Sins of a Virgin (Sinners Trio) Page 4

  To irk her, apparently. Some things required gentle coaxing, not a blunt blow alongside the head. “With the attention this auction is garnering, the authorities feared for my safety.”

  Huntford’s lips thinned, but he didn’t deny her claim. Good, he’d forced her hand to begin with.

  “I would protect you,” Lenton protested.

  “I know. But I don’t know if I could trust myself with you until the end of the auction. But Mr. Huntford . . . well, he poses no threat in that area.”

  Perhaps Huntford would think twice before intruding again.

  Lenton favored the Runner with a pitying smile. “Keep her safe for me.”

  “She’ll come to you in the same condition she’s in now.”

  Whatever that might be. He didn’t voice the words, but she could feel them dangling in the air.

  Luckily, Lenton seemed oblivious to anything but her bosom. “I will do what it takes to win you.”

  Madeline smiled. “Good. Then you agree. I knew a wise man such as yourself would see the logic.”

  “Pardon? Agree to what?”

  “To let Huntford verify your financial situation.”

  “What?”

  “I know you have the honor to win the auction legitimately, but there are men who might try to outbid you, claiming funds they don’t possess. You don’t want that to happen, do you?” She leaned over the edge of the carriage, providing him with a brief glimpse down her bodice. “Now that I know you truly want me, I don’t want anyone else to win.”

  Lenton nodded to Huntford. “My secretary will provide you with whatever you require.”

  Madeline clapped her hands. “I knew I could rely on you.”

  Lenton reached to capture her chin, but his beleaguered horse revolted. Its hooves clacked on the cobbles as it pranced sideways, then galloped from the park onto the street, narrowly missing a lumbering refuse cart.

  Madeline leaned back against her seat. The pleasure of a perfectly executed plan had no equal. “I told you all I had to do was ask.”

  Huntford pinned her with his gaze; the earlier heat now blistered her flesh. “Forget this auction and become my mistress.”

  “What?” The word croaked from her throat in an embarrassing manner. After all, men made that offer every day. She had a dozen witty jests to decline a man while still stringing him along and twice as many cutting responses to put him in his place.

  Huntford leaned forward.

  She pressed back, regaining the few inches of separation.

  “If you’re so intent on having me, why not end this auction now?”

  The smugness drained from Madeline’s expression, leaving her face blank.

  Hiding what? Shock? Revulsion? Anger? But it didn’t matter; the opportunity to settle the score had been too tempting. “That’s what your suitor would’ve said if he had half a brain. What would you have done if he’d called your bluff?”

  She relaxed. “I would have appealed to his sense of honor and fair play. After all, the auction has already begun. It would hardly be gentlemanly of me to pull out now.”

  “You aren’t a gentleman.”

  The animation rekindled on her face. Her head tipped to the right as she laughed, exposing the smooth, pale skin of her throat. The pose practically begged a man to set his lips against the delicate flesh. How long had she practiced to perfect it?

  Rather than a sultry murmur, her laughter skipped light and bright along carefree notes. He might have believed it to be genuine, if not for the fact that several men, including a few escorting respectable ladies, swung around at the sound.

  And Madeline’s eyes darted briefly in their direction, noting every single one. “I might not be a gentleman, but those bidding are. The thrill of trouncing other men is half the pleasure of winning.”

  “And the other half?”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, very good. If I were any other woman, I would be firmly under your heel where I deserve to be, I assure you.”

  If he had her under a part of his anatomy, it wouldn’t be his heel.

  As the carriage progressed through the park, she worked her charms on any male foolish enough to enter her territory.

  She was good.

  The small niggling of admiration alarmed him, yet the fascination remained. As each man approached, her response altered. A touch more ribald with one, more shy with another. One by one their eyes darkened, stripping Madeline naked. She encouraged the reaction with careful movements of her hands, directing the men’s attention to her body with the skill of a dockside sharp running a game of shells.

