by Laura Landon
The minute the carriage he’d borrowed from Hunt’s stable came to a stop, he disembarked and walked up the short walk to Claire’s town house. He was returning from a very frustrating meeting with McCormick. A meeting where too many accusations were tossed out, too many angry words spoken. And where too many explosive tempers flamed an already explosive situation.
McCormick realized the importance of finding the necklace as much as Sam did. It had taken every argument Hunt could come up with to keep the head of the Foreign Office from sending an army over to tear Claire’s home apart to search for it. Sam needed to find it. Soon.
If only he knew what Hunt meant when he said, “She has it. My marchioness has it.”
They’d searched the house from top to bottom, from the attic to the cellar, even going so far as to pour out some of Hunt’s vintage wines. But had found nothing.
Sam raked his fingers through his hair, then gently rubbed his aching shoulder again. Why had Hunt told him to get the necklace from her if she didn’t have it? Why had he said to get the papers from Claire if he hadn’t given them to her?
Sam clenched his teeth in frustration. Hunt’s dying words meant no more to him now than when he’d whispered them all those months ago. It was a riddle Sam was afraid he’d never figure out. And thousands of young British soldiers would pay for his incompetence with their lives.
There were only days left before the peace negotiations began. Days in which to discover the traitor’s identity. And Sam hoped they went better than the last twenty-four hours had gone.
Everything had been in turmoil since he’d kissed Claire last night. He remembered the passion in her kiss, the heated desire. Which was totally at odds with the fear he saw in her eyes when she ended the kiss. As if she was suddenly afraid. Terrified that he’d want something she wasn’t willing to give. Something she wasn’t able to give. But what? Unless there was something she was hiding.
He stopped in midstride on his way up the stairs. Suddenly he realized how much the outcome of her battle to keep her emotions locked away mattered to him. The realization of how much he cared for her hit him with the force of a battering ram that broke through the barrier he’d erected around his heart. The realization of how much he wanted her—needed her—was even more surprising.
Sam stood on the top step of Claire’s town house and wanted to laugh. How had this happened? In all his nearly thirty years, he’d never once entertained the notion of caring for someone. He’d never once let down the protective guard that kept a woman from penetrating his heart. All that had ever been important to him was his country and his job with the military.
But each day, Claire became more important to him. And for the first time ever, the thought of settling down on the estate he’d been left by his father was more appealing than his life of intrigue and danger. The thought of having a home and children, and growing old with someone he loved was suddenly very pleasant. He yearned to stay alive long enough to see his children grow, and perhaps even his grandchildren.
He was at a crossroads, and the path his future would take depended on finding the necklace. That was the key to bringing about a quicker end to the war. Then his services wouldn’t be needed anymore. There wouldn’t be a reason for him to stay with the Foreign Office.
Sam walked through the front door and handed Watkins his hat and gloves. He stopped when he saw Claire standing at the foot of the stairs.
She was dressed in black again, as was expected of a woman in mourning. Her hair was pulled back from her face and wound into a tight chignon at the nape of her neck. Loose tendrils had escaped from their binding and framed her face. Bloody hell, but she was a beauty. And from the frown creasing her forehead, an angry beauty.
“Good evening, Lady Huntingdon.”
Sam walked toward her when she didn’t close the distance between them. “Is something wrong?”
“No.”
The short clip of her single answer indicated otherwise. He looked over to where Watkins stood. “Watkins, would you have tea served in the study?”
“Right away, sir.”
“And have Cook make some of those meat sandwiches she served for lunch yesterday. I’m starved.”
Watkins smiled. “Of course, sir. It won’t be a minute.”
“Thank you.” Sam turned back to where Claire stood and held out his arm for her to take. She didn’t, but brushed past him and walked to Hunt’s study.
Claire waited until the door closed before she spun around to face him. “It’s only been three days since you were hurt.”
“Three and a half.”
She glared at him. “Don’t make light of this, Major. You shouldn’t be out of bed, let alone out of the house.”
He smiled. “I’m glad to see you care.”
“Did you go to see McCormick?”
“I happened to see him, yes.”
The major sat down in one of the maroon cushioned chairs before the fireplace and crossed one leg over the other as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The look of pain in his eyes said otherwise. The brief shadow that darkened his expression said the meeting had not gone well.
Claire clenched her hands at her side. She didn’t know why she was so angry, but she was. How could he pretend to be so calm? She knew the stress of the last few weeks had pushed her closer to the breaking point. To see him sit there as if he hadn’t a care was nearly her undoing. She could think of nothing except finding the necklace. And rescuing Alex. And . . .
And the kiss they’d shared.
Claire couldn’t sit; she could barely stand still. “What will you do when you don’t have the necklace?”
“You mean if we haven’t found it yet?” He shrugged as if that were a moot point. “The only thing left to us—we’ll bargain without it. We’ll promise the Russians we won’t tell the world that they were selling off some of their most valued crown jewels in exchange for military secrets. And we’ll promise them that as soon as we have the necklace in our possession, we’ll return it to them. But Roseneau will not get it, Claire. We’ll save your brother without paying that price.”
