Shirley Kerr (30 page)

But that was not the plan. She had a better plan, and a partner. They had a greater chance of succeeding by working together.

And she never made the same mistake twice—she’d learned her lesson after last night. Instead of acting impulsively, she should have talked with Alistair. Despite her taking advantage of him on many occasions, he’d come through for her every single time—been the best partner one could ask for. If she hadn’t been so obstinate about getting the snuffbox on her own, she probably would have been able to pick the lock and get the box safely while he kept watch out in the hall.

But instead she’d acted brashly, and committed the cardinal sin of treating him with the same casual disregard of which Steven was guilty of treating her.

Penrith sat on the floor in the hall, slumped in a passed-out lump against the wall. At the top of the staircase she could just make out the toe of Alistair’s boot, off to one side.

Right. Time to raise the curtain on their little drama.

“Toussaint!” she called out, relishing the very unladylike bellow. Giving vent to the mix of anticipation, fear, and exhilaration racing through her blood helped her slow her breathing to an almost normal rate. “Show yourself!” She had her hands in her pockets, feeling the cold metal
of the snuffbox in one and the reassuring butt of a pistol in the other.

She’d never actually shot anything but paper targets pinned to bales of straw before, but she’d make an exception for Toussaint. Without hesitation. He’d already killed twice, and no telling how badly he’d hurt Steven this time. Her brother already bore a knife scar from their last encounter.

From the doorway of the main gaming room, Sir Nigel poked his head into the hall. “Have you brought it?”

“Where’s my brother?” She planted her feet wide, chin out, shoulders back.

“He’s here, he’s alive. For now. Did you bring it?”

Breathe. In, out, in, out. “I want proof.”

Nigel disappeared back into the gaming room, but left the door open. “She wants proof he ain’t dead.”

She heard some mutterings and shuffling in the room, then a grunt of pain.

“Don’t give it to him, Charlie! Leave!” quickly followed by an “Oof.”

Hearing the pain in Steven’s voice, she strangled the urge to cry out. Focus. She slipped her finger around the pistol trigger.

Sir Nigel poked his head out again. “Good enough? Now let’s see the box.”

Charlotte withdrew the box from her pocket, just far enough to let the light glint off the silver corner. “I’ll only give it to Toussaint, and only after Steven and Gauthier are released. Unharmed.”

Nigel scratched his jaw. “That might prove difficult, depending on your definition of unharmed.”

She refused to flinch. Steven certainly wasn’t comfortable, but he hadn’t sounded like he was in agony. She wouldn’t think about the fact that she hadn’t heard Gauthier’s voice yet. Keeping her gaze locked on Nigel’s, she pushed the box back in her pocket, out of sight, and gave a nonchalant shrug.

Nigel withdrew again, muttering as he went.

She flicked her gaze down to Penrith, who was still slumped against the wall, an empty tankard clutched in one hand. Nigel had hardly spared him a glance.

Just as the butterflies threatened to take flight in her stomach, Nigel stepped out into the hall, moving aside to make room for Toussaint.

She clenched her teeth to keep her mouth from falling open.

Toussaint’s nose was obviously broken, with deep bruises beneath both eyes, and another dark, mottled patch along his jaw. His bottom lip was split and grossly swollen. His squint could be caused by swelling from the broken nose, or painful sensitivity to light because of a concussion.

She wanted to whistle appreciation at Alistair’s handiwork. Instead she determinedly kept her gaze on Toussaint’s damaged face so she wouldn’t draw attention to Alistair, who was currently creeping down the stairs, inching toward the gaming room. He rolled his hand, gesturing for her to keep them talking.

She pointed at Toussaint’s injured face. “Did one of your little birds say no to you?” Baiting a man about his sexual conquests—or lack thereof—was so easy, it almost
seemed unscrupulous. But Toussaint didn’t play fair, so she wouldn’t, either.

When she lowered her arm, she slid her hand into a different pocket, this one filled with a dagger.

Toussaint’s eyes narrowed even farther. “Box.” Movement of his lips was barely perceptible, and his jaw moved not at all.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand you,” she said brightly. “Could you repeat that?”

If looks could kill, she would have exploded on the spot under his furious glare.

“He said you should give him the snuffbox. Now.” Nigel edged out a little farther into the hall, his hand held out.

