Leslie Lafoy (8 page)

He wasn’t quite so sure of that, but he kept his opinion to himself and took a sip of his drink. She seemed to have considerably more common sense and a much stronger commitment to self-preservation than her cousin had had. And there was nothing wrong with Belle’s intellect or the quality and speed of her thinking. She’d very quickly grasped the danger of her situation and swallowed her pride to accept protection. And once she’d made that decision and accorded him the role of her partner … She was open and honest and impressively capable of using logic. In a way, though, that seemed to take rather inexplicable jumps from point to point and back again. To his way of thinking, all of it boded well for their eventual success.

The pulling in his loins whenever he looked at her—hell, whenever he so much as thought about her—suggested that there might well be a few complications along the way, though. He took a long sip of his drink and watched her do the same, knowing better than to make promises he couldn’t keep. Especially to himself.

She had a wonderful smile. Sometimes soft and tentative, sometimes childlike in the purity of its happiness. And sometimes it was so deliciously wicked that his blood scorched his veins. The way she sipped whisky and used the tip of her tongue to catch a drop on her lower lip didn’t help to cool it, either. Adding in the creaminess of her skin, the flawless, delicate lines of her face, the sweet scent of roses, and the inviting curves … He was going to be hard-pressed to behave himself, to maintain the strict protocols of the investigator-client relationship.

It would have been ever so much easier to do if the circumstances were different and he could put some hours and a few miles of city streets between them every now and again. But since he didn’t have that luxury, he was simply going to have to make the best of it and hope she did her part in keeping him from doing something utterly pleasurable.

His course charted and his resolve set as firmly as it could reasonably be, he cleared his throat, smiled, and said, “What do you say to finishing our drinks, putting what we have of the map in the wall safe, and then going to collect your belongings?”

“And Mignon’s,” she added, nodding her assent. “The authorities turned it all over to me yesterday evening.”

How typically Belle, he thought, throwing the last of his drink down his throat. No hesitation, no pausing to mentally sort through the reasoning, the implications, or the possible consequences. She understood and accepted in the blink of an eye. “Have you had a chance to go through her things for clues?”

“It’s how I spent last night. I didn’t find anything.” She grinned sheepishly. “Well, aside from some clothing I could use and a couple of very good pieces of…” She blinked and her smile faded as her brows knitted. “Chocolate,” she finished slowly.

“I gather that’s suddenly meaningful?”

“Mignon couldn’t eat chocolate. It gave her horrible hives.”

“Interesting,” he drawled, seeing what had intrigued her. “It certainly begs the question of why she had it and where she got it.”

Her smile was weak as she looked up at him. “We’re doing extremely well at asking questions, aren’t we?”

“The answers will come,” he assured her, his conviction firm. “They always do. It’s simply a matter of being patient and resourceful.”

Shaking her head, she finished her drink and then extended her free hand in a silent offer to take his empty glass. He surrendered it with a nod of thanks and then took a slow, deep breath of roses as she moved past him to the credenza, saying, “I feel compelled to admit that while I am fairly resourceful, I’ve never been particularly good at patience.”

That didn’t bode well for the maintenance of protocol. “Neither have I,” he admitted, crossing to his desk to gather up the pieces of the map.

*   *   *

Isabella took one step across the threshold of her room and froze.

“Is something wrong?” Barrett asked from behind her, the low rumble of his voice instantly taking the sharpest edge off her alarm.

“Someone’s been in here,” she replied, slowly moving forward while sweeping her gaze over the room a second time. “The bed was smooth when I left this morning, my valise was sitting square to the wall, and I never leave my hand mirror face up. Never. My mother once did and the sunlight came in through the window, struck it and bounced off to focus on the headboard. It caught fire, and if she hadn’t come in when she did, we would have lost our house. I’m very careful about that.”

“So is my mother,” he supplied, closing the door and stepping to her side. “For much the same reason, I think.” He glanced around and gave her a weak smile. “At least our searcher didn’t feel the same sense of desperation he did when visiting my room.”

“And Mignon’s.” She nodded to the end of the bed. “That’s her trunk.”

