by Wilde, Tanya
“Hell’s bells. You have gone off the deep end, my friend.”
“If I have, I am not alone.”
“Should I join you?”
“So long as you do not crawl into my bed, you are most welcome.”
Simon snorted as he attempted to settle into a comfortable position on a chair, but his entire body was stiff with tension. What his predicament called for was the ample charms of a woman. Yet disturbingly enough, it had been months since any woman caught his fancy. Even his usual widow had not been able to entice him to her bed.
Bloody hell. What the devil was wrong with him?
With an audible sigh, he muttered, “I can’t even summon interest for my usual amorous haunts.”
St. Aldwyn lips stretched into a knowing grin. “Ah yes, the bittersweet torment has begun. The same happened to me when I failed to rid Josephine from my mind. You, my friend, will only want one lady until you’ve purged her from your system. Until then, no other will do.”
“You’re still purging your system, I take it?” Simon asked with another swig of his tumbler.
“Every damn day.”
Simon thought as much.
But slating his desires would ruin the lady in question. Unless…
Unless he married her.
The thought was so sudden and so clear he actually blinked.
Did he wish to marry her?
It seemed impossible to say. So he began to reflect on what he did know. First, he knew that he wanted what his friends had: a family of his own. Secondly, he was obsessed with a certain blond, blue-eyed vixen. And thirdly, and most importantly, he wanted to taste the sweetness of that vixen’s lips. There was only one problem…
“She believes me a bore.”
“So prove her otherwise.”
Easier said than done.
He supposed a kiss might prove just how passionate he was by nature. That should change her ridiculous belief that he was boorish.
But what happened after he proved her wrong? And what of her flirtatious reputation and her untamed ways? To contemplate a courtship when he’d be unable to tolerate her batting her eyelashes at every gentleman would be well…intolerable.
As if sensing his inner conflicted, St. Aldwyn spoke. “Have you considered that Lady Belle’s wild nature may be the reason why she is so alluring? Without it, she’d just be another miss.”
That brought Simon up short. He hadn’t considered that. He’d only known that there was something profound about her, something that spoke to him in a way he did not quite understand. He’d never been so drawn to a woman before, which was both terrifying and exciting at the same time.
“I suppose it’s worth looking into.”
St. Aldwyn grunted. “I would caution to be a bit more careful of that chit, though. She’s not like your sister or my wife—tougher than nails, that one. I doubt the accustomed flowers-and-poems courtship will sway her to your side.”
Oh, his friend needn’t warn him on that account.
“What do you suggest, then?”
“Stalk her obsessively. Eventually, she will tire of your face and just marry you.”
Simon shot him a dark look. “Sometimes I wonder how you managed to secure your wife.”
“I have the face of an angel.”
“And the character of a devil.”
St. Aldwyn chuckled.
“In any case, marriage seems hardly the answer.” Simon paused for a brief moment. “Did she seem out of sorts to you? Earlier?”
His friend shrugged. “She looked like she always looks, I suppose.”
Simon nodded. However, he was not convinced. Something had changed, and recently, too. It caused a certain haunted look to lurk in her eyes. An inherent sadness he’d never noticed before was suddenly apparent in her countenance.
In the back of his mind, he knew this obsession could only lead to impropriety, but he was determined to unearth every single layer of the woman. Even if it meant stripping her of every secret she possessed, he’d do anything to understand the magnetism of his attraction to her.
Chapter 3
Dear sister,
I hope this letter finds you in good health.
We are sailing across the Mediterranean and it is a beautiful sight to behold. I wish you were able to glimpse this sea. It is the clearest blue…
Belle tossed the cursed letter aside for the thousandth time.
Good health? She hadn’t seen her brothers in years. They could damn well come see her health with their own eyes if they wanted to know it. Though she possessed half a mind to scratch those very eyes out if they did. Unfortunately, she still loved those wretched men too dearly.
This letter, which she’d read countless of times in the past, represented the only time she’d been truly envious of her brothers, the only time she’d felt cheated. Fine, perhaps not the only time, but if her brother had truly wanted her to see the clearest blue water in existence, he should have taken her along and not abandoned her to her aunt.
Five years, three months and twenty-eight days: the precise amount of time since she’d last glimpsed her brothers’ faces.
Three months, thirteen and a half days: the amount of time since she’d last received a letter from either of them.
To the devil with the rotters.
It was their desertion had allowed her grief-stricken heart to engage with an evil man. And the cost of her ill-fated journey was too painful to contemplate. She oftentimes wondered whether it would have unraveled the same way if her brothers had remained in England. It certainly would have been avoided had they taken her along. She recalled her anger at their refusal, but they’d held firm, arguing that Aunt Bertha needed her.
So she’d been all alone with her grief, a prelude to the darkest days of her life. And they weren’t even aware of any of it.
True, fate had dealt her a painful hand, but then, as if in apology for its cruelty, fate had also sent two precious sister-souls across her path. So she chose not to dwell on the dark days, but on the spark of light that had entered her life when she met Evelyn and Josephine.
