The Price of Pleasure (34 page)

Reed stared intently at her. “How do you feel about his paying court to you?”

She glared at him. “I told him I wasn’t interested in marriage, even though you gave him permission to court me.”

Reed hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until he let it out in a whoosh. “What other answer could I give him? Finding the traitor is our primary concern. Duty must take precedence over personal feelings.”

“If he asks me to the party, I will try to detain him at the affair as long as I can.”

Reed rose. “Excellent. We won’t mention this to Lord Porter until I find the proof I need.”

“What about Mr. Dempsey? Is he one of your suspects?”

“I cannot discount anyone at this point.” He affected a polite bow. “I will see you later at Whitehall.”

“Congratulations on your imminent engagement to Lady Violet,” Fleur said.

Reed didn’t acknowledge her words as he strode out the door.

Chapter Sixteen

Dubois invited Fleur to attend the Gibboney party when he arrived that afternoon at precisely two o’clock. She accepted his invitation, and they made small talk for an hour before Dubois took his leave.

Mindful of the time, Fleur prepared herself for her meeting with Porter. She arrived at Whitehall a few minutes before four. Reed was already there when she was ushered into Porter’s office.

Porter greeted her warmly. Reed merely nodded in her direction.

“What is this about, Porter?” Reed asked. “Have you found our traitor?”

“I wish I had good news, but I don’t. Peter Weldon, the operative known as Andre, dropped out of sight shortly after Lady Fontaine fled France. I hoped all was well, but my hopes were dashed when Captain Skilling brought word this morning that Weldon has been seized and put to death.”

“Oh, no!” Fleur cried. “The poor man. What happened?”

“I’m awaiting a report with more details, but I fear ’tis the work of our traitor. I don’t know how or when his cover was blown. It could have been weeks or months ago. I’m so concerned I’m ordering my agents in France to come home until this is resolved. I cannot risk another good man until the traitor has been brought to justice.”

Fleur glanced at Reed. His expression was grim; a white line had formed around his lips. She knew he was thinking about his own ordeal in Devil’s Chateau.

“I haven’t learned a blasted thing that could help us,” Reed growled.

“Neither have I,” Fleur admitted, “though I have a suspect or two in mind.”

“Might I ask who they are?” Porter asked.

“Henry Dempsey and Count Dubois,” Fleur answered, “though I have no proof either one of them is other than what he seems.”

“I have no idea why you suspect Dempsey, Countess,” Porter replied, “but I fear you are following a false lead. Dubois, on the other hand, is a distinct possibility. We’ve had our eye on him since his arrival in London.”

“I want a list of all our operatives who had been or are still in France,” Reed said. “Like Fleur, I believe Dempsey is a viable suspect.”

“Though I respect your opinions, I shall await the final outcome before condemning anyone,” Porter replied.

“Would Dempsey have knowledge of the Black Widow?” Fleur asked.

“Although he was in France during the time you worked undercover for us, I don’t think he knew about your work there. Weldon was charged with protecting your identity.”

“Why do you ask?” Reed inquired.

Fleur wasn’t ready yet to relate her recent conversation with Dempsey. The man seemed to know far too much about her. That struck her as odd.

“Weldon was a good man,” Porter continued. “I cannot afford to lose another agent. You and the countess must take care.”

“I can’t see how I’m in danger,” Fleur retorted. “I am no longer a threat to anyone.”

“Nor am I,” Reed added. “None of this makes sense.”

Fleur was about to mention Duvall but refrained. Duvall had a very good reason to want Reed dead. But since she hadn’t spoken with Duvall at length, she couldn’t voice an opinion.

The meeting was concluded soon after that. Reed offered her a ride home, and she accepted. Once he settled across from her, he said, “You suspect someone I hadn’t considered, don’t you?”

“Perhaps,” Fleur hedged.

“Name him so we can coordinate our lists.”

“Gallard Duvall,” Fleur blurted out.

“I’ve already considered him, but he seems harmless enough.”

“How, exactly, is he related to you?”

“The relationship is a tenuous one. My grandfather’s younger brother, Raymond, married a Frenchwoman and moved to France before I was born. They started a whole new branch of the family. Duvall is Raymond’s grandson. Grandmamma had him investigated, and apparently he is who he says he is. I’ve always known there was a French heir to the earldom, but it was of no concern until Jason died.”

“Didn’t you think it odd that Duvall turned up in England when he did?”

“Not particularly. England is a haven for émigrés. I’m not surprised Duvall found refuge here and looked us up. We
are
related, no matter how distant the connection.”

The carriage rolled to a stop. “You needn’t see me to the door,” Fleur said. She accepted John Coachman’s hand and stepped down.

“I’ll contact you after the party to coordinate our findings.” “Be careful, Reed. Breaking and entering is against the law.”

Reed smiled, revealing that enticing dimple in his cheek. “I’m not a novice at this, Fleur.”

Reed worked his way around to the rear to the modest townhouse Count Dubois was renting on Court Street. All the windows were dark, enforcing Reed’s belief that the Frenchman employed no live-in servants.

