Page 80 of An Extraordinary Lord

Snatching her hand away, she muttered icily beneath her breath to Merritt, “You duplicitous little snake! To bring me here like this, to meet—”

“He’s the one paying you for your time this evening,” Merritt calmly informed her.

“In that case, my price just doubled.” She plastered a false but bright smile on her face for Clayton. “How may I be of service, Mr. Elliott?”

Clayton glanced over his shoulder into the dining room where a woman sat tied to a chair. Merritt knew without being told… Malmesbury’s mistress.

“The woman who lives here has information I need,” Clayton told her. “We’ll be questioning her tonight.”

“Torture,” Madame purred delightedly. “How delicious! I’m quite good with whips and spurs.”

Clayton slid a dubious glance to Merritt, then cleared his throat. “Hopefully, it won’t come to that.”

“Pity.” Madame sniffed.

Wisely, Clayton didn’t reply. “I’ll be conducting the questioning,” he told them in a low voice so they wouldn’t be overheard. Then he turned his attention to Merritt. “While I’m talking to her, I want you and Miss Chase to search the house for any evidence that connects her to the riots, no matter how small. Madame Noir, I would like you to linger a few feet away and listen in to what she has to say.”

“Why should I do that?”

“You know women.”

“I knowmen,” she corrected pointedly. The no-nonsense look she leveled on Clayton would have done a governess proud. “Before I take one more step, I want to know what’s going on here and who that woman is. Snake has told me nothing.”

“Snake?” Clayton puzzled.

“Me.” Merritt grinned. He slipped his arm familiarly around Madame’s shoulders and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “Madame and I have a close and loving relationship.”

She arched a brow. “Is that what you call continuously threatening to send me to Australia?”

“No relationship is perfect.”

She pushed his arm away and scowled irritably.

“She’s Charlotte Jones,” Clayton explained, ignoring their antics. “The Earl of Malmesbury’s mistress and someone we think is involved with the riots. Do you know her?”

“No. But I’m always interested in meeting new colleagues.” She nodded toward the dining room without blinking an eye, as if seeing a bound woman was an everyday occurrence. From what went on at Le Château Noir, it most likely was. “Shall we begin? I need to return soon to my guests.”

“Of course.” Clayton gestured politely. “After you.”

As Madame walked past, she trailed her hand suggestively down Clayton’s arm.

He froze and stared after her for several long seconds, then turned to shoot Merritt a questioning quirk of his brow.

“She’ll be useful,” Merritt promised. “Trust me.”

“And how exactly do you know her?”

“Don’t ask,” Merritt muttered.

He took Veronica’s arm to lead her toward the stairs to start their search.

“I want to speak with you,” he told her quietly. “We need to talk about what happened tonight.”

She cast an uncertain glance as Clayton walked into the dining room with a friendly smile for Miss Jones and pulled a chair up in front of hers to begin his interrogation. “Now isn’t a good time.”

“When we were attacked tonight—”

“Merritt, please. Not now.” A plea for mercy filled her voice, as if she knew what he was about to say. And couldn’t bear it.