What a Hero Dares (8 page)

Max rubbed at his forehead, his lips pinched tightly together, avoiding Zoé’s gaze.

“I already understand that. You want to kill him.”

“I’m
going
to kill him.”

“And now I know why. Because of Georges.”

“Because of so many things.”

“All right, we’re agreed.” But then he hedged, just as she knew he would. “If you still feel the same way when this is over, Anton’s all yours. Otherwise, he belongs to both of us,” Max said at last, and turned toward the door. He had his hand on the handle before abruptly stopping, his shoulders rising and lowering on a sigh. “Zoé?”

“Just go, Max. Please.”

But he was already on his way back to her and she was in his arms, their mouths crushed almost painfully together, his fingers knifing through her still damp hair. Her mouth opened on a quick, involuntary sob, and he was inside her, his tongue searching, dueling with hers, his body pressed closely against her softness even as she clung to him with all of her strength.

The fire she couldn’t douse threatened to become a conflagration.

He kissed her face, her hair, her tear-wet cheeks...and then he let her go.

Had he felt the same fire? Recognized the same pitfalls, the same danger? Fire hadn’t helped them in the past, had it?

“I’m sorry. I’m so damned sorry.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “So am I.
Telle est la vie.
”

“Yes, such is life. But does it really have to be that way? We still feel something for each other, you have to admit that at least. I realize it won’t be easy, but if we can’t change the past, there’s always the future. You have every right to hate me. I couldn’t have loved you enough, known you well enough, or I wouldn’t have believed Anton’s lies, even with Georges lying dead on the ground in front of me. You suffered, and that’s my fault. You suffered to save
me
.”

“I’m no martyr, Max. Remember, I was also saving myself, or at least believed so at the time. Anton proved one thing, though, didn’t he? What we had, what we thought we had, wasn’t enough, and shattered into pieces at the first hammer strike. Both of us are too familiar with distrust to even believe in ourselves. As long as we were dancing on the edge of the knife, we could tell ourselves what we felt for each other was a true, lasting love.”

“But neither of us knows what the word means. You said something like that earlier.”

“Some things break too badly to be mended, no matter how desperately we want to fix them, and that includes the past. Eight months ago was another lifetime for both of us. We’ve both changed, for the better or the worse, who knows? I don’t know you anymore and you don’t know me. Take care of the family you love so much, Max. That’s what’s important now. And, yes, if you’re so certain Anton is somehow involved in your troubles, I’d like to help. But then we part ways.”

She shook for a full five minutes after Max closed the door behind him, leaving it unlocked, leaving her alone once more. She didn’t know which hurt worse, believing him dead, or knowing he was alive, yet out of her life.

He understood. Together, they were a bad opera. Whatever they’d had together, be it lust, the thrill of living in the moment, or true love, was over, and impossible to reclaim. They couldn’t even be friends, but at least they were no longer enemies. That was the best either of them could hope for.

And he’d left the door unlocked.

So why am I still standing here?

She pulled the scrap of vellum from her pocket and unfolded it, to read the lines for at least the tenth time since the note had been pushed under her door. They still had the ability to make her shake her head at her own stupidity
:

Foolish girl. You could have avoided all this inconvenience if you’d simply followed my dubious friend’s order to bring a message to London. You will be escorted to my rooms at the ungodly hour of eight o’clock tomorrow morning. I greatly dislike tardiness, and our meeting is already more than a month overdue.

Zoé walked to the small fireplace and tossed the note into the flames. Richard Borders was right; she’d have to live at least another forty years to be so much as a patch on Trixie Redgrave.

* * *

V
ALENTINE
AND
THREE
of the dogs were waiting for Max at the bottom of the main staircase, as if they knew he’d be coming that way. The large hallway clock was just striking out the hour of one, and the mansion was otherwise quiet.

