Confessions of a Little Black Gown (19 page)

But I must know the truth, I must know who this man is.

And not for the obvious reasons.

No, Tally had no desire to discover this man was some country vicar.

Felicity had her duke. Pippin her pirate.

And I want my spy…a dark, unpredictable man who will complicate my life, tangle up my heart and kiss me insensible…

Her hand slipped inside the valise and she felt around, only to find the bag empty.

She sat back on her heels, utterly disappointed. But not quite deterred. Looking at the bag again, this time she picked it up, and its weight gave away its secrets.

It was far too heavy to be empty.

She grinned and opened it again, this time her fingers examining the seams, pockets and finally the bottom. She remembered a case her father had, one that he used while traveling on diplomatic missions, one she and Felicity had often played with, carrying contraband sweets or trifles into their room hidden inside its secret compartments.

Closing her eyes, she concentrated until she found the subtle latch and tripped it open.

“Sir, you’ve been to Mr. Stennet’s shop on Vigo Lane, haven’t you?” she whispered. Well, she should have known as much from the Swiss lock.

Taking another deep breath, she opened the compartment. The first thing she touched was the cold steel of a pistol, the icy shock drawing her hand back as if she’d been shot. Again she glanced at the bed and this time drew an unsteady breath as her heart hammered wildly, just as it had when he’d aimed it at her earlier, the pistol a dark reminder of why he was here.

Gingerly nudging the pistol aside, she ventured deeper, her fingers fanning across a packet of papers tied with a ribbon. These she retrieved, quietly untying the ribbon.

Tally, you shouldn’t snoop
, Nanny Brigid had chided time and time again.
A nosy person is just a thief in disguise.

Hardly a thief
, Tally argued to herself.
I have no intention of taking anything. Just reading the words and carrying a bit of information away. Hardly my fault he left these so easily accessible.

To someone with lock picks and a penchant for hidden compartments.

Even as she tiptoed over to the window to read by the light of the full moon outside, another of Nanny Brigid’s lectures rang in her ears.

A light is still a light—even though the blind man cannot see it
.

Tally pressed her lips together. Of course, she could always live by Nanny Tasha’s favorite Russian proverb.
Unless caught, one is not a thief.

She always did have a fondness for their practical Russian governess. So that settled the matter. She wasn’t going to take the papers, and she had no intention of getting caught.

Leaning against the casement, she tipped the papers to take advantage of the light and started to sort out what she had found. And what a treasure trove she’d unearthed.

Identity papers. For an Esmond Ferrand, a French trader. Ambrogio Martinello, an Italian gemsmith. Benedicto Neves, a Portuguese banker. All stamped and ready to move a man easily from one country to another. A man such as Lord Larken.

Tally leaned her forehead against the cool glass and tried to breathe. Oh, what a dangerous tangle. Before her eyes she saw Pippin and Dash’s lives hanging in the balance, and her heart broke as she realized what she must do.

Stop him. Thwart him. Outwit the king’s most dangerous agent.

And in due course, he’d discover her deception and hate her for it. Despise her for her treason and treachery.

Barely breathing, she stowed his belongings back in the traveling bag and closed it, paying special attention to locking it precisely. Then she did what she should have done instead of snooping about—she gathered up the
Persephone
pages as quietly as she could, doing her best to ignore the momentary thrill of elation at having succeeded.

“No!” he growled in his sleep. “Stop now. I won’t let you.”

She froze, the only thing moving was her heart hammering wildly in her chest. He hadn’t come awake, had he?

She peeped over her shoulder at him through her
shuttered lashes and watched as he tossed again in the sheets, calling out as he went, “No, I say! You cannot do this! Father, be careful!”

Yet his eyes were closed and he tossed again, rolling over wildly, fighting the unseen demons who held him captive.

A nightmare! The man was having a nightmare. She would have sighed in relief, if it hadn’t been the tormented twist of his face, the way he fought and twisted beneath the coverlet.

What have you done to him, Tally?

She turned back to the bed and moved closer to inspect, finding his forehead covered in a fine sheen of sweat and his lips set in a grim line.

He twisted again, calling out, “You’ve killed him! Killed him, I say.”

Oh, dear, perhaps three packets of Felicity’s megrim powders had been too much. She reached out, thinking to soothe his brow, when she spied something else in the bed.
Pages.

Goodness, no! He’d been reading her play before he’d succumbed to the doctored tea.

Carefully, she managed to pluck one page after another from the bed, until she thought she had them all. That is until she spied one more, pinned beneath his elbow.

She weighed her choices—leaving it and hoping it was some innocuous scene, like Lady Persephone’s and Captain Strike’s wedding, or worrying that it was one of the more damning scenes.

Like the one where Lady Persephone and her friends free the pirate from his prison.

Taking a deep breath, she leaned over the bed, slid her hand along the mattress, and caught the corner of the page, ever so carefully pulling it free.

And it very nearly was, until suddenly his other hand snaked out from beneath the sheets and caught hold of her wrist.

“Did you think I wouldn’t catch you?” he whispered in a voice filled with a dangerous and deadly rage.

The fog descended upon Larken like a dark, winged creature, enclosing him in her evil talons.