  Her finger tapped against her lower lip as she spoke, drawing attention to its generous curve. The poor sap she currently conversed with swallowed with a noisy grunt. Even though Gabriel recognized her action for the ploy it was, his thumb tingled as if he’d touched her.

  He clenched his hand.

  She was a manipulator. And a liar. As talented as she was at convincing each man that she was his perfect mate, there was no way someone hadn’t bedded her.

  But she’d managed to do what she’d promised. Each of the men agreed to allow Gabriel access to his records. Gabriel fingered the warm, smooth angles of the mourning brooch in his pocket. He now had access to Lenton.

  But what were the odds that it was Lenton? And what were the odds the man had recorded anything of use?

  Damnation. He refused to give up the first hope he’d had in years. Besides, he wasn’t constrained to the records. To find out the other information Madeline required, he’d have to speak to the man’s servants. They might know something.

  Madeline’s current follower scrambled off to place his first bid and another man jostled for a turn to speak with her.

  Even though this man wasn’t a suspect, Gabriel studied him as he had all the others. It was habit now. He’d spent far too many hours scrutinizing various members of the ton, trying to figure out which of them was the new suitor Susan had spoken of before her death. But this man was too young. He couldn’t have been the man who wooed her with promises, then lured her away to strangle her.

  “Huntford, do stop growling. I’m sure David isn’t afraid to prove his bid.” Madeline gave Gabriel a quick, searching glance, then returned to smiling at the nervous man.

  “What?” David asked.

  “It is quite the amazing thing. Gentlemen are serious about this auction. They have no tolerance for those who bid without the resources to pay.”

  The young man who’d moments before been comparing the color of Madeline’s dress to freshly churned butter, paled. “There was a fire a few months back and whatnot. My solicitor might not be able to, um, put together proof of my finances in a timely manner.”

  Gabriel waited for Madeline to mock the lad’s obvious avoidance.

  “I’ll understand if you must handle those matters first,” Madeline said.

  The young man grasped the excuse. “Yes, yes. Those matters might not allow me to bid.”

  Before the next man could speak, Madeline motioned to the coachman, who set the carriage in motion, scattering the large crowd of gentlemen sniffing about.

  Gabriel studied her, suspicious of her kindness. “Why leave before wooing all of your potential deflowerers?” And before she’d been approached by his other suspects.

  Madeline glanced around, then closed her eyes, dropping her head back against the seat. “Always leave your audience wanting more.” One eye peeped open at him. “And always leave before you want to murder your audience.”

  He snorted. “You control them well. They’d probably throw themselves off a bridge to save you from having to lift one dainty finger.”

  Both eyes snapped open and she grinned. “If only there was a way to get them to pay me for that.”

  Of course she was charming. She’d hardly be able to pull this off if she wasn’t. But he refused to be cozened. “Most people don’t find death a joking matter.”

  Her smile remained on her face but it fled from he
r eyes. “Most people spend their lives miserable and poor.”

  The coach drew to a halt outside her home. Gabriel helped her descend, but she withdrew her hand as soon as her feet were on the pavement.

  A small, white paper fluttered on her steps next to the door, and she paused to pick it up. She read it but then tucked it in her bodice. “What a horrendous poem.” She tucked a stray wisp of chestnut hair behind her ear. “I need you tonight.”

  That inspired far too many images. “I must start the investigation.”

  “Your supervisors are concerned for my safety, remember?”

  “Second only to England herself.” He’d responded to her teasing tone without thinking. That annoyed him. He didn’t waste time on banter. “What are your plans?”

  “Something shocking.”

  “Nothing shocks me.”

  She slid her hand down his cheek. “We’ll see about that.”

  Chapter Four

  Madeline shivered in a draft of cold air as Clayton Campbell stepped inside, shaking rain from his dark hair. The brisk sunlight of the morning had given way before the habitual rain clouds of London.

  “Have you decided to give this insanity up then?” he asked as he handed his coat to Canterbury.