They’d given her the strength to claw her way from the deep abyss, sewing together the tattered remains of her conscience and burying the guilt under the guise of a new self. Which had worked just fine until now.
“Oh, Charlemagne, what am I to do?” she murmured as her large white greyhound trotted over to her side at the breakfast table. He nuzzled her hand as if sensing her distress, though his eyes remained locked on her buttered toast. “Oh, very well, you can have the toast, Char, I’ve lost my appetite anyhow.”
In one smooth motion, he snatched the toast from her fingers and settled down by her feet.
At least at four and twenty she’d learned to trust her own instincts and when to ignore them in favor of some fun adventure. Now, though, she knew she must prepare herself for the worst.
The certainty of his return churned in her stomach.
“He is back, Char. I just know it. The only question that remains I suppose is whether he’s aware I’m still alive.”
The hound’s head perked up at her voice before it settled back on top of her foot.
“It is also too much of a coincidence that in the realization of his arrival, a meeting is called,” she muttered into her tea.
Belle shivered at the mere notion of subjecting her friends to the mistakes of her past.
Her finger tapped to her chin in thought, before jotting down a few points on a piece of paper. The time for self-pity had passed—years ago, in fact. She had no business sulking while there was so much to consider. Valuable time had already been wasted. Now, she needed to take preemptive action.
“If I’m lucky Char, Evelyn and Jo will never discover my foolishness.”
To what lengths would she go to prevent them from discovering the truth? She sighed, glancing down at the dog’s big round eyes, which were staring back at her. One could accomplish many things if one only put some thought into a plan.
She knew Edgar. Even now she was able to recall, with vivid clarity, the smell his rancid breath on her face as he laughed at her stupidity.
She would beat him this time. More importantly, she would put an end to him and his evil ways.
But how to capture him?
Belle patted Charlemagne’s head before she sat back and regarded her scribblings.
How to put an end to Edgar:
1.Let wild dogs loose on him.
2.Make him walk the plank. (Don’t have a ship.)
3.Steal a ship and make him walk the plank.
4.Shoot him on the spot.
5.Hire a gunman to shoot him on the spot.
6.Poison.
7.Lock him away in the basement. (Forever.)
About the only thing, she could reasonably manage on the entire list was to point a pistol at him, but, even then, she was a terrible shot. And she had no pistol.
Locking him away in the basement would be best—as long as he never escaped. But even if she managed to accomplish such a herculean task, it would require a life-long commitment. He was not worth such dedication.
To poison his food once he’d been apprehended would be much easier, but Belle did not wish to lower to such a degraded level of wretchedness if she could avoid it.
And, before any of these could be accomplished, she’d have to act as bait and entrap him, something that seemed impossible. At least on her own. It would require a cunning that she wasn’t certain she possessed.
Drat it, but she was awful at plotting to catch villains.
A frantic laugh escaped her.
Was she truly plotting to murder a man? But then again, he had started it.
Oh, who was she fooling? She was probably going to die a horrible death!
No! You are strong, her inner voice cooed. You can beat him.
She repeated those words to herself until the beat of her heart steadied again.
Pouring over her notes and all the accompanying possibilities again, she took a deep breath. Luring him out would be easy enough. That much she could do. But she’d no means to catch him or force him to eat or drink anything she offered. He was a French spy for pity’s sake! And she? She was just a fearful girl.
What an utter mess.
The only thing in her power to do was number five: to hire a person of questionable character to complete the deed for her. Assuming she could really intend harm on another being, that plan was not without risk, however. Edgar had been a cunning man four years ago; there was no telling how devious he would be now. Much more so, she imagined. So her hired mercenary would need to be far craftier than a spy to match Edgar and not be in danger in the process.
“So this is what I am to do, Charlemagne? Hire a thug to take care of our problems?” Belle muttered down at the hound, watching as his ear twitched. “If only a kiss could turn you into a prince charming—wouldn’t that be grand? I’d be a princess and Edgar couldn’t touch me then. I imagine you’d have a mass of blond hair with an enchanting grin plastered on your handsome face.”
Belle swallowed a groan at her own description of prince charming. How addled her mind must be to imagine Westfield, of all men, as a role model for it.
“There is no shortage of plans in the world, Charlemagne,” she mused to her hound, “only the shortage of time. And perhaps heroes. Aren’t there supposed to be more of them wandering about?”
Charlemagne lay as still as a statue.
Hire a thug it is.
Midnight
The street was silent as Belle made her way down a dark alleyway just off Serpentine Road, the echo of her boots hitting the cobblestones in sync with the rhythmic beat of her heart. She pulled her black cape tighter around her. There was a distinct iciness to the night, one that chilled her to the bone.
She was summoning a mercenary.
Earlier that day she’d sent word to one of her seamstresses to deliver a message to a trusted friend. Since not even Madam De La Frey’s own seamstresses knew her identity, it seemed the best approach. An hour later, she received an unsigned missive to meet at midnight at the corner of Hyde Park. An odd place indeed, since Hyde Park was within the bounds of Mayfair.
