Nicole Jordan (19 page)

“Saw her admiring your ring,” Dare commented. “Wonder if it has some special power over females?”

Riddingham’s grin broadened as he held up his hand to peer at the ring. The dragon’s ruby eyes winked in the dim light of a passing streetlamp. “P’raps so.”

“I really would like to have one of those for myself. You’re certain Stephen Ormsby didn’t lose it to you?”

Riddingham’s brow furrowed. “Doan remember.”

“Well, at least your taste in women is better than Stephen’s. Heard he was sniffing around that young companion of Lady Castlereagh’s a few weeks ago. The girl who wound up floating in the Thames.”

“Pity about her.”

“Yes, a pity. You and Stephen were both at Castlereagh’s rout a few weeks ago, weren’t you?”

The viscount gave a woozy nod.

“Did you see him make a play for the girl?”

“Happen I did. But there was another chap…tall, dark-haired fellow….” Riddingham gave a drunken snicker. “She was making sheep’s eyes at him and scarcely noticed ole Stephen.”

“Indeed? She preferred this other chap? Who was it?”

“Can’t recall his name but…think his title was higher than a baronet. Remember because it miffed Stephen when she snubbed him. Fancies himself quite the charmer, Stephen does.”

Riddingham gave a snort of laughter before he laid his head back against the squabs and promptly passed out.

Over his snores, Dare forced himself to consider his next steps. He very much doubted that Riddingham had killed the girl or even hired someone to kill her. And the likelihood that he was Caliban now seemed so far-fetched, it was almost laughable.

Dare frowned. It also seemed laughable that he’d ever suspected Julienne of being Caliban’s accomplice. She wasn’t in league with a cunning killer. Nor was she a traitor.

The thought brought Dare less comfort than it should have, for now he no longer had any legitimate pretext for pursuing her. At least no pretext that would make Julienne take him seriously.

She thought his public courtship a juvenile act of revenge—and perhaps it had begun that way. But he was fooling himself to pretend that his goal hadn’t changed.

Desire tormented him like hot coals, yet his need for Julienne had gone beyond the physical. He wanted more than simply to win their wager; he wanted her earnest surrender.

His loins hardened when he remembered claiming his victory kiss after the race. His fear that she could have been thrown from the curricle. Her soft lips parting warm and moist beneath his. Her heart beating wildly as her soft breasts pressed against his chest. The exhilaration that filled him at her willing response…

He could have gone on kissing her forever for the sheer joy of it. Even that simple intimacy touched some part of him he’d kept inviolate for years. For all his sensual expertise, he’d remained emotionally detached from his lovers, holding himself apart even as he sought release from the emptiness that gnawed at him.

He would have to find the strength to hold himself apart from Julienne, Dare knew. She would only savage his heart once more if he allowed her to.

To care for her again was impossible, unthinkable.

Still, he couldn’t lose her. Not yet.

And he couldn’t prevent himself from contemplating what it would take to truly win their wager.

He found Lucian the following morning, sparring at Gentleman Jackson’s Rooms on Bond Street. Dare wanted to catch his friend before he left town for his Devonshire seat and his pregnant wife, Brynn.

Dare winced as he watched the punishing round of fisticuffs, but Lucian appeared to enjoy the physical barbarity, delivering his own share of powerful blows with relish. When the bout was over, Lucian and Dare moved to one corner of the vast room and spoke over the din of another boxing match.

While Lucian toweled himself dry, Dare related what he had learned about Riddingham’s alibi for the time in question.

“And you’re convinced that Riddingham is not Caliban?” Lucian said at the conclusion.

“I am. We’ve been looking at the wrong man. Although it’s still possible his cohorts were involved.”

“Who?” Lucian asked, his interest sharpening.

“Sir Stephen Ormsby and Martin Perrine. Do you know them?”

“Sir Stephen, I do. Perrine only vaguely.”

“Sir Stephen is a fashionable fribble, Perrine a dull sort who scarcely says a word in mixed company,” Dare said. “They were both at Riddingham’s estate in York last month, which is how they wound up as guests at my recent house party. I invited them because Riddingham could have won the ring from either of them. Moreover, Sir Stephen was seen trifling with the companion in recent weeks.”

