Roswell let his sister go, knowing there was nothing else left to say between them. He couldn’t very well explain his disdain for Mr. Barnard. It was just a feeling he had that Barnard was not a man that he should trust. And he had learned over the years to always trust his instinct.
ChapterThirteen
Anette’s eyes flew open and she looked around her darkened room. What had caused her to wake up with such a jolt? Moonlight streamed through the open windows, casting long shadows along the floorboards, and the curtains fluttered in the wind.
She was about to close her eyes and return to her restful slumber when she heard the sound of muffled voices drifting in through the window. She wondered who was up at this hour.
Placing her feet over the side of the bed, she rose and reached for her wrapper. As she tied it around her waist, she approached the window and looked out over the gardens. She saw no one, but as she was about to turn back around, she noticed that a light was on in her father’s study.
Why was he awake?
She placed her hands on the windowsill and leaned forward in a vain attempt to see further into his study. The window was open, and she heard two distinct voices. One was most assuredly her father, but she did not recognize the other.
Anette knew that she should go back to bed since this was none of her business, but she found herself curious as to why her father had a guest at this late hour. What was so important that they were having a discussion in the dead of the night?
Before she fully thought through the repercussions of her actions, she walked over to the door and stepped into the hall. She hurried to the main level, being mindful to use light steps and avoid the spots on the stairs that always seemed to creak at the most inopportune times.
She knew that her father would chide her for eavesdropping if she was caught, so she had better be cautious.
Her bare feet were cold on the marble tile as she made her way to the rear of the townhouse where her father’s study was situated. A sliver of light came from the doorway, illuminating her way. Fortunately, the door was cracked just enough that she could peek in.
Her father sat on the camelback settee, drink in hand, and a dark-haired man sat opposite of him. His back was to her so she couldn’t see his face but she saw that he had broad shoulders.
“We need that information,” the man growled with a distinctive French accent.
“I am working on it,” her father replied.
“Not fast enough.”
Her father looked visibly upset by the deep frown on his lips. “These things take time,” he said. “I can’t produce what you are asking out of thin air.”
“For your sake, you better,” the man responded, his voice rising. “I’m tired of waiting around this godforsaken country.”
Her father took a sip of his drink before saying, “Some people consider England to be charming.”
“I am not one of them.” The man leaned forward in his seat. “If you don’t hurry, I can’t promise your daughter’s safety.”
Anette sucked in a breath and brought her hand to cover her mouth. This was no polite conversation.
Her father tensed. “If you harm a hair on her head, I swear—”
The man put his hand up. “Do not threaten me,” he snapped. “You are involved in this, whether you want to be or not.”
“You gave me little choice in the matter.”
“Whatever happens to your daughter now is on you,” the man said. “Get us the information we seek or next time we won’t be so accommodating.”
Her father rose. “I’m trying—”
“Try harder,” the man declared in a menacing voice. “I would hate for you to have to bury a daughter.”
“It is time for you to leave,” her father ordered.
Rising, the man said, “This is no game. The stakes are high and you might very well end up paying with your life.”
Her father bristled. “It won’t come to that.”
“I hope not.” He bowed. “My lord,” he said in a mocking voice.
