You Only Love Once (21 page)

A
ngelique climbed the stairs to the attic room as quietly as she could. It had been several hours since they'd brought Jacob Dixon back to Varden Street, and she had fled the house, leaving Nate alone with him to extract as much information as possible about the missing funds. She would have preferred to wait a few days, but felt hemmed in. What if Stafford had set someone to following them, and already knew that they'd caught Dixon? Ian had said he would delay as long as he could, but if Stafford grew impatient, he might turn to his network of informers, just to be certain. And so for
her
to be certain, she had to act sooner rather than later. If she delayed, Stafford might well decide all of them—Dixon, Nate, Angelique herself—had grown too troublesome and unreliable, and task another of his spies with eliminating them. For Dixon, she didn't care; for herself, she had brought this risk upon herself when she started with Stafford; but Nate had done nothing but try to right a terrible wrong…and shown her the meaning of love. For his sake alone she must not wait any longer.

The door at the top of the stairs was locked, but the key hung on a hook nearby. She let herself in. It was cool in the room, since no fire burned. There was still enough light to see Dixon, huddled against the wall, his mouth open as he snored softly. She set her lamp on the mantel and drew her knife. It was not the Wyandot knife Nate had given her, but the one of fine French steel with the weighted handle, good for every sort of purpose from throwing to close attacks. She kicked Dixon's ankle.

His face wrinkled as he blinked awake, then he sucked in his breath as he saw her standing over him. For a moment he just stared, his mouth hanging open.

“Where is it, you stinking pig?”

“Wh-What?” he stammered. “I d-d-don't know what…”

“Tell me where the money is,” she said in the same detached voice, “before I cut your throat.”

Dixon began babbling incoherently. She kicked his ankle again, and he whimpered. “Is that what Selwyn wants from me?” he panted, trying to pull his feet beneath him. “The money? I'll give it to you, I swear, he can have it all—”

“No. That is not what he wants.”

He wheezed. His face was white. “I told—Avery. I told Avery, I'll get the jewels back, and the money, all of it, but
you have to let me go back to New York
—”

“I do not take orders from you,” she said softly.

“But he—he—” Dixon was almost choking on his own breath. “Who are you, that he can just order you to kill me?”

This time she smiled, darkly. “You do not want to know who I am.”

He squeaked, and the sharp stink of urine fouled the air. Angelique went down on one knee and put the tip of her knife at his throat. He tried to jerk away, but she batted his hand aside and the man shrank on himself. “Our Father who art in heaven,” he gasped. “Hallowed be thy name…”

“What did you do,” she asked softly, “that he wants you dead? It's not the money.”

“No,” Dixon whimpered.

“What, then?” she prodded when he seemed incapable of saying more. A dot of blood welled up under the point of her blade, and tears began rolling down Dixon's face as he shook with fear. “I want to know.”

She
had
to know. She needed to know what Dixon had done that made Selwyn press Stafford to have the man killed. She was here, her knife ready, prepared to complete her assignment and damn herself forever in Nate's eyes, but first she had to know why.

Dixon's eyes drifted past her, and he began gesturing urgently with his hands. “Help me,” he cried. “Help!”

She knew who was behind her before she turned her head.

 

Nate couldn't say a word, even when Dixon cried out for help. He was frozen in place, appalled by the sight of Angelique with her knife poised at Dixon's throat. A trickle of blood ran down his collar, indicating she was not merely threatening. She meant to kill him—had probably meant to kill him all along—and she knew it was because of Selwyn. Nate had tried to work it out of Dixon why he feared
Selwyn, but the man had refused to talk, wanting guarantees and promises Nate couldn't give.

But this was what she had kept from him, Stafford's mysterious secret orders. Now he saw it all, why she had been so upset when Ian arrived, why she had been so sad the previous evening when she asked how he would remember her. All along she had planned to upset his plans, to deny him the justice he sought. For a moment it felt like she had gutted him, betraying him like this. Was this the woman he had lost his heart to?

She looked over her shoulder at him with absolutely no expression. “Go away,” she said. “You are a distraction.”

“He promised you wouldn't kill me!” Dixon cried. “He promised!”

“It was not his promise to make,” she told him. Nate was unnerved by her voice, eerily calm and devoid of feeling. “Answer my questions.”

“He—he knows!” Dixon croaked, flopping his hands desperately toward Nate. “I told him earlier that Selwyn was dangerous! I told him not to trust you!”

“Well?” she asked Nate, her voice more frightening for being so even and soft. “Does he lie?” Dixon yelped as she moved the knife. More blood welled up, almost black against his skin.

