…he is dark, sophisticated, charming, intelligent, handsome, and he does good things to help people. There is also a rumor that he has blue eyes…
A chill, so cold and numbing, blanketed her and she started to shake.
And the Black Knight is in Marseilles? she had asked him.
He will be when we get there.
"Oh, no…" she whispered.
Jonathan looked down at her, his vibrant eyes searching hers as he noticed her expression.
He's exciting, he travels, he … lives for adventure. I know this sounds a bit odd, but I believe he's also looking for me.
Beyond doubt, as forceful as a punch to the stomach, it was there in front of her. All the questions and understandings, all the hope in her future rapidly dying in her heart, all her dreams shattered by one incredible stroke of realization. Why hadn't she seen it before now? How could she not have known? Because even the thought was something she could never imagine; a nightmare realized she could never accept.
"Natalie?"
She was freezing, trembling inside, staring into his magnificent eyes now pulled into a slight frown of curiosity. Suddenly she felt a powerful sense of rage and the crushing embarrassment of the things she'd confided in him, the consuming humiliation of being lied to repeatedly, of being used.
He still held her hand, the touch now as scorching as burning oil on skin. But with an almost instantaneous insight into what lay ahead she didn't jerk it free. Reason flooded her in a torrential wave, stopping her from immediate, irrational action. The answers were there before her, making clear and obvious sense as she began to put the pieces into place, but the proof was not. Call it sharp knowledge or an almost overwhelming instinct, her mind took control at that moment, and for good or bad, it made her pause.
She couldn't let him know. Not here at the ball in front of hundreds of people. He had played her for a fool, and she would hate him for that. But he had stolen the emeralds for a reason, and now she was intensely curious as to what that was, where they were, how he'd done it, and most of all why he'd brought her along on this journey. If she confronted him now she would embarrass them both, but even more than that, he would win. And she couldn't let him win.
He could not win.
Calming, her mind working frantically, eyes thinning with a broad smile of hidden intention, she murmured, "I-I'm just … shaken."
He ran his thumb softly along her fingers again, and she fought the urge to slap him with all of her strength. Instead she squeezed his hand tenderly. "I think I'd like champagne now."
For moments he stared into her eyes. "Would you like to go?"
She lowered her gaze, scanning the crowd. Two or three couples took to the dance floor, boldly attempting to ignore the unpleasant moments just passed as silk and satin once again swished in rhythm to the too-brightly played music; small groups of people whispered in corners, at refreshment tables, eating or drinking; some discreetly took their leave.
With resolve, and a warm smile of excitement she no longer felt, she looked back into his beautiful, deceitful eyes and began the best performance of her life.
"Not now," she said effortlessly. "I'd like to … see how things play out."
That appeased him, and he seemed to relax. "Then champagne it is." He released her hand at last and reached up to cup her chin. "We might as well enjoy ourselves while we can, and I think you owe me at least one more dance before I turn you over to the thief."
She did hate him for that—for his smoothness, his irresistible charm, his attention to her, and the unquenchable desire between them he'd expertly used to his advantage. And what did Madeleine say? I wonder how he plans to go about this introduction? He'd said it would be tomorrow, and that gave her time. Time to think of something that would place the advantage in her hands. And she would think of something. She had to. Then she'd have control and she would win.
She would win.
* * *
Chapter 11
« ^ »
It took Natalie nearly ten minutes of staring at his trunk before deciding it was time to open it and check the contents. Naturally, searching his personal items would be a most embarrassing thing to do, but she had no choice. It was the only way to know absolutely. Jonathan had just left the bungalow to purchase them a cold luncheon in one of the nearby villages, leaving her with the promise of an extensive discussion when he returned. Such a discussion would no doubt be about the emeralds, about the Black Knight, and she wanted to be ready for it. She had to find the jewels first, though, for any leverage at all, and she was fairly certain he didn't have them when he left. Carrying them in a pocket would have been noticeable probably, and she just couldn't imagine him selling them anyway, which would be the only reason to risk carrying them at all. That meant they were still here. And the only place they could be was tucked somewhere beneath his personal belongings.
They'd returned from the ball shortly after two in the morning. The party had continued to some degree after the forged emeralds had been discovered, although the mood had changed to one of quiet static. Most guests left early, but she and Jonathan had remained at her insistence, dancing occasionally, mingling socially, being nearly the last to leave. The comte d'Arles had not returned after the fiasco with Fecteau, but Claudine had done her best to keep the party alive for the sake of Annette-Elise. It was all she could do, really, and Natalie felt sorry for both of them. One could hardly call the ball a success, but it hadn't, at least, ended disgracefully.
She was, however, extraordinarily proud of herself. Her acting had been superb, as Jonathan had remained completely blind to her sudden discovery of his identity. That gave her power, something that would serve her well in the days ahead. During the last nine hours she'd done nothing but fidget internally, sleeping little, hiding her intentions as best she could, almost wanting to murder him, but deciding to get even instead. At six this morning, lying next to his carefree, slumbering form in bed, it had come to her. She now had a plan, and a way to use him in the manner in which he'd used her from the moment she'd walked into his town house.