He recounted Riddingham’s delight that Sir Stephen had been spurned by the girl in favor of a tall, dark-haired nobleman.

“That could prove to be a significant lead,” Lucian declared, visibly pleased by the information. “I’ll look into it at once.”

“Martin Perrine shouldn’t be disregarded entirely, though,” Dare remarked. “It’s common knowledge that his pockets are terminally to let. As a younger son, his prospects must not be too promising. He could have turned traitor for financial gain.”

Lucian’s brow creased in contemplation as he donned his shirt. “I will have him investigated, but I doubt Caliban is in the game solely for wealth. He’s a brilliant strategist who revels in outwitting his opponents.”

“Perrine certainly doesn’t strike me as brilliant. And he isn’t of noble blood.”

“Still, his quiet manner might simply be a cultivated disguise. And it’s possible he calls himself Lord Caliban to increase his importance to his victims. I’ll see what my agents can find out about him, along with Sir Stephen and this unnamed nobleman.”

Dare started to reply, but just then Gentleman Jackson, one of England’s former champions and the owner of the boxing salon, came over to commend Lucian on his bout.

When they were alone again, Lucian began tying his cravat as he said to Dare in a low voice, “I’ll have to ask you to keep up your hunt, since unmasking Caliban has become even more urgent. This morning I received a communiqué from France. A few days ago there was a failed attempt to poison Lord Castlereagh.”

“And you think it is Caliban’s hand at work?”

“Our foreign secretary has enemies here at home, certainly,” Lucian admitted. “And since he isn’t here to defend his policies, several members of Parliament have become more vocal in denouncing him. Even the Cabinet is seriously divided. But I can think of no one who would resort to murder to be rid of him.”

“But how would his death benefit Caliban?” Dare asked.

“It might simply be revenge. If Napoleon abdicates as expected, his successor must be determined. Castlereagh is finally convinced it would be better to have a Bourbon monarch on the throne rather than Boney’s young son, and his lordship is leaving Chaumont for Paris soon to settle the issue with our Allies and the French Senate. That could be Caliban’s motive: retaliation against Bonaparte’s biggest rival. He could be planning to assassinate Castlereagh.”

“So we should assume that he is Caliban’s next target,” Dare said thoughtfully.

“I think we must. And Caliban will doubtless have accomplices. He’s a master at developing conspirators—finding their weaknesses and exploiting them. Brynn’s brother Grayson is the only person I know to have escaped Caliban’s web, and he only managed it by fabricating his own death. Which reminds me…have you come to any conclusion about Miss Laurent’s involvement with Caliban?”

Dare grimaced involuntarily. “Yes.”

“And?” Lucian prompted.

“And I think she’s innocent. I was mistaken about her, I realize now. She was the one who discovered the evidence that exonerates Riddingham. If not for her, I might still be chasing a dead end.”

“So I was right after all?” Lucian’s question held an edge of amusement.

“Yes, damn you,” Dare replied good-naturedly. “I admit I allowed my past with her to influence my judgment, just as you accused me of doing. I’ve since revised my opinion of her. I believe she would make you a good spy after all.”

“Oh? Then you’ll approach her about working for us?”

“If you are still interested.”

“I am. I would ask her myself but I am leaving for Devonshire later today.” Lucian paused. “You know my assistant, Philip Barton? If you discover anything at all of importance, contact Philip. He’ll know what to do.”

Dare nodded. “Give my love to Brynn,” he said absently, his mind already debating how he would broach the subject with Julienne. “By the time you return, I should have something to report.”

Chapter

Ten

Dare allowed nearly a week to pass, however, before approaching Julienne. He forced himself to keep away for several reasons.

The first and most practical was to let Riddingham think he was winning the beautiful Jewel. Too swift an about-face might raise questions in the viscount’s mind and call unwanted attention to his drunken divulgences about his friends and the dead companion.

The second, Dare calculated, was to increase Julienne’s eagerness for their next encounter. She had asked to hear the outcome of his interrogation, and delaying his disclosure would only whet her curiosity.

