Traitor in Her Arms Read online

  “I think you do know. I could use a woman with your talent for theft.”

  She stiffened. “You must have mistaken me for someone else.” She could almost see the door handle now. The lock would be relatively easy to pick. She needed to reach into her hair and grasp a pin…

  “You are exactly who I think you are. Only, I don’t want you to merely steal necklaces. I want you to steal people.”

  “People?”

  “No. Don’t turn around,” he warned. “It’s better if you don’t know my identity, because what I’m asking you to do will endanger your life. If you accept my proposal, you could end up forming an intimate acquaintance with Madame Guillotine. And she is a most unforgiving creature.”

  Gabrielle swallowed. “Are you the—“

  “Shh,” he whispered. He was closer now. She could feel the heat of him behind her. “Don’t say it. I have a mission for you, Lady McCullough.”

  Gabrielle shook her head in disbelief. The Scarlet Pimpernel had a mission for her? Until now, she hadn’t been certain he existed. “But what can I do?”

  “Oh, a great deal. There’s a woman, the comtesse de Tonnerre and her infant daughter. I was able to smuggle the comte de Tonnerre out of France, but circumstances prevented the comtesse’s escape. Even now, she and the child are imprisoned in La Force. I have managed to bribe certain officials to put off the day of their execution, but I cannot hold off the mobs forever.”

  “But surely the child will not be executed.”

  “No, but what chance does she stand in a filthy prison, my lady? The child will surely die if we do not act quickly.”

  Gabrielle no longer felt fear or dread for herself. She thought only of the mother and child, awaiting certain death. “I ask again, what can I do?”

  “The revolutionary government knows of me and my League.”

  Gabrielle’s breath caught. Now there could be no question that the man speaking to her was the Scarlet Pimpernel.

  “They are suspicious of any men entering Paris right now. But women are still relatively free of suspicion—as free as anyone can be in that hell of a city. I need you to sneak into Paris and steal a bracelet. This particular bracelet has sentimental value to a certain revolutionary official. The bracelet will buy the life of the comtesse and her daughter.”

  Gabrielle felt her heartbeat kick. She was intrigued despite—or perhaps because of—the danger. “What bracelet?”

  “Le Saphir Blanc.”

  She drew in a breath and shook her head. “Impossible. The White Sapphire is only a myth.”

  “It is no myth, my lady.”

  Gabrielle allowed this information to sink in. The bracelet was real. What she wouldn’t give to see it, a cuff encrusted with jewels, at the center of which lay a perfect white sapphire. It was commissioned by Louis XIV, the Sun King, and was the stuff of legends. The latest rumors were that it disappeared during that final raid on the royal family at the Tuileries, but others thought it had been taken during the looting of Versailles.

  “I know where it is,” the Pimpernel whispered seductively. “But I warn you, it is heavily guarded.”

  Gabrielle blinked. What had she been thinking? She couldn’t steal le Saphir Blanc! “Impossible. I’m no good at skirting guards or skulking about in strange cities. Why, I haven’t been to Paris in years. You ask the impossible.”

  “I would have thought stealing Lord Grenville’s bust of Caesar impossible, but you managed it.”

  Gabrielle started in shock. How did he know about Caesar’s bust?

  “You are a clever woman, Lady McCullough. You will find a way.”

  “But I don’t think—“

  “Shh.” His hand on her shoulder startled her. “Don’t answer now. Think it over. If you decide to join my League, I will send you more detailed instructions tomorrow.”

  “But how will you know what I decide?”

  “I’ll know. My instructions will be marked with my signature, a humble wayside flower. Scarlet, of course.” He lifted his hand.

  “I see. But how will I know…” She paused, noting the absence of his presence behind her. “Sir?”

  Silence.

  Slowly, she turned. Across the empty room, the draperies rustled in the breeze from the open doors.

  —

  Madame Fouchet’s lair was cooler tonight, Ramsey thought. He stood in her bedroom waiting for her to deign to join him. The footman had shown him in over half an hour ago, and he’d paced impatiently ever since. He knew this was her way of illustrating, clearly and for his benefit, that she held the power in their relationship. It galled him. He needed to end this now. Tonight.

  “How was Lord Winterbourne’s ball?” Madame Fouchet purred from the doorway. She wore a thin dressing gown that concealed little. He made a point of keeping his gaze on her face.

  “I don’t have time for this,” he snapped, barely keeping his anger in check. “What do you want?”

  She smiled and sauntered into the room. She wanted him to watch her move, watch the way her hips swayed, but he couldn’t be less interested.

