by Laura Landon
He covered her hand with his and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. He held her gloved hand as if he could take away her apprehension. Her surprise was evident, and she pulled on her hand, intending to remove it. He held tight and wouldn’t let it go.
“Don’t forget—I’ll be right here,” he said before they entered the room. “Don’t leave my sight.”
Sam stopped at the top of the stairs that led down to the ballroom. There were at least fifty people gathered there already, with more undoubtedly coming.
“I thought you said this would be a small dinner party.”
Sam looked around the room, searching for familiar faces. Searching for Roseneau. “That’s what I was led to believe.”
“Do you see him?”
“Who?”
She breathed a shaky sigh that said she had no intention of answering him.
“No. Not yet.” He scanned the room again, then led her down the steps and into the crowd. There was no opportunity to reassure her again before his uncle, the Marquess of Rainforth, came bustling forward.
“Samuel, it’s so good to see you. And Lady Huntingdon.” Rainforth clutched her hand. “Allow me to express my deepest condolences on your loss and thank you ever so much for attending.”
Claire accepted Rainforth’s words with a slight nod. He beamed, then rambled on as Sam took her hand back and looped it through his arm.
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am Samuel persuaded you to attend tonight. I know coming back into Society cannot be easy for you.”
“No. But necessary, nevertheless. Thank you for inviting me.”
“Nonsense. It’s my pleasure. Have you had a chance to meet our guest of honor, Monsieur Roseneau?”
“No, my lord. We have both just arrived.”
Sam saw her look into the crowded room and knew the instant her gaze found Roseneau. She stiffened, and her fingers dug into his arm. She swayed unsteadily beside him. He wanted to pull her against him, but couldn’t. Instead, he stepped closer, hoping his nearness would be enough.
Rainforth cast a glance over the crowd. “Oh, there he is.” Rainforth waved him over. “I know he’s very anxious to meet you again. He and your husband were quite good friends, were they not?”
“They were business acquaintances,” Lady Huntingdon answered, her voice calm and controlled, her fingers digging deeper into his arm. “I could not say as to the degree of their friendship.”
Roseneau was in the midst of a conversation with at least six of the influential guests Rainforth had invited. The second he spotted Lady Huntingdon, he stopped his conversation and turned to face her.
Sam felt the tension between the two thicken, and for a second he was convinced that there was more between Lady Huntingdon and Monsieur Roseneau than the necklace. And whatever it might be, it was more adversarial than affectionate.
Sam wondered if it was possible that he could have been wrong about the connection between Roseneau and Lady Huntingdon.
Sam looked down to where Claire had a tight grip on his arm. Her chest rose and fell as if she’d exerted herself. The pulse at the base of her throat beat rapidly.
“Just stay where I can see you,” he whispered, but he wasn’t sure she heard him.
“Claire?” he repeated a little louder.
She shifted her gaze from Roseneau and glanced at Sam for just a moment. What he glimpsed startled him. Not the look of affection he expected, but unadulterated hatred. A bitterness more intense than he’d ever imagined he’d see in her eyes.
Chapter 14
Claire’s blood boiled. Her body trembled in anger at seeing the man who’d caused her so much pain.
He was just as she remembered him, as handsome and distinguished as before. And she wanted to kill him.
She wanted to take his life as she was certain—whether directly or indirectly—he’d taken Hunt’s. She wanted to make him pay for embroiling Alex in this mess. She wanted to cause him pain equal to the pain he’d caused her. A pain that would never go away. Instead, she lifted her gaze and greeted him as was appropriate her station.
“Lady Huntingdon. What a pleasure. And Major Bennett.”
Roseneau gave the major a challenging look, then turned his attention back to her. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the air above her fingers. Oh, how she wanted to pull her hand away from him and slap his face. How she wanted to let him know how much she detested him.
But she didn’t. She couldn’t. He had Alex. Until Alex was free, she couldn’t do anything but follow her plan.