His brother was dressed casually, but a dozen times more carefully than Max, his dark hair artfully tousled, his amber eyes twinkling, his mouth curved in a typically younger-brother mischievous smile. “Heading for the drinks table in the drawing room, aren’t you? So glad I chose correctly. I always wondered what a thundercloud looked like, up close. I also wanted to get a better look at that diamond in your ear. I’ve still to decide if it’s clever and dashing, or ludicrous and overdone. I think the latter, although I believe I could carry it off with aplomb. Just not you.”

“Not now, damn it,” Max warned as he opened the carved wooden dog gate and latched it behind him.

The dogs instantly dropped to their bellies at his tone, one of them whimpering quietly.

“Oh, now look what you’ve done. Up, boys,” Val said, snapping his fingers. “He didn’t mean you. Did you, Max? Did you leave Mademoiselle Charbonneau cowering under her cot? I know that’s where I’d be, were it not that I know you better. That black scowl is only part of your charm. Perhaps all of it.”

Max smiled, in spite of himself. “Gideon already welcomed me home, you’re too late. So is that it? Are you finished now?”

“Yes, now that you’re no longer in danger of the top of your head blowing off—you aren’t, are you? Gideon told me about the lady. Yours couldn’t have been a happy reunion.”

“Wonderful. Who else did he tell?”

Valentine frowned as he leaned against the newel post, as if considering the question. “Well, let’s see. Jessica was in the room, Kate and Simon. Daisy—not Kate’s mare, my affianced bride. You’ll adore her, as she keeps me in line. I’ve been quite busy while you were gone. Now, where was I? Ah, Trixie and Richard. I can’t be positive, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Dearborn weren’t listening at the keyhole. I suppose you’d say everybody. A dangerous lady. We needed to be warned.”

Max briefly considered the logistics of booting himself in his own backside. What the hell was the matter with him? He’d never been
chatty
. Why had he picked tonight of all times to lay bare his chest to Gideon in what had turned out to be the worst of misconceptions?

“Forget what you heard. I was wrong, completely wrong. Val, you’re looking at the greatest fool in nature and a man who deserved to lose exactly what he lost, and more. Tell them, tell them all, and don’t let it wait until morning. Especially Dearborn. Knock on every door, wake up anyone who’s sleeping, until everyone knows. Zoé’s completely innocent of everything I believed her to have done. And while you’re at it, inform Mrs. Justis that our guest is to have one of our best bedchambers, although she’s not to leave it until I say she may.”

“Can’t do that last bit, brother. Didn’t Gideon tell you? Mrs. Justis is no longer with us.”

Max raised his eyebrows. “I knew she was getting on in years. Damn.”

“She’s not dead, she’s no longer with us. She’s a Cooper, remember.”

“I suppose you think that should explain things to me, but it doesn’t. What does being a Cooper have to do with anything?” And then he remembered the lack of a fire, the very few buckets carried upstairs for his bath. Max didn’t employ a valet, who would only be sitting about gathering dust on his head during his long absences. Instead, he used Douglas when he visited the Manor. Douglas Cooper. “I wondered where he was,” he said quietly. “Are they all gone, all the Coopers? Why? No, don’t answer that.”

“I wasn’t about to, as it’s late and the story is not only long but would only lead to other questions, while you already look half-dead on your feet. I did point that out, didn’t I? We can leave the Coopers and the rest to the morning. But don’t worry about our straitened circumstances. My Daisy has taken over like the champion she is, and it’s as if Mrs. Justis was never here. I already told you I’m in love, didn’t I? Madly and deeply.”

“I’m sorry, Val. My belated congratulations,” Max said, wondering if he could go any lower without crashing through the tiles to the cellars. His brother was in love, and he’d barely reacted. “You must tell me all about her.”

“We’ll leave that for another time, as well. Was that the end of my instructions?”

Max cudgeled his brain to remember where he’d left off. “Please ask your Daisy to install Zoé in one of the best chambers—one of the largest—and to make certain it has lots of windows, but no balcony. She isn’t to be locked in, but she also is not to leave the chamber until and unless I give the word. Tell Kate and Jessica to please assist her with a suitable wardrobe, and—and anything else you can think of, all right? You’re better at these things than I am. Oh, and most important of all, nobody is to mention her name. I think that’s it. I’ll see you at the breakfast table at nine.”

