The Sinner Who Seduced Me (30 page)

“More than that. He seems to be after Durand. I’m guessing he plans on foiling our mission to try to steal the man’s position.”

“No matter what Pettibone’s plans are, it will become increasingly evident to Durand that my mother is no longer needed,” Clarissa added, desperation in her voice.

Penderly nodded. “Of course. I’ve a man following Pettibone—he’ll report in to our office as soon as they arrive in Paris. I’d put my money on the brothel, though—that’s where they’re holding your mother.”

“The Tout et Plus?” James asked.

“The very one,” Penderly answered.

James rose quickly from the table, Clarissa doing the same. “I’ll need men and horses.”

Penderly stood up to join them. “Of course. They’ll be briefed as to your true status within the Corinthians and accompany you to Paris,” he confirmed. “And Marlowe, welcome back from the dead.”

Clarissa was sure that if she ever found herself on the back of a horse again, it would be too soon. Even with the hour’s worth of rest that James had insisted they take when they’d stopped for fresh mounts, she wouldn’t be surprised if the imprint of the saddle would permanently alter the shape of her backside.

They waited near the edge of Montmartre while one of the five agents who’d accompanied them to Paris went on to confirm that Pettibone had indeed gone directly to the brothel. When he’d rushed back with the news that Pettibone had made straight for the Tout et Plus, a plan had been decided upon to rescue Clarissa’s mother, then capture as many of the Les Moines agents as was possible. Reinforcements had been sent for, but there was no guarantee they would arrive in time—and they couldn’t wait.

“I cannot let you do this.”

Clarissa adjusted the satin gown about her shoulders, pulling in a vain attempt to cover more of her breasts. When the agent had returned with the dress and slippers, many had assumed that one of the male agents would be required to play the part. It had made much more sense when he’d explained his plan, though James had threatened to part the man’s head from his body. “You have no choice. Durand knows what you look like. Besides, in all likelihood I’ll be able to secure your entry before I encounter the man.”

James held tightly to her wrist. “And what if Pettibone finds you?”

Clarissa had wondered the very same thing. Having failed to secure a reasonable solution, her exhausted brain had conveniently forgotten about it altogether. “James, please. We’re running out of time.”

He’d listened, though it clearly had taken all of his strength to do so. Only after she’d repeated the plan back to him three times did he release her wrist and allow her to cross the street and approach the back entrance to the brothel.

Clarissa smoothed the skirts of the garish-red gown and took a deep breath before rapping on the door with her fist.

She was readying to knock a second time when the door swung wide and a woman appeared. “
Oui
?” she asked, scratching at the neck of her flimsy chemise.

“I’m Camille. Cozette’s friend?” Clarissa answered, feigning irritation. “She told you about me, didn’t she? Promised she would.”

The woman continued to scratch while she looked Clarissa up and down. “Camille, is it? Well, Camille, Cozette didn’t tell me a thing, but you’re certainly pretty—and we’re very busy. Come in, then.” She stepped aside to allow Clarissa entry, slamming the door behind her.

“My name is Joëlle,” the woman offered as she quickly walked down a narrow hallway toward the front of the building. “I’ll show you to your room.”

Clarissa stole a quick glance at the main floor. There was no one about except for one large man at the front door. She avoided meeting his lecherous gaze as she followed Joëlle up the stairs.

“This one will do,” the woman said as she pushed open the door of the last room on the right. “Small, but plenty of room for you to maneuver. Freshen up, then
come downstairs. The owner will have finished with his meeting by then. He prefers to see each girl before allowing her to meet the clients.”

Clarissa nodded appreciatively and waited as Joëlle left the room. Quietly closing the door, she hurried to the window, pushing open the cheap velvet curtains. She looked anxiously across the street, barely able to see the Corinthian agents at the corner. She pried open the filthy window and gestured wildly. She squinted to make out a man’s form in the dark as he stealthily ran toward the brothel and stopped just below her window. Putting her arms out as he threw a rope ladder up to her, it narrowly missed her grasp. He tried a second time and her fingers caught on just before it fell.

She tied the top to the bed frame then returned to the window, leaning out and tossing the bottom of the ladder to the waiting agent below.

