The Secrets of a Scoundrel

by Gaelen Foley

  “You wish to make a report, monsieur?”

  Nick sent Carr a warning look to let him handle this.

  With a wry, subtle shrug, Carr invited him to have at it. He’s all yours.

  “Yes, of course. Thank you for coming.” As the gendarme ordered the hoteliers out of the room, Nick swung his legs off the side of the bed and sat up with a flinch. The doctor warned the gendarme not to overtax him, but thankfully, the headache powder was starting to take the effect.

  The questioning commenced.

  Damn it, I don’t have time for this, he thought as he coolly made up a string of credible lies.

  He had to be on his way to go and save Virginia.

  Of course, he was not entirely sure he could stand up yet without falling down. He didn’t care if he had to crawl on his hands and knees. He would rescue her from Limarque or die trying.

  If he could just get rid of all these kind, meddling busybodies!

  The gendarme was all business, meanwhile, scribbling notes in his little book as Nick answered his questions on various points. “And did you get a look at your attackers? Could you describe them?”

  He shrugged and shook his head. “I really couldn’t say. There were three of them, I think. We never saw them coming.”

  “Did they take anything of value?”

  The question pained him exceedingly. They had torn away the most valuable thing.

  Nick’s voice failed him; he shook his head.

  “That’s enough for now, officer. He’s white as a ghost from blood loss,” the surgeon insisted.

  “Is there anything else you remember?”

  “No. It all happened so fast. There isn’t much to tell. But thank you for coming.”

  “If you remember any more details.”

  “Of course.” Nick nodded. “I will come down to the station.”

  The policeman did not look entirely convinced by his story, but since Nick and Carr were clearly the victims in whatever had happened, there was nothing else for him to do but withdraw.

  At last, the old surgeon took leave of him, as well. He pooh-­poohed Nick’s thanks as he gathered his things into his black bag. “Just doing my job, lad. Keep the ice on that head. I’ve left the headache powder over there for you.”

  Nick touched his hand to his heart in sincere gratitude as the kindly old Frenchman stepped out and pulled the door closed behind him.

  Finally, Nick was alone with Phillip and John Carr.

  All three exchanged dark glances. Phillip started to speak, but Nick raised a finger to his lips until the last pair of footsteps had faded off down the stairs.

  He gestured to the boy to go and make sure no one was listening outside the door. Phillip went; the hallway was clear. Phillip shut the door and locked it, then he turned around slowly and leaned his back against it, gazing grimly at Nick. “She’s not really shopping, is she?”

  “No.” It was an excruciating moment, having to explain his failure to her son. He rose a bit unsteadily and crossed the room to the boy. “Phillip, I’m so sorry. Something bad has happened.”

  “I knew it,” he said with a gulp. “Is she dead?”

  “No! God, no. Of course not,” Nick exclaimed, laying his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “She’s not dead. Don’t even say that. It’s going to be all right.”

  “Well?” he countered with a wide-­eyed look.

  Nick struggled for how to say it.

  John Carr supplied the words in a blunt tone: “They took her.”

  “What? Who took her? What do you mean? Where is she?” The panicked boy looked again at Nick. “You promised you’d keep her safe!”

  “I know,” Nick forced out in a strangled whisper. “I tried, Phillip, I did. She kept secrets from me. Everything went to hell, then they took her. But don’t worry, I’ll get her back. I swear it to you on your grandfather’s grave.”

  Phillip stared at him in bewildered dismay. “I guess even Order agents fail sometimes, don’t they?”

  Nick flinched and lowered his head.

  It was all too true. Still, he’d had stab wounds that hurt less than the boy’s artless words.

  God, he had to make this right. Whatever it took.

  Steadying himself, he glanced across the room. “Mr. Carr, I appreciate your getting me back to this hotel. But you need to tell me now what the hell is going on.”

  Carr frowned warily at him.

  “Come, man, her life is in danger! I know you stole the book from her. And you must know by now that whatever sort of deal you thought you had with Limarque, his true intent was to take the book and kill you. So tell me everything,” he commanded, “from the beginning.”

  “Tell him what you know!” her cub growled.

  “Phillip, I’m not sure what we’ll be discussing is suited for young ears—­”

  “Quit treating me like a child!”

  “You are a child.”

  “I am nearly sixteen!” he thundered.

  Nick gave up on that fight with a shake of his head. He turned his attention back to Carr and went to sit down again, feeling slightly woozy. “How did you know to come and find me in that alley? I thought you ran after you were shot.”

  “I started to, but then I crossed paths with Lady Burke around the corner. She was on horseback. I told her not to go after you, but she never listens. So I followed her back toward the alley. I was scared she’d be hurt. I didn’t know what to do, so I just hid, but I was close enough to see the whole thing. You’re pretty good in a fight,” Carr conceded with a begrudging nod.

  “Thanks. What happened after that blackguard knocked me out? What did they do with her?”

  “Put her in a carriage.”

  “Did they hurt her?” Phillip asked anxiously.

  “No.” Carr glanced around at them with a somber look. “She told them she would decode the book for them if they’d spare your life.”