Looking over first one shoulder and then the other, he asked, “Where’s yours?”

“I don’t have one,” she admitted, setting herself in motion, suddenly wanting to be gone from there in a most desperate way. “The valise is sufficient for my things.”

“You travel lightly.”

“Largely because I live lightly.” She dropped the heavy fabric bag on the bed, pulled it open, and then retrieved her possessions from the rickety bureau drawer, adding, “Henri fancied himself a wonderful gambler. Unfortunately, there was a great deal of difference between his self-opinion and reality. I never bought anything that I really liked or didn’t know who would buy it from me when I needed the money.”

While he seemed to ponder that, she dropped her clothing into the bag, then cleared her few toiletries from the vanity top and packed them away. “I’m ready to go,” she announced, pulling the valise closed and fastening the latch. “What shall we do about Mignon’s trunk?”

“You said that there were things in it that you wanted. We’ll take it with us. I assume that you have the key to it?”

“Yes, the investigators found it slipped into the seam of her garter.” With her valise in hand, she moved toward the door, adding, “I’ll get the driver to help you with the trunk.”

“No need,” he countered. “I can manage it on my own as far as the front door. I’ll let him help me with it from there.”

Isabella turned back, her hand on the doorknob, wondering just how he intended to haul the heavy, bulky thing on his own. In silence, she watched him take a handkerchief from his pocket, drop it on the hardwood floor and then take one of the trunk handles, lift up the end, and use his foot to slide the linen square under a corner. Returning that end to the floor, he stepped to the other, lifted it and then neatly rolled the entire trunk so that its weight was balanced on the one corner and the small white square of cloth pinned beneath it.

She smiled in appreciation as he drew it effortlessly and soundlessly toward her. “I’m so very impressed,” she admitted, opening the door and preceding him into the hall leading to the front door of the boardinghouse. “You’re amazing.”

“Oh, I hardly think so,” he replied with that charmingly quirked grin of his. “Basically, I’m just lazy. If you’re looking for rippling brawn or stunning brains, you’d be far better off looking elsewhere.”

It occurred to Isabella that while their partnership was temporary, it would go ever so much more smoothly if they were clear about their personal expectations. But while dragging a trunk past her curious landlady didn’t seem to be the appropriate time to have the necessary conversation. Making a mental note to pick up the thread as soon as they were alone, Isabella stepped off to the side and let Barrett move out the front door with his burden in tow.

Turning to her landlady, she smiled and explained, “Circumstances require me to be gone for a few days, Mrs. Brown. My rent having been paid through the end of the week, I hope there isn’t a problem with allowing the room to sit unoccupied in my absence.”

Mrs. Brown shook her head. “You will send next week’s rent by the end of this week if you intend to keep it?”

“Of course,” Isabella assured her, understanding the widow’s need to have a paying tenant in the space. “It’s a lovely room and perfect for me in every way,” she added, backing toward the door. “I won’t let it go unless I simply have no other choice. And I will let you know my decision, one way or the other.”

“Fair enough.”

Satisfied that she’d met the requirements of both common courtesy and prudent planning, she turned and skipped down the front steps.

Barrett met her at the door of the rented hack and opened it for her as the driver climbed up into the box. Mindful of where they’d left the conversation and the need to finish it, she waited until he dropped into the rear-facing seat and then began, saying, “As I recall, you were telling me that if I were looking for certain qualities in a man, I wouldn’t find them in you.”

He cocked a brow and one corner of his mouth twitched, but she didn’t let his apparent amusement deter her. With a deep breath, she plunged into the heart of the matter. “I think I should make it very clear that I’m not looking to attach myself to a man in any permanent way, Barrett. Regardless of what sterling qualities he might have to offer. I’ve discovered that there are very distinct advantages to living alone. Doing as I please, when I please, being foremost.”

His nod and shrug eloquently, if silently, said, “I can appreciate that.” Then he leaned back into the corner, knitted his brows and asked, “Being on your own … How do you deal with the ugly necessity of money? Obviously Henri didn’t leave you any. And I’m guessing that your parents didn’t, either. Not if you’re missing meals on a regular basis.”

