Nicole Jordan (31 page)

“I…I am sorry…. It was nothing personal. Your grandfather—”

The rage that flared through Dare burned white-hot. Shifting the tip of the blade down Ivers’s shirt-front to his groin, Dare pushed the point into his left testicle.

Ivers screamed and grabbed his loins, while blood trickled from between his fingers.

“I suggest you keep your cries down,” Dare admonished in cool drawl, “or my next target will be your heart. You forced yourself upon her, didn’t you?”

When Ivers glanced wildly around the room, as if seeking to escape, Dare shook his head.

“No one will come to your rescue. You’re completely at my mercy. You defiled her, didn’t you?”

“Yes! God, no, please…” Ivers whimpered when the blade moved back up to his throat. “Don’t hurt me!”

“Why not?” Dare asked, his voice very, very soft. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you this instant.”

Ivers began to sob.

“Perhaps I should cut you into pieces and feed you to the fish in the Thames. You’re familiar with the Thames River, aren’t you, Ivers? You killed Lady Castlereagh’s companion there last month.”

“No! I didn’t kill her, I swear.” When the tip gouged his throat, he fell back on the bed, cringing. “But I can tell you who did.”

Dare lowered the rapier. “You begin to interest me.”

Struggling against tears, Ivers took a shuddering breath. “I didn’t kill the girl, I swear. I wooed her, yes. She was to meet me that night. But when I arrived, she was already dead.”

“Who murdered her then?”

“It was Perrine…Martin Perrine.”

Dare his stomach muscles tighten. “You saw him with her body?”

“No, but I’m certain he was the one.”

Dare hesitated. “Is he Caliban?”

“I don’t know. I swear. Perrine tells me what Lord Caliban orders are, and he ordered me to court the girl. I had no choice. Perrine bought up most of my vowels and promised he would call them in if I didn’t oblige Caliban.”

“What did he want from Alice Watson?”

“To discover Lord Castlereagh’s plans—what he intended to do about Napoleon after the peace, where he intended to be.”

“So you persuaded her to steal Castlereagh’s letters to his wife. And after the girl died, you bribed his servants for information.”

“Yes.”

“What were you doing at Newmarket? Following me?”

“Yes. Perrine heard you were putting your nose where it didn’t belong—searching for Caliban. He thought it amusing, but he wanted to know why. I was supposed to see what I could discover.”

“But you accosted Miss Laurent instead.”

Ivers gave another whimper. “I didn’t touch her!”

“No, you only tried to extort money from her by threatening to spread your spurious tales. What punishment do you think you deserve for that?”

“Please…don’t kill me.”

“I won’t have to. What you did was treason. No doubt you’ll hang for it.”

“Wh-what…what if I have knowledge that could save Castlereagh’s life? He is in grave danger.”

“I’m listening,” Dare said.

“Perrine was angry that I couldn’t wring any more information from the servants—”

Just then Dare heard a sound behind him. He turned slightly, raising his rapier against a possible threat as the door opened. His heart jolted in his chest when he recognized the newcomer.

Julienne stood there, her eyes dark with concern.

She stepped into the room, shutting the door softly behind her. She was clutching her knife, Dare noted as she moved closer. He saw her reaction when she spied the cut on Ivers’s cheek…the blood soaking into the mattress from his injured loins.

Her searching gaze shifted to Dare’s face. “I thought you might have killed him,” she murmured.

“I promised I wouldn’t dispatch him outright,” Dare said evenly. “But you can still change your mind.”

Julienne eyed the cringing nobleman on the bed. “I confess I would not grieve to see him dead.”

Ivers’s chest heaved in a sob.

Dare smiled. “I think you should plead with the lady for your life, Ivers. She might be willing to spare you.”

“Please,” he mewled, “I beg you, spare me.” His hoarse entreaties were those of a broken man.

“Don’t kill him,” Julienne said finally, her voice edged with scorn. “He is too pitiful. And I wouldn’t care to have his blood on your hands.”

Dare raised an eyebrow as he surveyed the earl. “You are fortunate, Ivers. She is far more magnanimous than I could ever be. And I expect death would be too merciful for you.”

At his reprieve, Ivers squeezed his eyes shut.

Dare bent to pick up a discarded pair of trousers from the floor and tossed them at the earl. “Get dressed.”

“Where are you taking me?”