“Monsieur Roseneau. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“Lady Huntingdon. You cannot imagine how devastated I was to hear of your husband’s death. Lord Huntingdon and I had conducted many business dealings together. He was a most admired associate as well as a dear friend. He will be greatly missed.”
“Thank you, Monsieur Roseneau.”
Roseneau stepped back and let his gaze move in slow perusal. “May I compliment you, my lady? You look stunning.”
Claire fought the shiver of revulsion as his eyes slowly undressed her. The seductive smile on his lips made her feel dirty.
He hesitantly released her hand and said, “I was afraid perhaps you would not come.”
Claire lifted her eyebrows. “Oh, really. And why is that?”
For a second, Roseneau looked a little nonplussed, but recovered quickly. “Because of your recent loss, of course.”
She looked him squarely in the eyes, not giving him the opportunity to doubt her meaning. “Yes. Well, there are times when matters of importance take precedence over personal preferences.”
“That sounds very serious, my lady.”
“It is. The tragedies in one’s life are often pushed to the background under light of such matters.” She paused for effect. “I have made certain discoveries that demanded I attend tonight.”
A slow, euphoric smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “I’m sure I will find anything you have discovered most worthwhile, Lady Huntingdon. Perhaps we could discuss this further after dinner.”
A gleam of victory shone in his eyes. He was like a cat ready to pounce on his prey.
Claire fought a chill that made her shudder. If Roseneau was the cat, she was the mouse he was about to devour. The thought scared her to death, and yet . . . Roseneau had Alex. She had no choice but to make whatever sacrifice was necessary to free him.
She lifted her head and then spoke the last words she wanted to say.
“I’d be delighted.”
Sam pushed his way through the crush of people crowding the small ballroom after dinner, and reached for a glass of brandy from one of the small refreshment tables scattered throughout the room. As he brought the glass to his lips, he moved his gaze from the spot where Claire talked with a group of women on one side of the room to where Roseneau held court with a group of status-seeking members of the ton on the other. It wouldn’t be long before Roseneau made his move. Claire’s comments had enticed him enough to guarantee he’d seek a moment alone with her. Sam didn’t want to be too far away when their meeting took place. The room was too crowded to risk losing sight of either of them.
He took another sip of brandy and ignored the small orchestra playing softly in the corner. Numerous clusters of sofas and chairs dotted the room, all of them filled with guests intent on some topic of conversation or another. Those who couldn’t find room to sit, stood together in little groups.
Sam let his gaze sift over the crowd, trying to memorize every face there. One of them was undoubtedly the traitor. And whoever it was, they possessed enough influence that they were privy to top military strategies. The problem was that there were a dozen or more here tonight who fit that requirement.
Sam’s thoughts were cut short by his uncle’s interruption.
“There you are, my boy,” the Marquess of Rainforth said, striding up to him with his usual exuberance. Sam always thought his uncle moved with the forcefulness of a thunderstorm, s
howering countless blessings, or wreaking willful destruction on everything in his path. He was no different tonight.
“Have you had a chance to talk with Ross?”
Sam shook his head. “He’s been quite busy fighting off his crowd of female admirers,” he said with a smile. “I haven’t seen him alone all evening.”
“Well, when you do, I would like to ask a favor.”
“Of course. What trouble has my cousin gotten into now?”
“No trouble, really.”
“Ah. Then he has been remiss in some area and you think it will have a greater impact if I remind him of his duties.”
Rainforth smiled. “I never could put anything over on you. You get that from your father. He always knew what I needed before I asked. Sometimes it was quite exasperating.”
Sam smiled while letting his gaze take in the crowded ballroom. Claire was still in sight, as was Roseneau. He turned his attention back to his uncle.
“. . . and you always manage to bring him around to do what’s expected of him.”
“And just what is it you’d like me to discuss with him?”
