The Silver Coin (41 page)

“Right.” Royce’s lips thinned into a pensive line. “Apparently, Maurelle renounced the name Rouge when she left Maison Fleur. She only uses it for buying and setting women. The rest of the world knows her as Maurelle Le Joyau.”

“Wait.” Anastasia held up her palm. “If this is true, if Maurelle is Rouge, and if the assassin was intimately involved with her when she was using her real name, then his establishing a business relationship with her at this particular time makes sense. The night he shot John Cunnings, Cunnings was searching for a woman to ship to M. Rouge—even if he didn’t know who M. Rouge was.”

“But the assassindidknow who she was,” Breanna finished for her. “He would have recognized the name when he saw it. He would have seized Cunnings’s notes. And he would have planned to pursue things with Maurelle when he got to the Continent.”

Stacie frowned. “The only problem with thatt heory is that Royce believes the relationship between the killer and Maurelle is longstanding, not sporadic. So why would he need Cunnings’s notes to figure out what she was up to? Why wouldn’t she just have told him? She seems to be aware of all his sinister activities. Why wouldn’t he know of hers?”

“Unless …” Royce pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Maurelle keeps making references to her feelings for the assassin being more powerful than they’ve been before. She emphasizes that she loves him now more than ever—almost as if she’s had time apart from him to realize the depth of her feelings. Maybe, at some point, they severed ties. I don’t know when, or for how long but maybe they lost touch. Maybe he never knew her as Maurelle Le Joyau—until he found Cunnings’s notes and went in search of M. Rouge. Maybe they only recently rediscovered each other.”

“But if they’re so deeply involved, what would make them sever ties?” Breanna wondered aloud. “Could he have frightened her off?”

“No.” Royce shook his head. “Maurelle is as cold-blooded as they come. She doesn’t frighten easily. If they ended things, even for a while, it wasn’t because she was afraid of him. Maybe it washe who had his reasons. I don’t know. But it certainly gives me another angle to pursue. I’ll see what I can find out.” A hard smile curved Royce’s lips. “I have a great many more facts now, and some strong leads to pursue. Not only Maurelle’s tie to the killer, but her tie to Viscount Medford. Maybe I can learn the fate of all those poor women she did sell.”

Maurelle was thumbing through a novel when Royce walked in.

She glanced up indifferently, noting his arrival, then tucking her legs beneath her on the chair and resuming her reading.

Royce shut the door with a firm click. “Put down the book.”

His icy tone gave her pause.

She arched a brow, surmising from the unyielding set of his jaw, the brutal determination in his eyes, that he was angrier than he had been previously, and more purposeful.

“Very well.” She tossed aside the novel and eyed him expectantly.

“Sit up.” Royce barked out the command.

She complied, uncurling her legs and lowering her feet to the floor, shaking out the folds of her gown as she did. “There. Is that to your satisfaction, monsieur?”

“Nothing about you is to my satisfaction,” he returned, folding his arms across his chest. “But all that’s about to change. We’re about to have a very informative chat.”

Her expression hardened.”Y ou’re wasting your time. I won’t give you his name.”

“Forgethisname. Let’s talk aboutyours —Mademoiselle Rouge.”

A flicker of surprise, if not alarm.”Bon.Now Iamimpressed, my lord. I see how you earned your reputation.”

“And I see how you earned yours—beginning fifteen years ago at Maison Fleur.” Royce crossed over, dragged up a chair and sat directly across from her.”Y ou met your lover then, when you were no more than a prostitute.Y ou held his—and scores of other soldiers’—attention for years.”

Silence, but the proud tilt of her chin told Royce he was right.

“Let’s discuss a more recent matter, then,” he suggested icily.”Y ou were Viscount Medford’s Paris contact. He sent you the women you sold.”

Maurelle’s sniff was haughty. “Medford was pathetic. So was his merchandise. They were nothing more than workhouse women—common and unrefined. Worse, they were drained of youth, beauty, and vitality. In short, they had nothing to offer. What affluent customer would pay to buy such refuse?”

“Clearly, you found buyers.”

“A few. No one worth the trouble.”

Royce clenched his teeth, fighting back the urge to shake Maurelle senseless and make her realize these were human beings they were discussing. He stifled the impulse. Losing control would only weaken his position. Besides, pleas for humanity could do nothing but fall on deaf ears when it came to this bitch.