  “Yes, I’m certain you’re terribly busy and important, Lord Sedgwick.”

  He clenched his fists and managed to rein in his retort. She smiled at him, strolled to the chaise longue, and arranged herself on it. Immediately, a gray cat jumped up and rubbed its face against her hand. “Do you still have the necklace?”

  “Of course I have it.”

  “Are you certain? I hear your butler had an interesting visitor tonight.”

  Ramsey’s pulse quickened. “What are you talking about?”

  She waved her hand dismissively, but she’d managed to make him uneasy. Who had been at the house? Someone looking for the necklace?

  “No matter.” She stroked the cat. “If you still have it, I’ll take it.”

  “And then you’ll give me the documents. All of them?”

  “No.”

  He was one instant away from murder. He heard his blood thrumming in his ears, his temper close to snapping.

  “But if you do one more petite thing for me”—she lifted her thumb and forefinger and held them slightly apart—“I will give you all of the documents free and clear. You will never have to see me again.” She winked at him and allowed her gown to fall off her shoulder, exposing her breast. “Unless you want to.”

  “What is it?” he said between clenched teeth.

  “Come closer. I want to whisper it.”

  He wanted to argue, but it would only extend his time in her presence. Impatiently, he crossed to her, stood above the chaise longue. She crooked a finger and he squatted. Leaning close so that her bare breast brushed his coat, she whispered, “You have heard of the Scarlet Pimpernel?”

  Ramsey took a moment to comprehend her words. “The Scarlet…? They seek him here, they seek him there?”

  “Not the poem, the man smuggling the nobles out of France.”

  “Of course. Everyone’s heard of him. It makes for a good drawing room fodder.”

  She leaned back and gave him a hard look. “I want his name.”

  “It’s just a story—“

  “No. He is real. I want you to determine his identity and give it to me. I need irrefutable proof.”

  Ramsey stared into her yellow cat’s eyes. “Why?”

  She smiled. “Let us just say I have my reasons.”

  “And if I discover the identity of this Scarlet Pimpernel, then you will give me what I want?”

  She leaned back and stroked her breast until the nipple peaked and was hard. “You shall have all you desire.”

  Ramey stood. “I’ll get it.” He started for the door, but her voice stopped him.

  “Be careful in Paris, Lord Sedgwick. They’re cutting off the heads of noblemen.”

  Her laughter followed him out of the room and down the stairs.

  Chapter 5

  Gabrielle lifted her skirts and started up the walk to her town house on Audley Street. She’d sent Diana
’s carriage home, waving off the footman’s request to see her to her door. She felt bad enough borrowing Diana’s carriage to attend the Winterbourne ball when Diana could not. She didn’t want to keep her friend’s servants longer than necessary. She hoped Sedgwick hadn’t stumbled upon Cressy and Diana at his town house. Gabrielle had such a simple job—keep Sedgwick at the ball—and somehow she’d managed to muck it up.

  Her failure with Sedgwick was bad enough. Worse was the look she imagined on Diana’s face when she told her friend she saw vicomte Marsan dancing with several eligible young ladies. Of course, the vicomte’s wandering affections would seem like a trifle when Gabrielle had to confess to seeing Lady Blakeney, Diana’s idol.

  But perhaps she needn’t mention Lady Blakeney.

  Gabrielle wasn’t certain she would say anything about the incident in the library to Cressy or Diana. The whispered words of the Scarlet Pimpernel were still swirling around in her head, and she felt like a moth before the proverbial flame.

  Le Saphir Blanc. What she wouldn’t give to feel its weight in her hands, hold its brilliance up to the light…

  But accepting the Pimpernel’s mission, no matter how noble, was the riskiest thing she’d ever do. The theft of the bracelet aside, there was no guarantee she’d make it into or out of Paris alive.

  She started up the steps to the town house, shivering a little in the cool night air. A moment more and she’d be inside, warm beside the fire. Hopefully, Cressy had managed to steal Cleopatra’s necklace. Gabrielle could imagine Sedgwick’s face when he discovered—

  Suddenly she flew backward, her feet in the air and a clamp about her waist. Everything went blurry for a moment until her body slammed into the ground and she stared up at the burly man crouched over her. Her whole body convulsed in fear. Panic gripped her chest, and she struggled to take a breath.

  The man’s face filled her vision. He had a bulbous nose, dark bulging eyes, and a wide mouth. She judged from the rank odor that his mouth was filled with rotting teeth.

  She blinked, trying to make sense of what he was saying over the ringing in her ears. “Wha—?”

