The Cracksman's Kiss (18 page)

Kassie’s mind raced
. “What if Napoleon declares war on England? You will not be able to collect such a reward.”

He shrugged again. “After I have my fill of you, perhaps Napoleon himself would delight
in ransoming you to the earl. I am sure the Emperor would be most grateful to me.”

Terror filled every fiber of her being.
I thought I could take care of myself. How foolish I
have been.
What was she to do now? Perhaps she should convince Basille to turn her over to Napoleon. If she threw herself upon the Emperor’s mercy may-hap he would let her go. If she showed him Cohen’s ring, maybe she could convince him she was betrothed to him, if he didn’t already know of Cohen’s death.

“You are running out of time, my dear. I told you I am not a very patient man.”

Kassie made up her mind in a split second as he lowered his face to hers to inflict another brutal kiss. Taking a deep breath she spit in his face and brought her knee up to connect with his groin. He let go of her with a startled howl, and she shoved against his chest with all her might, toppling him backward onto the grass.

Scrambling to her feet she scanned the garden for a way of
escape. If she ran back to the ballroom, everyone would ask questions she did not want to answer. Her eyes fixed on the back gate into the alley as Basille lurched to his feet. She jumped from his reach and bolted for the exit.
Please be
unlocked.
Basille’s footsteps pounded behind her. Was he gaining on her? She reached the gate and pulled on it. It swung open with a squeal of rusty hinges. She darted through the opening just as Basille grabbed the shoulder of her gown. The material rent with a loud rip but she jerked from his grasp, not caring that her bodice sagged open, exposing most of her chest. Her slipper flew off as she ran, the awkward patter of the remaining shoe echoing along the dark alleyway.

She ran
down street after street, not knowing or caring where she was going as long as she left her tormentor behind. After darting around the corner of a building close to the docks, she paused and leaned against it, panting. She tried to quiet her breathing so she could hear if Basille still pursued her.
Are there footsteps behind me?
Unsure, she spun around and ran down the street. She glanced over her shoulder, but did not see anyone behind her. As she turned her head back in the direction she was running, she collided with something solid. “Ooph!” Her breath slammed from her chest as she stumbled and fell to the hard cobblestones.

“Sacre blu!” A man’s voice uttered a garbled stream of French curses over her head.

Kassie winced as she got to her feet. Her right knee ached and something warm and sticky trickled down her leg. She brushed the dirt from her scraped palms and attempted to pull her bodice together. “I am so sorry, Monsieur.”

“Lady Everton?”

Kassie jerked her gaze from the torn material. Alex stepped forward into the circle of light emitted from the gas street lamp above her head.

“Alex! You do not know how glad I am to see you.”

He glanced down at her torn dress.

She crossed her arms over her tattered bodice. “A man, Ba
sille Montonee, was chasing me. He … he tried to … to … he tried to hurt me.” Kassie hiccuped, tears weaving their way down her cheeks.

Alex took off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Come, I take you home, oui?”

Kassie nodded, and then looked back over her shoulder. The street was empty. They turned the corner and Kassie paused, half afraid to see Basille there waiting for her. The street was abandoned. She limped along beside Alex as he strolled down the street to her rental, wincing as her shoeless foot was bruised by sharp stones.

Alex helped her up the steps and into the parlor. He lit the lantern and sat her on the worn
settee. “I take look, oui?” He gestured to her knee.

She cleared her throat. “That is not necessary, I am fine. It is just a scratch.”

Alex shook his head and disappeared into the kitchen. Water gurgled into the kettle and the fire snapped and popped as if he stoked it. Within minutes he reappeared with a wash basin of warm water and a cloth. He knelt in front of her and slid her skirt up to expose her shredded stocking and bloodied knee. “I take care of you.” He smiled and dipped the cloth into the water.

Chapter
Twenty-Three

“I said no women on my expedition. I do not care if she is you
r sister, an archaeological dig is no place for a woman.” The professor slammed his fist down on the scarred desk.

Kassie looked around the professor’s study. It was well furn
ished with pieces from all over the world; Persian rugs, Chinese lanterns, and sandalwood accents, all boastful displays of a well-traveled man. “I beg your pardon, Monsieur, but I could not help but notice your impressive collection of foreign goods.” She favored the man with her sweetest of when his gaze swung from Alex to her. He looked her up and down like he was appraising a horse. “My former husband was a great collector of artifacts. It was my job to catalog his amazing discoveries.”

Interest sparked in the stern man’s eyes as he pulled on his
scruffy white beard. “What kind of artifacts, Mademoiselle?”

“His last find, before his death, was a very rare Egyptian cat
. It was made of solid gold and had emeralds for eyes.”

The captain’s smoky grey eyes widened. “You do not say? Where did he find such a thing?”

Kassie licked her lip and plied him with a coy smile. “I know a great many places my husband kept secret where such objects can be found.”

His eyes narrowed as he contemplated her veiled inn
uendo. He arched one brow. “You would trade this information in exchange for passage with my crew?”

She nodded. “I could catalog your many acquisitions as well, plus I can cook.”

Alex nodded. “My sister is a fine cook, professor.”

The professor heaved his rotund form from his chair and gav
e his trousers a yank, no doubt hoping to support his enormous belly. “Deal. Mind you keep confined to your personal coach when we travel. If there is any trouble, I will see you are left by the side of the road to fend for yourself, you hear?”

Kassie nodded, tossing Alex a triumphant look.

“Now scat, before I change my mind.” The professor jerked his head toward the door.

Alex laughed as they made their way down the corridor to th
e worker’s quarters. “I did not think the professor would say oui, until you told him you cook.”

“With a belly like his I was pretty sure he liked to eat.” She giggled.