She stalked across the room to where she didn’t have to face him. “Why do you think Hunt took it?” she said, staring into the dancing flames in the fireplace. “He didn’t need it.”
He hesitated as if searching for an answer. “I think he just didn’t want Roseneau to have it. I don’t think Hunt knew what he had or the repercussions taking it would cause.”
Claire clasped her hands around her middle. “Damn him!” she said, squeezing shut her eyes. She stiffened when she realized the major had come up behind her.
“Claire?” His voice was a soft whisper, and Claire knew he was going to reach out to her.
“Don’t!”
She spun around and held out her hands to ward him off. She couldn’t let him touch her. For more than a day, her life had been in a constant turmoil because of the kiss they’d shared. From the minute he’d held her, she’d yearned for things she could never have. Even though she’d vowed she wouldn’t let thoughts of him consume her, they did. He was everywhere. And the more she tried to tell herself she didn’t need the passion he’d shown her, the more she knew she did.
She tried to forget what it felt like to have his arms around her or his lips pressed to hers, but every time she saw him it was like living that magical time all over again. And with every second she became more desperate for him to pull her into his arms and hold her. And kiss her. She’d never wanted anything so desperately in her life. Never wanted to take the chance that with the major everything would be different.
For seven years she’d stomped down every emotion the minute it surfaced. She’d replaced the passionate void in her life with new gowns and a rush of activity. She’d taught herself she could exist without being touched or held or loved. Until he came. The major. With his bold and daring ways, his blatant masculinity, and his self-assuredness.
Now a day didn’t go by that she didn
’t hunger for what she’d gone a lifetime without. A night didn’t go by that she didn’t dream of lying in his arms, of him taking her as a man takes a woman.
Every time she told herself she couldn’t take the risk, a thousand voices screamed that she would die if she didn’t. That she couldn’t live the rest of her life without the passion that exploded in her every time he touched her. Her existence had been so empty that just once she wanted to know . . .
Just once.
He stared at her as if waiting for some sign as to what she wanted him to do. Some hint of the direction she wanted to go. But how could she think of anything other than Alex and how he was suffering every day for something that wasn’t his fault?
As if the major knew her thoughts, he grasped his fingers around her upper arms and turned her to face him.
She pulled away from him when a servant brought in a tea tray with sandwiches. Claire stared at the familiar china service but didn’t make a move to pour from it. As the servant was leaving, Watkins stepped into the room. There was a frown on his face, and Claire felt a jolt of warning.
“Excuse me, Major, but Monsieur Roseneau is here to see you.”
Claire felt as if someone had stolen the air from her lungs. She couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t enough air in the room to take a breath. She darted a look to where the major stood and watched his shoulders lift and his body stiffen to the battle-ready stance he took on whenever he faced danger. The look on his face turned hard as granite and the glint in his gray eyes as cold as steel.
“Watkins, show Lady Huntingdon to her room.”
Claire shook her head. She didn’t want to face Roseneau, but at the same time, she didn’t want to lose even the smallest chance to bargain for Alex’s release. The major saw her hesitation.
“Go upstairs, Claire, and stay in your room. Don’t come down until I come for you.”
“But—”
“Go.”
His voice was a harsh whisper. The look in his eyes as cold as ice. Claire debated again whether to follow his orders, then decided it might be for the best. With a curt nod she turned to leave. Roseneau’s voice stopped her.
He stood uninvited in the doorway, a look of confidence on his face. A daring glint in his eyes.
“Please, don’t leave, Lady Huntingdon. I do so enjoy your company.” He took a step into the room. “I see you were about to have tea. How delightful.”
A biting assault of panic slammed into her chest. He was here. The man at the center of so much destruction was here demanding to see the major. The man threatening to kill Alex was in her house. She turned her head and met the major’s hard look. When he spoke, the unrelenting tone of his voice sent a shiver down her spine.
“What an unpleasant surprise, Monsieur Roseneau. I don’t remember Lady Huntingdon mentioning she’d invited you.”
“That’s not very friendly of you, Major. An obvious lack of good breeding. Your uncle would be sorely disappointed. Fortunately, the lady doesn’t share your lack of hospitality.”
Claire faced him squarely. “I’m afraid I have no desire to entertain someone who’s caused my family so much suffering. Please leave my home.”
Claire nodded for Watkins to show Roseneau the door, but he stopped her with a malicious grin and a wave of his hand. “I have come to give you one last chance to save your brother.”
Claire’s heart skipped a beat. Every nerve in her body screamed. All she wanted to do was run to where he stood and scratch his eyes out. To make him suffer like she knew Alex was suffering. She must have taken a step toward him because the major reached out to stop her.
He stepped in front of her, half shielding her. Half restraining her. When he spoke, his voice contained a blatant threat. “What do you want?”
“The necklace, of course,” Roseneau said, his lips curling upward. “And the papers.” He turned toward her to issue his threat. “Before it’s too late.”
Claire lost her battle to the fear racing through her. “I don’t—”
The major’s hold on her arm stopped her words; the look on his face caught her breath. Roseneau shifted his gaze from her to the major.