  She shook her head. The man had always had too many morals for a spy. “And live off the scraps the Foreign Office paid us?”

  “My investments have already doubled.”

  “Twice a pittance is still a pittance. And how can you lecture me about insanity, Mr. I-Will-Seek Revenge-with-My-Dying-Breath?”

  “Justice. Not revenge. A fine distinction, but one that makes all the difference.”

  She snorted.

  “Why did you send for us?”

  “I’ll explain as soon as—”

  “I show up?” Ian Maddox sauntered in behind them.

  She gave Ian a mock frown. He received some sort of perverse pleasure from mysteriously appearing out of nowhere even when the front door was perfectly accessible.

  “You’re late,” Clayton pointed out.

  “Someone’s butler not only locked but barred the other doors and booby-trapped the windows.”

  Canterbury took Ian’s coat and hat. “It’s to keep out the ruffians, sir.”

  “No wonder I got in so easily then, old man.”

  Canterbury sniffed, holding Ian’s battered hat away from his body with two fingers. “It appears I need to be more diligent.”

  “So other than pining for my handsome face, what are you up to, Madeline?” He ruffled her hair, ignoring the fact that it was elegantly coiffed. Or had been.

  She blew a disarranged strand from her face. “Come.” She led them to the study.

  Clayton grimaced as he perched on a spindly, filigreed chair. “Tell me you didn’t select this furniture.”

  “No, the house came furnished, which is one of the reasons I let it.”

  “I see no problem with it.” Ian draped himself across the entire settee.

  Rather than taking one of the uncomfortable hard-backed chairs, Madeline knocked his feet onto the floor and sat next to him. “I’m being watched.”

  “Who in London is not watching you?” Ian asked, but his head lifted from the arm of the settee.

  Clayton stood, abandoning the creaky chair. “Did you recognize him?”

  Madeline shook her head but listed the footman’s identifying characteristics. When she mentioned the boots, Ian sat fully upright. “Have you seen your reluctant admirer since?”

  “No, but I found this on the doorstep.” She pulled out the note and handed it to Ian.

  He scanned it once, then read the message aloud. “ ‘I remember you from Paris. I know you for the liar you are. You will pay for your deception.’ ” Ian grinned. “Does he know how little money you have?”

  Clayton took the paper and inspected it. “Really, criminals are becoming too lax with their research.”

  “And they could’ve been more specific. How many times did we run missions in Paris? Twenty-two? It would be a miracle if someone didn’t see you in Paris.”

  Their familiar banter soothed the edginess that had nipped at her all day. She could handle whoever was fool enough to threaten her. And with Ian and Clayton lending assistance, the man might as well have signed his name to the note and asked to be eliminated. Even if they’d refused to help her with the auction, no one threatened a member of the Trio and lived.

  Clayton flipped the paper over, examining the other side. “The paper quality isn’t fabulous, but neither is it cheap. I doubt we are dealing with your typical guttersnipe. They’d have better uses for their money than purchasing nice new paper for threatening letters.”

  Ian leaned back on the settee. “As a former guttersnipe, I concur.”

  “Former?” Canterbury entered with a tray of cold ham, cheese, and bread.

  “I haven’t dropped a single aitch all day, old man. Seen the writing before, Clay?” Ian asked.

  Madeline surveyed her butler once again. Ian trusted him enough to speak about Trio business in front of him? How did they know each other? Ian would only say Canterbury was an associate from a former life. But which former life? His life as a thief or his life as a spy?

  “No, I don’t recognize it.”

  Which meant the author wasn’t someone whose documents they’d stolen in the past. If Clayton didn’t recognize the writing, then they’d never encountered it before. Everything he’d ever read was etched into his mind, never to be forgotten.

  “So who in Paris wants to kill you?” Ian asked.

  Clayton snorted. “Shall I alphabetize the list?”

