A Persistant Attraction (19 page)

Anger burned in his gut. “What sort of agreement?”

“We will appear together as a married couple for as long as it is necessary to kill the scandal we created. Then we release each other from this farce.” Rhys squeezed his eyes closed, wishing he could open them and time would have turned back. If only they could start this evening over. Surely his wife of a few hours was not suggesting that in a few months, they would both seek comfort elsewhere and behave as mere acquaintances.

He supposed the irony was appropriate. Not too long ago, he might have suggested the same thing had he married one of the women his mother tried to foist on him. What a joke fate was having with him. Now he, not some simpering debutante he’d taken to wife, was the one pining for a love match.

Despair and anger warred inside him. Anger escaped first, but not the fiery rage that so often boiled up in him when he was near Amanda. Instead, he was left chilled and wanting to hurt her as deeply as she had hurt him.

“If that is what you wish, I will have my solicitor draw up a contract for us.” Her eyes widened.

“If this marriage is to be merely a business arrangement, then I see no reason not to formalize it. I wouldn’t want there to be any questions about what I do and do not expect of you.”

He stood and plucked his coat from the chaise where he’d left it earlier.

“Where are you going?” The anger had gone out of her voice. Now she sounded scared.

“A husband has no obligation to inform his wife of his whereabouts.”

“But what will people say?”

Rhys took evil delight in the pain he heard in her words. “Perhaps you should have thought of that before you made such a suggestion.” He barely resisted slamming the door as he left the room and headed toward the back stairs as fast as he could walk.

*

Hours later, Rhys sat alone in the lounge of his club. He’d drunk nearly two bottles of whiskey since he’d arrived. But no matter how much of the burning liquid he poured down his throat, the memory of Amanda’s cold words still haunted him. How far would he have to run to be rid of her? All the way to hell?

He’d nearly started his journey there the moment he’d left her house. His first stop had been La Nuit Longue, a place where a man could discreetly satisfy any desire, no matter how exotic. He’d been a frequent customer before he’d met Amanda.

He’d actually engaged a young woman for the evening. But when she’d begun to disrobe for him, all he could think of was Amanda. A sick part of him was still determined to quench his desire where he could. But he knew if he went through with his plan and Amanda found out, he would ruin his chances of reconciliation. He’d thanked the young woman for her time, tipped her handsomely, and made a hasty exit.

His next stop had been a gambling hell where he’d proceeded to lose several hundred pounds. Fortunately, he had the sense to leave before doing something really foolish like gambling away his estate or his entire fortune. He’d always laughed at the self-destructive behavior of men who’d had their hearts broken, thinking it could never happen to him. Now he knew better.

Next he’d gone to his club. There were few men about at that time of day. Most members were out enjoying the evening round of parties, and those that were present seemed to crave solitude as much as he.

He polished off the bottle sitting in front of him and decided he might as well go home before he collapsed. He was expected to escort his wife to his home in the morning.

He wondered if anyone would be able to wake him considering how much he’d drunk. At the moment he didn’t give a damn what lies Amanda had to tell her family if he didn’t appear.

When he stood from his table, someone called his name from the doorway. It was Faron d’Eglantine. He’d been hoping for a chance to talk with the man privately for the last week. Of course the opportunity would present itself on this particular night. He wasn’t sure he could pull his scattered wits together, but somehow he managed a simple greeting and invited d’Eglantine to join him.

“I understand you’ve been looking for me.”

“Indeed I have.”

D’Eglantine ordered another bottle of whiskey, poured himself a glass and refilled the one in front of Rhys. “Rumor has it you’re interested in learning more about my…work here.”

“I am. I think we might share many of the same sentiments.”

“So you are not what you seem, after all?”

Rhys lifted his glass to his lips, pretending to drink. “Who really is?”

“Touché. My work is quite specialized. How am I to know you are the right man to assist me?”

“How might I convince you?”

D’Eglantine pulled a card from his coat pocket. “Meet me at noon tomorrow at this address. I have a job for you that will help me assess your abilities and your ideology. If I like what I see, perhaps our relationship can continue.” Rhys pocketed the card and stood. “Tomorrow then.” He bade d’Eglantine good night and exited the club.

