by Laura Landon
“And there’s no need for you to hold Alex. Keeping him hostage can do you no good.”
“Can’t it? I want that necklace and the papers, Lady Huntingdon.”
“I already told you. I don’t have them.”
“Then get them!”
“You know as well as I that Major Bennett will never trade them for Alex’s freedom.”
“That’s very unfortunate, my lady. Your brother was sure you would come to his aid.”
Claire’s blood ran cold. “Don’t hurt him. Please. None of this is his fault. He isn’t involved in any of it.”
“But you are. And I want that necklace.”
Claire’s heart raced. The blood thundered in her head. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She had no choice. Alex would die unless she could help him. Unless she . . .
“What else will you take in place of the necklace?”
His eyes turned hard and black and dangerous. For a long time he only stared at her, his gaze angry and hostile. Then understanding dawned, and the glint in his eyes frightened her more than before. “What else are you offering, my lady?”
Claire swallowed hard. She couldn’t do this. She was going to be ill. She clutched her hands at her side, making tiny, painful fists. “Anything I have that you want.”
He stepped closer until he was so near her she could feel the heat of his vile body next to hers. The corners of his lips curled upward. His eyes gleamed with a greedy, eager look.
Claire forced herself not to run when he touched his hand to her bare flesh. She forced herself to stand still when he ran the fingers of one probing hand along the low bodice of her gown.
“How interesting.”
His eyes ogled the flesh that was exposed to his gaze as he ran his fingers back across her skin. With each passing, he dipped lower over her breasts, his long fingers reaching deep beneath the material, so deep he nearly touched her nipples. She swallowed hard.
He smiled. Then he leaned close and Claire knew he intended to kiss her.
“Lady Huntingdon,” a voice said from somewhere behind them.
A small gasp of relief escaped from deep inside her. Roseneau stiffened. “How unfortunate,” he murmured against her ear, then turned to face their intruder. “Major Bennett, what a surprise. Did you also come out to enjoy this nice evening?”
“There was a matter I needed to discuss with Lady Huntingdon and couldn’t find her. Thank you for seeing to her welfare,” the major said, crossing the terrace until he stood next to her.
Claire watched the two men evaluate each other, heard the unspoken threat, felt the undeclared challenge. They were both formidable enemies. Both dangerous, threatening men. But one she would trust with her life.
“The pleasure was mine.” Roseneau lifted her hand and brought it to his lips. “We had a very enlightened conversation, Major. One you would have found quite interesting.”
“Then I regret I did not seek the lady out sooner.”
“Your loss was my gain.” Roseneau turned so his gaze bore into her. “If you will excuse me, my lady. There are many friends inside I have yet to greet. I bid you a pleasant good night.”
He turned to go, then stopped. “Thank you for your generous offer, Lady Huntingdon. I’m not sure I can be persuaded to exchange one treasure for another, but one never knows. The offer is tempting indeed.” Roseneau shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever I decide, you will know my answer shortly.”
Claire watched him go through the double French doors, then spun away and clutched her arms around her middle. She couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t find enough air to fill her lungs. Couldn’t keep her small cries from echoing in the darkness.
She felt herself sway. The major’s arms came around her, turning her, pulling her close to him.
“What the hell was that all about?”
“Hold me,” she whimpered, her voice a weak whisper, her words jagged fragments. “Please . . . Oh, please.”
Claire nestled against him and buried her face against his warm chest. There was nothing sexual in the way he held her; nothing sensual, and yet . . . she’d never experienced such complete surrender as she did at that moment. She wrapped her arms around his waist and clung to him. Twice he’d saved her. Twice he’d come when she’d needed him. Twice he’d held her in his arms.
His hand traveled up and down her spine, comforting her. Soothing her. His lips touched the top of her head. She could feel his muscled strength, smell his clean, masculine scent. He held her until she stopped shaking. Until her breaths could fill her lungs. And he held her even longer.
Finally he placed his fingers beneath her chin and tilted her face. He was angry. She could see it in his eyes. They blazed hot, the gray as intense as she’d seen the night he killed Roseneau’s henchman. Some of his anger was directed at her, she knew. But most of it was directed at Roseneau.
“Why did you come out here alone with him?”
“How else did you expect me to deliver your message?”
“Not out here where no one could see you. Not alone!”
“What would you have had me do? Conduct our conversation in front of fifty people?”
“No, but I couldn’t find you. He could have—”
He stopped. She saw the concern in his eye and waited for him to finish. He did not. He only looked at her. “Are you all right?”
She nodded and gave him a shaky yes. “Please, take me home. I want to go home.”
“Very well.”
He wrapped his arm around her waist and escorted her through the crowd still drinking the Marquess of Rainforth’s excellent and never-ending supply of liquor. They said a quick farewell, and the major got their cloaks while Claire waited by the door. She couldn’t wait to leave. Couldn’t wait to get away from Roseneau.
The major came back with her cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders, then led her out of the house and down the steps.
