Love's Peril (Lord Trent Series) (41 page)

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He shrugged off her concern. “My life wasn’t easy, but I’ve gotten on all right.”

“I feel sorry for you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Now that I’ve met you again, in calmer circumstances, you remind me of my husband. You’re very much alike.”

What reply could he make to such a statement? He and Tristan were brothers, but John wished they weren’t, and the worst aspect of socializing with his siblings was having to constantly recall his blood relationship with the Harcourts.

“I’m positive he and I are nothing alike,”he insisted. “I’m certain he’s a very fine man, and you shouldn’t worry that he possesses any of my bad traits.”

“He doesn’t—except for your stubbornness. If Florence passed on any common characteristic to her three sons, it was the obstinacy.”

“It served me well and kept me alive when times were dire.”

“I want to ask a favor of you, John. You owe me, don’t you think?”

He sighed. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

“I’d like you to meet Tristan and James.” He must have looked horrified, because she hastily added, “Not tonight but in the future. Promise me you will.” He didn’t respond, and she sharply repeated, “You owe me.”

“Ah,
chérie,
you drive a hard bargain.”

“My husband’s resolve is rubbing off on me.”

He pulled his gaze from hers and peered up at the stars, wondering if he could honor her request.

He’d spent so much of his life loathing Tristan and James for their safe, entitled existence, detesting their drunken father for his cold disavowal of Florence as she lay defenseless and dying.

Did it matter anymore?

He stared at Harriet again. “If I agree, what will you have achieved?”

“Maybe nothing?”

He chuckled. “I don’t know if we can be friends.”

“But could you be brothers?” She laid a comforting hand on his arm. “I can’t guess why your mother left her family to engage in her affair with Charles, but isn’t it the sins of the fathers? Isn’t it her sin? Must you and Tristan and James continue to pay the price for their foolishness?”

“Perhaps not,”he ultimately murmured.

“So…someday, you’ll let me introduce you? You won’t fight and bicker? You’ll at least
try
to talk like sensible, adult men?”

“For you, Harriet, I will. Because I owe you, and I am grateful.”

He made the vow, but it was another promise that might be false. He couldn’t predict what path he would choose, if he would marry Sarah, or stay in England, or have any further contact with his siblings.

It was very possible he might ride to his ship that was still docked in Dover and sail away forever.

“Come inside with me,”she said.

“Why?”

“My twin sister Helen is here. She wants to meet you, too.”

“As always, I am at your service.”

She scoffed. “Don’t pretend to be meek and compliant. It doesn’t become you.”

“All right, I won’t.”

“Please come inside—because I asked. And remember what I said: If you can’t be our friend, then be our brother.”

“I will try, Harriet. I will try my best.”

She tugged him toward the door, and he walked with her, arm in arm, as if he’d known her all his life.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“What am I to do?”

“How would I know, Hedley?”

“You said he was The French Terror. You said we would receive the reward.”

“I thought we would. How could I guess that his family would step forward and lie for him?”

Annalise shrugged with resignation, wishing the irksome boy would go away and leave her alone.

She’d written to him, pleading with him to visit and being surprised when he’d agreed. It was a prison, for goodness sake, and she hadn’t imagined he’d lower himself, but she had no other friends in England. She’d had to ask him for help, but he was so selfish. He wanted to discuss his own troubles rather than hers.

“I bought a new wardrobe and a new carriage and everything,”he complained. “I told everyone that I had funds coming and now I don’t.” He scowled, trying to look ferocious. “They already repossessed my carriage.”

“You poor dear,”she sarcastically cooed. “How will you survive the loss?”

“This isn’t fair, Annalise.”

“No, it’s not, Hedley.”

“You swore we would get the reward, but we didn’t. You owe me.”

“
Mon Dieu,
you dolt. I am in jail, and you are walking around free. What precisely might I
owe
you?”

“Money. It’s only fitting that you reimburse me for what I’ve lost.”

“How can you lose what you never had?”

“But I expected to have it! You’ve harmed me in so many ways. My stellar reputation is absolutely in tatters.”

