Page 95 of Tempting the Marquess

Samantha swallowed hard against a rising surge of nausea. Who were these people who could commit such vile acts and speak as though it were nothing?

Deliberately she turned away, ignoring Mabel’s hiss of anger when the slight registered. Instead she glared at the man she had called Papa, and clenched her fists behind her back. It was possible. It was actually possible to loathe someone so much you wanted to tear them apart with your bare hands. How could she ever have thought him a flawed but essentially decentman?

“Fine company you keep, UncleJohn.”

Claremont laughed. “Eva, chronically unable to keep her mouth shut. Or her legs, for that matter. But I would advise you, Samantha, to keep a civil tongue.”

“Why?” Samantha snapped. “I see no gentlemen, or ladies, in front ofme.”

Phillipe’s genial smiling mask slipped away into pinched cheeks and pursed lips. Then he reached into his satchel and pulled out a pistol. “You are entirely too free with your opinion, mademoiselle. I’d shoot you right now, except I won’t deny myself the pleasure of killing you in front of Standish so he is forced to watch you die. Then he’ll meet the samefate.”

“Not just her,” drawled Claremont. “An unborn child aswell.”

Mabel clapped her hands together. “Oooh, does Standish know? It’s always interesting to see what a man does when his woman is with child. So unpredictable. So passionate.”

“Indeed, chere,” said Phillipe. “But I am being rude. Lady Samantha, I must take this opportunity to thank you for all the information you passed on to your, er, uncle. You made our task so much easier.”

Samantha lifted her chin. “And yet you still failed. No match for Lord Standish’s bravery and intelligence and skill.”

“Again, an unpleasant tone, Lady Samantha. Especially in front of your maman, who looks to be in terrible discomfort. Perhaps we should assist. I believe Mabel has some laudanum…”

Spinning on her heel, Samantha leaped forward to stop the other woman, but Claremont grabbed her by the arm in an unrelenting grip. “Now, now, you’ll only be in the way, Samantha. I don’t know why you’re even concerned—it’s not like she ever loved you. Remember?”

“You were a worse father. I won’t stand by and watch you killher!”

The earl frowned. “If you won’t stand, then sit. Here will do,” he snapped, half-dragging, half-shoving her into a chair near the wall. Then, yanking the cravat from around his neck, he tied her hands together behind herback.

“Excellent,” Phillipe purred. “We are now ready. All that is left is to wait for the arrival of dear Lord Standish.”

* * *

Hardly daring to breathe,William peered around the slightly ajar parlor door to assess the location of each person in the room. Samantha now sat perched on a chair in the far corner, her stiff posture demonstrating exactly how tightly her wrists were bound behind her back. Rage bubbled in his veins, but he had to remain calm and concentrate. A cool head would win this day, and he already knew the enemy never allowed emotion to get in the way of the task at hand. That was why they had been so successful in their deadly games—nothing was too brutal or difficult. And they never gave up. The sheer number of prison escapes and dead witnesses attested tothat.

Straightening his shoulders, he allowed his gaze to roam the rest of the room. Lady Claremont lay deathly still on a chaise to the right of the door, with a second woman bent over her, prodding and poking with a careless touch. She must be Mabel. On the other side of the room, Claremont stood talking to an older man with a French accent. Although bragging would be more accurate, as he spoke of his recent achievements.

Interesting. What was giving these people such confidence today? Did they have information about Napoleon’s plans that even White didn’t know? Did they know when and where the emperor might launch an attack on the allied forces?

William leaned in closer to listen.

“Simple people see what they want to see,” the earl drawled. “A little padding, some makeup, a wig, and voila, Claremont the overweight drunken fool. Worst part was pretending to be permanently half sotted on that awful cordial masquerading as brandy. Vile stuff.”

Mabel laughed. “Sacrifices are required in every great quest, lovie.”

“But this was a truly great sacrifice. An affront to taste.”

William’s lip curled. Christ, it was going to be a pleasure putting a bullet in Claremont’s skull. Pushing open the door, he aimed his pistol directly at the earl. “You have the fool part right. It was always only a matter of time before the Home Office had sufficient information to strike.”

“Standish!” Claremont crowed. “Now that you’re here, the festivities can properly begin. By the by, I would congratulate you on your impending fatherhood, but I’m not at all impressed with Samantha’s choice of seed provider. And none of you will live to see the day anyway.”

William shrugged and rolled his eyes, as if being forced to converse with an unspeakably dull party guest. “I couldn’t imagine a career traitor ever being happy his daughter was expecting a baby with the man sworn to bring him to justice.”

“Fighting words from England’s favorite marquess! But I must correct you on one important point—Samantha is not actually my daughter.”

“Then my day just became infinitely brighter.”

A bark of laughter sounded from across the room, and the older man sauntered forward. “You are quick-witted, monsieur marquis. But please, excuse my colleague’s appalling manners and allow me to introduce myself. I am Phillipe.”

Glancing sideways at the Frenchman, William froze as every hair on the back of his neck lifted. His mind catapulted back in time to the side of the London-Eton road, the place where he’d learned about pure evil and soul-shattering loss. The two men who had attacked his parent’s carriage had worn folded cloths over their mouth and nose to conceal their identity. But those silver eyes. That voice…