When Honeywell saw them exit the town house, he pulled the carriage away from the curb and crossed the street to get them. Before it came to a complete stop, the major had the door open. He lowered the step, and Claire took her first shaky step up.
“My lady! Lady Huntingdon! Wait!”
Claire turned around as one of Rainforth’s servants came running toward them. “This is for you, Lady Huntingdon,” the maid said, holding out a narrow, oblong package. “Monsieur Roseneau said to make sure you got this before you left.”
Claire shook her head and pulled her hand back. She didn’t want anything he had to give her. Didn’t want any gifts from him.
The servant’s happy smile turned to perplexed agitation, and she glanced from Claire to the major, looking for instructions as to what to do.
“But he said to make sure you received it, my lady.”
Claire pulled back even further. It must have become obvious to the major she wasn’t going to take it. He took it for her.
“Thank you,” he said to the relieved servant. “Tell Monsieur Roseneau that Lady Huntingdon received it.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
The servant bobbed a quick curtsy, then raced back to the house. Major Bennett followed Claire into the carriage. “Do you know what it is?” he asked when the carriage was rolling down the street.
She shook her head.
“Why would Roseneau give you a gift?”
“I don’t know.”
But she did know. It was the answer to her proposition. An answer she didn’t think she was brave enough to discover.
Claire huddled in the corner of their carriage as it rambled through the streets. Her teeth chattered and her whole body trembled from her encounter with Roseneau. She’d never been so frightened in her life. Never been so physically sick with dread. The box was the size a necklace might come in. What if he had accepted her proposition? What if he hadn’t?
She wrapped her arms around her middle and tried to keep her teeth from chattering. She couldn’t.
“Bloody hell,
Claire,” she heard the major whisper. He placed Roseneau’s package on the seat and moved beside her. He pushed her skirts aside to make room for his large frame.
She made the mistake of looking at him. His eyes still brimmed with fury; his mouth was pressed to two tight lines. The only term that could describe the expression on his face was murderous.
He slid close beside her, and with infinite tenderness wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She turned into him when he pulled her close, as if that was where she belonged. She buried her cheek into his chest and slid her arm around his middle, feeling the strange warmth of his flesh beneath his linen shirt.
“Do you think Roseneau believed you when you told him I had the necklace and the papers?”
She nodded, unable to get the words out.
For a long while they sat in silence. Then he asked the first question she knew she could not answer. “What generous offer did you make him?”
He spoke through clenched teeth, his words short and clipped. She could hear the anger in his strained voice. She could feel the bridled fury in the tenseness of his muscles. Every part of him seemed stretched taut, ready to snap.
“What?” he repeated.
“It was nothing,” she lied.
“What did he mean when he said he wasn’t sure he could exchange one treasure for another?”
Claire pushed herself away from him, moving as far into the corner as she could. “I don’t know. Please, leave it be.”
“I can’t and you know it. What treasure was he talking about? What did you offer him, Claire?”
His voice echoed in the closed carriage, his anger a palpable thing. He turned to face her, his enraged face looming closer to her in the dark shadows.
“What?”
“It was nothing! I did what I was supposed to do. I told him you had the necklace and had no intention of giving it to him. And I told him you were close to discovering the traitor’s identity. Now leave me alone!”
Claire clenched her fists in her lap. Damn him! They had less than one week to find the necklace, and she didn’t have the slightest idea where Hunt had hidden it.
“What deal were you attempting to make?”
Claire was ready to shout her denial when the carriage stopped. The major jumped down to the street, then turned to help her. She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. She knew he expected her to confide in him. Expected her to play the part he’d assigned her, then yield to his better judgment when any decisions had to be made. But it wasn’t his brother Roseneau was holding hostage. It wasn’t his life that had been destroyed.
She felt his hands at her waist, touching her, helping her, and she ignored the strange swirling in the pit of her stomach.
The second her feet hit the ground, she spun past him and raced to the house. She needed space. Needed to be alone so she could think. So she could search the house more thoroughly.
Oh, she wished Barnaby were here. Wished things were different and she could confide in the major. She was desperate to give her problems over to him.
Claire sped up the short walk, then through the open door Watkins held for her. The major was close on her heels. She knew it even though he hadn’t made a sound.
It was strange how she felt his presence. Even Hunt’s nearness hadn’t been this powerful. But Hunt had never held her like the major had. Hunt had never comforted her the way the major had. And Hunt knew what the major hadn’t discovered yet. Hunt had found out what the major would never know.
She didn’t stop to hand Watkins her cloak, but walked across the entry room toward the stairs.
“Claire.”
She continued on her way up the stairs.
“Claire. Stop.”
Claire halted, then turned to face him.
He was close. Not close enough to touch her, but close enough that she could see the fire in his steel-gray eyes. Close enough to feel the power that radiated from his towering strength.
She held his gaze, daring him to question her further. Her mind was made up. She would do this on her own. She would battle Roseneau with the only artillery she had. With the only means at her disposal. There was nothing the major could do to help her except give over the necklace. And she knew he wouldn’t if he had it.
“I’m tired.” She started to turn away from him, but the lift of his hand stopped her.
“Open it.”