“I want an heir, Samuel. Ross is turning eight and twenty, and I’m not going to be around forever. I want the Rainforth title secured before I die.”
Sam tried to hide the smile that lifted the corners of his mouth. To his uncle, the Rainforth title and the considerable fortune that went with it were of the utmost importance. Sam only wished his cousin felt the same. From all the rumors he’d heard, Ross Bennett, Earl of Cardmall, went through money as fast as his father could give it to him.
Sam checked again to make sure Claire was in sight. She was. “Is there anyone in particular you want me to suggest as a future daughter-in-law?”
“Now, don’t laugh at me, boy. But what kind of father would I be if I hadn’t put at least a little thought into the kind of female who’d make the best countess for Ross? And since he isn’t putting any effort into finding a wife himself, I feel I have to.”
“He looks like he’s doing pretty well to me,” Sam said, nodding to where Ross seemed to be the central attraction for at least a half-dozen single ladies of the ton.
“Pshaw! That’s all for show. There isn’t one female in that gathering who’d be a suitable countess. He’s playing the ladies’ man simply for my benefit, to make me think he’s making an effort. But I know differently.”
“I see. And on whom have you decided as your first choice for your future daughter-in-law?”
Rainforth nodded to the opposite side of the room where a group of five or six pretty young women stood talking and laughing. “The one in green. Lady Caroline, the Earl of Penderly’s daughter. Excellent breeding, exceptional dowry, and pretty eyes.”
Sam nodded his approval at his uncle’s first choice. She was lovely.
“Or, the one by the window, in blue. Lady Penelope, Baron Renfroe’s daughter. Her father doesn’t have quite the pedigree I’d prefer, but her mother was the Duke of Ashtonbury’s daughter. Excellent family, you know.”
“Of course,” Sam nodded, trying to hurry his uncle’s conversation.
“Then there’s the Marchioness of Huntingdon. I know she’s still in mourning, but special allowances can always be made for a young widow alone.”
Sam’s gaze flew to where Claire stood talking to a group of friends. He suddenly wanted to remove her from the room. Wanted to take Claire out of his uncle’s sight. He didn’t want anyone considering her as a marriage prospect. Bloody hell! He didn’t even want anyone looking at her with that on their mind. “I’m not sure Lady Huntingdon is in the market for a husband, my lord.”
“Nonsense, Samuel. Every lady is hunting for a husband. Marriage to Ross would be an enviable match. Everyone knows that. And they’re of a similar age.”
Sam turned his gaze to the circle of men where Roseneau had been standing. He was gone. Sam searched the room while his uncle continued down his list of reasons Ross should settle down with a wife. Roseneau wasn’t anywhere.
“Are you listening, Samuel?”
“Yes, Uncle.” Sam looked to the spot where Claire had been. “I’m listening.”
She was gone, too.
“And you’ll talk to Ross?”
“Yes, of course. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I see someone I need to speak with.”
Sam pushed his way through the crowd, searching for Claire and Roseneau. His heart raced as he realized they weren’t in the room. That somehow they’d left without his notice.
Damn his uncle and his trivial worries. Damn Ross and his irresponsible ways. But Sam knew he had only himself to blame. He’d let her get away when he’d sworn to keep her in view.
Sam walked the perimeter of the room, searching every alcove and secluded spot. When he was sure they weren’t in the room, he headed toward the stairs. Perhaps Roseneau had taken her to Rainforth’s study, or the library, or—
“I say, Sam,” his cousin Ross said, grabbing Sam by the arm to stop him from rushing past. “What’s the hurry?”
“Not now. I’ve got to—”
Sam brushed Ross aside and turned to search the other side of the room. Ross’s words stopped him from taking another step.
“He not here.”
“Who?”
“Roseneau.”
Sam spun around to face his cousin. “What makes you think I’m looking for Roseneau?”
“A guess.”
“Actually, I was looking for Lady—”
“Stay away from him, Sam.”