He was dressed like the dandy he deemed himself to be, wearing a fancy coat, a lacy cravat, his boots blackened to a shine. He’d been primped and barbered and manicured, his perfume filling up the room where she’d been brought so they could chat.

In comparison, she was slowly falling apart. She was still attired in the gown in which she’d been arrested. She hadn’t been allowed to bathe, so her hair was filthy and uncombed, and she was starting to smell.

“Hedley, listen to me,”she snapped.

“Why should I? You’ve delivered me to the edge of ruin.”

“You must get me out of here.”

“How would I?”

“You have to bribe the guards.”

“Bribe the guards? Are you mad?”

“It won’t cost much. My charge is simple perjury, and it’s a petty offense. Who will care if I slip out the back gate?”

He scoffed. “I take it you haven’t seen the newspapers.”

“How would I have?”

“They’re not reporting anything kind about you, Annalise. The authorities are quite vexed that you wasted everyone’s time. Were I you, I wouldn’t plan on leniency.”

“I’ve wasted no one’s time!”she hissed. “He is Jean Pierre! He is The French Terror! Is it my fault if his exalted father said he wasn’t? I had no chance against him.”

“Do you know what I think?” His expression was sly and condemning.

“What?”

“He wasn’t The French Terror at all. His family was correct, and you’re a liar.”

“Shut up!”

“You were livid because he seduced my sister, and you wanted to get even. Mother warned me about you, but I refused to heed her.”

He was quivering with righteous indignation, and she should have slapped him silly. She was larger than he was and violently enraged. She could have lashed out and landed a blow before he realized her intent, but why bother?

She sighed with regret.

Her temper had always been her undoing. Her jealousy, too.

She’d been angry at Jean Pierre, upset over his affection for Sarah Teasdale, and eager to pay him back for his betrayal. Yet he hadn’t betrayed her.

He’d offered her a house in Paris, servants, a stipend. It was more than she’d ever dreamed of obtaining, more than she’d deserved. She was a courtesan, and he had honored her for her excellent service with a gracious retirement. After only two years of employment!

She’d never have had to work again, would never have had to welcome another man to her bed. And after Jean Pierre, why would she fornicate with another?

She shouldn’t have fought his decision. She should have profusely thanked him and parted on good terms. If she had, he’d have been a friend for life.

Mais non!
She’d had to pitch a fit, and wasn’t that the most ridiculous choice ever? Who could best Jean Pierre? She knew it was impossible, but she’d tried anyway.

Now look at her. Incarcerated. Abandoned and alone. No pennies in her purse. She had no one to rely on except stupid, arrogant Hedley.

She was very afraid of being transported to Australia. She was very afraid of
not
being transported, of having to spend the winter at Newgate where lung fevers would run rampant. She probably wouldn’t survive.

Most of all, she was very afraid of Jean Pierre and Raven. She didn’t think Jean Pierre would retaliate, but Raven…

He wouldn’t forget the trouble she’d caused for Jean Pierre, wouldn’t let her get away with what she’d done. Raven could ask Jean Pierre’s permission to murder her, and Jean Pierre could say
no,
and Raven would proceed regardless of Jean Pierre’s opinion.

It wasn’t likely that Raven would move against her in the locked facility, but the man was so bloody resourceful. She was desperate to sneak out of the prison, to vanish into London’s crowded streets.

Her only hope had been Hedley, but she had to accept that she was on her own.

“Go away, Hedley,”she muttered.

“You haven’t told me how you’ll repay me,”he sullenly whined.

“Go. Away.”

“I can’t have creditors chasing me. Mother is beside herself.”

“I don’t care.”

“But, Annalise, you must see how you have—”

She slapped her palms on the table, the sound ringing off the ceiling. “I said I don’t care, Hedley. Slither home to your mother, you pathetic mama’s boy. Sit on her lap and cry on her shoulder. She will put up with you, but I don’t have to.”

She rose so quickly that her chair topped over. Then she swept out, yearning to appear regal and magnificent, but in light of her current difficulties, aplomb was hard to manage.

A guard was waiting to escort her to her cell. He gestured down the hall, indicating the route, and she stomped off.

Hedley was sniping, “Annalise! Annalise! Don’t you dare walk away from me!”