He would deliver Ivers to Lucian, Dare had already decided. “There are several gentlemen in the Foreign Office who will be interested in hearing what you have to say about Perrine and Caliban. After that…I have no doubt you’ll be thrown in prison to await hanging.”

“But…if you put me in prison, Perrine will know I told you. He’ll kill me for certain.”

“At least that will save the government the trouble of hanging you.”

“Please…let me go. I’ll go away, I swear. I’ll leave the country.”

When Julienne gave Dare a quizzical look, he answered her unspoken question. “It seems our enterprising Lord Ivers has been up to his neck in treason and he hopes to save his skin. He claims to have information about our friend Martin Perrine and his dealings with Caliban.”

“I do!” Ivers insisted. “I think Caliban means to kill the foreign secretary.”

“Who is Caliban?” Julienne asked sharply. “Perrine?”

“I don’t know,” Ivers said. “It’s possible. Perrine said Caliban couldn’t trust anyone else but himself for this mission. And Perrine left town yesterday.” Ivers turned his pleading gaze back to Dare. “Please, let me go. I don’t want to hang.”

“I’ll leave that decision to the Foreign Office,” Dare replied. “Now get up.”

With a groan of pain, Ivers rose from the bed and limped over to the hearth to dress. Dare saw Julienne turn her back and move toward the door, possibly because she could no longer bear to look at her assaulter.

“I’m bleeding like a damned butchered pig,” Ivers complained.

“And you expect me to cry for you?”

Ivers bent over, seeming to fumble with his trousers. Out of the corner of his eye, Dare saw Ivers raise a fire poker over his head just as Julienne cried out in warning, “Dare!”

Ivers charged, but Dare had time to defend himself. Sidestepping swiftly, he drove the blade through the fleshy part of Ivers’s waist.

A stunned look on his face, Ivers clutched at his side and sank to the floor. He curled into a ball, whimpering in pain. “You’ve killed me….”

“Regrettably, no,” Dare drawled.

He found a cravat among the slovenly pile of discarded clothing and knelt beside the injured man, pressing the linen against the seeping wound.

“You’ll live, more’s the pity. As you said, I’m an accomplished swordsman, and I was very careful not to wound you fatally. But you’ve put me to the trouble of fetching a surgeon.”

The door flew open and a man burst into the room, brandishing a pistol. He was a rough-looking character, despite the fact that he was dressed like a dandy. He took in the scene in a rapid glance: Julienne with her hand to her throat. Ivers wounded and half-naked on the floor, his shirt stained scarlet. And Dare with the blade of his swordstick covered with blood.

“Pardon, your lordship,” he said, addressing Dare, “but I heard a cry. I thought murder might be being done.”

“Attempted murder, perhaps.” Dare rose to his feet. “And you are…?”

“Henry Teal, in the employ of Lord Wycliff, sir. I’ve been keeping an eye on this scurvy gutter rat”—he shot a glance at Ivers—“so he didn’t brush and lope. My partner has summoned Lord Wycliff. He should be here shortly.”

“Excellent. Wycliff is just the man to sort out this mess.” Dare moved toward the door. “Will you oblige me and keep an eye on our prisoner?”

“Aye, milord.”

“And, Teal? We want him alive. If he tries to escape, please direct your bullet to a nonlethal portion of his anatomy.”

Teal grinned. “Aye, milord.”

Taking Julienne’s arm, Dare escorted her from the room and shut the door behind him. Several groggy patrons garbed in nightshirts had gathered in the dimly lit corridor.

“A small mishap,” Dare reassured them. “No cause for alarm.”

He waited until they had returned to their own rooms before pulling Julienne into his embrace.

“I was afraid he would force your hand and make you kill him,” she murmured against his shoulder.

“No. But he will pay for his crimes.”

Julienne shuddered.

“It’s over, love,” Dare said softly. “You won’t have to deal with Ivers ever again.”

“Thank you. But…it isn’t entirely over.” She drew back to search his face, keeping her voice low and hushed when she asked, “Is Perrine really Caliban?”

“I think it likely. Certainly our mild-mannered houseguest has just become our chief suspect.” Dare frowned, suddenly wondering how Julienne had come to be here. “How did you know where to find me?”