“You don’t what, Lady Huntingdon?”
Claire looked up at the major. “Nothing.”
“Advising the lady to keep the necklace is very foolish, Major Bennett, and will gain you nothing. The Russian authorities already know Lord Huntingdon took it and that your government intends to use it as leverage to end the war. Therefore,” he said, walking through the room, “it would be most beneficial to give me the necklace so I can return it.”
The major took a long breath. “And why would I want to do that?”
“Why, to keep the Marquess of Halverston alive.”
“No!”
Claire didn’t realize she’d moved toward Roseneau, but she had.
Roseneau held up his hand.
“Don’t worry, my lady. As of right now, your brother is still alive.” Roseneau walked to Hunt’s desk and picked up the round marble paperweight. “How long he remains so depends on you.”
The muscles in the major’s arms knotted beneath her hand. “You’ll excuse me if I have trouble taking you at your word.” He leveled Roseneau an intimidating glare. “The Marquess of Huntingdon is dead because of your greed.”
“Let me assure you I was not responsible for the marquess’s death. Lord Huntingdon and I were, perhaps not close friends, but friendly adversaries nonetheless. I would never have wished him harm.”
Claire took a deep breath. “If not you, then—”
Roseneau shook his head. “I can only guess as to the killer’s identity. A game I’m afraid would put me in a great deal of unnecessary danger.”
Claire felt her nerves bristle. “Release my brother. He doesn’t know anything about the necklace.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. In fact I must insist you hand over both the necklace and the papers immediately.”
The major stepped forward. “You’re too late, Roseneau. The British authorities already have them.”
Claire saw Roseneau’s face pale and his hands clench around the paperweight.
“Giving them away was very foolish, Major. You had a chance to live before. Now you have none.”
The major stepped away from Claire, forcing Roseneau to turn to keep him in view. “Your future is not so very secure either, Roseneau. The Russian government cannot be happy that you stole such a precious treasure from them.”
Roseneau shrugged his shoulders. “Failure is the chance one must take in any encounter. As an army officer, you are well acquainted with the risks involved in a battle, Major.”
“But I have learned to choose my battles carefully. Why did you get involved in such a scheme?”
“Let’s just say I was given little choice. What is the term you English have? Skeletons in the closet? Well, suffice it to say I, too, have a skeleton or two. When a certain person offered me the opportunity to keep these skeletons safely locked away, I could not refuse.”
“And this person wanted the Russian jewels?”
“This person wants wealth, Major Bennett. Wealth means power, and some men cannot get enough of either. The whole world knew the Russian government was willing to empty their treasury to gain an advantage in the war. The problem was the Russians were in—how do you put it?—financial straits. They could not come up with the money, so they offered the jewels. There is always someone in the world willing to sell even their soul if the price is right.”
“And the necklace everyone is so concerned about?”
“Ah. The Queen’s Blood.” Roseneau lifted his lips in a noncommittal grin. “Let’s just say absconding with the necklace was an impulsive act on my part. One I didn’t think would have such negative repercussions.”
“And the papers? Why are you so desperate to get the papers back?”
Roseneau shrugged his shoulders. “I’m afraid I don’t have the answer to that. I’m not the one who wants them.�
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The major laughed, and Claire held her breath, watching the look on Roseneau’s face turn deadlier.
“Am I correct,” the major said, filling the room with the same powerful intimidation she’d sensed in him from the beginning, “that the papers contain a clue as to the traitor’s identity?”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know, Major. My part was only to act as courier. I’ve found it’s never wise to be too curious in deals of this kind. Now, about the papers—”
The major spun around and pinned Roseneau with a hostile glare. “It’s too late, Roseneau. The government already has them. There’s an army of men working to decode them right now.”
The fury on Roseneau’s face was obvious while the Frenchman held the major’s glare. Suddenly it changed. The look in Roseneau’s eyes changed to humor, and he smiled as if he was aware of a well-kept secret. “Do you know what I think? I think you are lying, Major. I don’t think you have either the necklace or the papers.”
Roseneau shifted the marble paperweight from one hand to the other, then carefully placed it back on the desk. “I think the Marquess of Huntingdon hid what he took from my safe and you and the marchioness cannot find it.” He laughed. “You are still searching. That is the reason you have not left the marchioness’s home. The reason there has been no hint of anyone at the Foreign Office working frantically to decode the messages. The reason no arrests have been made. That possibility was mentioned,” he said, stepping to the side of the desk, then turning back, “but of course I discounted it as impossible. Now, I’m not so sure. In fact, I think it more than probable.”
Claire’s blood roared in her head, and she watched as the two adversaries stared at each other, neither conceding on any point. The major was the first to break the silence.
“I think it’s time you left, Roseneau. When you talk to our traitor, tell him his days are numbered. It won’t be long before we discover his identity. Then we’ll know who was willing to sell out his country, and who murdered the Marquess of Huntingdon.”
As if to emphasize his point, the major stepped closer to Roseneau. “I can promise you, he’ll swing for his crimes. Because I’ll put the noose around his neck myself. And perhaps yours, too. If you’re still alive, that is. Now leave.”