  Nick flinched.

  “What book?” Phillip echoed.

  “Never mind,” Nick mumbled. At least, if Limarque had a use for her, she should be relatively safe for a little while. He would have to get out ahead of this somehow, anticipate Limarque’s next move. “Were you able to follow the carriage?”

  “No. They went tearing off too fast. Instead, I came back for you.”

  “I owe you for that.”

  Carr shook his head, staring dazedly at the floor. “It all went so wrong. I had no idea . . .”

  “How far out of your depth you were? Well, I trust you know that now. You can escort the boy back to England.”

  “No!” Phillip cried. “She’s my mother, I want to help!”

  “You’re just a pup!”

  “I’m smart and resourceful! Look how well I did, getting here! I sneaked into Mr. Haynes’s detective office back in London and found a clue to where in Paris you two were going. Then I followed, and look, I got myself here, all the way to Paris without a tutor or a footman or anyone! You have to admit that’s pretty brave of me, coming all this way.”

  “You’re supposed to be at Deepwood,” Nick said in disapproval, though he was hard-­pressed to hide his amusement.

  “I wanted to show you I have what it takes to make a good spy when I grow up! But, blazes, I certainly didn’t expect to get here and find things in such a state! It’s a good thing I came, I can tell you. Now that I see how you’ve botched it, I’m not going anywhere.” He folded his arms across his chest. “She’s my mother, and I’m going to help you rescue her whether you like it or not! And John must help, too, because all of this is his fault. Well, it is!” he added, shooting her former assistant a glare.

  “Phillip.” Nick sighed. Can’t you see that if you stay, you’re just another person for me to protect? But he didn’t have the heart to say it out loud after the boy’s bold speech.
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  “You can’t send me home, Forrester! What if it was your mother who was missing? Would you leave—­even if you were my age? Of course not! Besides, you can’t do this yourself. Look at you! You’re half-­dead.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Order agents always work in teams of three. So here we are. You, me, John.”

  “Oh, Lord,” Nick groaned, leaning forward, elbows on knees, to rest his pounding head in his hands.

  If this was not him reaping what he had sowed in life, then nothing was. For years in the field, he always preferred to play the pain-­in-­the-­arse skeptic and leave the rigors of leadership to Beauchamp.

  How his former team leader would have laughed and laughed to find Nick in command of two distraught, immature boys. One itching to be a hero, while the other couldn’t stop glancing into the mirror.

  “Please?” Phillip begged him.

  “All right, fine.” One had to pick one’s battles, after all. “But you have to do exactly as I say. All our lives could depend on it. You see John’s shoulder? They were aiming for his head. I can’t protect ­people if I’m not told the whole story. Are we clear on that?”

  Both of his baby troops nodded.

  “Good. Now, then. Carr, tell me everything, from the beginning. And make it quick.”

  Carr explained how he had stolen the mysterious book to sell at the Bacchus Bazaar when Virginia had refused his advances.

  “I can’t help it,” he defended when Phillip gagged. “I’ve always preferred women a few years older than I. They’re more . . . mature. I thought the attraction was mutual. But she just laughed at me. Brushed me off. I know I’m not the sort of rich, titled lord she usually likes—­but I never expected to be treated as a joke!”

  “She only hired you because she felt sorry for you, you idiot!” Phillip snapped. “Because you’re a by-­blow like she is! She wanted to give you a chance. And this is how you repay her? Lord Forrester, what is this book he stole from my mother?”

  Nick shrugged, eyeing Carr skeptically. “Well? Answer the question.”

  “It came from her father. Not the Earl of Ashton,” he pointed out, “her real father. He was some sort of shadowy government agent. She never really went into much detail about that.”

  “What do you know about its contents?”

  “Well, of course, it’s all written in code, as you saw, so I couldn’t read it. But she was always consulting it and once showed it to me. She knew the code, of course. Her father had given her the key. She told me she had memorized it, then destroyed it. Though I should think she’s got a copy of it hidden away somewhere . . .”

  “A book from Grandpa Virgil? Did she tell you what sorts of things it said?” Phillip asked eagerly.

  “It was a record of her father’s exploits as a spy, in case any of his old enemies ever came after her. Names, dates, places.”

  Nick drew in his breath. Oh, Virgil, what have you done?

  “All his secrets were in there. She told me that when he was a young man, he had loved a woman up in Scotland. His enemies kidnapped her to try to force him into turning traitor. He never betrayed his country, but he never saw the woman again, either. His enemies killed her.”

  The room fell silent.

  “I guess, as an old man, her father didn’t intend to let those he loved be used as a pawn like that again. That’s why he trained her to fight and use a gun. The book was probably meant as her insurance policy. And yours,” Carr said to Phillip. “That’s why I knew it would infuriate her so much, my taking it. I knew she’d chase me. Maybe I wanted her to.” He shook his head. “But I swear I never meant for it to come to this. I don’t want to see her hurt. I still care for her.”

  “We all do,” Nick said.

  Phillip shook his head dazedly. “What are we going to do?”

