You Only Love Once (20 page)

 

Angelique sent Ian off after persuading him to tell Stafford she had everything in hand. She wasn't sure he believed her, from the narrow-eyed look he gave her, but he didn't protest. Lisette fed him and poured him two large mugs of ale, which salved a good deal of his ruffled temper. He had taken his time eating, but now Angelique was almost shoving him out the door.

“How long do you need me to put him off?” he asked, tugging his cap back on his head.

“A week at least,” she said. “We are at a crucial moment, and I would prefer not to be distracted by his impatience.”

Ian laughed. “Right. Wouldn't we all? Well, best of luck to you, my dear.” He kissed her cheek. “And mind what I said,” he murmured near her ear.

“Off with you.”

He left, closing the kitchen door behind him. For
a moment she stood by the door, thinking. Lisette was cleaning the dishes at the sink. “Lisette,” Angelique said. “Has Mr. Avery gone out?”

“
Oui
, Madame.”

She nodded, and came to stand next to her maid. “What do you think of him?”

Lisette's brow dipped as she thought. “He is no fool. He is a gentleman, as far as I can see, although loud and much too merry much of the time. He and that man of his are both tidy as well. They left the attics as neat as a pin, even blacked the grate. I admire that in a man, Madame.”

She smiled. “Who does not?” Then she sighed. “But can I trust him?”

Lisette placed her hands on her hips and looked at her. Angelique noticed her maid's hands were red and cracked from the hot water, and she felt a pang for dragging Lisette into this life with her. A normal lady's maid didn't scrub and wash and worry about blacking the grates. “Monsieur Avery cares for you, Madame,” said Lisette quietly. “I have seen the way he looks at you, like a man who has just found a priceless jewel where he expected to see paste. He worries for you, and he does not trust Monsieur Stafford.”

“He told you that?” Angelique was surprised, almost as surprised as she was to hear Lisette speak Stafford's name.

Lisette nodded. “
Oui
. He worried about Mr. Wallace today, and if he is trustworthy. I do not think he fears Monsieur Wallace for himself.”

“No, he does not.” Not at all, to guess from the way he'd put a dirk to Ian's neck.

“And if you'll forgive me, Madame,” Lisette went
on, “I think he's delayed on finding this man you seek because he wishes to be with you.” Angelique frowned at her, and Lisette shrugged. “Lying in bed all day? Walking in the park and returning home without doing anything else? I asked Monsieur Chesterfield how long they expected to be in London; a week, he told me, and that was a fortnight ago. And I notice you do not press him to act. I am not judging, Madame, only remarking. If you are happy with him…I am happy for you.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. It fed that ember of hope and happiness in her heart to hear that Lisette had noticed. “Lisette,” she asked, “when I retire from this, what will you do?”

Lisette's dark eyes brightened. “Ah, we are to be done with this? No more will you wait on the devil?”

She had to smile. “Yes. I am done with this work, after this. But I do not know what I will do next. You might think for yourself what you will do.”

The maid drew herself up in affront. “I won't abandon you, Madame.”

“Not abandon. Perhaps you wish to retire also. I will provide you an annuity.”

Lisette sniffed. “Perhaps not. But I will think, Madame, since you wish it.”

“Do.” Angelique turned to go. “I think the time to decide will be upon us very soon.”

 

The change Nate had sensed in Angelique, beginning with Ian's arrival, lingered through that evening and night. The question he had wanted to answer all along was looming ever larger in Nate's mind: What the devil had Stafford told her to do?
Find Dixon, was all she had ever told him, but there was no need for that to make her anxious, especially not now, when they were closer than ever. If Stafford was just driving her to find the man, she should be at ease and confident. Instead she was tense and short-tempered, and Nate caught her staring at the fire after dinner with an expression of such ferocious concentration he couldn't take it any longer.

“Why are you upset about Wallace's visit?” he finally asked.

She started out of her reverie and blinked at him. “Ian? I am not upset at Ian.”

“Not
at
Ian,” he said carefully, seeing how she had picked a way through his words. “At his visit. At Stafford, perhaps, for sending him.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. “There was no need for him to send Ian. We have been working diligently, and he is still impatient. It irks me to be poked and prodded to work faster, faster, faster.”

Of course it would…“But that's not the whole problem, is it?” he tried again. “That alone would be irritating, but…I think there is something else.” She just stared at him, the flickering flames atop the candles reflected in her dark eyes. “I hope you can trust me by now,” he added with a crooked grin.

That was the wrong thing to say, though; she jumped up from the table and paced away, gripping her hands before her. Nate followed, feeling as though she'd stabbed him. “What's the matter?” he demanded.