*

Amanda paced the length of her sitting room. A mix of anxiety, fear and anger had every nerve in her body on edge. She had not seen Rhys since the night of their wedding.

Two days had now passed without so much as a note.

When he had not returned to her aunt’s house the morning after the wedding, her mind had whirled with all the epithets she would throw at him as soon as he appeared.

When he still hadn’t arrived at noon, she’d managed to instruct the servants in packing her things into a carriage. She was too humiliated to admit the truth even to her aunt and sister, so she told them a serious family matter had called Rhys away and gave them his apologies. Elise had lamented this most unromantic start to a marriage, but Amanda knew Aunt Claire didn’t believe her excuse despite the older woman’s silence.

When she’d arrived at Rhys’s townhouse with all her belongings in tow, Amanda had expected him to be there, perhaps sleeping off a night of drunken revelry. When she discovered he’d been home earlier but had gone out, not even deigning to leave her a note, she’d nearly smashed up his foyer in her anger. Ultimately, she’d reined in her temper and behaved as befit a lady of her station.

Meadows sent a pair of maids to assist her in unpacking and asked if he could help her in any other way. She wanted to ask him to explain what the hell was wrong with his employer and how the man could dare to be so rude, but she hadn’t the nerve. She spent the afternoon in her room, crying.

When Rhys still hadn’t returned that night, she considered going back to Aunt Claire’s house. But the prospect of telling her aunt and sister about Rhys’s disappearance was more dreadful than spending a night alone.

She considered going to look for him, but the thought of what she might discover kept her from taking that route. It was one thing to suspect he’d flown to the arms of a former mistress, and another to find proof of it. No matter how angry she was at him or how much she professed to want out of their marriage, the thought of him with another woman brought tears to her eyes.

As the night wore on, her anger turned to worry. What if his disappearance had nothing to do with their argument? What if he’d been working on his investigation and been injured or…killed? Pain squeezed her heart like a vise.

*

Lord Farrington ran a hand through his hair as he approached the steps to Viscount Langley’s townhouse. Those who knew him would barely recognize the ruffled, distracted man who’d walked the distance from his home in order to collect his thoughts.

Rumors brought to him by some of his best contacts indicated that Les Centimes was planning a big strike in the coming days. As far as he knew, his organization was no closer to stopping them than they had been a week ago.

He was counting on Rhys Stanton. The two of them had never been friends, but Stanton had Farrington’s respect and Farrington knew the man was the best damn agent he’d ever worked with. Now, Stanton had disappeared. From what his men told him, the man had not even shown up to escort his new wife to his home. No matter how Stanton and his lady might have fought, Farrington knew Stanton would never shirk his duty so publicly.

He had expected a visit from Stanton over a week ago but received only a cryptic note indicating Stanton was attempting to make contact with d’Eglantine. When he heard about the scandal Stanton and Miss Halverston had created and their forthcoming nuptials, he understood why Stanton had failed to keep their appointment. But he’d heard nothing from the man in the last few days, and none of his summons had been answered.

Earlier that morning, he’d gone to Stanton’s home and insisted to see him. His valet said Stanton was not home, but Farrington refused to believe it. He’d gone so far as to wrestle Meadows out of the way and search the house. He found it devoid of anyone but servants.

Mrs. Stanton’s absence was curious. Rhys’s butler said she was out making calls, but ladies did not make calls at such an early hour. If his concern continued to grow, he

would locate the former Miss Halverston and ascertain what she knew of her husband’s whereabouts.

He hoped Stanton was only being difficult, but he feared his man had been captured by Les Centimes. If so, he might already be dead. Stanton had been working alone, so there were no other agents to seek out, but Stanton had made use of his friendship with Langley. Farrington was desperate enough to reveal his connection to Stanton in order to find out what Langley knew.

The servant who took his card disappeared for a long time. Farrington braced himself for another confrontation. But when the man returned, he ushered Farrington in and asked him to wait in the study.

