Page 25 of Sinfully Daring

“You don’t have to be here, mon ami, if it troubles you so.”

Barnaby shook his head. “I’m your friend. If can’t talk you out of this idiocy, I can at least try to ensure you don’t get caught.”

“Non,” Louis said, his voice firm. “I do this alone. I will have no one believe you had any part in it. You are too decent, Barnaby. You are a loyal friend, but this is my affair, not yours.”

Barnaby turned around to protest, discovered Louis stark naked, and went an interesting shade of scarlet. Despite everything, Louis laughed.

“You are so terribly English,” he said fondly, shaking his head.

“And you are so very French,” Barnaby retorted as Louis reached for the black trousers. “How am I to carry on a conversation with you when you’re—” He waved a hand at Louis’ person with an air of aggravation.

“I didn’t know the sight of me naked bothered you so,” Louis said wickedly, glancing up at him from under his lashes as he fastened the trouser buttons.

“Now you’re doing it on purpose,” Barnaby grumbled. He took the black shirt and stood up, tugging it over Louis’ head. “Behave yourself. I’m already cross with you, don’t make it worse.”

Louis sighed. “I know, I know, and I am sorry, but I intend to marry Evie, and how can I do that if I cannot even speak to her? Being a gentleman will get me nowhere. I have tried, have I not? Well, I am done playing nice. I am not nice, Barnaby, and the sooner you realise that the better.”

“Don’t say that,” Barnaby said, looking awkward.

Louis felt a rush of sympathy for his friend, as well as for himself. It would hurt Barnaby when he discovered the truth and found himself disillusioned by the reality of who and what Louis was. It would hurt Louis too, to lose such a friend, one who was good and decent, untainted by life in the way he and Wolf were. But the past was stalking Louis, and he did not think he could evade it much longer. He could feel it growing closer, breathing down his neck. He had dreamed of his life in that god-awful place again last night. The terrible memories of his past that he’d tried so hard to banish were coming more frequently. The feel of it clung to him still, defiling him. It had been too real, too strong a reminder of how helpless he’d been. He’d woken shivering and wretched, convinced he still slept on the stone floor of the kitchen in that terrible place, at the mercy of an evil man who despised him and everything he stood for. Oh, yes. It would catch up to him soon. Gabriel Knight had been digging, and he’d found enough to condemn Louis. That he did not doubt. Neither did he doubt it would be enough to ruin him in English society if Knight used it against him. So he must act before Gabriel did, before he lost any chance of being with Evie. He could not let that happen. Once Evie was his wife, Gabriel would want those secrets buried too.

If he must play dirty to get what he wanted, then so be it. He was playing to win now, and nothing and no one would stop him.

Louis took the last item he needed from the trunk: a black silk cravat which he tied loosely about his neck and would use to cover his face when the time came. Closing the trunk, he pushed it back under the bed and walked out into the living room, where he poured himself a glass of cognac. Good for the nerves. He offered one to Barnaby, who shook his head. Louis shrugged and carried the drink with him, heading to the study to retrieve a small set of lock picks.

The door to the study swung open with ease, and a waft of cigar scented air billowed out. The vile smell hit him like a punch to the gut and the fine crystal glass dropped from his fingers, shattering as it hit the floor. Louis could do nothing but grasp the doorframe as all the air left the room, left his lungs, and a sensation akin to being plunged into ice water made him shiver.

“Louis!” Barnaby was beside him a moment later, a hand on his arm, his face full of concern. “What is it, old man? My God, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Un fantôme, oui,” he murmured, dazed and horrified, trying to catch his breath. “Elton,” he rasped, hardly able to get the word out.

“Elton!” Barnaby shouted, and the valet ran in a moment later.

“Yes, Monsieur, Mr Godwin?” He took one look at the smashed glass and nodded. “Oh, I’ll deal with it at once, monsieur.”

“Never mind the damned glass,” Louis managed, getting himself back under control. “Who was here, in my study?”

“Here, monsieur?” the valet said in confusion. “No one was here.”

Louis’ temper rose, and he gestured to the room with an angry sweep of his hand. “It reeks of cigar smoke. Someone was here. Tell me the truth, man!”

Elton paled, his expression one of mortification. “I swear it upon my life, monsieur. To my knowledge, no one has been in that room.”

“Louis, he’s telling the truth, you can see he is,” Barnaby said gently. With a quiet word, he dismissed Elton, who was only too happy to leave. Turning back to Louis, he grasped his shoulders and gave him a little shake. “What is this about, Louis?”

Louis could not answer. With legs that did not feel entirely steady moved across the room to pick up a lamp. Steeling his nerves, he walked into his study. Nothing was out of place, not so much as a pencil moved from where it ought to be, yet the scent of a French cigar lingered in the room.

“Non, non, non,” he moaned, raking his hands through his hair. It wasn’t possible. No, it could not be. It could not be. Barnaby was looking at him as if he’d run mad, which did not seem as unlikely as it might have a few hours earlier.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Barnaby asked, studying Louis far too closely for comfort. “What makes you think someone was in here?”

“Can’t you smell it?” Louis demanded, his stomach churning unpleasantly as memories fought free of the locked box in which he kept them. No. No. He would not think of that.

Diable, mauvais esprit, démon, serpent dans le Jardin d'eden.

“Smell what? I can’t smell anything. Are you quite well, Louis? Perhaps you ought not—”

Démon, pécheur