hurry.
Nathanial was in the smallest salon, and was one of the players sitting at the round table. By the number of spectators standing about the table, watching the game with absorbed attention, and by the number of coins in small mounds in front of some the players, this was a high stakes game played between skilled opponents. The pile in front of Nathanial was the largest.
Nathanial had not changed, but then, Sebastian knew that beyond the most superficial adjustments to his hair and clothing, Nathanial could not change.
But still he found himself examining Nathanial closely, looking for differences. For signs that recently, he had suffered. His face was familiar and comforting. Sebastian breathed deeply, as his chest tightened.
The player next to Nathanial, a portly fellow with a very red face, shook his head. No bid.
Nathanial stirred and looked around the table at his fellow players. He was relaxed and looked like he had complete confidence in the hand he held. “Gentlemen,” he began, then his gaze came upon Sebastian and he fell silent.
Sebastian gave him a small smile.
Nathanial straightened and put his cards down on the table. “Gentlemen, I must retire from the game.”
The observers standing about the table stirred and murmured among themselves. The fellow to Nathanial’s right blustered. “Damn it, man, there’s two hundred guineas on the table!”
“The club rules insist you must forfeit your winnings if you retire early,” another added pompously.
Nathanial nodded. “Take them and be welcome.” He pushed the pile into the middle of the table and stood up. “I am quite certain a player with a sizeable enough stake can be found to take my place.” He nodded to them. “It has been my pleasure, gentlemen. I bid you a good evening.” He flipped a coin to the waiter standing by.
Sebastian didn’t wait any longer. He made his way back to the doors of the salon and stepped out and Nathanial moved into the hall just behind him. “There are some private salons on the top floor. Come.”
They climbed to the third floor where the smoke was absent and the air was cooler. It was a refreshing change. The private salons were smaller, with room for a sofa, a card table and chairs. There were two small tables to either side of the sofa and some fine landscapes on the walls.
Nathanial closed the door, then turned the key, locking it.
Sebastian’s heart was racing as he faced him. He rested a hand on the cloth over the card table, not quite propping himself up. “It is very good to see you.”
Nathanial was frowning. “How did you find me?”
“The landlord. Smith,” Sebastian said. “You gave him instructions to forward your mail.”
“Of course,” Nathanial said. “It’s always the small things that you overlook.” He pulled at the lace at his cuffs, straightening it. “Why are you here, Sebastian?”
Sebastian had been anticipating this question. In fact, he had spent the last three weeks playing over this potential moment in his mind. In none of those scenarios, did he ever imagine Nathanial would be as disinterested as he appeared right now. Angry, perhaps. Amused. Touched, or perhaps even understanding.
Uncertain of the wisdom of what he was about to do, Sebastian took a deep breath and launched himself into his explanation. It, too, had been long rehearsed. “I was wrong, Nathanial. I was abysmally and stupidly wrong. Anne had the necklace. But then, you knew that all along. I didn’t—”
“How did you learn that?” Nathanial asked, interrupting him.
“The letter you wrote—”
“Cloutier came? He came to England?” Nathanial asked sharply.
“Yes, but Anne had already left. He told me everything, Nathanial. He made me understand how blind I have been.”
Nathanial considered him for a moment. “You weren’t blind,” he said. “You were duped. I did warn you, didn’t I, that Anne was very, very good?”
“She adjusted her scheme to fit around me like a glove,” Sebastian replied. “I’ve had time to think it through now. Anne must have been sizing Lady Wandsworth up as a potential victim to dump the necklace upon. Mercy is crooked, as you said, and would be drawn into a scheme involving a necklace worth a fortune because of the money it could raise. Then I came along, and you and Anne unveiled me as a fellow swindler, and Anne shifted her sights onto me. I must have looked easier to fool than Mercy.”
Nathanial gave him a stiff smile. “I think it had more to do with you being a man. Even if she thought you impossible to break, she would have tried. Anne likes challenges.”