  “Give me a moment.” Nick leaned forward and rested his pounding head in his hands again, trying to think around the pain. So that’s how she always knew so much about me, he thought, but, God, Virgil, how could you do this?

  Hearing this, at last, explained so many things. Like why she had been so secretive and why she kept saying that everyone makes mistakes.

  In hindsight, Nick realized that was why she had come to him in the first place. She must have known that, more than anyone, he would understand what it was like to muck up royally. She must have known he would help—­not just to fix this—­but to protect her father’s reputation.

  She would not have wanted the graybeards finding out that the great Virgil Banks had committed the ultimate indiscretion to protect his only living kin: Had put his secrets into writing and handed them off to an outsider.

  Good God, that was worse than what Nick had done, trying to quit the Order.

  It was shocking to find out after the man was dead that the great Virgil had had an Achilles’ heel, after all.

  His little girl, and of course, his grandson.

  If word of this got out, it would certainly taint Virgil’s reputation. But in an instant, he was equally committed to protecting the memory of his beloved handler. It was the least he could do for him after the way he had let everybody down. There was only one real question in his mind. Why didn’t she tell me?

  Especially after their night together.

  It should have been the first thing on her lips the next morning, but she had said nothing. It stung to think she still didn’t trust him—­but then again, why should she, considering where she had first found him?

  He shook his head, longing to wrap her safely in his arms. He swore that once he got her back, he was never letting her out of his sight again.

  In the meantime, unfortunately, by holding on to her secrets, she had endangered everyone, not just herself.

  In the wrong hands, that book could lead old enemies to hunt down the unsuspecting Order agents and pick them off one by one. All his happily married friends, thinking they could finally get some peace and settle down . . .

  No. He had to make this right, no matter what it cost him. He’d protect his brother warriors, make it up to them all for his previous failures. Rescue the lady who had stolen his heart and save those kidnapped girls, as well.

  God. He lowered his head. It was still throbbing with pain when her son approached him cautiously.

  “Lord Forrester?”

  “Yes, Phillip?” he asked wearily without looking up.

  “Maybe you should take this back.”

  Nick slowly lifted his head and felt a startled pang to find his medal from the Regent sitting there in the boy’s cupped hand.

  “Mother asked me to keep it for you while you were away. But I think now’s a good time for you to have it back.” Phillip offered it to him. “Maybe it’ll bring you luck.”

  Unexpected anguish closed his throat. Nick reached for the symbol of everything he had once prized more than his life.

  His honor.

  “Let’s hope so,” he said in a strangled voice, examining it. “We could use a little luck right now.”

  The boy laid his hand on his shoulder, bringing him back from his dark brooding. “So, how are we going to rescue her?”

  Nick glanced up at him in wry affection. “I’ll think of something.” His hand closing around the white Maltese cross, he ignored the throbbing pain that filled his skull and stood to his full height, his eyes blazing with renewed fire. His mind churned.

  “Should we try to find their hideaway?” Carr suggested.

  Nick shook his head. “They’ll be expecting that. It would take too long to find them, and even if we did, we’re badly outnumbered.”

  “Why don’t we go tell the gendarmes they took her? They could help us! The police must have some idea where these criminals like to hide—­”

  “Phillip, the gendarmes are probably corrupt. If we start asking questions, we’re the ones
who’ll probably disappear. Limarque and his men are going to be leaving Paris soon, anyway.”

  “Then maybe we could lay a trap for them somewhere on the road, ambush them—­”

  “Would you shut up and let him think?” Carr interrupted the boy impatiently. “We don’t even know where the auction will be held yet, let alone what route to take to get there!”

  “It’s all right, lad,” Nick murmured to her frightened son. “There are other cards in play that have to be considered, not just your mother, but the missing girls she was investigating, as well. And your grandfather’s book. We’ve got to get it back and make sure it is destroyed.”

  “How in the world are we going to do all that?”

  Nick considered it. “If all else fails, I need to get enrolled in that auction. Secure my last line of defense.”

  He stalked over to the armoire, opened it, and reached up to feel around to the back of the upper shelf. When his searching hand found the velvet-­wrapped lump of the emerald, he grasped it in relief.

  Considering that the jewel might prove his last resort for buying Virginia’s freedom on the auction if he could not save her sooner, he put it securely in his inside waistcoat pocket, where neither John Carr nor any Paris footpads could steal it.

  He did likewise with the game piece from Hugh Lowell, aware that she had concealed it inside a hidden compartment of her reticule, which she had left behind.

  Now all he had to do was set up his own entry into the Bacchus Bazaar. He would not be going, of course, as Lord Forrester, but as Jonathan Black of the criminal underworld. “Let’s go, you lot.”

  “Where?” Phillip asked, watching him, wide-­eyed.

  Nick shrugged on a brace of pistols, then reached for his coat. “We need to go see a friend of mine outside the city.”

  “Who?” Carr asked as he rose and followed.

  But Nick remained evasive as they headed for the door. “Someone who can help.”

  Asking a favor from Madame Angelique was making a deal with the devil, to be sure, but Nick was past caring.

  Whatever he had to do.