“No,” he said, shaking himself. “He was frightened from the moment I said Selwyn's name. And he feared you as well.”

For a moment she didn't move a muscle, not even when the man pinned beneath her knife began thrashing about with renewed energy, weeping loudly in relief.

Then with a curse Angelique raised her arm. The blade glinted for a moment before she backhanded Dixon with her fist, still holding the dagger. His eyes rolled back and his head hit the wall with a thump. His arms and legs fell limp.

She rose to her feet and turned to face him.

“You lied to me,” he said numbly.

She raised her chin, still the cold and deadly spy. “I never said I would not kill him.”

“You led me to believe you would return him to New York as I expected!”

She flinched, ever so slightly. “I never said that, either. You said it, and I did not demur.”

He looked past her to Dixon, slumped against the wall. “This is what you planned all along—what Stafford planned all along. To kill him, in spite of assurances that you were to help me, not thwart my ultimate intention!”

“It is what Stafford wanted,” she agreed.

Nate was about to tear into her; his heart felt carved to pieces, and he wanted to roar in rage and hurt. She had betrayed him, and he wanted to punish her and make her feel the same pain that he felt. But at the last second, he realized what she had said, and managed to hold back his temper a moment longer. “You didn't plan to kill him all along?” he asked tightly.

She hesitated. Her mouth softened. “In the beginning, I did. I was ordered to do so, and I would have done it, no matter how distasteful.”

“You didn't want to?” He started toward her, one careful step at a time. She didn't move.

“No. It is my least favorite job, and this one was particularly unpleasant. But still”—she flicked her fingers—“those were my orders.”

“And now?” Unconsciously he braced himself. She could shrug and say now was no different. She could throw her dagger right at him; he remembered how she had flung it at him and nearly taken off his ear the first night they made love. If that night and all the others had just been part of her orders, he almost wished she would throw the knife and put a quick end to the misery yawning before him.

“Now…” She glanced at Dixon. “Now I want to know why those were my orders.”

“Why?” He was barely a few feet away from her, close enough to see the rapid flutter of her pulse.

“Because…” Finally her facade cracked, and her lip trembled. “Because I want to see you succeed. Because I suspect all is not right with Stafford's reasons. Because I could not bear to cheat you so grievously, but I feared what Stafford might do to you if I did not follow his orders.”

“Angelique, do you trust me?” he asked quietly. Slowly she nodded. “Enough to put the knife away and not kill him, but wait to see what he has to say?”

Her head bowed. For a moment he wondered if she would do it, but then she laid the knife on the mantel behind her. “Yes,” she whispered, and Nate stepped forward, closing the last space between them and putting his arms around her.

He must decide, here and now, if he trusted her. The wrong choice could bring disaster on him and everyone connected with this. Nate closed his eyes and tried not to be influenced by the faint lavender scent of her hair and the feel of her in his arms. She had fooled other men before…

He took a deep breath and made his choice. “Let's
see what Dixon has to say for himself. Perhaps he can cast some light on this tangled web.”

She raised her head and looked at him warily. “Even after what I told you?”

He rested his forehead against hers. “I must trust you. You are right—you never lied to me and said you wouldn't kill him. No one seems to know just what this mess is really about, so it's best to be patient.”

“I will explain,” she said. “I swear to you.”

Nate smiled. “I'm counting on it.”

Putting it off seemed to help them both regain their equilibrium. Angelique went downstairs to put away her knife and to fetch another lamp. Nate leaned down to check on Dixon. The cut on his neck was a small thing, barely a scratch. As he inspected it, the man's eyes fluttered open. Dixon had had a hard day; not only the pricking of his throat, but now a bruise growing at his temple. Nate didn't want him beaten or scared to death, so he helped the man sit up and gave him a cup of water from the bucket in the corner.

“Where is she?” whispered Dixon after he drank, his eyes roaming the room. “Has she gone?”

“For the moment.”

Dixon sagged in relief, then bolted upright. “We made a bargain, you and I—I help get back your money, and you take me safely out of England.”

“You proposed that bargain, yes.”

Dixon kept looking at the door in apprehension. “But you agree, do you not? All I ask is that you guarantee my safety from
her
.”

Nate considered the benefits to leaving Dixon in fear of Angelique. It had made the man more volu
ble than before, and if he thought she might pull out her knife again at any moment…Yes, it could be useful.

“She is your security,” he told Dixon. “If she doesn't return…” He smiled again, very gently, and shrugged. “The English already want you dead.”