A rap on the door was followed by Joëlle’s voice. “Camille?”

Clarissa waved off the agent, who’d already begun to climb and leaned back inside, hastily pulling the curtains closed. “Yes?” she replied, crossing the room and opening the door just wide enough to see Joëlle standing in the hall.

“I’d forgotten that monsieur is entertaining a special visitor today. He’ll have my head if you’re found wandering alone. It would be best if you come with me,” the woman offered by way of explanation.

Oh, God, could it be Pettibone
? “Of course,” Clarissa agreed, stepping over the threshold and closing the door quickly behind her.

Joëlle nodded pleasantly and gestured for Clarissa to follow.

Clarissa assumed an expression of polite interest and slowly began to walk toward the stairs, her mind racing.
She could run, but where? If she remained calm and continued on, there was a good chance that James and the others would make their way into the brothel undetected. It was, she realized, her only option.

She descended each step slowly, the sight of the burly man at the entryway tightening her already taut nerves. He looked at them with suspicion.

“She’s new—a friend of Cozette’s,” Joëlle explained, turning to take Clarissa’s arm in hers.

“
Eh bien,
” he grunted, his gaze lingering on the creamy expanse of Clarissa’s skin as the flimsy strap of her gown slipped from her shoulder.

“Don’t let him bother you,” Joëlle assured Clarissa, pulling her protectively closer. “He’s as big as a bull—and just as stupid. Stay out of his way, and he’ll stay out of yours.”

Clarissa shook off the terror of encountering the man and allowed Joëlle to steer her down a narrow hallway just off the entryway. She saw the stairs at the end and forced a smile. “I’ll do my best.”

James was the first to climb the wall, his booted feet landing on the windowsill silently as he pushed himself through. He hastily inspected the room then returned to the window and assisted the other agents as they appeared one by one. The last of them climbed over the sill and into the small room. He pulled the ladder up then fastened the window and shut the curtains.

“Clarissa is gone,” James told the gathered men, checking the knife concealed in his boot and the other tucked into the waistband of his breeches. “She would not have gone unless it was absolutely necessary—or if she was forced.”

“Pettibone?” one of the men asked, his tone grave.

James’s heart constricted at the sound of the man’s name. Of course, it made the most sense, but if she’d
been identified by the Frenchman? He couldn’t finish the thought, the possible repercussions beyond consideration.

“We’ll subdue the man at the front before he alerts the others to our presence,” James replied. “If we’re lucky, they haven’t had enough time to call in reinforcements.”

If we’re lucky
.

He’d found Clarissa again, despite all the odds. If that wasn’t plain, dumb luck, James didn’t know what was. Could God be so kind as to extend His grace, just a bit further?

There was only one way to find out. “Wait out of sight until I give you the signal. Understood?”

The men nodded and James silently opened the hall door. He peered into the passageway. Finding no one, he walked through and headed for the stairs, adopting the half stagger of a drunken client who’d just awoken.

“
Bon dieu,
” he began in a thick Languedoc accent, holding his head in his hands as he tripped his way to the main floor. “Do a man a favor, would you, and find me something to drink.”

The Les Moines agent at the door started at the sight of him, his considerable bulk moving with surprising speed. “Who are you?”

James came within three steps of the man and stopped, dropping his arms at his sides. “I’m the poor sod who went to bed last night with an incredibly flexible brunette and only just now woke up—missing my money and my gold watch, that’s who I am.” His disgruntled voice growled the words with an echo of outrage.

The guard took a step closer. His eyes narrowed as he looked James up and down. “Our girls would not—”

James didn’t give him the opportunity to finish his sentence. He slipped the knife from his waistband
and drove the blade into the man’s gut, catching the Les Moines agent’s weight as he pitched forward and groaned heavily. James lowered him to the floor and signaled for the waiting Corinthians.

“You,” James began, pointing at Martin, “hide him. The rest of you, follow me.”

He moved quickly toward the hallway that led to the basement stairs. Movement from the back of the house caught his eye and he looked down the length of the brothel’s back hall to where Clarissa had entered less than an hour before. Several Les Moines agents crashed through the outer door, increasing their pace at the sight of James.