Sam lifted his eyebrows. “Is that a warning, Ross?”
Sam studied his cousin’s face. Ross’s easygoing expression was gone, the look in his eyes as serious and menacing as the tone of his voice. Sam took note of the change and decided to feign ignorance. “But he’s your father’s friend and a guest, Ross.”
“You know exactly what he is, Major. I only wish my father did. He thinks the sun rises on him.”
Sam stared at his cousin, trying to evaluate the message he was sending. How could Ross know about Roseneau? How could he know about anything?
Sam struggled to find an answer.
“Don’t underestimate him, Sam. He’s not as harmless as—” Ross stopped, as if he realized he’d said too much.
“As what, Ross?”
“Just be careful.”
Before Sam could say more, Ross threw the remainder of his brandy to the back of his throat and handed the empty glass to a passing footman. “Oh, look. There’s Pinky. I have to offer him my sympathies. I hear he’s betrothed to Lady Eunice Quigham, though it seems he’s quite happy about it.”
Ross took a step away from Sam and stopped. When he turned around, there was a happy smile on his face. “If you’re looking for Lady Huntingdon, I believe she’s out on the terrace.”
The Earl of Cardmall walked away, laughing gaily, as if their serious conversation had never taken place.
Sam watched him go, then made his way to the double French doors that led out onto the terrace. The same gut-wrenching unease he felt before every battle roiled deep in his belly.
And a greater fear as Ross’s words echoed in his head.
Chapter 15
Claire kept her hand on Roseneau’s arm as he led her out into the cool night air.
“Do you need a wrap, my lady?” he asked, his concern a practiced art. It meant absolutely nothing to her tonight.
“No. I am fine.”
He placed his other hand over her gloved fingers and walked with her to the far side of the terrace, to a secluded spot where they couldn’t be seen or overheard. When they reached their destination, Claire turned to step away from him. But Roseneau clamped both hands around her upper arms to stop her.
“You’ll be warmer if you stay close, Claire.”
Claire stepped back, deliberately breaking his hold. She wanted to slap him, wanted to rake her fingers down his face and leave him scarred and bleeding. She wanted to see the fear in his eyes when she pulled the sma
ll pistol she’d hidden in a pocket of her skirt and pointed it at his chest. But she couldn’t do any of that. Not until Alex was free.
“I’m far from cold, monsieur,” she said with the gentlest of smiles on her face. “I rarely am. And . . .” She took a step away from him, then another, while slowly tracing her fingers over the low cement balustrade. When she was a safe distance from him, she turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. “. . . I didn’t realize we were such close acquaintances that you felt at liberty to use my Christian name?” She smiled seductively. “Yet.”
His eyebrows arched, then his smile broadened. And he laughed. “Am I correct in assuming this enjoyable banter is leading somewhere?”
“Perhaps.”
“Then, perhaps, you would like to enlighten me.”
Claire turned around to face him, her expression as relaxed as she could make it. “I want my brother released.”
He stepped closer. “Then I presume you brought me the necklace.”
“Can I presume you have already released my brother?”
Roseneau smiled. “How thoughtless of me. If I would have anticipated you having the necklace, I certainly would have. Do you have it, Lady Huntingdon?”
“No.”
“Who does?”
Claire tried to sound in control. Tried to make the lie believable. “Major Bennett. He’s keeping it until the Russian representatives come the end of next week.”
“And the papers?”
“Papers?”
“Don’t play the fool, my lady. You know what papers I’m talking about. If you have the necklace—which you do—then you also have the papers. Where are they?”
Claire shrugged, as if his accusations meant nothing to her. “Major Bennett’s working every hour of the day and night to decode them. I think it won’t be long until he knows the traitor’s identity. I’m sure all of England will take great pleasure in watching such a man hang.”
Roseneau was quiet. When he spoke, Claire felt a greater fear than she thought was possible.
“If you do not have what I want with you, then there is nothing for us to bargain with.”