“Safe?From Vaillancourt?”Perhaps temporarily. But safe from my own failure to do his will? Ha! I could hope I have the courage.
Gus sat forward. “Listen to me, Inès. He will not have you. Scarlett and Kane will not allow it.”
Inès grimaced and considered her hands in her friend’s grasp. “How can they be sure Vaillancourt will not send his minions to find me?”
“I suppose,” Gus said with calm demeanor, “that you have not noticed how all of us have guards around us at all times?”
That thrilled and disturbed Inès, all at once. “No! How?”
“They are hired. Trustworthy. Constantly reporting to Kane. Some to me. Some to Ramsey and others to Amber. A few to Baron Fournier and his wife, the Princess of Baden.”
She gave an astonished laugh. “Wonderful. I am grateful. When did you start that? How?”
Gus grinned. “You know well that those of us who were in Europe three years ago and began Scarlett’s new group there are fugitives from Fouché and Vaillancourt. Most of us now are married and have children, babies, really. Kane and Scarlett would not allow anyone to hurt them or use them to their own ends. Our protection squad is a large and growing unit of Scarlett’s network. Each man is an expert at his job. You need never fear anyone will hurt you. So you see,” she said as she patted Inès’s hands and withdrew to her corner of the squabs, “you can enjoy your freedom, my dear.”
Inès let out a breath. “I will have to learn that, if I can.”
“You will get used to it!” Gus paused, looking as though she was assessing what she could do for Inès. “In fact, we can start to look for houses tomorrow, if you like.”
“Oui! Let’s do that.” Inès had arrived in London two weeks ago after three weeks of being chased along the coast of Normandy and across the Channel. Gus knew little of that. Inès had not shared the frightful details.
“Marvelous.” Gus waved the topic away. “We can look at a house not far from us. It is furnished and you won’t have to do much to make it your own.”
“Très bien. I rely on you and Amber, too, to help me establish my place in Society.” Inès needed to find those who would assist in her plan. Unwittingly, of course. And after a certain point, she would cut them out. No one would ever know about her plan. No one, not even her friends, Gus and Amber, would know beforehand.
I pray to God they never learn.
She pushed back into the squabs. For if they ever learned what she did, if they became involved or even tried to stop her, they would suffer. Even Scarlett Hawthorne could not save them.
A filthy business you are in, Inès.
Deadly.
Chapter Three
Halsey House
16 South Audley Street
Mayfair, London
“Do you like this one?” Halsey’s youngest sister, twenty-year-old Felicia, twirled before him in her newest ball gown. It was Fee’s habit to show him all her wardrobe for each Season. She’d had two of them already. This was her third, and it was no secret that she was fussy. About her clothing and men. Both, Halsey thought, were a good thing.
He sat in his favorite chair in the library and made a motion with his right hand for her to whirl around once more. He hated it. The color, the risqué cut of the neckline. “It’s fine, but not—”
“Well, drat.” She tipped up her nose, insulted. “But what?”
“The pink washes you out.”
“But it’s the rage. In Paris, it is said a ‘rouge of pink roses’ is the color every woman must have.”
“Do not believe everything you hear. I know the fabric is from Lucca’s precious silkworms. But it’s not a must-have for you, dearest. Your black hair and violet eyes demand a vibrant color.” His reverie stopped his train of thought. The lady pianist in Boulogne came to him, night or day, odd hour after odd hour. The vision of her in profile, the vibrant burnt orange of her gown, blazed in his mind. Even that lady’s figure had set his heart on fire. She shimmered in his memory like a spirit of the past.
What had happened to her?Before he had left France, Corsini had learned nothing of her fate. Yet Halsey continued to see her. God help him, he even heard her at the piano. The Beethoven sonata was branded in his brain, but he could not listen to it in its entirety. He would leave wherever he was. To stay to hear the piece to the end would be a disservice to her, as if to hear it conclude meant it could without her touch…and she could die.
Only Inès Bechard’s dark-bronze silk dinner gown and generous breasts were a rival to that memory. In fact, Mademoiselle Bechard had become his latest preoccupation, taking up far too much time in his head at the oddest hours. He’d not seen her since the Carlisles’ dinner party, but he was hopeful of her appearance here Friday. If not, he could wait for the day. After all, he still had her red garter to twine about his finger. His body reacted to the idea he might one day curl his fingers around her legs…and her legs around his…
He had to stop this focus on a woman with whom he had sharedminutes!
