Passion for Him

“What do you suggest we do?” Simon asked with exaggerated politeness. “Torture him slowly over many days? Would that better slake your blood lust?”

She waved her hand carelessly. “Why exert yourself? Kill him.”

“Salope!” Jacques yelled. “You would eat your own young.”

St. John’s brows rose.

“She works with me,” the Frenchman cried, struggling in Tim’s grip. “I, at least, can bear witness to Mitchell’s innocence in the matter of Leroux’s murder. She has nothing of value.”

“I beg your pardon?” Colin said, his frame stiffening. “Did you say you both work together?”

Amelia wrapped her arms around her waist, shivering.

“Ta gueule!” Mademoiselle Rousseau hissed.

Jacques’s smile was maliciously triumphant.

“I think we should separate them,” Colin suggested.

St. John nodded.

“I will take Lysette,” Simon said with a hard edge to his voice.

When the Frenchwoman shivered with apparent apprehension, Amelia looked away and fought a flare of sympathy for the woman.

“Come along, poppet,” Maria murmured, linking arms with her. “Let us gather tea and spirits for the men. We have a long night ahead of us.”

Colin stared at the man he’d thought was a friend and attempted to comprehend the fullness of the plot being explained to him. “You have been working with Mademoiselle Rousseau from the beginning? Before you met at the inn a few days ago?”

Jacques nodded. He was bound to a damask and gilded chair in Ware’s study, his calves tied to the legs, his hands restrained behind the back. “We did not meet at the inn. I have known her for some time now.”

“But you both acted as if you had just become acquainted,” Simon argued. When Mademoiselle Rousseau had proven to be more stubborn in holding her silence, he had left her bound and guarded in a guest room and joined the rest of the party in questioning her coconspirator.

“Because we had to make you believe that this matter was about Cartland and his murder of Leroux,” Jacques explained.

“Is that not what this has all been about?” St. John asked, frowning.

“No. The Illumines sought to end your inquiries and activities in France, which have become increasingly troublesome. I was sent to discover the identity of your superior.”

Colin froze. “The Illumines?” He had heard whispers of a secret society of “enlightened” members who sought power through hidden channels, but the rumors were unsubstantiated. Until now. “What do they have to do with Leroux?”

“None of this had anything to do with Leroux,” the Frenchman snapped. “In fact, Cartland’s murder of Leroux has been a complication.”

“How so?” Simon asked from his position on the settee. Dressed in his evening robe and holding a cheroot in one hand, he looked the part of a man at leisure, which was definitely not the case.

“The Illumines learned that Mitchell was returning to England,” Jacques said. “I secured a cabin aboard the same ship with the intent to befriend him on the journey. It was hoped that our association would eventually lead to a disclosure of the identity of the man you work for here in England. I followed Mitchell the night we were to set sail, and I took advantage of the opportunity presented to me. I used the situation to build a friendship with Mitchell.”

“Fascinating,” St. John murmured.

“And what of Lysette?” Simon asked.

“Mitchell was my target,” the Frenchman said. “You were hers. The Illumines do not like to leave anything to chance.”

“Bloody hell.” Colin growled his frustration. “And what of tonight? What role did Depardue play?”

“He was responsible for discovering the truth regarding Leroux’s death, which is a personal matter to the agent-general.”

“So I am still wanted in France,” Colin said, “and someone must pay for Leroux’s death. My predicament has not changed, merely your and Mademoiselle Rousseau’s role in it.”

Jacques smiled grimly. “Yes.”

“And now Depardue is dead.”

“Do not regret that outcome, mon ami. As Mademoiselle Rousseau can attest, he was a far from honorable man. I would never allow you to suffer for his crimes. I assured you of that from the beginning.”

“But you allowed Depardue into my house,” Ware pointed out. “Why?”

“Cartland sent him to find Miss Benbridge,” Jacques explained. “I agreed to assist him, but my intent was not to let him succeed. I had hoped to be the one to ‘discover’ him and kill him, thereby deepening your trust in me.”

“I do not understand.” St. John stepped closer. “Why does Cartland trust you?”

“Because of Depardue. When Mitchell and I were still in London, I searched for Cartland. I found Depardue and told him I was working with Lysette to apprehend Leroux’s killer. Lysette’s involvement made Depardue wary. This created an opening with Cartland, who needed alternate French support because Depardue did not believe him.”

“Where is Cartland now?” Colin asked.

“At the inn, waiting for word.”

Colin looked at Quinn, who stood.

“I will change swiftly,” Quinn said.

St. John rose. “I shall come along, as well.”

“I will stay here with the women,” Ware offered. Then he smiled. “Though I doubt they need my protection.”

Colin left the room and moved toward the library with a rapid, eager stride. Quinn fell into step beside him.

“It appears that your vindication is at hand,” the Irishman said.

“Yes. Finally.” Anticipation thrummed through Colin’s veins and made his heart race. The divide separating him from Amelia still existed, but the scent of their lovemaking clung to his skin and gave him hope. She loved him. The rest would come in time.

He and Quinn parted ways by the staircase, and Colin returned to the library to collect his coats. His fist curled around the empty sheath that normally held his dagger, and his mind returned to the moment when Amelia had come to his aid, defending him to the death. Earlier today he had thought it impossible to love her more than he did. Now he realized he was falling in love with her all over again. With the woman Amelia had grown into.

For the first time, Colin was absolutely certain there was no other man in the world better for Amelia. And even if that were not the case, damn them all regardless. She belonged to him. With perseverance he might convince her to believe that, too.

Resolute and determined, he shrugged into his garments and left the room. Ware was standing at the foot of the staircase, staring down at the location where Depardue’s body had lain not long ago. The scene was tidied now, but Colin suspected the memory would haunt the earl for years to come.

At the sound of footfalls, Ware turned his head, and his gaze narrowed upon seeing Colin.

“If you capture Cartland,” Ware said, “you will have no further business here.” His jaw tightened. “Except for one.”

“Shall we meet at dawn?” Colin suggested. The duel was one more impediment to his future with Amelia. He wanted it dispatched immediately. “We will both have been awake through the night. No advantage for either of us.”

“Perhaps you will fight at length or return wounded,” the earl said grimly. “However, if neither of those conditions applies, dawn will suit me well.”

Colin bowed and hastened toward the stables, spurred by the thought that the sun could rise upon an entirely new life for him. He found St. John waiting with a dozen men. Quinn appeared shortly after.