True, and all of it compounded by the ugly consequences of war and enemy occupation. And all of it entirely too depressing to discuss in any sort of honest way. “Since my father and my husband died deeply in debt, money has been something of a quandary for quite some time,” she admitted. “But finding a pirate’s treasure should generally resolve that little concern, don’t you think?”

“And if you don’t find it? What are you going to do?”

Go on as I have for years,
she silently answered.
From day to day, coin to coin.
Unwilling to open a discussion of her past, she smiled and countered, “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

His grin was instant and wide and brilliantly bright. “Well, I’ll give you credit for pluck. I can’t think of any other woman I’ve ever known who would have set off across the Atlantic on hope alone. How did you pay for your passage?”

Rolling her eyes at the memory, she retorted, “Don’t ask.”

He blinked and his grin faded as his eyes widened. “You didn’t.”

Was he thinking that she’d— Dear God! “Of course not!” Isabella hastened to assure him, shuddering at the very idea of so compromising her principles. “I cooked and cleaned for my way across.”

She could have sworn that he muttered a “phew!” under his breath but the speed with which his grin returned sent her heart skittering again. “And, if you’re agreeable,” she went on, struggling against the impulse to wiggle onto the seat beside him, “that’s how I’d like to pay for my keep in the present circumstances. Until I find the treasure, of course. When that happens, I’ll pay you in hard currency.”

The way he tilted his head and the amused shadow to his smile suggested that he knew what effect he had on her, that she was trying to ignore it, and that he’d allow her to get away with it. “I thought we covered this subject already,” he countered. “I’m not interested in payment. Clearing my name in your cousin’s murder is sufficient recompense.”

“You’re being a gentleman about it.” Summoning what she could of a confident smile, she added, “And while I don’t have money, I do still have a few shreds of pride. I can’t live on the charity and kindness of others. Especially that of men. It makes me too much like Mignon to be tolerable.”

“She lived on charity?” he asked, his amusement unabated.

“Mignon married well and divorced well. Twice,” she supplied. “After the second occasion, she dispensed with the legalities and became the mistress of a wealthy, much older man.”

“Who remembered her kindly in his will.”

“Precisely. And whose friends were willing—each in their turn and in the last days of their time—to comfort and care for her in her grief and loneliness.”

He chuckled softly and his eyes sparkled with devilment. “Did they draw straws at the funerals?”

“Rumor was that the high card won the right of first proposal.”

Barrett couldn’t keep from grinning at the absolute outrageousness of it, at the delightful way Belle could paint the mental pictures for him. Lord Almighty, he could see the whole thing in his mind’s eye. And yet there was a niggling sense of something important wrapped up in the story. Deliberately setting aside his enjoyment, he turned the salient facts over in his brain. It didn’t take long at all to find it. “As Mignon’s only surviving kinsman,” he ventured, “wouldn’t you inherit her wealth?”

“She would have left it to anyone but me,” she countered with a dismissive and dainty snort. “I’m sure there’s a will somewhere saying so in the bluntest of terms.” Suddenly she started and looked at him, concern darkening her eyes. “Do you think I’ll have to give her half of the treasure to her heirs?”

He doubted there were any heirs. In the first place, the Mignons of the world expected to live forever and, in the second, they found the idea of giving their money away to be utterly abhorrent; rather than think of heirs, they spent their earthly days looking for ways to take it all with them.

But opening that barrel of possibilities wasn’t something he wanted to do in that moment. Why, he didn’t know. It was enough to know for himself that, in all likelihood, Isabella Dandaneau wasn’t as destitute as she thought she was. He’d put his solicitor on the task of discovering the particulars and when the treasure hunt was over and Mignon’s killer hauled into the dock, he’d hand her into the care of his legal man. As ends went, it would be neat and tidy and his conscience wouldn’t be the least troubled as he walked away.

“Why don’t we worry about that bridge when we come to it?” he suggested, immensely pleased with his plan.

She laughed quietly, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “You build and defend bridges. I’ve always believed it was easier to simply blow them up. One way or the other, I don’t see that we’re going to have any problems getting to the other side. Do you?”