“Lord Farrington,” Langley’s voice echoed from the doorway.

“Good morning, Lord Langley. I am sure you are curious about the nature of this visit.”

“Indeed I am. I haven’t had the pleasure of your company since that night of whist almost a year ago.”

The one and only time the two men had met had been over a game of whist at one of the most inane routs Farrington had ever attended. The only highlight of the evening had been his winning a pile of money off Langley.

“Has it been that long?”

Langley smiled. “I made payment in full at the time, did I not?” Farrington laughed. “Indeed you did. This has nothing to do with such frivolity, I assure you.”

“Then let’s discuss the purpose of your visit. I have an appointment in half an hour.”

“Do forgive me for bothering you. I have a serious business matter which I must question you about.”

Langley nodded, looking intrigued.

“Rhys Stanton and I work for the same organization.”

“I was unaware Stanton worked for any organization unless perhaps it is one dedicated to the pursuit of female flesh.”

Farrington would have smiled had he not been so worried. “I appreciate your attempt to protect him, but I know he has come to you for information regarding a man calling himself Andreas Mouton. You’re one of the few people in London whom he trusts.” Langley kept his face blank and said nothing.

“I would never have alluded to our connection were I not gravely concerned. Stanton is missing. I have not heard from him in two days, and according to the men who have been guarding her, he’s not made contact with his new wife.” Langley frowned. “I have not heard from him. He asked me to secure him an invitation to a party tomorrow. He hoped the gathering would afford him an opportunity to meet with some of the men he sought.”

“Did he inquire about anyone other than Mouton?”

“No.”

“Would it be possible for you to secure an invitation for me as well?”

“Yes, but I do hope you are aware—”

“I understand what type of party this will be.”

“If you leave an address, I will have an invitation sent to you. You and your lady, should you wish to bring one, must arrive masked.”

“Naturally. Will you attend as well?”

“Under the circumstances, I could do nothing else. If there is anything else I can do to assist you, please call on me. I have a great deal of respect for Stanton.” Farrington raised his brows.

“I know enough of his work to admire him for that alone, but he has also earned my respect as a man who seeks out pleasure, not opportunities to be cruel. That cannot be said for many who will be in attendance at tomorrow’s revelry.” Farrington nodded. He was no prude and no stranger to courtesans, but some of the rumors he’d heard of Stanton’s set had truly shocked him. “Have the invitation delivered to number sixteen Lansdowne Street. If you learn anything else, contact me there, but do not write anything down. It is possible I have endangered you by coming here. I hope that is not the case.”

“I am well-equipped to take care of myself. I understood the risk when I first spoke with Stanton about his work. I will see you tonight.”

“We must pretend we have never met before.”

Langley nodded. “As you wish.”

As the carriage rumbled along the deserted road, Rhys was thankful for the silence between him and d’Eglantine. After spending the better part of two days in the man’s company, he needed time to clear his head and assess his situation.

D’Eglantine had called that morning at the rooms Rhys had rented. He didn’t want the man coming to his house where he might see Amanda. Despite knowing Rhys had recently married, d’Eglantine insisted Rhys accompany him on a journey, blindfolded with his hands bound. Apparently, Les Centimes was planning to make a move in a matter of days and there was no time to waste. Rhys had little choice but to go with d’Eglantine. He either obeyed or aroused suspicions of his loyalty.

After the two men traveled for what Rhys estimated was half an hour, his blindfold and restraints were removed. According to d’Eglantine, they were heading to a hunting lodge that served as headquarters for Les Centimes’ English activities. Rhys hoped d’Eglantine told the truth, but he had no guarantee d’Eglantine wasn’t luring him out of the city to kill him and easily dispose of his body.

If that fate awaited him, he wouldn’t go out without a fight. However, he was alone, and, at d’Eglantine’s insistence, unarmed accept for the small knife he’d managed to tuck in his boot. He would be no match for the group of ruffians d’Eglantine would no doubt have assembled to oversee his demise. Faron d’Eglantine was not one to dirty his own well-manicured hands.