Pale Moon Rider (47 page)

“Robbie is not my servant. Maggie sometimes obliges when I am too hung-over to see clearly, but otherwise, I have it done by a barber or”—he tilted his jaw to foam the underside of his chin—“I do it myself.”

“None of your other lady friends obliged?”

The pale eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “Is there anything else you and Maggie discussed that I should know about?”

“She only mentioned that you do not bring your mistresses here, therefore, it must be assumed that you visit them elsewhere.”

“Them? I have more than one?”

“I cannot see you with just one, m’sieur. I should think you would get bored very easily.”

He glanced warily at her out of the corner of his eye for she had stretched her neck at the same time and the same angle as he stretched his. “You think that, do you?”

“Oui. Absolutement.
As
maman
would say, you would make someone a magnificent lover, but a poor husband.”

He reached for his razor and stropped it several times on a length of hard leather. “It sounds like your mother was a wise lady.”

“She was. And she would have liked you, I think, and been happy for me even though we did not have a chance to dance.”

Tyrone looked at her again and frowned. “Did I miss something? Were we supposed to dance?”

Her laugh was soft and a little sad. “No, m’sieur. As it turned out, it was not necessary.”

Still frowning, he turned back to the mirror. He did not like cryptic little smiles, especially when they came at his expense. On the other hand, it was the first time he had heard her laugh, not that there had been many opportunities over their brief acquaintance to inspire jocularity. Nevertheless, like the various degrees and shades of blushes he had discovered she was capable of producing, the sound of her shy, husky laugh intrigued him—enough so that he thought he ought to change the subject.

“How long has Finn been with you?”

“He left
England
with my mother, thirty years ago. He loved her very much.”

“Loved … as in
loved?”

“I think he loved her all his life, but he would never dare tell her so or even admit it out loud to himself. When he saw her beaten to death outside the prison gates,” her voice and eyes lowered with the memory, “I thought he, too, would die of a broken heart. Do you know his hair was brown the night before it happened and white the night after?”

Tyrone scraped the edge of the razor down his cheek, clearing the first stripe of lather and stubble. “I have heard of it happening, but never seen it.”

“There was nothing he could do to help my mother, but he saved Antoine and me. He had made a promise to
maman
, you see—she made him swear it every morning, for she did not know how long any of us would be safe from Robespierre’s tribunals. He promised to guard us and protect us and he swore this to her on his life.” Her expression was solemn and haunted again as she looked up at Tyrone. “I do not think we can wait a day or two. If Finn believes Antoine and I are safe, and if he believes that by sacrificing himself he will protect us … then he will do it.”

Half of his chin was clean and Tyrone allowed a wry chuckle before he started on his neck. “What makes you think he would believe you are safe in my clutches? I should think I would be the last person he would want to see taking care of you.”

“In truth, he told me to trust you. He said he believed you were a good man and I should do everything you say to do.”

The razor took a nick out of his skin, leaving a curse and a small bead of blood behind.

“Does that not sound like goodbye to you?” she persisted. “Do you not think he might do something foolish to avoid being used as a—a trumpet?”

The second bite of the razor was deeper, the curse louder, but when he glared at Renée, all she did was blush and point out the obvious. “You have cut yourself, m’sieur.”

“I am well aware of what I have done to myself. Could you possibly”—he clenched his jaw and forced a smile— “go and put some clothes on. Maggie left them on the chair while you were sleeping. In your present condition, you are enough of a distraction to have me slicing ribbons all over my face.”

She stood, hauling the profusion of sheets with her. “I am sorry if my appearance disturbs you,” she said primly, “but I have not exactly been looking at a blank wall.”

She exited in a swirl of linen and Tyrone glanced down. He was, he realized, still naked save for the strip of bandaging, and, as was becoming a noticeable tendency when Renée was wearing little but roses in her cheeks, he was half aroused.

He finished shaving without any further bloodletting and when he emerged from the dressing room—safely confined in buff breeches and a white shirt—Renée was standing by the window. Her hair was catching enough of the morning light to make it glow silver, and he decided she was as beautiful in the sunlight as she was in the moonlight. Not even the cut on her cheeks, the scabbing on her lip, or the bruises that marred the whiteness of her skin could detract from the gentle radiance that seemed to glow from within. At the same time there was nothing fragile or fainthearted about her. She had survived the Terror in
France
, endured Roth’s manipulations, withstood Vincent’s assault, even bared her neck to a murderous highwayman and defied him to throttle her if he thought she was lying. Now here she was, refusing to even consider Finn’s willingness to sacrifice himself for her safety, something not one in a thousand aristocrats of so-called noble blood would think twice of accepting— even expecting—from a mere servant.

Coming so close on the heels of admitting she intrigued him, of acknowledging that he became as randy as a billy
-
goat if she just looked at him, and of knowing he would give more than just half of what he had in his cabinets to see her smile at him the way she smiled at Antoine … well, he did not trust himself to speak or to move, nor did he do either until she sensed his presence and turned toward him.

She might just as well have taken up a hammer and hit him in the chest, for the expression on her face was so full of despair, he was concerned enough to join her by the window and take her gently into his arms.

“I may have my faults, Renée, but I do not count making false promises to frightened young women among them. I have said we will get Finn back, and get him back we shall.”

“It was not Finn I was thinking about,” she said with a guilty, tremulous smile. “I was … only wondering what it would be like to have seven mewling children about my ankles.”