“Really? You heard all that, expressed in only one syllable?” She held her hand to her chest in mock amazement. One more step, and Alistair would be able to slip behind them into the gaming room.

Toussaint gave an inarticulate growl.

“His jaw is broken,” Nigel said, poorly disguising a snicker of amusement at Toussaint’s predicament by coughing into his sleeve. He gave Toussaint a sidelong glance, and returned his attention to Charlotte, serious once more. “This has gone on long enough, miss. Give me the box, I’ll release your brother and the Frenchman, and we’ll all walk away with what we want.”

Alistair was in. She kept her eyes on Nigel, but inside she was hopping up and down in excitement.

She lifted the corner of the box out of her pocket, just far enough to make sure Nigel and Toussaint focused on it
and not the muffled thud coming from the gaming room as Alistair made his presence known to Jennison. “I’m not so sure I want to do that. The gemstones alone on this box could support me in grand style for the rest of my life. Not to mention what I could do with what’s inside it.”

Nigel’s brows knitted together. “You’d sacrifice your brother and friend?”

“Well, I—”

The sound of flesh striking flesh made everyone in the hall look toward the gaming room.

As Nigel and Toussaint turned, Penrith suddenly swung his foot, taking Nigel out at the knee. The two struggled on the floor.

Toussaint hardly spared them a glance, intent on getting back into the gaming room, his expression even more thunderous than before.

Knowing she couldn’t overpower him physically, Charlotte threw her knife. It pinned Toussaint’s sleeve to the doorjamb.

He growled something that may have been a slur on her parentage, and reached for the still-quivering dagger handle.

She retrieved more throwing knives from her pockets and let one fly. It caught the open flap of his coat, just below his navel, though she’d been aiming for his other sleeve.

“The next one will be lower,” she promised. She drew her arm back but did not release the knife.

His eyes were narrow slits as he stared at her, his chest heaving with impotent rage.

Penrith finally managed a clean blow, and finished off
Sir Nigel with an uppercut to the jaw. Nigel went still.

Charlotte glanced at the two on the floor. When she turned back to Toussaint, he had his hand on the knife handle, trying to extricate it from where it pinned his sleeve to the wall. She pulled her pistol and cocked it. “Please, do keep trying to free yourself.”

Toussaint’s eyes widened. He froze.

Penrith climbed to his feet, dusted himself off, and retrieved his walking stick.

Steven and Gauthier tumbled into the hall just then, a little worse for wear with bruises and cuts. “Told you she was great guns,” Steven said, rubbing his red, raw wrists. Careful not to get in the way of her pistol, he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

Her gun still steady on Toussaint, she gave Steven a one-armed hug.

“Certainement, une femme formidable.”
Gauthier gave her a peck on the other cheek.

Alistair emerged then, a knife in one hand, rope in the other. “Shall we put these to better use?” He held up the ropes that until recently had bound Steven and Gauthier.

“Excellent idea.” Steven grabbed one and leaned close to Toussaint. “I’m hoping you’ll resist,” he growled.

Toussaint sniffed and looked away.

Charlotte kept her pistol trained on Toussaint while Steven trussed him up and Gauthier bound Nigel’s hands.

“Don’t forget Jennison.” She kept her gaze trained on Toussaint, but noted with pride the triumphant smile lighting Alistair’s face.

“Oh, he won’t be going anywhere, anytime soon.” Alistair shook out his right hand.

“What shall we do with this rubbish?” Steven indicated Toussaint, and nudged Nigel’s foot with the toe of his boot.

“Last night he wanted to throw Charlotte’s body into the river.” Alistair studied Toussaint’s injured face as though considering where best to add more damage.

Toussaint flinched.

At the reminder of the emotional anguish Alistair had suffered when he thought she’d died, her heart constricted. How could she make it up to him?

Steven’s brows rose. “Poppet?”

“I’ll explain later.” She suddenly realized all five men present—Nigel didn’t count, since he was unconscious—were looking toward her. She was, however temporarily, in a position of authority. They were willing to listen to her.

The first thing she wanted to do was give back a family heirloom. She dug the snuffbox out of her pocket and handed it to Penrith. “Would you please return this to his grace, with my thanks?”