“Hopkins!” James shouted at the Corinthian agent nearest him.

The man looked to where the enemy agents were fast approaching. “I have this, sir. Go—find Lady Clarissa.”

James nodded then raced down the hall, reaching the stairs and taking them two at a time as he ran toward the lower floor. He stopped at the bottom, orienting himself. Durand’s office seemed the most logical place to start, so he hugged the wall and moved silently toward the room, aware that the noise from the battle above would have alerted anyone below.

A woman suddenly appeared, her eyes wild with fright. James reached out, pushing her against the wall and covering her mouth with his hand. “The new girl. Where is she? Tell me and I’ll not hurt you.” He gently released her and moved his hand to encircle her neck.

“In Durand’s care, though I would not go any farther, if I were you,” she whispered, trembling as she did so.

“Is there a way out on this floor?” James asked in a hushed tone, ignoring the woman’s warning.

The woman nodded. “Through the kitchens.”

“Good. Use it—now. Do not come back.”

She nodded once more as James loosened his hold, then bolted for the kitchens.

James continued down the hall, stopping just outside the closed door of Durand’s office. He listened for a moment, the absence of a female voice filling him with dread.

He’d waited long enough. James turned the brass door handle and shoved open the door, not knowing what or whom he would find.

“Do come in, Marlowe.”

Pettibone stood just in front of the desk, with Durand seated behind it and another man, whom James recognized instantly, seated in the corner. But Clarissa was nowhere in sight. He tamped down the terror that threatened to take hold and focused on the man.

“Gentlemen,” James said by way of introduction, sizing up the opposition in mere seconds. Three on one. He’d faced more threatening odds before.

“You see, Father, Talleyrand, it is just as I said. You hired a turncoat,” Pettibone pronounced, his voice thick with satisfaction.

“I thought that was you, monsieur,” James addressed Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord, a French diplomat and valued, though wily, Napoleon ally, as he sat quietly in the corner. “May I assume that I’ve found the leader of Les Moines?”

The older man nodded his head, his thin lips forming into a bitter smile. “Considering the fact that you’ll be dead within minutes, monsieur, I suppose it would do no harm to admit my involvement.”

“How kind,” James replied, turning his attention to Durand. “And you? ‘Father’? Now, that is a shock.”

Durand grimaced. “To you and me both, I’m afraid.”

“Father, your disgust is hardly warranted, especially considering all that I’ve done—why, I delivered this traitor to your door—”

“Exactly,” Talleyrand interrupted, tapping his fingers on the arms of his chair. “A more monumentally stupid thing to do, I cannot imagine.”

Pettibone began to sweat, thin lines of moisture snaking their way down his temples. “But now you know who this man is—what he’s capable of.”

“The same could be said of you, son,” Durand replied, pushing back his chair. “Another of your failed attempts to overthrow me,
non
?”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking ab—”

Durand stood and took aim at his son, the pocket pistol that he’d been hiding beneath the desk firing off one deafening shot directly into Pettibone’s heart. “Now, what are we to do with you?” he asked coldly, lifting a second weapon and taking aim at James.

James stared at the dying man, who’d fallen backward and landed in a boneless heap near Talleyrand’s feet. “Where’s Lady Clarissa?”

“Locked up tight with her mother. I’d thought to deal with her later,” Durand answered, gesturing with the gun. “But right now my associate and I need to be leaving—without you.”

“Tell me, monsieur, does your government pay well?” Talleyrand asked of James. “I would think a man of my unique qualifications could do well.”

James barely had time to absorb the news that Clarissa was still alive before the man’s odd question demanded an answer. “Depends upon the services offered, I suppose.”

“You bastard,” Durand spit out, pointing the pistol at the older man.

Talleyrand sighed and offered Durand a look of boredom. “That’s hardly news, my friend. Come now, did you really think my allegiance is only to the emperor, in these perilous times?”

“But he is the rightful ruler,” Durand countered, his pistol holding a steady unwavering line.

“Regimes may fall and fail, but I do not,” Talleyrand answered simply. “The Russians are quite fond of me, you see. And I suspect the English would be as well.”