“And while I’m playing your messenger—not to mention incurring the wrath best directed at you—what will you be doing?”

He couldn’t wait until morning. He had to know. Now.

“If I’m lucky, inviting the devil into the Manor.”

‘Well, that should be interesting. And it wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”

Max headed for the front door, rousing a sleepy footman who rummaged in his pocket for the key, before the sound of whimpering behind him caught his attention, and delivered a fresh wave of guilt. Especially when he spotted good old Tubby looking up at him in happy anticipation. “Oh, all right, you bunch. Come along.”

The dogs followed him as he made the rounds of the outbuildings, guided by the many burning lanterns employed by the guards, using a lantern of his own to examine the faces of each and every prisoner as he was ordered lined up for Max’s inspection.

There were the Spaniards, still plying their beads. But only two Dutchmen. He’d stopped counting by the time he headed for the third and last outbuilding, having been told only the injured and dead were inside.

Anton wasn’t among the wounded.

Nor was his body lying beneath the rude blankets that covered two forms laid out in a dark corner, the dogs hanging back, clearly smelling death.

“Is this all of them?” he asked one of the guards, a man he didn’t recognize.

“Aye, mate, that’s the lot. Have to be pretty slippery to escape the cap’n.”

Ah, so he was addressing one of Simon Ravenhill’s friends of the skull and crossbones persuasion.

“None drowned?”

“These two. Tide comin’ in as it was, they washed ashore straightaway and we scooped ’em up.”

“Very good.” Max gave the man a lazy salute. “Smooth sailing to you, sailor.”

“Sir,”
the man said, swiftly coming to attention, returning the salute.

“And my compliments to your captain,” Max said, smiling. “Carry on.”

But Max’s smile faded as he retraced his steps to the Manor.
Slippery.
As good a description of Anton as any other.
And I brought him, and the Society, straight to our front door. How have I become so accomplished in attracting bad luck?

Zoé had been wrong, and Anton had seen her. Or he’d assumed his
bon ami
was still alive and someone had told him who’d hit him. Either way, he hadn’t been busy declaring himself Max Redgrave’s bosom chum so he could be brought to the Manor and made comfortable.

So where was he, where had he gone? Was he even now in the company of the Society? Was he already miles away, plotting a new strategy? Max had always known Anton for the dangerous man he was, but learning about Georges had taken the man leagues beyond merely dangerous. Anton Boucher had sold heart and soul to the devil.
To the Society. Why?

Max thought again of his remark to Gideon about the lack of servants, and his brother’s response that bad news could always wait. He attempted to get his head around the idea that all the Coopers had deserted the Manor just as they were needed most. He remembered Richard’s words to him on the beach.

So many questions. So few answers.

He looked up at the Manor, seeing the faint light of one small candle still burning on the servant floor. She’d probably keep it lit all night, and the window open, as well. He remembered her as fearless, and couldn’t imagine her as she was now. He wanted to go to her, hold her, comfort her, keep her safe from whatever she feared from the darkness. But that was impossible.

Some things break too badly to be mended, no matter how desperately we want to fix them, and that includes the past.

Weariness finally claimed him and he stopped walking, unable to do more than simply stand there, wondering not how things would get worse, but when.

“Welcome home, Max,” he said quietly as Tubby began pushing his cold wet nose against his hand, almost as if he might be offering comfort. “Welcome home....”

CHAPTER FOUR

A
S
HER
LEATHERS
had somehow disappeared the night before, while she had shivered in a cold bath, Zoé had no choice but to don the rig-out delivered to her by one of the maids—a grinning, red-cheeked barge of a woman who was remarkable for the hairs on her chin and her rolling gait. Not the sort of servant she would have expected in a grand house like Redgrave Manor.