She twisted out of his reach. “It is nothing,” she snapped. “Only that I wish I had not agreed to do this. If only it were ended already…” She closed her eyes and drew herself up stiffly. “We should make
every effort to capture Mr. Dixon tomorrow, or the day after. Stafford has grown restive, and if he is not soon satisfied, he will send others in who will not care for your goals at all.”

“What, then?” All Nate's instincts were screaming in alarm. “What goal does Stafford have besides finding Dixon, Angelique? What does he want you to do?”

The color fled her face, and for a moment he thought she might faint. He reached for her and this time she let him pull her into his arms. “What is wrong?” he asked again, desperately. What could Stafford want? Did Dixon have some other secrets the Crown wanted to discover? Were they not planning to allow him to take Dixon back to New York as planned? Were they planning to keep him from returning to New York at all? “Whatever it is, tell me. I swear on my honor I won't be unreasonable.”

She tipped back her head to look up at him. Her beautiful face was somber. “When this is over, and you have gone back to New York, how will you remember me?”

As the woman I love. As the woman I would cross an ocean to find. As the woman I cannot live without.
But not as a woman who trusted him completely. “As the most exceptional woman I have ever been fortunate enough to know.” She laid her cheek against his shoulder, and Nate held her to him. “Why?”

“I merely wondered.” Her shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh that spoke more eloquently than any words of the weight bearing down on her—whatever that weight was.

He wondered what terrible thing Stafford had told her to do. Kill him? Kill Dixon? Help him
find Dixon, and then steal the money for the British Crown? He was tired of worrying over it, tired of trying to get her to tell him. Suddenly he, too, wanted this over. Let Stafford's secret plan proceed, at least so it would be out in the open and not chipping away at the bond between them. “I agree,” he murmured, still stroking her back. “We should take Dixon as soon as we can manage it.” He pressed her away from him, so he could see her face. “But promise me one thing: when this is over, there will be no more games and secrets between us. Ever.”

She smiled, but it was a sad thing. “I promise.”

He nodded once, and pulled her close again, hoping he had asked for the right promise.

T
hey elected a bold strike instead of stealth. The next afternoon Nate and Angelique strolled right into the Pulteney Hotel and asked to see Mr. Chartley. There was some delay as the porter went up to see if Mr. Chartley would receive them, and then again after he came back down to ask who they were and why they wished to see him. Angelique just waved her fan, acting the bored society lady again, while Nate pressed a ten-pound note and one of his cards into the porter's hand. “Tell him Davis Hurst sent us,” he said with arrogant condescension.

The porter hurried away, and came back almost a quarter of an hour later to say Mr. Chartley would see them in one of the private parlors beyond the dining room. He led them there, then vanished with an assurance they would not be disturbed, another ten-pound note from Nate in his pocket.

“I don't think he's much interested,” said Angelique listlessly. “We've waited an eternity.”

“He's interested, my love.” Nate also kept up his pose. He dropped into a chair and crossed his legs. “Mr. Hurst assured us he would be.”

“Well. I hope you are right.” She lowered her head and examined her fan.

The door opened, and Nate had to force himself not to whirl about at once. Deliberately he got to his feet and turned, almost holding his breath. If any of their information had been wrong…

It was not. Jacob Dixon was a perfectly ordinary-looking man of medium height and build. His brown hair was combed back from his face, and he moved with confidence and ease. He had grown a small beard, but otherwise was exactly as Nate remembered him. Only his eyes betrayed any kind of anxiety, flitting back and forth as he walked, never lingering but always surveying. No doubt he wished he could see behind him as well.

“I am Mr. Chartley,” he said. “You wished to see me?” He hadn't quite gotten the last trace of servility out of his manner.

“Avery, Nathaniel Avery,” Nate said, sweeping one hand toward Angelique. “My wife, Mrs. Avery. A great pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Dixon had frozen in place at Nate's voice. “You are Americans?” he asked, his eyes sweeping from one to the other and back again.

Nate laughed. “Everyone can tell! Right you are—from Boston. Although my lovely wife is originally from Paris, of course.”

“
Bonjour
,” said Angelique, her voice a throaty purr heavily tinged with French, when Dixon looked at her. “How delightful to make your acquaintance, Monsieur Chartley.” She dipped a curtsey, and finally Dixon's eyes settled in one place, right on her bosom. The gown she wore didn't look immodest,
but when she curtsied, her breasts swelled up almost out of the neckline. Nate couldn't resist looking for a moment, too, before forcing his attention back to Dixon.

“Yes,” said Dixon, still distracted by her bosom. “Er…Hurst sent you, did he?”

“Not willingly.” Nate grinned proudly. “We met Mr. Hurst through the aid of Mr. Smythe, of Sewell and Smythe, jewelers in Bond Street. There was mention of a fine diamond parure you might consider parting with, for a decent price.”