Reed had hidden himself in the shrubbery earlier in the evening and waited until Dubois left his house before finding a way inside. To Reed’s frustration, none of the windows had been left ajar. It appeared that the émigré was an extremely careful man. Fortunately, Reed was an extremely talented one.

After finding the servants’ entrance locked, Reed withdrew a slim piece of metal from his pocket and fitted it into the keyhole. It took him but a few minutes to spring the lock.

The door opened into the kitchen. The fire had been banked, but no one was watching it. Silent as a wraith, Reed pulled a stub of candle from his pocket and placed the wick against a hot coal. The wick caught and flared, revealing a door leading from the kitchen into the main part of the house.

Reed drew a sustaining breath and crept forward, his heart pumping furiously. Though he knew he wasn’t back at Devil’s Chateau, the pervasive darkness beyond the candlelight caused him a moment of panic. He clung to his sanity by imagining Fleur beside him, calming him.

Reed proceeded down the dark tunnel to the main hallway. The first door he tried opened into the study. Reed stepped inside and drew the drapes. Then he lit several candles and set to work. The desk proved no problem. The drawers were not locked, but they yielded little of interest. He did, however, find a note from Gallard Duvall. Reed read the meager contents and replaced it exactly where he had found it.

Duvall had requested a private meeting with Dubois. Since there was no date on the note, Reed had no way of knowing if the meeting had already occurred or was planned for a future date. Since there seemed to be nothing incriminating in the note, Reed dismissed it as being of little concern.

Working quickly, he finished with the desk and moved swiftly about the room, finding nothing to indicate Dubois was anything other than what he claimed. Blowing out all the candles but the one he was holding, Reed climbed noiselessly up the stairs, opening doors until he found the master bedroom. He went through the drawers there swiftly and expediently, carefully replacing each item he examined in the same place he had found it.

Nothing he had found so far was suspect. Then he began looking behind pictures for a safe. There was no safe in the bedchamber. He descended the stairs to the main hallway and entered the drawing room, where several pictures hung on the wall. He found the safe behind a painting of London Tower. Holding the candle close, Reed began fiddling with the combination. He’d no sooner begun when he heard a shuffling noise on the stairs.

“Is that you, my lord?” a sleepy voice called.

Reed blew out the candle and waited. Apparently Dubois did have at least one live-in servant. But fortunately the fellow decided not to investigate further, for his footsteps retreated, finally disappearing altogether.

Reed returned to the safe, this time working in the dark. It took longer than he expected, but eventually the tumblers slid into place. The safe held nothing but assorted pieces of jewelry and a cache of gold coins. Reed closed it and replaced the picture. Noiselessly he crept from the drawing room and made his way down the dark hallway to the kitchen, where he let himself out the same door he had entered. He even managed to spring the lock into place with the slim tool he had used to open the door.

Having found nothing to indicate Dubois was the traitor, Reed was convinced of the Frenchman’s innocence and more certain than ever that the traitor came from within the organization.

While Reed searched Dubois’s townhouse, Fleur made the rounds at the Gibboney party, asking subtle questions of the émigrés attending. Monsieur Barbeau was there, and so was Gallard Duvall. Duvall joined Fleur and Dubois near the refreshment table.

“Are you still a regular visitor at Hunthurst?” Fleur probed.

“
Oui.
I find the ladies delightful. I understand there might be a happy announcement soon.”

“Announcement?” Fleur held her breath, waiting for Duvall’s answer.

“Haven’t you heard?” Duvall said, agog. “Lady Violet is anticipating a proposal from my cousin. The dowager is very pleased with the match.”

Fleur felt as if someone had shot an arrow into her heart, even though she knew she had sent Reed straight into Violet’s arms.

“How . . . wonderful,” Fleur said, pasting a false smile on her face. Pushing aside her heartache, she decided it was an opportune time to probe Duvall for answers. “I understand you arrived in England in time to help Helen through her difficulties after her husband’s death.”

Duvall clucked his tongue. “Such a sad time. I was present when the former earl passed, you know.”

Fleur’s attention sharpened. “No, I didn’t know. What brought you to England? Most of your countrymen had already fled France during the Reign of Terror.”

Duvall shrugged. “I had no one in France. I lost most of my family and decided it was time to meet my English kin. I am the last of my line in France and was curious about my grandfather’s people.”

“Enough of this interrogation, I find it excessively boring. Duvall’s story is no different from mine or any other Frenchman’s,” Dubois scoffed.

“I wasn’t prying, my lord, merely curious,” Fleur said.

“I find the countess delightful,” Duvall insisted. “Perhaps she won’t mind answering some of my questions.”

Fleur became instantly wary. “What do you wish to know?”

“What kept you in France after your husband’s death? Why didn’t you flee to England after his passing?”

That question seemed to interest Dubois as well, for he cocked his head and said, “I wondered that myself, Countess.”

Fleur searched for an answer that would satisfy them. “I fled our chateau after Pierre was imprisoned in the Bastille and went into hiding. I had no opportunity to leave the country until just recently. I was an Englishwoman in a country whose government was unfriendly with England. There was so much turmoil that I stayed in hiding until I thought it safe to flee.”