So, with dignity, and before she could change her mind, she knelt at last beside his unlocked metal trunk, smoothed her lavender skirt around her, released the brass latches, and opened the lid.
If she expected to be surprised at the contents, she was mistaken. Of course, she'd never done anything so obtrusive in her life, nor had she ever been so closely exposed to a man's underthings. But her first impression upon opening the lid was amazement at how neatly everything was folded and placed within. From shirts to shoes, it was perfectly tidy. Oddly, she'd never expected that from Jonathan. In personality he seemed so capricious, and yet his manner of dress and style ran more to the elegant, reserved tastes of a gentleman, which, she had to remind herself, he actually was.
Carefully, starting on the left side of the trunk, she lifted his shirts, one by one, and placed them on the floor beside her. Trousers followed, three pairs, and these she also removed with care. Beneath them, on the bottom, were two pairs of shoes. No emeralds, although she gingerly stuck her fingers into the toes to be sure they weren't stuffed inside.
Then she moved to the right half of the trunk. She'd purposely avoided this side at first because she'd noticed his more personal items—comb, razor, toothbrush and powder, underwear—which was none of her business. But still, to reach the bottom, she had to go through it all.
With anxious hands she removed the toiletries, setting them to her side. Next, and quickening her pace, she began to lift his folded undergarments, growing increasingly uncomfortable as she touched each one, but reminding herself of her purpose. She needed the emeralds and she needed to hurry.
Then finally, as doubts began to seep in, she discovered the object of her search. A black velvet pouch, exactly like the one that contained the onyx necklace, sat conspicuously between the last two garments.
Her first thought was that he'd left it in such an obvious place because he knew she'd loo
k for it. But after only seconds of speculation, she realized this conjecture was wrong. He didn't yet know she'd discovered his identity. It did seem a bit foolish for him not to conceal the jewels in a hidden pocket or within a shoe, but she really didn't have time to speculate about his tactics as a thief. The only thing filling her mind was the scrumptious thought of the shock she would witness on his face when she confronted him.
Her heart beat fast as she took the pouch in hand, to some surprise finding it to be lighter than she'd expected. With a rush of exhilaration she swiftly opened it to stare at the contents.
The sparkle and shimmer of green and gold took her breath away. The necklace was even more magnificent up close—not at all a feminine piece of jewelry to accent a woman in her gown, but a work of art to be displayed only on the canvas of warm skin, everything else fading behind its brilliance.
She dropped the pouch to the floor unnoticed and slowly glided her thumb along the emeralds, cold yet vibrantly beautiful, allowing them to fall between her fingers, a smile of ultimate satisfaction growing on her lips. The stolen, priceless necklace was now in her possession. All doubts faded. She had the power at last and she would use it. She would win.
Natalie glanced briefly over her shoulder to the clock on the dressing table. It was nearly noon. Jonathan would be returning at any moment.
Tucking a menacing curl behind her ear, she returned the emeralds to their protective, velvet casing, rested the pouch in her lap, replaced each of his items perfectly in his trunk, and closed the lid.
Then with speed and newfound determination, only vaguely becoming aware of how things were about to change between them, she moved to her own trunk near the wardrobe. Quickly she opened the lid and reached deeply inside until her hand found one of her tall, black leather boots. She pulled it out from beneath shoes and other miscellaneous items, then sat fully on the ground and went to work.
One of the greatest stories her mother ever told her about her grandfather was not just of his escape from France but of how cleverly he'd accomplished it. He never would have made it out alive had he not paid off the jailer. And he never would have been able to do that if he hadn't hidden several gold coins beneath the soles of his shoes, which he'd hollowed out for that specific purpose. When the peasants searched him, they found nothing on his person but they didn't think of looking closely at his shoes. Neither would Jonathan, for she'd heeded the advice of her mother and had, over the years, hollowed out various shoes of her own to hide money should that ever be necessary when she traveled. Call it pure nonsense as many would, but doing so had now finally come to serve a purpose of her own. She would hide the emeralds in her boot, where they would be secure and never discovered by anyone.
With a good deal of prying, cracking a nail in frustration, the bottom leather sole of the tall heel finally came loose. Her initial idea was to stuff both emeralds and pouch inside to keep them well protected, but it was immediately clear that she didn't have the room, and only the jewels themselves would fit. And just barely.
After once again removing the necklace from its velvet covering, she cushioned it as delicately as she could inside the heel, and with a great deal of pressure from her hand, closed the top leather just enough to secure the contents. Grinning from a great sense of accomplishment, she turned the boot over in her hands. It would take close examination to notice that the leather sole didn't quite meet the wood, and who would think to look? The hiding place was perfect.
Natalie placed the boot back inside her trunk, tucking it under several pairs of shoes just to be safe, and closed the lid. It was then that she heard his footsteps on the stone path outside.
She stood rapidly, clasping the empty pouch with her hand, and raced to the other side of the room, sitting in one of the wicker chairs just as he opened the door.