“Yes,” said Dixon again. “I confess myself surprised. Mr. Hurst assured me of his discretion—”

“So he did!” Nate winked. “But when promised his usual commission, and upon my insistence on meeting the owner of such a set, he gave in.”

“I see.” Dixon's eyes had resumed their survey of the room, passing often over Angelique's bosom. “But you must understand, I asked Mr. Hurst to handle all the details himself, so I would not be inconvenienced…”

“But I insisted on seeing the diamonds before purchasing them. I'll not have paste around my wife's neck.”

That caught the other man's attention. He drew himself up in affront. “It isn't paste—on the contrary, sir. In fact, given its size and quality, I shan't part with the set except on exceptional terms.”

“But you do wish to sell it?” Nate gestured at Angelique. “Fetch some wine, my love.” There was a decanter on the table near the door. With a flicker of her lashes she went, passing right by Dixon so that her skirts swished across the back of his legs. Dixon
watched her from the corner of his eye. Nate could have laughed at how easy this was going to be. His heart thumped hard in anticipation. “Hurst said you might have some other jewels as well. I can't help but pamper my wife—is she not a lovely creature? A woman like that deserves diamonds and rubies, don't you agree?”

“Er…yes.” Dixon had been watching Angelique pour the wine, but now he focused on Nate, a glint of greed in his eyes. “Rubies, you say?”

“Indeed, although she looks ravishing in blue as well.” Nate chuckled, watching Angelique. She had poured a glass, and was tugging at her sleeve. “Have you any sapphires?”

“A few,” said Dixon, and then he choked and gasped. Angelique had thrown her black rope around his neck and twisted. Had she been alone, Dixon might have gotten away from her, flailing about as he did, but Nate had leaped on him at the same moment. Angelique whisked out of the way, and the two men rolled to the floor. Dixon fought desperately, but Nate had the element of surprise on his side. He held off his opponent's wild punches with one hand and pressed the other hand over Dixon's nose and mouth until the man went limp.

For a moment Nate stayed where he was. His blood coursed hot and fast through his veins, making him want to roar in triumph. Instead he staggered to his feet, regarding his unconscious victim with relish. Then he turned to Angelique, who was coiling her rope.

“We got him!” he said in a fierce whisper. “We've got him, my darling!” She laughed, and he grabbed her to press a hard kiss of exultation on her mouth.

“There is no doubt he is your man, I take it.”

Nate smiled grimly. “None at all! He looks just as I remember, and I would never forget that voice. Now let's get him out of here.”

She was already nodding. She took out a flask from her reticule and dribbled gin all over Dixon's face and chest, until he reeked of it. They hoisted Dixon to his feet, and Nate draped the man's arm around his own shoulders. Angelique checked the corridor outside the room, and when it was clear they walked quickly out through the side door, where deliveries were made. At the end of the alley stood the hackney they had hired.

“Here, need a hand?” exclaimed the startled driver as they bundled Dixon inside.

“Thank you, good man. My brother, poor soul,” Nate said sadly. “Much the worse for drink even at this hour; my mother bade me save him from his ruinous habits, but…” He shook his head. “We'll try to save him yet.”

“'Tis hard when the drink gets you,” agreed the driver. Nate clapped one hand on his shoulder and gave him the direction before swinging into the cab himself.

Inside, his eyes met Angelique's across Dixon's slumped figure. “Thank you,” he said simply.

And she smiled, that real smile of honest feeling. “It was my pleasure.”

 

In Varden Street, the driver helped them get Dixon up the steps. Angelique thanked him before closing the door. Nate hauled Jacob Dixon up the stairs into the attic room where Prince had recently had his laboratory. They had removed everything
from it in preparation, and now Nate dragged his limp burden to the hearth. He ran a chain through a ring fixed in the brick there, then through the manacles he placed around Dixon's wrists, and padlocked it. Then he took off his coat and sat down to wait for Dixon to wake.

Dixon had begun stirring a few times during the drive, and Nate had put his hand back over his face each time, keeping him unconscious. But within a few minutes of being locked up, he started coming around. Nate fetched a glass of water and tossed it in his face. Dixon jerked and scrambled away, swiping at his face. The chains brought him up short, and he went still. As he blinked awake, his eyes darted about the room and finally settled on Nate.

“How dare you,” he began shrilly. “This—You—You have no authority to hold me like this. I am an English citizen! This is illegal imprisonment.”

“I have a good enough authority,” Nate told him. “That iron chain around your wrists, for one. Be glad it's only imprisonment—for now.”

Dixon shook himself like a wet bird. “I know who you are! You're one of those bloody Americans.”

“Of course I am. No secret there. But unless you're even more worthless than I thought, not every American is out to get you, Dixon.” He leaned forward to hang the lantern on a nail above Dixon's head. “So, make a guess why exactly I've got you here.”