He held the package the servant girl had brought out to them. A pretty little box wrapped in gold paper and tied with a deep burgundy ribbon. She didn’t want it. Maybe tomorrow she could face the gift Roseneau intended her to have. The first of many gifts she would receive for services rendered. But she didn’t want to see it tonight.
“Open it!”
She gave him her most defiant look, then snatched the package out of his hand. She pulled at the ribbon, whipping it free. It fell to the floor. She tore at the gold paper with little care. It fluttered down with the ribbon. When the long, flat box was unwrapped, she looked him in the eyes, then tossed the lid in the air and held the box out to him.
She didn’t want to see what Roseneau had given her. Didn’t want to see what value he put on what she’d agreed to do for him. So she kept her gaze focused on the major’s face.
His reaction was unmistakable, but not the one she anticipated. He did not look at the contents of the box as if he was impressed or amazed, but as if he were shocked. Puzzled. Repulsed.
“Claire?”
He reached for the box, taking it from her hands. It was almost as if he wanted to hide it from her. She looked down. Looked at the scrap of cloth she knew had once been ivory linen with the letters AL/MH embroidered in the corner. One of a matching set of three handkerchiefs she’d given Alex last Christmas with the initials AL/MH, Alexander Linscott, Marquess of Halverston. The handkerchief was lying in the bottom of the box, soaked in blood.
“No!”
Claire clamped her hands over her mouth to muffle the scream she couldn’t stop. Her legs threatened to go out from beneath her while her body trembled like a leaf blowing in a gale storm. The major put down the box and held her, but Claire was oblivious to his arms around her or his hands caressing her.
She had Roseneau’s answer. She’d failed. If she didn’t give him the necklace, Alex would die.
Chapter 16
“Claire!”
Sam guided Claire to the base of the stairs, picked her up in his arms, and carried her to the nearest room. Watkins rushed ahead of him and opened the door to the downstairs study. Sam stepped inside and placed her on the nearest sofa. She trembled and gasped for air. Sam was suddenly frightened for her.
“Claire.”
He reached for her hand and held it. Her fingers shook in his; her lips were pressed tight and colorless.
“Claire, what is it? Whose handkerchief is that in the box?”
She looked up at him. Her face was as pale as fine porcelain, her eyes filled with terror. “It’s Alex’s. Oh, God help him. It’s all my fault.”
Sam turned to the butler. “Bring me a glass of brandy.” Watkins raced to get the brandy. “What does your brother have to do with this, Claire?”
“The handkerchief is his. His initials are on it—Alexander Linscott, the Marquess of Halverston.”
Sam mumbled a harsh curse as Watkins handed him a glass. “Here, drink this,” he said, lifting the brandy to her lips. She looked at it as if she’d never held a glass of brandy before, as if she had no idea what to do with it. He tipped it and let her swallow.
“Tell me what’s happened. Everything.”
Her tears flowed freely now, streaming down her cheeks as her body trembled. “He has him. Roseneau has Alex,” she said through her sobs. “He told me tonight he wouldn’t release him until I gave him the necklace.”
Sam tried to absorb her words. Roseneau has her brother. This was why she was so intent on finding the necklace. Why she couldn’t let anyone else find it. Why hadn’t he realized that greed wasn’t the reason she
wanted it?
She twisted her hands in her lap. “I never should have lied to him. I should have told the truth so he knew we didn’t have it and couldn’t give it to him.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference.”
She flashed him a hostile glare. “How do you know? It might have.”
“Roseneau isn’t that benevolent of a man.”
“But if he knew we didn’t have it, maybe he would have agreed to my bargain and let Alex go. Oh, God! What have I done?”
Sam’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean, maybe he would have agreed to your bargain?”
She pounded a fist against her thigh as she rocked back and forth on the settee. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter. That’s why he sent the handkerchief. To tell me he wouldn’t agree to anything I offered.”
Every nerve in Sam’s body snapped. She’d tried to make Roseneau an offer. But what did she have that he might want? She didn’t have the necklace. She didn’t have the papers. She had nothing except—
“Bloody hell! You offered to trade places with your brother. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was trying to get my brother back!”
“Why didn’t you come to me? Why didn’t you tell me Roseneau had your brother?”
“Because you couldn’t help me. No one could. Not without the necklace.”
Sam looked at her and knew why she hadn’t come to him. Knew that he’d made it plain he wouldn’t give the necklace up just to save one man. Even if that man were was brother.
“Watkins. Go find Lieutenant Honeywell.”
“Yes, Major.”
“Take one more sip,” he said to Claire, lifting the glass to her lips.
She did and nearly choked on the swallow.
Sam waited for her to catch her breath, then dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief he had in his pocket. She lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes filled with pleading, with fright. “Please, help me.”
Sam nodded and set the glass on a nearby table. When he turned back to her, he unclasped the linen frog at her neck and slipped her cloak from her shoulders. “How long has Roseneau had your brother?”
“Since I was attacked. The man Roseneau sent told me they had him and wouldn’t release him until I handed over the necklace.”