“Having the necklace was too much of a challenge, even for her,” Sebastian said. “Once the trial started and all the newspapers began to talk about it, she knew she could not sell it for what it was. With the French police investigating in England, she didn’t have time to have it broken down and then sell the diamonds. She cut her losses and looked for someone she could give it to. I imagine once she got rid of it, she would have called in the police, just as you did, and pointed them toward her victim.”
“M. Cloutier is an old friend,” Nathanial replied. “I was helping him out. I owe him a slightly greater loyalty than I do to Anne, who likes her independence above any friendship.”
Sebastian blew out his breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.
“You wouldn’t have believed me,” Nathanial replied.
“I would have, if you had made me believe!”
“The way Anne made you believe I was fooling you?”
“You know what she told me about you?” Sebastian asked, horrified.
“I can guess, given the way Anne likes to work. She would have used enough of the truth to make her story very convincing. From the little you have said, I presume she told you I had the necklace and was going to give it to you.”
“She said it was a glass copy, but anyone caught with it would be in as much trouble as if they had been caught with the real one.”
“That is how she stopped you from searching for the necklace for yourself,” Nathanial murmured. “I did wonder. You wouldn’t have been interested in a copy.” He stirred. “Well, she ran out of time. She must have learned the French were on their way to Southampton. Perhaps I wasn’t as discreet as I thought. It doesn’t really matter, for something scared her into packing and leaving in the small hours of the morning, after severing her connections with Mercy very neatly.”
“Do you know where she is?” Sebastian asked curiously.
“She told Mercy she was going back home to York,” Nathanial replied. “So I assume she is somewhere in the south western tip of England. Perhaps she is in Wales.”
“That was my guess, too,” Sebastian said. “That is what I told Cloutier.”
“If she is there, he will find her. I would not wish to be in her shoes when he does. The French will spare her nothing. Taking the necklace was too ambitious and bold, even for Anne.” Nathanial turned and rested his rear upon the edge of the table and crossed his arms. “And now you are here, where I thought no man would be able to find me.”
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Sebastian asked, waving around at the room. “You’ve been living here at the club. I had to bribe
my way into a membership.”
“That must have been expensive. These people play a terrible game of cards, but they do know the value of coinage.”
“Very expensive. I used your money, by the way. You left pounds of it in your bedroom wardrobe.”
“That was my emergency fund.” Nathanial shrugged. “I’m glad someone found it useful. I’m glad it was you.” Then he smiled. “I’ve made up all that and more, just in winnings in the last two weeks. I like to fleece card players when I need a change from more ambitious and illegal activities.”
“Then you don’t cheat to earn your winnings?”
“I’ve never needed to. Drink and cards don’t mix, but I’ve yet to meet a human who understands that.” He leaned over and caught Sebastian’s hand in his and drew him close enough to that his thighs were brushing up against Nathanial’s knees. Even sitting on the table, Nathanial’s gaze was just about level with his. “Why are you here, Sebastian?”
Abruptly, all the fear, the excitement, all the raging emotions were back, rushing through his body, making him tremble. “Don’t you know?” he asked.
“I want you to tell me,” Nathanial said. “I want you to hear yourself saying it. I want to hear it.”
Sebastian swallowed. “I…this is difficult.”
“Yes,” Nathanial agreed gently. “Say it.”
“I…” He blew out his breath. “I want to stay with you. I want us to be together.”
Nathanial pushed Sebastian’s coat aside and raised the bottom of his waistcoat. “That wasn’t so hard was it?” He eased the top button of his breeches open.
Sebastian was still shaking, but now a different feeling whooshed through him. Excitement. Pleasure. Wanting. “It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever said,” he confessed.
Nathanial slid the next two buttons free. “You will get very used to speaking that way, soon enough.”
“I will?”
“You will,” he confirmed. “It is called speaking the truth. We’re both liars, Sebastian. This will work only if you and I allow nothing but the truth to come between us.” He stood up and pushed his hand inside Sebastian’s breeches. His fingers curled around him and Sebastian closed his eyes.
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