Penrith tucked the snuffbox into a coat pocket. “Perhaps.” He winked at her.

“You borrowed a
duke’s
snuffbox?” Steven gave a low whistle.

Sir Nigel, on the floor at their feet, groaned.

She gave him a considering glance. “The Bow Street Runners would be interested in the office full of stolen goods.” From the corner of her eye she noted Toussaint relax slightly. “But I think we’ll send for our mutual friend instead. I’m sure he has a few questions he’d like to ask of Monsieur Toussaint.”

Toussaint paled.

“That won’t be necessary, my dear.” Lord Q stood in the doorway of the taproom. As he spoke, half a dozen men surged forward and collected Sir Nigel and Toussaint. “The Home Office does indeed have a few questions.”

Steven jerked a thumb over his shoulder, toward the gaming room. “Don’t forget Jennison.”

Charlotte stared at Q and lifted her chin. “I thought you said you could offer no help.”

“Officially, I cannot.
Un
-officially, however, I came to see if acquaintances were in need of assistance.” Lord Q stepped aside to allow his men to walk past, Nigel slung over one man’s shoulder, Jennison slung over another who bore a strong resemblance to Q’s butler, though he was not in livery. Two others herded Toussaint. “But I see you already have matters well in hand.” He gave Steven and Gauthier an appraising stare. “You two should see a doctor.”

“What great luck we happen to have one on hand.” Penrith grabbed both men by the shoulder and led them out. “His grace will be eager to hear about all that transpired last night. However did you manage to allow yourselves to be captured by Nigel?”

“The same duke who loaned his snuffbox?” Steven gave Charlotte a glance over her shoulder as he left the hall.

“Oh, yes. He brought his personal surgeon, just for you two.” Penrith clapped Steven on the back as they disappeared into the taproom.

Lord Q watched them leave. “Excellent work, Charlie.”

“Thank you, my lord, but I could not have succeeded without my partner.” She gestured toward Alistair.

“You two work well together.” Lord Q beamed his approval.

It was probably the last time they’d work together, but Charlotte didn’t have the heart to say so out loud.

No. She raised her chin. She wasn’t going to give up again as easily as she had last night. She wasn’t going to give up Alistair, even if it meant the end of working for Q.

“Well.” Lord Q cleared his throat. “I’ll see that she gets home safely, Moncreiffe.” He spoke directly over Charlotte’s head.

“Of course.” Alistair turned, as if to leave.

“Wait!” She clutched at his sleeve, hating that she sounded so desperate. “We’re not done. The conversation we started at the chandler’s shop next door?”

“Oh, that.”

Even with his disinterested tone, she refused to give up without a fight. “I won’t need your assistance, my lord,” she said to Lord Q without taking her eyes off Alistair.

“If you’re sure?”

Alistair kept his gaze locked on hers. Was that a twinkle in his eyes? “Certain. Good day, sir.”

Lord Q left.

There were more voices in the taproom, and people scurrying down the hallway.

“I think we had more privacy in the doorway,” Charlotte grumbled, stepping aside as a couple pushed past, headed for the stairs.

Alistair led her to the private gaming room. After checking to make sure the room was unoccupied, he pulled her inside and shut the door. “You were trying to
tell me something earlier.” He adopted a neutral expression of polite interest.

He had to have an inkling of what she was going to say. Didn’t he? Drat him, he was going to make her say it aloud, in excruciating detail.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. She stood straight and tipped her head back to look directly into his eyes.

“Last night, I gained everything I thought I wanted, but in doing so, I realized I had lost what had become most important to me.”

“Oh?” He linked his hands together. “What would that be?”

She swallowed and took a deep breath. “You.”

“Me.” He ducked his chin and stared at her intently.

She nodded vigorously. “In the week and a half we have known each other, you have done the most horrible thing, something I thought impossible, would never, could never, happen.”

“Horrible?” A spark lit in his eyes. She hoped it was humor.

She babbled on, eager to get it out before she lost her nerve. “You’ve made me think about being a wife—your wife—and made it an attractive proposition. So appealing, in fact, I…I would give up working for Lord Q.” The words rolled off her tongue as though they’d been there all along, just waiting for a chance to be heard. “That is, if you meant what you said in the carriage last night.”