Dixon seemed to catch his breath. “Yes, perhaps that's it,” he said hopefully. “All you have to do is tell Selwyn I'm dead.”

“Perhaps.” Nate paused. Selwyn was the key, somehow, to whatever had spooked Dixon. “I don't expect to see him again, to tell him that or anything else.”

This agitated the man anew. He grew still and quiet, only his eyes moving, darting from side to side as he thought. “She can,” he finally said. Nate made a face and held up his hands; maybe, maybe not. “She must,” added Dixon more forcefully. “Isn't that why she's here at all?”

“She's here to kill you,” Nate corrected him—rather calmly, especially given how he'd discovered the fact himself—“not to tell Lord Selwyn lies about your death.”

“But you have to stop her,” the man squealed in alarm. Now that he was caught and frightened, Dixon's legendary calm and competent manner had vanished.

“I already did. But if you aren't more forthcoming, this instant, I might not do so again.”

The color washed from Dixon's face. He opened his mouth to reply, then snapped it closed again as Angelique came in with a lamp in each hand. Nate went to close the door behind her, then pulled up two chairs to face Dixon.

W
hy would Lord Selwyn want you dead?” Nate got right to the point.

Dixon glanced again at Angelique. “I would prefer not to say in front of her. I don't trust her.”

“I do,” said Nate. He felt Angelique start in surprise, but he kept his eyes on Dixon. “Talk, or be silent and take your chances.”

After some fidgeting, Dixon sighed. “Very well. But remember what I said before.” He nodded meaningfully. Nate waved one hand; Dixon meant the part about helping them find the money, or not. At the moment he didn't care about that. He wanted to know what he was missing about this story. Was Dixon making a desperate bid for escape and lying to him—or was Selwyn? Nate fully expected the first, and was on guard against it. But if it were the second…A chill of unease slithered over his skin as he glanced at Angelique, her expression composed and remote again. He did trust her. Completely. The men she worked for, however…

“I must begin by saying Lord Selwyn—or Mr. Ross Selwyn, as he was once known—is a man of great cunning and diplomatic skill, and consider
able charm when he wishes to exhibit it. He was the nephew of the Earl Selwyn, before his uncle and cousin died and he became the new lord. I don't think he expected to inherit, as the previous earl and his son were both still young men, hale and hearty. It was a boating accident, I believe; quite shocking to all the family.”

“How do you know all this?” Angelique asked, her eyes narrowed on him.

Dixon edged away from her. “I was his private secretary at the time. I ran everything and knew every minute of his days.”

The words seem to hang in the air, like the puff of smoke from a pistol. Nate almost felt the reverberation in the air around him. Selwyn hadn't mentioned that, not at all. He'd acted as if he'd never heard the name Jacob Dixon in his life. The chill grew more pronounced. “When?” Nate asked quietly.

“Near twelve years ago now. He had inherited a sizable fortune from his mother, and married a local squire's daughter. He was a gentleman of property and leisure, respectable but not the highest society. The English, you know, are very conscious of their class at all times, and Mr. Selwyn was a mere gentleman. But when the earl died, he changed. It was as if a feast of ambition and power were opened to him, and he meant to taste all of it.”

Angelique put up one hand. “I suspect you are about to accuse the Earl Selwyn of something dreadful, even criminal. You do know this tale you tell had better be true in every particular?”

“I most assuredly do,” he retorted. “But I am not wrong. Perhaps you will acknowledge that I am not doing this lightly or even happily.”

“Talk,” Nate growled at him with an impatient gesture. “We'll decide how to punish you for any lies or omissions later.”

A nervous scowl knit Dixon's brows, and his gaze swung between the two of them. “I am not lying,” he said in a low, furious voice. “Lord Selwyn has reason to want me dead. For all I know, you are both aware of this and have simply come to do his bidding!”

Angelique leaned forward. “If we had, would you still be alive now?”

Dixon paled. He looked to Nate, who put his hand on Angelique's arm. She sat back without looking at him, but laid her own hand over his for a moment. Nate saw how the thief's eyes fixed on that touch, but he didn't shrug her off. “Why does Selwyn want you dead?”