He tightened his arms around her and buried his lips in her hair, but before he dared put any of his thoughts into words, they were interrupted by an urgent knock on the door.

“Come,” Tyrone said, straightening.

It was Antoine, and for the moment, running up to throw himself into Renée’s arms, he forgot he could speak.

M’sieur
Dudley
told me to come up here and be very quiet. There is a big enormous fat lady in the kitchen and twenty people at the rear door!

“That would be Mary, the cook,” Tyrone explained with a laugh. “Every urchin in
Coventry
knows when she is baking bread, for they gather like geese and wait to fill their pockets.” In response to the startled look on Renée’s face, he offered up a small shrug. “I remember many a hungry morning myself.”

But that was not what had amazed her. “You read his lips! Yet in the tower room you professed ignorance.”

“Did I? Perhaps because he spoke French and my skills are a little less proficient in that language. As for knowing how to communicate without making any sound, the knack has come in handy on more than one occasion.” He glanced at the boy. “But
Dudley
was right. It would be best if you stay up here and be very quiet. Mary only sees what she chooses to see, but urchins have been known to have prying eyes and loose tongues. I will have Maggie bring a tray.”

He went back into the dressing room and emerged a few minutes later with his hair scraped severely back into a tail at his nape and a heavy dusting of powder to dull the rich ebony shine. It was a small adjustment, trifling really, but it aged him ten years and tamed a surprising amount of wildness from his appearance. He had donned a chocolate-colored jacket and striped silk waistcoat as well, and while he headed for the door, he was tying a cravat about his neck.

“Tyrone?”

He stopped and looked back.

“You will not do anything … go anywhere … without telling me?”

“I will be just downstairs. When Robbie and I decide what must be done, I will come and fetch you. Oh, and you might want to stand back from the window. You glow like an angel with a halo around her head; I would not want to shock any poor sinners passing by.”

Dudley
was waiting in the library. There was fresh mud on his boots and his nose was red and dripping.

“You look like jolly hell,” Tyrone remarked.

“Aye, well, while some of us have been lounging in a warm bed, me and my ballocks have been all over this blessed town. And I would not be surprised to discover I have caught the lung rot after last night.” He took out an enormous square of linen and honked into it with great gusto before cramming it back in his pocket.

“Any news about Finn?”

“He’s at the Black Bull with double the sentries outside, double the guards inside.”

“Any way of getting a message to him?”

“Not unless it’s from the cell beside him.”

“Renée is worried he might do harm to himself in order to free her and the boy.”

“You believe her?”

“I am not discounting the damned old rogue’s sense of loyalty.”

Dudley
twitched an eyebrow. “Like him, do you?”

“He grows on you.” He swore and shuffled through a sheaf of papers on his desk. “Where the devil are my sketches of the streets around the Black Bull?”

“On the left,”
Dudley
said calmly, pointing. “And unless you have some secret army of your own that I don’t know about, there is no way you can get near him as long as he is being held there.”

“Then the trick will be to get him out in the open.”

“We’re agreed on that, but how?”

“We get Roth to bring him to us. We propose an exchange and offer the greedy bastard something he can’t refuse.”

Dudley
patted his breast pocket and withdrew two folded sheets of parchment. “I don’t know if this measures up, but it seems the boy was right about the value of the Dragon’s Blood suite; the value increases dramatically when the rubies and the pearl brooch are put together. After I overheard Roth and Vincent talking about it in the coach, I asked Jeffrey Bartholomew to make some discreet inquiries. The jewels belonged to some old baron way back when men wore armor and kings killed their own blood kin to gain a throne. The Pearl of Brittany is unique, one of a kind, named after the princess who, it is rumored, gave birth to a son who not only could have challenged King John’s right to the throne, but could have changed the course of history by uniting France and England under one crown. The revolutionary government is understandably anxious to get the suite back, while the French court in
London
will pay almost anything to keep it in monarchist hands.”

“You
have
been busy this morning.”

“Aye, well that’s not the best of it.” He paused and handed the second sheet of paper to Tyrone. “This is a list of the contents of a certain bank vault in
London
. The approximate value and the name of the claimant is on the bottom.”

Tyrone unfolded the sheet and skimmed down the list, but just as his lips were pursing to whistle their astonishment, he came to the bottom line. He shot a quick glance up at
Dudley
for verification and got a wry smile in response.

“Kind of gives you a warm feeling all over, does it not, to know her uncle was taking such good care of her, finding her a fine,
fertile
husband, keeping the boy in close check with a false arrest warrant.”

“Son of a bitch,” Tyrone muttered.

“Aye. It also makes you wonder if the pearl alone will be enough to draw Roth out. What is a mere two hundred thousand when there are millions being held
in trust for the Duc d’Orlôns.”

“Millions?”

Both men turned at the sound of the soft query. Renée was standing in the doorway, looking battered and fragile and frightened anew.

“I thought I told you to stay upstairs.”

“You said you were going to discuss what to do about Finn. I … thought I might be able to help.” Her gaze went to the list in Tyrone’s hand. “I heard what you said about the pearl. I knew it was of some
indigene
value to the government of
France
, but … to be worth so much. It is difficult to believe.”

“Well, brace yourself for another surprise.” Tyrone came out from behind the desk and extended the sheet of paper. “It seems we have also discovered the tree where your grandfather buried his treasure.”