Don't Tempt Me

Simon removed his hat, his gaze sweeping over the various bolts of cloth and the customer speaking to the red-haired woman at the counter before discovering the waving hand peeking out from behind a curtain. Moving to the rear, he slipped behind the thick wool and found himself in the back of the store. He also found Richard.

'Took you long enough, Quinn,' the man said, laughing.

Richard was seated at a table covered in multiple scraps of cloth and spools of thread. As always, he looked relaxed and carefree. Simon was not fooled, though the less observant would be.

Taking the seat Richard gestured to, Simon set his hat on the table and said, 'Interesting choice of venue.'

'Courtesy of Amie'-Richard gestured to a rather plain-faced girl who sat in the corner tugging needle through thread-'and her mother, Natalie.'

The redhead rounded Simon's back, set a chipped and mis-marched tea service atop the mess on the table, and began to pour.

'Natalie's husband is the tailor,' Richard explained. 'But he is home ill this week.'

'Merci beaucoup,' Simon said to Natalie, then he pressed a kiss to his fingertips and tossed it at the girl. Amie blushed and lowered her eyes.

'Women come too easy to you,' Richard complained. 'It took me two hours before she would even look at me.'

'But your efforts paid off.'

'I would rather expend no effort, like you.'

Simon accepted the cup and saucer offered to him, and settled as comfortably as possible into his wobbly seat. 'Tell me you have something valuable.'

'I am not certain how valuable it is, but it's damned interesting.' Declining tea, Richard crossed his arms on the table and leaned closer. 'The Vicomte de Grenier is most likely one of my easiest assignments.'

'Oh?'

'Yes. He was embroiled in a scandal of such note, that it is still remembered to this day.'

'Always lovely when that happens.'

'Yes, it is. Apparently the vicomte was betrothed to Marguerite Piccard, who was a diamond of the first water, 1 understand.'

'Still is,' Simon said, setting his cup down without drinking from it. He wanted liquor, not tepid tea.

'However, before they could wed, she hared off with the Marquis de Saint-Martin, a noted libertine who happened to be married at the time. I heard some diverting tales about women crying in the streets over the man, but his reputation was obviously not a deterrent to Mademoiselle Piccard.'

Simon remembered the haughty and icy woman he had met in his parlor, and his brows rose. Then he thought of Lynette and the heat of her passion. It seemed both women were determined to have what they wanted.

'She was his mistress for over a year,' Richard continued, 'then she returned to de Grenier, who married her anyway. He is some sort of diplomat to the Polish and she has been living in Poland ever since. De Grenier returns quite often, always alone. They had two daughters, but one is deceased.'

'Was the parting with Saint-Martin amicable?'

'It is said the libidinous marquis suffered a great decline after they separated. He was not seen for months after she wed, and afterwards, was never the same.'

Frowning, Simon considered the news carefully. 'What year did this transpire?'

'In '57. Also, I am not certain if they are connected in any way, but Saint-Martin's surname is Rousseau.'

'It cannot be coincidence. There are too many of those as it is.'

'What does it mean? Do you know?'

'I might.' Suddenly wishing he'd had more sleep, Simon growled and damned his brain for being sluggish. 'Say nothing of this to Eddington.'

'Of course not,' Richard muttered. 'You know me better than that.'

Simon pushed to his feet.

'Well? Are you going to tell me what in bloody hell is going on?' Richard demanded.

'No, not yet.'

'Damn it, Quinn… Do not go yet! I haven't finished.'

Pausing midturn, Simon waited.

'I will tell you mine,' Richard offered, 'if you tell me yours.'

'Becking…' Simon rumbled.

'Oh, very well. Since I felt rather successful after last night, I stopped by Mademoiselle Rousseau's residence this afternoon. Just before I came here, actually. One of her servants was leaving at the time and I followed him. He went directly to Desjardins's residence and was shown in like a guest, not a servant.'

'A bit odd perhaps,' Simon murmured, 'but not surprising. I am certain Desjardins supports her and pays her staff. He would expect reports of her activities and visitors.'

Which was why Simon would not be announcing his next visit to her.

'That is not the best part.' Richard sat back and grinned. 'That James chap was following him, as well. Damned good at the business, too. I had no notion he was in pursuit until after I mounted to meet you. I was turning a corner when he caught my eye.'

'So… the mouse senses the trap.' Simon nodded. 'Excellent work as always, Becking. You can share that part with Eddington. It should keep him happy for a time.'

'Eh. It was a lucky day.'

Simon patted him on the shoulder. 'See what news you can find regarding the marquis.'

'Already working on it,' Richard assured. 'As much for my benefit as for yours. Been a while since I had anything this interesting to chew on.'

Smiling, Simon departed the shop and rode toward Lysette's.

Desjardins fingered the missive in his pocket as he climbed the stairs to Lysette's room. Another L'Esprit query, this time in regards to Simon Quinn. The man was coming far too close to Lysette for the comte's comfort. If he was not careful, he would lose her.

He reached the door and knocked once, then entered without waiting for permission. It was his house, after all.

'Mapetite,' he said, striding toward the bed.

Lysette was reclining, though more upright than on her back. Dressed in a night rail and covered to the breasts in the counterpane, she seemed so small and fragile. He was reminded of his daughter Anne and his throat tightened.

'My lord,' she murmured, her voice still tight and raspy.

'How are you feeling?' He grabbed a nearby chair and pulled it closer to the bed before sitting.

'Tired. Confused.'

'I cannot help you with the former, but perhaps the latter is in my power to soothe.'

She sighed, which led to a brief fit of coughing. She caught up the large handkerchief resting in her lap and held it to her lips.

'Has the physician returned?'

'Not that I have been aware.'

'I will send for him when I leave.'

'Thank you.'

Desjardins smiled. 'I would do anything for you.'

She nodded, her features grave.

'I hope you feel the same charity toward me,' he said.

'Have I not proven that over the last two years?'

'Yes, of course.' He placed one ankle over the opposite knee. 'Bur the world is changing, wars are raging. Friends become enemies and enemies become friends. Such is the way of things.'

Lysette blinked at him, a slight frown marring the space between her brows. 'What has happened?'

The comte glanced around the room, noting a pale pink chaise set in an awkward location. He gestured toward it with a jerk of his chin. 'Is that where James slept?'