And the last, most critical reason was to give himself time to try to control his obsession with her. The effort, however, had been futile, Dare realized as he sat in his box at the Drury Lane Theater watching the current play,
Richard III
.

It was a brilliant performance. From the first lines, Edmund Kean’s genius shone through as he portrayed the evil Richard, who had murdered his way to a throne and then to his own destruction. But Julienne as Lady Anne was a perfect foil for him as she attempted to avoid Richard’s deadly spider’s web.

The wooing scene during the mourning procession for the late king was a public match between two wily opponents, a twisted mating dance rife with almost erotic undercurrents.

Dare, like the rest of the audience, sat riveted. The scene took on added meaning because of his own public mating dance with Julienne. He frequently felt himself the focus of probing glances from the bejeweled lords and ladies in the adjoining boxes.

He knew the ending of Shakespeare’s play, of course. Lady Anne lost the battle with Richard and her life, poisoned after she had served her turn. But it became stunningly clear to Dare as he watched Julienne’s dazzling performance that he was fighting a losing battle himself.

Your beauty was the cause…. Your beauty that did haunt me in my sleep
.

He’d tried to convince himself that in time he would get over her. But she had crawled under his skin again, damn her.

Nothing could stop him from wanting her constantly, endlessly. Nothing would stop him from pursuing her.

Not even knowing the pain he might suffer in the end.

Dare left the theater immediately after the performance, intending to wait for Julienne at her lodgings. A chill wind whipped around his greatcoat as he stood on the street while his town coach was summoned from the long queue of carriages.

When a footman opened the coach door for him, Dare started to enter. But then he caught sight of a small object resting on the velvet seat, gleaming in the light of the carriage lamps.

A piece of jewelry. A pin, perhaps. Picking it up, he inspected the design. A flower…with stem and leaves of gold and petals made of pearls. A rose?

A dark suspicion struck Dare suddenly. What was it Lucian had said as they’d stood over Alice Watson’s bloated body?
She wore a rose-shaped pearl broach that was thought to be gift from her lover
. Was this the broach that had been torn from the dead girl’s collar? And how in hell had it come to be on his carriage seat?

Was it the work of her killer?

Dare’s head whipped around, and he searched the crowds milling in the street in front of the theater. A fortnight ago he’d deliberately announced he was hunting a deadly traitor named Caliban. Was this the response?

Was Caliban taunting him by leaving clues? Watching him even now? Was Caliban the girl’s killer?

Dare’s mouth tightened grimly. It was difficult to believe the two were unrelated.

He intended to question his coachman and footmen, but he doubted he would find any leads as to who had placed the broach here. Caliban was too clever.

This time, however, the treacherous mastermind had overplayed his hand. Caliban might delight in showing his superiority by mocking his opponents and stirring fear in their hearts, Dare thought stonily. But this apparent attempt to intimidate him only strengthened his resolve to find the traitor and bring him to justice.

It was after midnight when a hackney carriage deposited Julienne in front of her lodgings and then rattled off down the mist-shrouded street.

When a dark figure stepped out of the shadows, she gasped and fumbled in her reticule for the small but deadly blade she carried for protection.

“Late night?” Dare asked casually as moonlight illuminated his handsome features.

Julienne put a hand to her heart. “Dare!” Her tone held both relief and vexation. “You frightened ten years off my life!”

“The play has been over for hours.”

Frowning, she studied him in the dim light, trying to read his enigmatic expression. “I accepted Riddingham’s invitation for supper.” When he made no reply, she lowered her voice. “You can hardly object when you yourself asked me to be with him. Moreover, I haven’t even seen you in days.”

“Did you miss me?”

“No,” Julienne lied. “But I expected you to contact me sooner—although not at this hour of the night.”

“Will you invite me in?”

Julienne hesitated. “This is a respectable rooming house. The landlady won’t look kindly on my entertaining a gentleman caller, especially one of your notoriety.”

“She doesn’t need to know.”

“She is extremely watchful.”

“I came to report on my investigation of Riddingham,” Dare said when she still wavered, “but if you prefer I left…”