“Would you liketheirnames, monsieur?” Maurelle taunted, clearly perceiving at least some fraction of Royce’s outrage. “Those I’d be happy to provide. And who knows? Maybe you could find the lowlifes I dealt with, rescue the pathetic wenches Medford provided from their lustful hands.”

“You graduated beyond lowlifes,” Royce shot back instead, his voice devoid of emotion. “As of your last correspondence with Medford, you’d stepped up to aristocratic buyers.”

“I improved the caliber of my merchandise and my patrons. But no thanks to Medford. He sent me nothing. He’s an insipid fool. He deserves to rot in Newgate.”

“So you turned to your lover instead. He took over out of lust for you and the thrill of executing people. He’s even rich enough to forego the money. Lucky you. He probably gave you every pence of the profits. Pity you two had lost touch, or he might have served as your business partner from the start. Then, you’d never have had to turn to a weakling like Medford.”

With that, Royce arched a sardonic brow. “Obviously your charms aren’t quite as acute as you believe.Y our beloved assassin was able to stay away from them for years. What was the problem, Maurelle? Were you beneath him in station? Was that what made him leave you at Maison Fleur, cut you off?”

Anger flared in her eyes. “You’re grasping at straws.

You’re also insulting me. So rather than listen to your offensive words, I’ll put an end to them. I’m the one who severed the relationship, not he. I was foolish. I didn’t want to be a nobleman’s property. I vanished. He found me. I won’t make that mistake again. I believe that answers your question,n’est ce pas?”

Royce’s eyes narrowed as he digested that tidbit of information. Purposefully keeping her from pondering how much she’d revealed, he segued back to the previous, and less inflammatory, subject. “How did you and Medford start working together?”

“We didn’t start.Idid. That fool never even met me, much less knew who I was. He knew only the name M. Rouge. Which was how I wanted it. As for whyIapproached him, it was a wise business decision. I had the money-making scheme. He had the connections and the desperate need for money.”

“How did you find out about that?”

Maurelle’s mocking smile returned. “Men are fools when in the throes of passion. My girls listened and often encouraged their patrons to talk. What they learned convinced me that Lord Medford was a fine candidate for what I had in mind. He knew influential people who could supply him with ships and cargo. He was deeply in debt and taking stupid chances to recoup his losses. I gave him an opportunity to do that. He jumped at it.”

“And when you heard he got caught by Bow Street?”

She shrugged. “I’d already arranged for M. Rouge to drop out of sight. Lord Sheldrake was digging around, trying to find out who I was. Medford’s going to Newgate only reinforced my decision. It was time for Rouge to go on holiday.”

“But that’s not what happened. Instead, your lover showed up and helped you resurrect the role, and the business of selling women. Only now the quality of women was elevated to a higher standard—and the means of acquiring them, murder.”

“Oui.Exciting, wouldn’t you say?”

“Depraved, I’d say.”

A purposeful knock sounded at the door. “Yes?” Royce called.

Hibbert stepped into the room. “The confirming documents you’ve been awaiting just arrived, my lord. I thought you’d want to know.”

“I do.” Royce was already heading for the door. He turned, shot Maurelle a glittering, triumphant look. “We’ll continue this shortly, Mademoiselle De Rouge.”

Royce’s lips curved as they rounded the corridor of the servants’ quarters, strode toward the sitting room. “That bluff worked nicely. It’s the first time I’ve seen Maurelle look worried since she arrived.”

“I’m hoping it won’t be a bluff, sir. If these reports tell us what we expect, we’ll have our answer. Then we’ll need Miss Le Joyau only to verify it.” He frowned. “She won’t do that willingly. We’ll have to be very convincing.”

“We will be.” Royce bore down on the sitting room. “And she’ll tell us exactly what we need to know. Her loyalty to her lover will ensure it.”

The reports were comprehensive.

Eight of the remaining twelve men had served in the military. However, three of those had done so either during the wrong years or in the wrong places, and were stationed too far from Paris to be viable choices.

Which left five men who could be the assassin.

Damen stood beside Royce, poring over the five names as Wells and Hibbert stood on either side of the settee, flanking Anastasia and Breanna, who sat upon it, eagerly awaiting some answers.