“Sod off, you rich toad,”she mumbled, and the guard snickered.

“We’re not finished, Annalise!”Hedley nagged. “Get back here!”

They turned a corner, and his voice faded away.

She was hurrying along, not really focused on her surroundings. After a bit, she glanced around, and she didn’t recognize their location. Her cell was on an upper floor, in the women’s wing, but they hadn’t climbed the stairs, had they? Hadn’t they descended? She seemed to be in the cellar.

Gradually, it dawned on her that it was very quiet. She peeked behind her, but the guard had deserted her. Rude dog! When she saw him again, he’d definitely get a scolding he would never forget.

She frowned and nervously called, “
Halo
? Is anyone there?”

Her words echoed and echoed as if the corridor went on forever. It was very dark in both directions, a single lamp burning near the spot where she stood. She thought she should retrace her steps and return to her cell on her own, but she wasn’t sure she could find the way.

A shiver of unease whispered down her spine.

Suddenly, a man emerged from the shadows, giving her the fright of her life. He wasn’t a guard, but was dressed in a workingman’s attire, a brown coat and trousers, muddy boots, a hat pulled low over his face.

She lurched away, a hand over her racing heart, but when he spoke to her in French, she immediately calmed.

“Mademoiselle Dubois?”

“Oui
.” She spoke in French, too. “You scared me to death.”

“I apologize.” He came closer, and she could smell the sea, as if he was a sailor. He studied her, his eyes steely as he said, “Jean Pierre sends his regards.”

She brightened. Was she forgiven? Was she being rescued?

Perhaps he’d quarreled with Miss Teasdale. Perhaps he was sorry he’d been so horrid to Annalise. Perhaps he wanted her back!

“Is Jean Pierre here? Has he come for me?”

“No. He has not come.”

“What is it then? Are you taking me to him?” Excited, she grabbed his arm. “We can go at once. I don’t need to fetch my things.”

“We are not going.” He pressed himself to her, forcing her against the dank prison wall, and murmured, “Raven sends his regards, too.”

She gasped with dismay. “Raven! No!”

“I am to tell you exactly this, Mademoiselle: ‘If you betray Jean Pierre, you betray me. Did you imagine you would not have to pay a steep price’?”

She’d intended to protest, to defend herself, but he was a skilled assassin, and she’d already uttered her last words.

Quick as a snake, he withdrew a knife and sliced her through her belly. As she collapsed, he moved away so no blood would soak into his clothes. He watched dispassionately, waiting for her final breath to be exhaled.

Off in the distance, her beautiful mother was standing in a field of blue flowers. She was waving to Annalise, beckoning to her, and Annalise was anxious to rise and run to her, but the vision faded and she couldn’t see the path.

It grew very dark and very cold, and there was no beauty, no flowered field, no vision of her mother. There was only an eternal quiet and a recognition that there would never be anything else but this.

* * * *

“Hello, Hedley.”

“Halt!”Hedley snapped. “Who goes there?”

He was a bit drunk, swaying slightly, his head pounding.

Earlier in the evening, he’d received a mysterious message from a newspaper reporter who’d been interested in interviewing him about Jean Pierre and Annalise Dubois. The man had offered to pay for the privilege of speaking with Hedley, and Hedley had jumped at the chance.

He was so desperately short of funds.

The tavern where the meeting was to take place was located in a seedy neighborhood down by the docks. At first, Hedley had been reluctant to attend, but vanity and poverty had driven him.

Of course the reporter had never arrived, and Hedley had dawdled for hours, had imbibed too much cheap whiskey. He’d just exited the tavern and was wondering how he’d return to his rented room. He had no money to hire a cab, and it was too far and too dangerous to walk.

Two men had slipped from the shadows. They were very large, dressed in black, pistols blatantly hanging from their belts.

Were they brigands? Was he about to be robbed?

Ha! He’d show them! His purse was empty—thanks to that trollop, Annalise Dubois. They could rob him all night, but wouldn’t get a penny. He didn’t
have
a penny.

They approached, the lamp on a nearby pole illuminating their features, and he blanched.

“You remember me, don’t you, Hedley?”