“Riddingham. I had asked him to keep a watch out for me, and he told me Ivers was staying at this hotel. I managed to hail a hackney, even at this late hour, but discovering the exact room was more difficult. The proprietor was reluctant to allow me up here.” Her mouth curved sardonically. “I persuaded him that you had summoned me here. No doubt he thinks me your doxy.”

Dare reached for her arm again. “Come, I will take you home.”

Julienne shook her head. “I’m not leaving, Dare. Not when the matter of Caliban is still unresolved.”

“You can’t mean to involve yourself with hunting for him?”

“I already am involved. I am in the government’s employ, remember?”

Dare hesitated.

“You will have to follow Perrine to France, won’t you? Well, I am French. I think I can be useful in searching for him.”

When his frown deepened, Julienne raised her chin. “You are not just going to send me away,” she insisted.

“Well, I don’t intend to stay out here in a public corridor debating it with you.”

This time Julienne’s smile held faint amusement. “Then I suggest you find the proprietor and hire a parlor so we may argue about it in private.”

It was perhaps three hours later before Lord Wycliff joined them in the private parlor.

“I am honored to meet you at last, Miss Laurent,” Lucian said when Dare had made the introductions. “My wife and I both have enjoyed your performances.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Have some breakfast,” Dare suggested, “while you tell us what more you learned from Ivers.”

Lucian brought them up to date as he filled a plate from the sideboard. Ivers had been stitched up by a surgeon, interrogated intensely, and hauled off by two of Lucian’s chief agents to the Foreign Office, where he would be questioned yet again before being charged and imprisoned by a magistrate.

“And do you think Caliban and Perrine are one and the same?” Dare asked when Lucian was seated at the table.

“All my instincts tell me so. As an untitled younger son, Perrine may have discovered that manipulating his victims satisfied his hunger for power as well as his desire to fill his pockets. And he has long had political connections. Perrine is a close friend of Lord Aberdeen.”

“Wasn’t Aberdeen appointed our ambassador to Austria last year?”

“Yes,” Lucian said, his tone edged with scorn. “Despite the fact that he was far too young and inexperienced for the role. Aberdeen’s incompetence nearly sabotaged our negotiations with the Coalition—which is what forced Castlereagh to take over. As for Perrine’s guilt…the man I had watching him confirmed that he left London yesterday for Dover and boarded a packet to Calais. It’s likely he is bound for Paris, where Castlereagh is.”

“I understand,” Julienne said, “that the foreign secretary is heading the current conference?”

Lucian nodded. “Napoleon has abdicated, but it remains for the Allied Powers to conclude peace with Bourbon France. We’ve long suspected that someone is eager to kill Castlereagh. He barely escaped being poisoned last month. But he’s been well-guarded since the first attempt on his life. Perrine may be hoping for the chance to get past his guards.”

“I suppose you cannot simply arrest him,” Dare mused.

“We could, but we have no proof of his guilt other than Ivers’s accusations. And if Perrine isn’t our culprit, then Caliban will still be at large.” Lucian’s mouth tightened in a grim line. “We can’t risk losing his trail yet again. The trick will be not only to prevent Castlereagh’s assassination, but to lure Caliban out and finally make him reveal himself, whether he is Perrine or someone else.”

“Do you intend to pursue him to France?” Dare asked.

“It would be unwise of me to try. I want nothing more than to put a period to Caliban’s existence after all the carnage he’s caused, but I’m not the right man for this mission. I’m too well known to him. I would never be able to get close.”

“Besides which you’ve sacrificed enough for your country. Brynn is expecting your first child any day now. You can’t go haring off to France.”

“I mean to send my best agent, Philip Barton, in my stead. He’s been following Caliban’s career from the first. But Barton is known to him as well.”

“I want to go,” Dare said, “but Perrine knows of my interest in Caliban.”

Lucian’s brow furrowed in contemplation. “We would have to devise a plan that made use of your acquaintance with him….”

“Perhaps we simply need to bait a trap for him,” Julienne said quietly.

Dare regarded her with unease. Julienne’s determined expression heightened the hollow ache in his chest. “There is no reason for you to become involved,” he said once again. “You will only be endangering yourself.”

She met his gaze evenly. “There is every reason. My name has been under the taint of suspicion for years, and this is my chance to clear it once and for all.”

“What did you have in mind, Miss Laurent?” Lucian asked.

Julienne turned to him. “A scheme that will trap Perrine into showing his hand.”