“Maywood? He’s afraid of his own shadow,” Damen muttered. “His father browbeat him until the day he died. He balks at the slightest risk of losing money, much less lives. No. I don’t see it. And Crompton’s one hell of a shot, but he’s also eccentric as hell. He talks so much about his days as a general, we can all recite them by memory. If he’d been involved with a woman like Maurelle, she’d have been the high point of his tales. A cold-blooded killer? I can’t imagine it. Radebrook,I’m not sure of. He’s quiet. He doesn’t talk much about himself. It says here his afro is exceptional. Maybe—”

“He’s married,” Royce interrupted. “Happily married. And the father of three, two of whom are still young enough to live at home. That makes him the least likely candidate of the bunch. Our killer is a loner. He’s not a family man. Nor is Maurelle the type to share. I’d strike Radebrook before I struck anyone else.”

“Fine. That leaves Arthur Landow, who’s uneasy about squashing a bug, and James Fairwood, who I didn’t expect to be listed here. He always talks of himself as a naval officer.”

“He was a naval officer.” Royce was rereading the pages. “After Napoleon crushed our navy, he switched to the army. Apparently, he’s an expert marksman.”

Damen slammed his fist against the mantle. “So where do we go from here? How do we figure out which one it is?”

“We don’t.” Royce began organizing the reports into five separate, carefully-labeled folders. “We let Maurelle act as our bloodhound.”

A startled look. “Royce, you’ve spent the past two days telling us how staunch Maurelle is when it comes to refusing to betray her lover. Do you honestly believe that by waving five files beneath her nose you’re going to goad her into blurting out his name?”

“No.” Royce carefully lay the most damning pages atop each report, before closing the files. “I believe that by leaving five files beneath her nose I’m going to goad her into acting to protect him.”

Breanna’s chin came up. “You’re using her love for him to trap her into giving him away. You’re going to leave her alone in the room with those files. Instinctively she’ll go over and read the report on her lover. She won’t be able to help herself. She’ll want to see what facts you’ve compiled, how close you are to finding the man she loves.”

“Exactly.” Royce shot Breanna an admiring look. “You’ve become quite the sleuth, my love.”

“You’ve trained me well. Too well.” Breanna rose, walked over to him. “Royce, ifs a mistake. Not the idea, the execution. If you casually leave those files lying about in Maurelle’s room, she’ll know you’re up to something. She won’t go near the reports. And what will you do? Kneel outside her door all night, peeking through the keyhole, hoping she’ll relent?”

Royce’s brows rose in surprise. “You have another way?”

“Yes.” Breanna nodded, lifting her chin in a gesture that was becoming more and more natural for her to make. “Let me go in there and get the results we need.”

“No.” Royce was already shaking his head. “Absolutely not. You’re not going anywhere near that bitch.”

Gently, Breanna lay her hand on his forearm. “We only have one chance. If she figures out we’re uncertain she’ll never give anything away. I can throw her off-guard. You can’t. Her defenses go up whenever you walk into that room. You’re a man—and a brilliant one, at that. I’m a woman—a gentle, delicate, weak-minded woman.” Breanna’s lips twitched at her own description. “Maurelle will have no regard for me. She’ll assume I’m faltering, on the verge of collapse. I’ll use that to my advantage.”

Anastasia had perked up and was nodding her agreement. “Breanna has a point. Maurelleis used to battling wits with men, not women. I doubt she believes any woman is as strong as she, much less a soft-spoken, composed woman such as Breanna. If anyone can prove Maurelle wrong, if s my cousin.”

“Royce,” Breanna pressed, her jade gaze holding his midnight one. “I’ll get what we need.”

Royce swallowed. “How?”

Her lips curved.”I’m a very good sketcher. And,as you just said, I’ve also become an excellent sleuth. Between the two—I have a plan.”

Maurelle was moving restlessly about the room when the door opened.

She turned, eager to confront Lord Royce, to probe until she found out just what had incited that arrogant smirk he’d worn when he left her an hour ago.

Did he really have confirming documents, or had Hibbert been lying, trying to incite a reaction from her? The older man was an excellent actor. He’d fooled her once. He wouldn’t fool her again.

She forced herself to look nonchalant, to watch casually as Lord Royce entered the room.

But it wasn’t Lord Royce who stepped into the chambers.

It was a woman. A very pretty, very genteel woman, whose unusual coloring and haunted expression left little doubt as to her identity.