At what she assumed was precisely two minutes before eight, she answered the knock on the door wearing a simple light blue muslin morning gown that served her proportions well save for its rather tight bosom, and its length, that left her ankles and borrowed, ill-fitting slippers exposed.

As she opened the door, it was to be confronted by an almost painfully thin young man most prodigiously yawning into a scented, lace-edged handkerchief, his eyes squeezed shut and his nose pinched. His features were well enough—or would be sans the wide-open mouth and his incredible clothing. He was wearing breeches, at least, and wildly clocked hose. His shoes were red, with heels that had his entire body pitched slightly forward while his bony backside jutted out, most probably for balance.

The rest of him was covered in a black satin banyan that fell past his knees, and a cravat tied with all the expertise of a five-thumbed orangutan. And then there was his hair, which apparently had been combed up and over a curling stick, the single fat ringlet stuck in place with heavily scented pomade.

Servant, or member of the household—the eccentric sort many families hid in the attics? Zoé couldn’t be sure who or
what
he was.

“When you’ve recovered...?” she offered tentatively, as the youth was still yawning wide enough for anyone sufficiently interested to examine his tonsils.

“What? Oh—ohmigod, you’re her?” He immediately put his spread hands to his thin chest and began patting at himself as if to be certain he was decent...which he then assumed he was.

He wasn’t. He was a caricature of every silly young fop on either side of the Channel. And clearly not a blood relation, or else Max would have taken him in hand long ago, or at least relieved him of what must be a flagon of
parfum
.

Zoé knew she could have him on the floor and unconscious in less than a second, and be on her way. But she didn’t do it.

“Yes, I am Mademoiselle Zoé Charbonneau. And you are—?”

The boy went into his quite singular version of sweeping her an elegant leg. “Mademoiselle, I am flabbergasted. I am all but overcome by your beauty. I am completely and eternally in love. I am—”

“You’re making me late for my meeting with the dowager countess,” Zoé interrupted when she realized the boy could probably go on for hours, as if he’d practiced, which he most probably had. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Oh, criminy-cripe!” He was upright in an instant and attempting to keep his feet under him. “My name is Adam Collier and I’m Jessica’s brother and Gideon’s brother-in-law and a dead man if you don’t follow me now,” he said, his words nearly tumbling over themselves. He turned toward the servant staircase and started off, only to look back at her and plead, “Come on, come on. Trixie may have taken me under her wing, dear lady, believing me salvageable, she says, but she can be terribly
amusing
when I’ve disappointed her.”

With that as her only warning (other than the note she’d burnt), Zoé squared her shoulders and followed Adam Collier down two flights of twisting stairs and allowed him to lead her to a set of double doors he then flung open with a flourish.

“Trix—um, my lady?” Adam said, bowing with more alacrity than grace. “Please allow me to introduce you to Mademoiselle Zoé Charbonneau.”

“You’ve got it turned around, pet. I hold the higher rank, therefore you beg my permission to introduce her to me.” The woman, still not visible to Zoé, sighed audibly. “And another avenue closes. Adam, strike butler from your list of possible occupations.”

“Butler? Trixie, don’t fun with me. You know I’m to have all my father’s immense wealth the moment I reach my majority, although you will persist in saying I’ll run through every last groat in less than a year. Butler? I should think not!” He paused for a moment, obviously thinking, then added, “At the very least, majordomo.”

Zoé laughed, and was immediately called upon to leave the curtained foyer and step farther into the enormous room decorated in delicate French furniture the color of cream and edged in gold, the predominate color everywhere else a grayish shade of pink. There were at least a half-dozen windows, but only one set of draperies had been tucked back to allow in the morning light. That window was nowhere near the immense four-poster bed draped in pink and holding, at its center, one petite blonde woman of indeterminate years.

“Tariq, you failed to mention her beauty,” the dowager countess scolded, and the tall man from the beach stepped out of the shadows, his hands crossed in front of him as he rather regally inclined his head. He looked magnificent, dressed in a high-necked black jacket reaching past his knees and wide, full-length trousers. His head and shoulders were covered in a multipatterned black and tan square scarf that accented the deep tan of his skin and the desert-sand shade of his eyes.