This is a dream
, he tried to tell himself.
This isn’t real.
And yet…

Beneath his feet the damp cobbles chilled him right through the soles of his boots. The mist cut him off from everything, the buildings around him, the surrounding city, even the night sky.

There was nothing but the thick fog, the dim haze of a lamp hanging from the post above him, and voices in the distance.

“Aurora, everything has changed,” his father was saying.

Larken lurched toward the familiar sound of his voice. “Aurora,” he’d called the woman.
Aurora
. Had he heard this name before? He didn’t know. But he clung to it, desperate not to forget it.

Aurora
. The name of his enemy. The name of the woman who’d changed the course of his life, his family’s honor with her treachery. This clue sparkled before him and he clung to it as if he’d found a chest of gold.

“I will not help you,” his father was telling her. “We are finished.”

“This doesn’t have to end,
mon chère
,” she replied in purring French tones, words that lulled the senses, the soft seduction concealing the woman’s true nature. True intent. “You still love me. You’ll always love me.”

“I can’t. I won’t. If I had known…” His father’s struggle came through with every word.

Known what, Father?
Of her deception? That she’s a mistress of
L’Ordre du Lis Noir
? A sworn enemy of England?

Your enemy…

That you would never have fallen in love with her?

But there was something else in his father’s anguished words that struck Larken. An underlying message that came to close to his own heart.

That you can’t always choose those you love.
And his father did love this Aurora. As much as he denied it, the elder Larken still wanted to love her…to trust her.

Don’t!
Larken tried to call out, fighting the fog that held him in its icy grasp.
Get away from her. Now!

And yet it was too late, for the shot rang out, but this time instead of jerking him awake, it tore through the fog, opening a path for him to follow, to pursue his father’s killer.

He didn’t hesitate at this chance to catch her. For there she was before him, gowned in black and standing over his father’s body.

“Aurora,” he called to her.

She looked up at him, and for the first time, he
saw her face, the evil light of triumph in her eyes, the tilt of her nose, the thin twist of her lips. But it was just a glance, for she turned and fled, as fleet as a she-wolf.

So it’s to be a hunt, is it, madame?
He leapt after her, the fog plucking and pulling at him, trying to close in around him, yet he continued on, headlong into the darkness until there was nothing but an inky void before him.

Where the devil had she gone? He stopped and tried to listen for the fall of her feet, but all he heard was the whisper of words that were both disjointed and out of place. One voice in particular.

This is my folly now
, a young woman whispered.

Folly
. The word teased at him, tempted him to go in another direction.

Follow her
, it teased.

Was it her? Aurora? He turned, pulled by something he couldn’t see, but he could smell. Lilies of the valley.

The fog fell away as he stumbled forward, the cobbles giving way to a rich Aubusson carpet, which cradled his feet in luxury. Somehow he’d gone from the byways of Paris into a house, a vast mansion; and what had been a street was now a long gallery.

And at the end of it a woman stood poised by the window, papers in hand, a stricken look on her face. And when she glanced up and spied him, she turned to flee.

For a moment, Larken stilled. It wasn’t
her
, his father’s murderer, but someone else. How had he let Aurora slip away yet again? Still he couldn’t shake his gaze from this lady before him.

Catch her. Don’t let her get away. She holds the key to everything.

He struggled forward, his feet so clumsy it was hard to keep up with her as she dashed down the hall and turned swiftly around a corner. If he could just move a little more quickly, he could catch her.

He followed her headlong into a bedchamber, and just before she slipped through another doorway, he caught her hand.

Caught hold and refused to let go, tightening his grip around her narrow wrist, crushing her soft skin beneath his fingers.

“Did you think I wouldn’t catch you?” he said.

It didn’t matter that this wasn’t Aurora, this was more important. He could feel it. His instincts came awake in startling clarity, as if he were now the wolf and she his prey.

She struggled against him, which only made him more furious, and so he hauled her closer until she slammed against him, the force carrying them back onto a bed. He rolled quickly, trapping her beneath him, catching her hands together and pinning them over her head. She continued to resist, bucking at him, but he held her fast, refusing to let go.

This is her…

But as her wild strands of hair fell away, it wasn’t the dark-haired French mistress he expected, but a face he knew…

No, it couldn’t be. Not her. Yet the curves beneath him said otherwise. He’d explored them before, desired her as he’d never wanted another woman.

The fog swirled around them, and it was only he and her, and the bed beneath them. He inhaled
deeply, smelling her perfume and the unmistakable soft, sweet scent of her arousal.

Hunger and desire filled his veins. Oh, yes, and the overwhelming passion to take her. Bury himself inside her.

Larken shook his head, tried to climb out of this dream that held him captive. This was impossible. He didn’t want
her
.

Liar.

And as if to make the point even further, his body responded so quickly it stunned him. His shaft hardened. He ached for her.

She’s yours, Larken. Always has been. Take her. ’Tis naught but a dream.

A dream? It seemed so demmed real. He could feel the quick thud of her heart, feel the waves of her breathing washing over him like stormy waves rushing and falling.

“Release me. You know not what you do, my lord,” she told him in an angry whisper. The wild light in her eyes said she knew exactly what he was considering.

Release her? Was she mad? Just when he’d finally found her? Captured her…