She flicked open the folded paper and threw it face up on her dressing table.
She stepped away.As if I would catch my fright. Or my death.
You need to act.
The big, bold letters were in French.
Inès clamped a hand to her mouth to stifle the scream that rose in her throat.
You need to act.
I cannot.
You must.
I will ruin the only joy I have enjoyed in years.
Act.
I will destroy my husband.
Act.
I cannot.
But then how do you free your brother from his hell if you cannot assassinate the prime minister?
Chapter Twenty
January 22, 1806
Halsey House
16 South Audley Street
Mayfair, London
The next morning, Inès moved from their bed. Their suite. Told Mary to place her clothes in a small, vacant bedroom upstairs intended for a maid. There she would be away from the family. Away from Evan. She had ordered the girl to ask no questions and to go to the housekeeper to ask for reassignment.
When Evan was out at his meetings, she closed the door and sat on her new bed, unmoving. She needed to be alone, away from all he had given her and offered her, to plan her next actions. She would not remain long. The temptation to return to her husband was a magnet she could not resist for days on end.
She took scissors and clipped the thread on the hem of her pelisse. She removed the little vial, set it on the top of the old table, and stared at it. Killing a man took ingenuity. She had avoided thinking of it and now she had to fix all the details in her mind. Of course, it would be best if she remained here, where the prime minister would surely come once again. But she could not allow her plan to implicate her husband, his family, or hisservants. She had to find another way—and do the deed soon. Tomorrow would be best.
Evan returned home early. It was two o’clock when Mary ran upstairs to alert her. Inès had asked her to do that. The girl was sad, puzzled, and yet did her duty.
“He’s home and yells at Davis, ma’am. He wants to know where ye are…”
Below, Inès could hear him bellowing her name, opening and slamming doors, searching for her. Totally unlike him to be a madman.
She cringed at how she hurt him.
“Ma’am,” Mary said, “I’m afraid that the master will send me away.”
“He will not. I am the one who has done this.”
There in the open doorway stood the man Inès adored. The man she had married and promised never to leave.
He stared at her. “You may go, Mary.”