Dixon managed to look highly affronted, even though he had flinched at the sound of his true name. “Thievery, no doubt! You and your wife intend to steal my jewel collection. I knew there was something wrong about you both, the instant I saw you. You're no better than common ruffians!”

Nate gave him a dark smile. “You weren't alarmed enough to keep away from the chance to turn a pretty profit—or from peering down my wife's gown.”

“Why should I ignore a fine pair of titties when I see them?” Dixon wrestled with the chain again. “Tell me what you want, you brigand.”

“All,” said Nate softly.

Dixon's eyes darted from side to side, but when he looked up, his face wore an impatient scowl. “All of what?”

“All the money you embezzled from the Port of New York,” said Nate, savoring every trace of guilt that flashed over the other man's face. He'd waited weeks for this moment. He leaned back in the chair, folding his arms across his chest. “You played a nasty trick on some people. You stole a great deal of money, Mr. Dixon. That is a sin, and a crime.”

“How dare you say that?” Dixon tilted his chin defiantly. “Slander is also a crime.”

“True enough, but slander is only slander if one tells lies. The law defends the truth.”

“Truth,” sniffed Dixon. “The law demands proof.”

“I have all that,” Nate assured him. “Or rather, the prosecutor in New York has it.”

“You can't take me to New York,” cried Dixon, but his color faded. “I am an Englishman!”

“The English don't mind letting you go. Did you think I was fool enough to waltz into a foreign country and track you down without permission?” He would have done it, if necessary, but as it happened, he hadn't. Nate was feeling much better about that decision now that he had his quarry bagged and
trussed like a hog bound for market. “The Foreign Office as well as the Home Office knows what I'm about; Lord Selwyn himself sent me to the…er…ruffians you were railing against. You've no friends here, Dixon.”

“Selwyn?” Suddenly Dixon's outraged tantrum ended. His eyes grew round and his mouth sagged open in surprise. “Ross Selwyn?”

“That's the one.”

Dixon was quiet for several minutes. Nate could almost hear him thinking, and from the tense expression on his face, it was a stark reevaluation of his situation. “How did you come across him?” he asked, trying too obviously to keep any trace of tension from his voice.

“He's deputy to the colonial secretary. An old friend of yours?” Nate asked with a smirk. Selwyn hadn't shown any hesitation in unleashing Stafford and his agents on Dixon, beyond a desire to keep this distasteful affair quiet.

“Rather the opposite, I imagine,” Dixon murmured, and lapsed back into silence. Nate glanced at him curiously, then shrugged. He didn't really care what Selwyn's motives were. He had his man and he was getting out of England, as soon as possible.

“Where is the woman—your alleged wife?” Dixon asked politely. “She is not from America, I believe, yet she helped you bring me here.”

“She's nearby.”

“Yes, yes,” Dixon murmured. “But then
she
was the one sent by the English—by Selwyn. Am I right?”

He considered, but it didn't matter. Jacob Dixon
wasn't freely walking the streets of London again. “Yes.”

“Ah.” The man in chains sounded relieved. “When will she be back?”

“At any moment, I expect.” Nate was beginning to wonder about that himself. He'd thought she would have followed him upstairs already.

“Then we really must talk, before she arrives. You see, I believe you've been fooled—if she is from Selwyn, she quite likely has no intention of letting you take me back to New York.”

Nate turned a bland smile on the man even as foreboding flickered in his mind. Angelique had been keeping something from him…“We shall have to ask her.”

Dixon rattled his chains in agitation. “No, no! Please, Mr. Avery, I beg you to listen to me. I want to go back to New York now. I am eager to cooperate. I confess! I stole the money!” Nate looked at him in astonishment. Dixon nodded hard. “Indeed! I did it, and I am willing to help you get it back.”

Nate's eyes narrowed. This was quite a turnaround, and not an expected one. Why did the name Selwyn—just some stuffy lord in the Foreign Office, very officious and full of himself—have such an effect on Dixon? How the hell did Dixon know him? “Well, where is it?” he asked in a neutral tone.

Dixon's gaze darted to the door and then back. “Nearby. I can get it.”

“All right, let's go.” Nate reached for his coat.

“No!” Dixon scrambled backward until the chain brought him up short. “I must have some security, some guarantee…”

“Of what? You're not in much position to bargain at the moment.”

The thief licked his lips. Nate could almost see the thoughts stampeding through the man's head. “Of my safety. If you kill me, you'll never find the money, nor prove your case.”

“It would give me some satisfaction,” Nate told him, but he put the coat back on the hook. “You're safe enough, though. I never meant to kill you.”

But Angelique…he wasn't quite so sure of.