“My most abject apologies to you both. May I only say, my lady, that you are correct, as beauty recognizes beauty. I am humbled in the presence of such.”

“He—you’re the man on the beach. You look so very different dressed that way, in
shalwar kameez
and
keffiyeh,
” Zoé said, if only for her own clarification. “You were
with
Max?”

“I have been looking after Mr. Redgrave these past several months.”

“But...but Max has always been able to elude his grandmother’s ridiculous guardians.” Zoé looked to the countess, and curtsied. Her concern for Max’s seeming lack of perception since last she’d seen him had caused her to commit an embarrassing
faux pas
. “Begging your pardon, ma’am.”

“No offense taken,” Trixie said, giving a dismissing wave of her hand even as she picked up a china cup thin enough to see through, and put it to her lips. “But to be clear, Tariq here only steps in when those
ridiculous guardians
manage to get themselves turned around, leaving my elusive grandson on his own, confident he is no longer being followed.”

“Brilliant,” Zoé said in admiration. “Your secret is safe with me.” She stepped closer to the bed even as Adam pushed himself up on the edge of the mattress and Trixie tossed him a small sprig of red grapes from her lap tray.

He missed, and the grapes sailed past his head and onto the floor.

“Drat! I’ll catch them one of these days. You only need to warn me.”

“The lack of warning is the point of the exercise, pet. There are still moments I despair of you, but it’s early days yet. Now take yourself off to locate clothing more appropriate to a young looby with pretenses to fashion. And find someone else to tie your cravat. I suggest anyone you can find who sports no more than two thumbs.”

“Yes, Trixie...ma’am,” Adam said, jumping down from the high mattress. But first he leaned across the space and placed a gentle kiss on the woman’s offered cheek. He then scooped up the grapes, popped one into his mouth, and pointed across the bed to Tariq with the rest of the bunch. “What about him? The heathen?”

“Heathen? Young man, his people were studying the stars and creating alphabets while yours and mine were still speaking in grunts and wiping their backsides with leaves.”

It seemed to be Tariq’s turn to stifle his amusement (while Zoé attempted to hide her shock and admiration), before he bowed to both women and followed Adam out of the bedchamber, pausing near Zoé only to whisper a few words in Arabic.

Listen and learn
. She nodded her agreement.

“Warned you, didn’t he?” Trixie said from the bed. “I suppose that’s fair enough. His father was one of my lovers, eons ago. Looking at Tariq, I’m sure you could see my attraction. He was educated as a physician in Beirut, and has only lent his assistance these last months out of respect for his father, and perhaps some small affection for me.” She patted the mattress. “Sit here, so I can embarrass you by inspecting you more closely with these old eyes of mine.”

“I don’t embarrass all that easily, ma’am,” Zoé responded, but then did as instructed. She’d wanted a closer look at the woman in any case. What she saw was a woman who looked perhaps two dozen years younger than the few spots on the backs of her hands would indicate; a woman who would not flee her burning house before she’d been painted and her blond curls coiffed.
Quite an astonishing bit of iron-backed fluff was Lady Beatrice Redgrave.
“I believe it unnecessary to ask questions such as how you know about me at all. Why did you bring me here?”

There was another small sprig of red grapes from the tray suddenly moving in Zoé’s direction. She plucked it out of the air without actually appearing to move. She could do the same with a thrown knife, but didn’t believe she needed to share that information.

“
Brava!
Would you have done so well if you hadn’t seen me toss that other bunch at my student?”

“You even ask?” Zoé shot back at her. “Although perhaps slightly out of practice, I’m nobody’s student, ma’am, and not for quite some time.”

“Trixie, pet, call me Trixie, all my friends and enemies do. And, yes, I can see the age and experience in your eyes. Just as certainly as a discerning young woman like you sees much the same in mine in my rare unguarded moments. You’ll learn to hide better as you age. How did that devious friend of mine use you before directing you to Cavendish Square?”