Alex grinned and opened the last door on the right. “It is not much, but a least you do not have to share it with a bunch of terrible smelling men.”

Kassie entered the room. Besides a mesh hammock there was
a single three legged stool, a tarnished wash basin and a chamber pot. “It is better than waiting for Basille to turn me over to the earl.” She gave Alex a false bright smile which she knew he would see through anyway.

He set down her small trunk of clothes and possessions. “I wi
ll come and get you in time for the evening meal. Do not unpack—we head out tomorrow before dawn.” He squeezed her hand and left, shutting and locking the door behind him.

She sat on the stool. At least Alex would look out for her, a
nd she would get to finally see what took place on an archaeological dig. Cohen had promised to explain the process to her one day. He promised to take her on a dig in Sicily. She wondered where Sicily was, and then realized she had not even asked where the professor’s crew was going. Well, wherever they were headed, she would be away from the earl and get to see another land. It was an intriguing situation…

* * * *

A key scraped in the lock. Kassie steeled herself against the intruder as the door swung open, letting out a soft exclamation of relief when Alex smiled at her from the threshold. “Sorry to lock you in, but it is for your own good.”

Kassie nodded. “I understand.”

Alex gave her a grand bow and offered her his arm. “May I escort you to dinner, Lady Everton?”

She returned his smile and took his arm. “You know, ‘tis
not proper for a lady to have a male friend.” When he looked down at her and frowned, worry lines etched in the corner of his eyes, she grinned and squeezed his arm, “but I am glad you are my friend, Alex.”

“As am I, to have you as a friend, my lady.”

They entered the museum dining hall. The room was crowded with men and even a couple of women, sitting, eating, and talking. A few looked up as they entered and gave her curious, but friendly, looks. Alex led her to two empty seats and pulled one of the chairs out for her. She sat and looked down at the simple silver place setting in front of her.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle.”

Kassie looked up into the kind eyes of a middle aged man.

He smiled. “I am Perrie Chanapelle.”

Kassie looked at Alex.

“Perrie, is one of the dusting team.”

She smiled. “I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Chanapelle. I am Kassie … Everton. What is a duster?”

“Please call me Perrie. Dusters are the people who sweep the
dirt off any pottery, bones, or other artifacts that we find.”

Alex leaned forward. “This is my sister’s first time on a dig.”

A servant came along and set a large pot of soup on the table in front of them. Alex ladled some into her bowl, and she smiled her thanks.

“Did you not take her with on any of your trips with Comté
Ashton?” Perrie helped himself to a platter of biscuits.

Kassie’s heart twisted at the mention of Cohen’s name.

Alex shook his head. “She was married at the time to…” he looked at her and cleared his throat, “to an earl. Since her husband’s death, she has been rattling around in that big empty mansion so I suggested she come along with me.”

Perrie looked surprised, but if he doubted the st
ory, he refrained from saying so. “Pardon me, Lady Everton, for addressing you in an improper manner.”

Kassie smiled. “No apology is necessary. Please, call me K
assie, the title belonged to my husband, not me. I am as common as you and Alex.”

The young man smiled, and Kassie decided she liked him. He seemed genuine.

“So, Kassie, tell me how you managed to convince that nip cheese marplot, Professor Braun, to allow a woman on his expedition?”

“I complimented his collection, offered to catalog his
findings, and share a few of my husband’s secrets.”

He threw back his head and laughed; his rich baritone
was a welcome distraction. “You are a clever one, Kassie, to be sure. The only thing Braun likes better than crowing about his findings is eating.”

Kassie laughed. “I did mention to him I can cook.”

“You are a deep little minx.” Perrie roared with laughter.

“Thank you.” She turned her attention to her soup.

Perrie furrowed his brows. “You were not married to Earl Everton, by chance?”

She choked on her spoonful of soup. No matter where she hid, the earl would find her.

“I am sorry. Your husband’s recent death must be still painful for you.” He handed her his handkerchief.

Kassie patted her mouth with the clean linen. “Recent death?”

“I heard about the fire last month. Dreadful business it was. Is it true he left all of his blunt to the butler?”

It was as if something slithered down her spine. She shudd
ered and swung her gaze to Alex as she fought to catch the breath that fled her lungs at Perrie’s words.
Dead? The earl is dead? Am I
finally free? Perhaps Perrie is mistaken.

Alex reached over and took her hand. “My lady, are you all right?”

She looked at Perrie. His gaze flickered back and forth between her and Alex, his brows pinched together with concern. She fought to control her voice and look as if she knew the news all along. “You heard about the earl’s … I mean my husband’s death?”

He nodded.

Free at last. Alone.
The words tumbled around in her befuddled mind. She hardly noticed Alex help her to her feet. The words he spoke to Perrie made no sense to her shocked senses. The room spun, everything blurred. She was aware of walking, and then the next thing she knew she was in her room. The route they took to get there she could not fathom. Alex seated her on the stool. She recognized the concern in his eyes. “It is over,” she whispered, almost afraid to say the words out loud. “He is dead. I am free.”

He nodded and forced a glass of brandy to her lips. Wher
e and when he had gotten it she could not recall. The first mouthful burned and she sputtered, but she downed the whole glass.

Alex set it on the floor as she leaned back against the wall, l
etting the soothing brandy take effect. “I am free, Alex. I do not have to run anymore. I can marry…” she let her voice trail off at the thought of Cohen. “I can marry if I wish to.”

Alex brushed a tendril of hair from her forehead. “Oui.”

She sat up. “I can go home Alex, home to my mama and papa.”

“You will go?”

Kassie nodded. “I still have a little money left, enough perhaps to buy passage back to England.”

He nodded. “You rest. I will see to your passage.” He stood, kissed her hand, and left.

Kassie stared at the door as it closed behind him.
What will I tell my parents?