He stopped to stare at her, his mouth twisted in a half smile, head tilted a fraction, and intuitively—either from her nervous breathing or perhaps just the charge in the air—he sensed that something was different, something had changed. Then the look vanished as he stepped inside the room, basket of food in hand, and closed the door behind him.
"I found a good price on roasted hens," he said pleasantly, walking to the table next to her and setting the basket on top. He glanced at her face, his eyes narrowing with just the slightest trace of suspicion. "Anything happen while I was gone?"
Her heart began to race. As always, he overwhelmed her with his presence, standing before her, informally dressed once more in a cream linen shirt and dark-brown trousers, hair tousled from his walk in the breeze, his skin bronzed from just their short time on the Mediterranean coast. But the moment for confrontation had arrived, and she refused to allow him to think he had the advantage simply because of her obvious discomfiture, of which he was usually clearly aware.
So with fortitude, and timing the exposure expertly in her opinion, she reached for his hand, turned it flat, and placed the empty velvet pouch in his palm.
"I found your necklace, Jonathan," she confessed in a sultry whisper.
She heard him suck in a small, sharp breath, but his eyes stayed transfixed on hers, and he didn't move his hand. The unsureness she felt from him at that moment filled her with confidence and extreme gratification.
In one fluid motion, she reached around and pulled the ribbon from her hair, letting her thick curls fall free, then gently kicked her shoes from her feet. Rather unbecoming for a lady in the middle of the day, but she wanted to appear comfortable and self-assured for the discussion ahead. She shifted her body in the chair, pulling her legs and feet up under her gown to rest them on the seat, grinning triumphantly, waiting.
Finally he glanced to the pouch, running his fingers over the velvet. "What do you think you know, Natalie?" he asked quietly.
She folded her arms casually across her belly. "I know I have the emeralds."
For moments of unbearable silence he did nothing. Then he raised his gaze to hers once more, but instead of the anxiety or anger she expected to see in his expression, he instead smiled, eyes flashing in a sort of prideful amusement. That unnerved her so suddenly, she faltered, which she was sure he noticed.
"You looked through my trunk?"
Now she squirmed in her chair, sitting up a little as warmth flooded her. "How else was I to confiscate them?"
His brows rose. "How else, indeed."
He tossed the pouch on the table, then sat heavily in the chair next to hers, folding his hands politely in his lap, eyeing her with what she could only describe as pleasured calculation. "I trust you didn't steal my razor."
She almost laughed, restraining herself with difficulty. "For a moment I considered it, Jonathan, but then I recalled the thickness of your skin."
He did laugh at that. Very softly. Watching her. "And did you replace all of my personal … apparel?"
Her cheeks burned, and from nervousness she reached up and ran her fingers through her hair. That was a mistake, as his eyes traced the movement with gross familiarity.
"I believe we're straying from the point, Jonathan," she maintained sternly.
"Mmm. The point." He relaxed a little against the wicker back, tapping his thumbs together. "What do you want to know?"
"Is Madeleine a spy?" she asked pointedly, her voice flat.
"Yes," he replied without evasion. "She's employed by the British government for that purpose and was deliberately set up for this job as my contact in Marseilles. She's very good at what she does and is exceptionally loyal to the British cause."
Natalie blinked, surprised by his quick, candid answer. "You work for the government?"
He pursed his lips, brows furrowed in concentration. "Not precisely. I work for three individuals: Sir Guy Phillips, Lord Nigel Hughes of Cranbrook, and most directly for Christian St. James, earl of Eastleigh. They are all my friends, although Sir Guy is my official contact, and I go through him as the Black Knight. We—the four of us—are the only ones who know of their involvement in my wor
k. Should I ever be caught or arrested, they can never be implicated except by me, and that won't happen. I am not involved with political issues exactly; I work independently of them, although there are several men in high government circles who know who I am. Sir Guy is one of them, and he arranges my contacts throughout Europe—for any help, should I need it."
Natalie stared at him, stunned. "I can't believe you're telling all of this to me so readily."
He breathed deeply, scrutinizing her with intensity. "I trust you, Natalie."
Never had four simple words melted her so completely. But it wasn't just what he'd said, it was the meaning behind it, the gentleness in his deep voice, in his eyes.
"So why do you do it?" she continued softly.
He thought about that for a moment. "I strive to right wrongs, but there's more to it than that. In many jobs I do, I think of my work as rather a way to … fix things. Things that can't be fixed in any other manner. I expose illegal trade or people who are so clever they cannot otherwise get caught doing illegal or unscrupulous acts—both personal and political. Sometimes I work for government issues, although those in government, aside from a select few, don't know at all I'm involved in … oh … setting up political criminals to be discovered and arrested, or locating the whereabouts of extorted money or stolen weapons. I'm not technically a spy; I've had no formal training for anything. I work instead for myself, by doing. I'm given detailed information about a specific situation, and it's up to me to do the rest, at my discretion. Once in a while I need help and I get it unconditionally, as is the case with Madeleine. Most of the time I work alone, and most of what I do is simple thievery designed to affect the outcome of a broader situation. When the job is completed, I'm paid, and paid very well."
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