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“I’d forgotten you’re one of us.” He fluttered his hand. “The one who flew away.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Interesting turn of phrase.”
Rochefort finished his glass of wine—his third—and poured himself another. “How is the wine?”
“Good.” I sipped it, proving it was, in fact, good.
“I should hope so. It’s from Caneve. I have it shipped in especially.”
It might have been the best glass of wine I’d ever had and was probably worth more than my entire fee. “I’m afraid if you’re looking for a wine connoisseur, I’m not him.”
He leaned closer. “Whatareyou interested in? What catches your eye, Valentine? Do you like art, music, ballet? You don’t look like a ballet man. Opera?”
“Science.”
“Ah yes, your deviants. Each criminal is a work of art to you, no? You study them like a connoisseur?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but yes, I suppose so.”
“If I were a criminal, would you be more interested in me?” He grinned, playing a game. A game for him. For me, accusations such as the one he’d alluded to could ruin a man. It was time to speak frankly.
I glanced at the door. It was sealed tight, but the staff surely had their ways of listening in. “Sir, let me be clear. I am only interested in you professionally. And while we’re on the subject, I’d appreciate my belongings being returned to the inn.”
He barked a laugh. “Good lord, it’s as though I’m a predatory fiend, luring you here under some kind of pretense. You really do not think very highly of me.”
I swallowed, then gulped some wine. “I meant no offense.”
“Yet offend me you do.” He still smiled, and that suave humor ignited in his eyes, but his tone gave his impatience away.
“I think it’s time I left. Thank you for your assistance last night, and for dinner, but I can’t afford distractions while I’m working.” I stood, remembered the beetle, but could see no way of picking it up without him seeing. It had found its way here. Perhaps it would find its way back to me again.
Rochefort slumped back in his chair. His gaze roamed me from head to toe, all subtly gone. Need burned in his eyes. But it didn’t matter, because I’d take my leave in minutes. I’d walk back into town if I had to.
“Good evening.” I turned away.
“Valentine.” A threat wove through his tone like a dark thread through smooth silk.
I stopped.
“Stay, and I’ll double the money.”
The fee was already generous. If he doubled it, I’d have more financial freedom in Massalia. My agency would be better off. I’d be able to advertise and hire a secretary. But what was he really asking? He had no need to increase the payment, unless he wanted more from our relationship.
I glanced over my shoulder. He remained slouched at the table, a lord in all his finery, surrounded by a wealth I could only dream of. He had everything. But apparently, everything was not enough. I knew what he wanted. We both did. And it had nothing to do with Jacapo’s murder or justice.
“Sir—”
“Thomas, please.”
“Thomas.” I cleared my throat. “I cannot be bought.”
He stood, plucked his wine glass from the table, and sauntered over. “You forget, I already own you.”
My heart thumped. “How’s that?”
“You need this job. You need it so desperately that you came back to a town you despise. If I were to… not pay, where would that leave you?”
I smiled, because it seemed the only appropriate response. “If that’s the case, I’ll leave, and you’ll likely never find the murderer. The people look to you, their lord, for help. Drive away their only chance at getting that help, and the people may not look the other way when it comes to your indiscretions.”