“His lordship had a son at the time of his ascension to the title,” said Dixon. For all his nervousness, he was clearly determined to tell his story in his own way, at his own pace. “There was something wrong with the child. He was kept mostly away in the nursery, but I saw him enough to know he was…abnormal.” Nate frowned and raised one hand in uncomprehending impatience. “The boy always walked on his toes, pitched forward like a ship into the wind,” Dixon went on more quickly. “He flapped his hands like a bird, and would do the same thing for hours on end. He didn't talk at all, but made strange grunts and noises. The lightest touch by some people would send him into a shrieking fit. Mr. Selwyn—who became Lord Selwyn—was distressed by it and sought the opinion of several doctors, all very quietly. He didn't want anyone to know
of his son's condition. But the doctors said there was no cure and recommended the child be put away in an asylum for his own protection.”

Nate recalled a child in Boston who had exhibited odd behavior like Dixon described. People there had whispered about demon possession, and the boy disappeared; sent to relatives in the country, according to rumor. Somehow he doubted the people of England were much different—particularly not proud men like Selwyn. Dixon's next words didn't surprise him at all.

“In cases such as these, it is common for the child to suffer an unfortunate accident,” said Dixon with a significant look. “No one wishes to have an idiot in his family, especially when there is a title in question. This boy would have been the next earl, unless he predeceased his father.”

Nate and Angelique shared a glance. “Then…Selwyn wants you dead because he doesn't want you to reveal the truth about his son?” Nate asked. “How can he hide it, if the boy is as affected as you say?”

Dixon's face grew cunning. “No, no. You mistake me.”

“Ah.” Nate looked at him in disgust. “You know he killed the boy.”

This time the thief's smile was triumphant. “On the contrary. Selwyn wants me dead because he did no such thing.”

For a moment Nate and Angelique stared at him. “If you're going to tell lies,” Nate said, “better be certain they at least make sense.”

Dixon shook his head. “Then listen, if you will
know. Selwyn wished the child dead, it's true; but Lady Selwyn loved her son. For all his…infirmities, he was a sweet, good-natured child. They argued passionately about it.”

“In front of you?” Angelique asked in astonishment.

“Madame, I was a very efficient secretary,” Dixon said with some affront. “I knew everything. It was my idea, in fact, which carried the day. His lordship would not countenance the child as his heir; his wife would not permit him to be harmed. It would have been quite messy, until I suggested an alternative. Lady Selwyn and the child could go away together. Lord Selwyn would pay for their support and maintenance, anywhere but in England, on the condition that she never return or reveal her true identity. To England and to him, they would be dead. I helped them slip out of the country unnoticed and set up the bank transfers to fund their new life. I…er…procured a young woman's body—a common prostitute, I believe—similar in stature and coloring to Lady Selwyn—”

“Procured,” Angelique said in a cold voice.

Dixon cleared his throat. “Anything can be procured, for the right price. As one might expect, Lord Selwyn was prepared to spend freely.” She tightened her lips but said nothing. Dixon glanced nervously at Nate, who just stared flatly back. “Yes. As I was saying, I arranged for the body to be found washed up on the rocks near the Selwyn estate with a broken boat. Selwyn identified her as his wife, declared the child swept out to sea, and publicly mourned them both. The body was buried in the vault as Lady
Selwyn.” He paused, then added delicately, “At that point, Lord Selwyn and I agreed it was best that I seek my further good fortune in America.”

Nate's head began to throb. He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled wearily. “So you committed fraud—among other things—and Selwyn paid you to go away and keep the secret.”

Dixon hesitated. “Yes, I suppose one might look at it that way.”

“Good God,” muttered Nate.

“It could be worse,” Dixon went on with a bit of glee. “Without an heir apparent, Selwyn may have been tempted to remarry.”

Angelique sucked in her breath. “He would be a bigamist,” she said, “his children bastards.”

Dixon spread his hands. “Perhaps he has been more disciplined than that. Perhaps. But the title made him arrogant and vain. If his deception has not been uncovered in so long, the man I know would take what he wanted.”

“And no one but you would have known of this?”

“Not a soul,” Dixon replied indignantly. “It wouldn't have been so effective if they had. Lady Selwyn agreed never to contact her family again. Indeed, Selwyn swore he'd kill her in truth if she returned, with or without the boy.”

“Not ship captains? Bankers? Servants?
Nobody?
” Nate queried sharply.

“I created an entirely new identity for her. Perhaps if you had made inquiries at the time, you could have located someone who might have identified Lady Selwyn, but after ten years…” Dixon lifted one shoulder. “She may be so changed, even Selwyn wouldn't recognize her.”

Nate met Angelique's eyes. Without a word they both rose and turned toward the door.

“Wait!” cried Dixon. “It's all true, I swear it!”

Angelique glanced back at him, kneeling in his chains on the floor, his face now white with alarm. “We shall see,” was all she said. Then she closed the door behind them and locked it.