Don't Tempt Me

'James?' Her heart stopped beating for a moment. 'Why must you involve him?'

'He is the reason why I am still here in Paris, tangled in the web of your past.' Simon moved back toward the sitting room, clearly distracted by his thoughts. 'Get well,' he muttered. 'In the days ahead I may need you.'

As quickly as he had come, he was gone.

Lysette lay alone in her bed, sick in mind and body, torn between elation and deep regret.

'Edward,' she murmured, curling into her pillow.

Fate was so unfair to her, giving with one hand while taking away with the other. Would she forever be a torment to those who were kind to her?

She buried her head in her pillow and cried herself to sleep.

Chapter 15

Simon left Lysette's home possessing more than he had arrived with-namely, a set of garments that belonged to the footman, Thierry. They were of the same size and height, and it would not be notable for Thierry to visit Desjardins, which was Simon's destination.

He hid his own clothes within a yew hedge lining the stone walls of the rear garden and exited out through the alley. Tugging Thierry's tricorn low over his brow, Simon thrust his hands into his pockets and began the journey to Desjardins on foot.

The distance was neither short nor long. It was perfectly timed to allow him to think carefully about what pieces of information he had and which pieces he lacked. He glanced around furtively as he went, but found nothing amiss. Because he was so prepared, he was startled by the gloved hand that was thrust out of an unmarked and somewhat dilapidated carriage sitting just around the corner from the Desjardins residence.

He paused midstep, then quickly recovered, accepting the missive with his head tilted away to prevent recognition. The curtains were closed, the hand and arm completely covered.

'Tell him I am growing impatient,' growled a raspy, grating voice from the interior.

There was a rap on the roof and the carriage rolled away.

Simon kept walking, tucking the letter in his pocket and maintaining the appearance that nothing of note had transpired. Inside, however, he was plagued with a growing disquiet.

L'Esprit was apparently not a creative ploy by Desjardins, as Simon had originally assumed. He was real, which made him another threat to manage.

He reached Desjardins's front steps within moments and rapped on the knocker with obvious impatience. The door swung open and the butler appeared prepared to allow him entry, then he noted the caller was not Thierry.

'Monsieur Quinn.'

Withdrawing his calling card, Simon extended it, then he shouldered his way into the foyer before he could be denied.

The servant opened his mouth to protest, but a narrowing of Simon's eyes seemed to alter his mind. Instead, Simon was led to the study, and he made himself comfortable by pouring a ration of brandy before sifting on a settee.

'Quinn,' Desjardins greeted, as he entered shortly after. 'What a pleasure.'

But the comte's gaze rested on Thierry's clothes overlong and revealed a wariness that Simon took advantage of.

'I have something for you,' he said, setting his goblet on the table and reaching into his pocket for the missive from L'Esprit. He examined it with theatrical interest. 'Interesting seal. Or lack thereof.'

'Give that to me,' Desjardins said crossly, snapping his fingers.

'No.' Simon broke the seal and withdrew the contents.

The comte lunged and ripped the note from his hands.

Simon smiled. 'What does L'Esprit want now?'

Desjardins paled. 'What do you know of L'Esprit?'

'Not enough, but you are about to tell me more.'

'Get out.' The comte shoved the torn letter into the pocket of his coat with shaking hands. 'Before I have you thrown out.'

'You would have me leave without investigating further? That is not your nature.' Simon hummed and mimicked confusion. 'I wonder what would make you act out of character. Terror perhaps?'

'Ridiculous!' the comte scoffed. 'You are nothing. Nothing to me, nothing to the English. If you were to be misplaced, there is no one to miss or worry over you.'

'Is that a threat?' Grinning, Simon leaned forward. 'You must have thought the same about Lysette Baillon. Or is it Rousseau? I admit, I am confused. Regardless, you were wrong. She is missed and now she has been found.'

Desjardins's fists clenched. 'Explain yourself.'

'No, no. The only explanations we shall be hearing are yours.'

'You would be better served by forgetting whatever it is you believe you know and leaving the country. The matters into which you pry will lead you to hell.'

'You have been bound to L'Esprit's whims for twenty years. Obviously, you are unable to extricate yourself on your own. I can help you,' Simon said, 'if it suits me.'

Desjardins sat, betraying his interest. 'To what aim?'

'I will have Lysette and you will leave her life as if you were never in it.'

The grin that split the comte's face was so triumphant, Simon laughed softly.

'I knew you fancied her!' Desjardins said smugly.

'Never mind what you believe you know. Tell me about L'Esprit.'

Desjardins's lips pursed and he sat back, crossing his arms. There was a long, measured pause. Then he began to speak and Simon listened with great interest.

When the tale was finished, Simon asked, 'How long was the gap between the ruination of Saint-Martin and the time you received the next correspondence?'

'Ten years, more or less.'

'And when next you heard from him, he did not come to you in the cellar?'

'No.'

'You did not find that strange?'

'I find the entire association to be strange,' the comte snapped.

'The original notes bore no traceable handwriting and L'Esprit met with you in the cellar. The later notes came handwritten and L'Esprit does not approach you at all. The first notes bore jewels; the later notes do not.'

'One did,' the comte corrected. 'It was only when I refused it and him that he began to pay me with threats against my family.'

'And you never wondered if the origins were different?'

Desjardins stilled. 'Why would I?'

Simon shrugged.

'He is unique, Quinn. Even you must see that.'

The insult was not lost on Simon, but he ignored it. 'Anything can be replicated, if one is clever enough.'

The comte considered that thought carefully. 'How do you intend to help me?'

'I think we proved today that the man can be fooled.'