  Ian tapped a lazy finger on the back of the settee. “You wouldn’t have this problem if you’d let me eliminate the bastards after we retrieved the information we needed.”

  She knew Ian’s comment was only half in jest. “Yes, because a slew of dead bodies in our wake would have been so subtle.”

  He shrugged. “Dead bodies wouldn’t threaten you.”

  Ah, but they could haunt her, as she well knew. She wiped her hands on her skirt.

  Clayton rose to his feet and began to pace. “Back to business. So if our friend knows you from France, we assume he’s French?”

  “Not necessarily.” She’d been mulling over that question all afternoon. “If he was there while we were assisting Louis the Unavoidable back onto the French throne last year, he could be any nationality.”

  “Damnation,” Clayton swore. “I’ll compile a list of those I think most likely to be holding a grudge.”

  Ian sat up and began loading his pockets with food. “I’ll start making inquiries with the savory fellows that I know. See if anyone’s heard anything. Speaking of inquiries, how do you like Huntford?”

  “I worry that he might be a bit too observant.” Madeline wished the words unsaid as soon as she’d spoken them. Both men turned to her in disbelief.

  “Too observant? When have you ever been worried about the local police?” Clayton asked.

  “She’s been pensioned off, remember. Perhaps her skills have gone into decline.”

  How could she explain the feeling to them when she couldn’t even explain it to herself yet? Disgruntled at her show of weakness, Madeline stood and walked to the window. She was careful to keep to the side so she could look out without anyone below spotting her. Her watcher had not yet returned.

  “Does Huntford know about the threat?”

  “No. There’s no way to explain that without explaining my work for the Foreign Office, and that I’m not willing to do. If anything arises, I’ll handle it myself.”

  “Yourself? In that case, I think I’ll head down to the tavern—”

  She glared at Ian. “You two don’t count.”

  He winked at her. “To begin asking questions, of course.”

  Clayton paused directly in front of her so she had to crane her neck to see his face. “As much as I don’t like giving in to a murderous criminal, I still say you should stop
the auction.” Although his voice was cold, concern darkened his gaze.

  She sighed. It would be much easier if he were really as unfeeling as he pretended to be. “We’ve been over this already.”

  “If anyone else connects you with La Petit, there are many powerful men who stand to be quite embarrassed by your virginity.”

  “The chances of that are slight. The only danger is if someone sees me and recognizes me as this man must have done. Even if the men from our past compared notes with each other, who would think to connect Madame Juliette with Marie the chambermaid or Sasha the royalist?”

  Ian took a large gulp of tea. “Become Madeline, the happily wed mother, and there will be even less chance of them making the connection.”

  “You know why that will never happen.” Or at least as much about it as she’d told another living being. The rest of her story would make the devil himself cringe. Perhaps she’d test that theory when she met him. “I choose to sell myself for the night, not for the rest of my life.”

  “What if someone else makes the connection to La Petit?” Clayton asked.

  She snatched the last sandwich from the tray before Ian pilfered it. “If they do, they can bid on me with the rest. I’m finishing this auction.”

  The barmaid rubbed her heavily perfumed bosom across Gabriel’s back as she set the tankard of ale on his table, but he kept his focus on the inebriated man sitting across from him.

  The man reached for the alcohol with an unsteady hand as she stalked away. “It’s right generous of you, sir. Now where was I?”

  Gabriel rested his elbow on the smooth pine table. Lenton’s valet had agreed to meet him at the Irish Hag, a tavern frequented by the servants of the aristocracy. The place was moderately clean and the ale decent, although it seemed the latter characteristic was the main enticement for the valet. If Lenton’s servant kept demanding ale for each bit of information, he’d soon be useless. “Where was the viscount last Tuesday, William?”

  “Well, in the morning he had me prepare his blue superfine and dove gray waistcoat. He only wanted his cravat tied in a simple mathematical, so I have to assume he was going to visit his mother. She despises anything showy.” William sniffed, his pinched nostrils flaring.