“An important question, or merely conversational?”

“That would depend on your answer.” Trixie smiled, and her eyes twinkled. “I suggest we go with the gloves off from here. You answer my questions and I’ll answer yours...or we can continue this dance until Max is told where you are and comes charging in here like an enraged bull.”

Zoé considered the suggestion—was it merely a suggestion?—and then nodded her agreement.

“Splendid. I’ll go first.”

Zoé couldn’t resist. “Age precedes beauty, Trixie?”

“My congratulations. It’s a rare person who dares speak to me so frankly—or to so clearly enjoy doing so. But you’re incorrect. I go first because I
say
I go first. You agree, albeit not without comment, because you clearly weren’t raised by wolves. I’ve come a long way capitalizing on society’s finer sensibilities and good manners.”

Zoé glanced at a gold and crystal clock on the table by the bed. Trixie was right; Max wouldn’t wait much longer before going on the hunt for her. “I was dispatched to a particular inn located just outside Salzburg, to a particular room at said inn. After cooling my heels there for three days, a note was slipped beneath my door, directing me to a rendezvous at a fairly remote spot at midnight. When prompted from the shadows, I repeated the message I was charged with delivering, in German, as also so ordered, and then immediately dropped to the ground, rolling to one side even as a pistol ball sang over my head. Midnight meetings are never without their perils.”

“Slimy toad. Our parting in Paris years ago wasn’t quite amicable, although he accepted the mission quickly enough. He never planned to send you to me, but just to take my money. And use you to his own ends while he was at it. What was the message?”

“I won’t bore you with its length. The kernel that might interest you pertained to carrying out an assassination of Josephine, with the blame clearly left at Bonaparte’s doorstep. For a price, of course.”

Trixie lifted one well-sculpted eyebrow. “Interesting. Many French remain enraged over the divorce of their beloved Josephine and the speedy marriage to Austria’s Marie Louise. Our Talleyrand does love to stir pots, laboring for whichever faction appears to be on the winning side at any given time. I’ll have to arrange a whisper in the ear of a Bonapartist friend in Paris, but only after warning Talleyrand. I, too, enjoy stirring pots, and England can only benefit if Boney is distracted.”

Zoé smiled in admiration. “If the world only knew how wars truly are won and lost.”

“Yes, by cowards or power-mad men, most of them who would faint at the thought of stepping foot on a real battlefield. There’s much to applaud in Bonaparte’s courage, but more to be feared in his ambition. You dispatched the recipient of the message?”

Trixie’s mind moved at a pace that kept Zoé on her toes.

“He left me no choice. I had the payment the man was clearly sent to retrieve, as I’d already been told to go directly from Salzburg to London.”

“Which you didn’t do, were never meant to do.”

“Which I didn’t do, wasn’t supposed to be alive to do, no. I’d even debated about traveling to Salzburg at all, but couldn’t be certain I wasn’t being watched.” Zoé hopped down from the high bed even as she popped a grape into her mouth. She felt completely comfortable with this woman, something she hadn’t felt in a long time. “My turn. What’s going on here? What is the Society? Is the family in danger? Are you all expecting Max to get you out of it? Why did you go to all the trouble to attempt to bring me here?”

“That’s five questions, four of which I don’t care to answer at the moment. I arranged to bring you here because I was curious. I refer you to Max on the others, as I’m certain his brothers and sister are currently bringing him up to date over eggs and good country ham. My turn. You and Max were lovers. Have you had others?”

Zoé looked Trixie squarely in the eyes. “Before or since your grandson?”

“I have no interest in the time before you came into Max’s life.”

“Has anyone mentioned the name Anton Boucher to you?”

“I’ve been brought up to date on the man, yes.”

“By the inestimable Tariq.” Zoé nodded. “In any case, Anton’s orders kept me from rape, although I had nearly seduced the head guard, acknowledging it as my only way out, before Talleyrand arrived. Since then, I’ve been rather busy for romantic dalliance.”