Belle halted at the edge of the street and settled back into the shadows, waiting with bated breath. She had no idea if this was a trap, but she’d come this far and refused to turn back. If she perished tonight, at least it would not be at the hands of Edgar. The thought consoled her even as the cold air stung her face. No matter what happened, she would not reveal her fear.
“I received word that you require my services,” a voice drawled from the shadows directly behind her.
Belle jumped forward with a yelp and doubled over as she caught her breath. Saints’ sakes!
What happened to no fear?
She straightened, tugging at her coat. “Yes. I need you to dispatch someone,” she managed.
A shuffling noise came from behind her and she tamped down the temptation to turn around. She did not dare. Better not to see his face and she’d rather he not see hers.
“Dispatch?”
Her shoulders stiffened at the question in his words. So he wanted her to say the words. Annoyed now, she snapped, “Terminate, finish off, do away with, put to sleep. Choose whichever you are comfortable with.”
A low, throaty chuckle reached her ears. “What did the poor wretched soul do to deserve such an end? A lover? A cruel husband? Or perhaps your lover’s lover?”
Belle scoffed, her earlier fear replaced by chagrin. “Oh, I can assure you, sir, the task will be much more difficult than that. This person that I wish for you to dispatch wishes to see me dead. I mean to see him in the ground first.”
“Is that so?”
Her eyes narrowed in the darkness. Was this some sort of trick? Did he mean to mock her state of affairs? How dare he sound intrigued by her misfortune? His apparent amusement did not bode well for his own well-being. Not against a spy.
Belle almost turned. “I do not take this matter lightly, sir. If you cannot do the same, it will be best if we end this conversation.”
The very night seemed to wait in breathless anticipation as silence met her statement. Not even a slight rustle of leaves was detected. After a gut-wrenching pause, the man simply whispered, “Go on.”
Belle closed her eyes as relief flooded her. “His name is Edgar De Roux and he is a suspected French spy,” she stated flatly, hoping that would wipe the intrigue from his voice.
Again silence met statement.
“Well?”
“How does a lady such as yourself become embroiled with a spy?”
Very foolishly, Belle thought darkly. Then his damning words sank into her mind.
A lady such as yourself.
Perhaps he called all the women he met in dark corners ladies, she considered fleetingly. Yet, had he not requested to meet in Mayfair, not far from where she lived? It seems her identity was suspect.
“He is cunning, resourceful and will not be easy to find nor easy to eliminate. You should take care.”
“You do not have to be concerned for me, my lady.”
She stiffened at his use of the title. It was almost as if he was baiting her. Oh, who was she fooling? It was highly likely he knew her identity. She was operating with people way out of her league.
“My concern is not for you, sir. If you die, he does not. And that, I cannot have.”
She turned around then.
The shadowed figure titled his head at her boldness. He was short but solidly built and wore a cloak much like hers, though his face was cast in the shadow and entirely concealed from her view.
“He will come for me once he learns his previous effort on my life failed. If you cannot catch him on your own, I should be able to lure him out of his hole.”
The stranger seemed to consider her suggestion but then waved her concern away. “You are not afraid to be known to me?”
“You do not strike me as a man that takes on a task witho
ut being made aware all the facts. You already knew who I was.”
“Indeed,” he murmured, begrudging respect in his voice.
When she only stared at his shadowed face, he continued, “I will take care of it. You have my payment?”
She handed him the parchment that was worth a thousand pounds. A small fortune. All of her savings, as it happened. But then, it was a trifling amount for her continued safety. “It’s hard to imagine one can put a price on someone’s life, yet, to me his life is not worth a penny.”
“His life may mean the world to someone else.”
Belle snorted. “His life means the death of many.”
“The world is a cruel place, my lady, but I suspect you are already aware of that, even though you were born into a life of privilege. It will suit you well to remember that your life can be taken away, too, with the passing of a few coins.”
Belle held back the retort on her tongue. “Well, I must thank you for the reminder.”
He melted into the shadows but paused in his act of retreat. “Have you informed anyone of this meeting?”
“Of course not.”
“Keep it that way. The moment I learn you told anyone, I will back off and you won’t get your silver back.”
“I understand,” Belle bit out. “When will it be done?”
“Before the week ends.”
Five days then. She hoped this man’s confidence wasn’t misplaced. But then again, he did make a livelihood as a mercenary. She supposed he knew what he was doing.
“You look worried. Is something amiss?”
Five days might be too long. “I had hoped it to be done with this sooner.”
“By your own admission, he is a spy. If this were your normal drunkard, swaggering around and beating his wife, I would have it done by morning. But your man will have changed his name and be in hiding. It will take time to find him. But I will.”
Belle gave a curt nod. Another secret to keep, then.
“If you tell your friends, I will know and our arrangement will be done.”
She flinched. It was as if he had read her thoughts. “I understand.”