  He shook her shoulders violently. “I said, where’s my blunt? I want it now!”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” She struggled to rise and had a brief glimpse of the bushes in front of her town house before he pushed her down again. She realized she lay beside the bushes, shrouded in darkness by the limited reach of the lantern at the house’s door.

  “Stop playing games,” the man hissed. “You know who I am and what I want.”

  She did know. This was one of George’s creditors. She couldn’t have said which one or how much she owed him, but he was right she played games. She’d been hoping to buy time, but when a carriage raced past without even slowing, she knew she was in trouble. No one could see her distress.

  “I don’t have your money,” she said.

  The look on his face turned murderous, and she quickly added, “Yet! Yet! I almost have it.”

  “I told you the last time that was your final chance.”

  “I know.” She remembered now. This man worked for the notorious Mr. Pin. She had learned after George’s death that he often loaned money to gamblers short of funds. A gentleman would take an IOU, but George didn’t gamble exclusively with gentlemen, and he owed Mr. Pin quite a substantial sum.

  “I need the money in my hand. Mr. Pin told me not to come back without it.”

  “Perhaps you could explain to Mr. Pin—“

  The man laughed. “You explain to Mr. Pin.”

  And before she knew what had happened, she was on her feet being dragged by the arm toward a dark corner. “Wait!” She tried to dig her heels in, but her ball slippers were flimsy, and she lost one when she stumbled.

  “Hurry up. Mr. Pin doesn’t like to wait. If you don’t have the blunt, he’ll find some other way to get the money out of you.”

  She knew what that meant. She’d been threatened with imprisonment in a brothel before. Desperately, she looked about. Where was a carriage when she needed it? “Cressy!” she called. “Cressy!”

  The man released her arm and grabbed her by the throat, covering her mouth with his hand and dragging her ever closer to the corner. She kicked and squirmed, hoping one of her neighbors would hear. A moment later she was thrown against the side of a carriage, then thrust inside. She fell on her knees and watched as her reticule landed on the floor in front of her.

  It thumped, and she remembered the pistol inside. Cressy had given her the other pistol she possessed, a twin of the one Sedgwick had lifted. She reached for it, her fingers fumbling with the drawstring, as Mr. Pin’s henchman climbed in after her. This time the darkness worked in her favor, and she had the pistol in her hand before he knew what had happened.

  He settled himself in the seat just as the conveyance jerked forward. Gabrielle fell on her side, but managed to keep her grip on the pistol. She pointed it at him.

  “I’ll not see Mr. Pin tonight,” she managed, her breath coming hard and fast. “Stop the carriage.”

  The man laughed at her. “Give me that thing.” He reached for it and Gabrielle jerked it away. Apparently, this man did not subscribe to Cressy’s theory of merely pointing the pistol at someone and intimidating them.

  Gabrielle stood, hunched and balancing precariously in the moving carriage, and pointed the pistol at the man again. “I will shoot.”

  “Go ahead.”

  She shrugged, cocked the hammer, then pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  The man laughed harder. Gabrielle stared at the pistol. Where had she gone wrong? Did it even have gunpowder?

  “Give me that!” the man said.

  Gabrielle danced out of his reach and fell against the carriage door. Her hand landed near the handle, and she prayed it wasn’t locked. She prayed the street was congested and the carriage moved slowly. It certainly didn’t feel as though it was moving slowly.

  In one move, she threw the pistol at the man’s head and turned the door handle. The pistol hit him dead in the center of his forehead, but she didn’t see more than that as she practically fell out of the speeding carriage. She held on to the door with one hand while her feet dangled. She had a moment to wish she were stronger before she lost her grip and slammed onto the street. Her whole body felt as though it had shattered, but she managed to roll out of the way of a carriage following Mr. Pin’s.

  That coachman swore at her as she lay on the street panting. She wasn’t yet certain whether she was alive or dead, but when she heard the clatter of hooves and felt the ground rumble beneath her, she managed to rise to her feet and lurch onto the curb. She fell against the dark windows of a bookstore and crouched, panting and bleeding.

  She closed her eyes.

  Perhaps Paris wasn’t so very dangerous after all.

  —

  An hour later, she stumbled through her garden and pounded on the French doors of the parlor overlooking the shrubs and flowers. She’d been too afraid to go to the front door again and had entered through the back gate.

  She pounded again, noting her shredded knuckles left blood on the glass. Finally, she heard footsteps. A footman carrying a candle entered the parlor, gaped at her, and turned around.

  “Wait!” she cried. “It’s me! Lady McCullough.”

  He paused, turned, studied her, then shrieked.

  She looked that bad, did she?

  The footman raced to the door and unlatched it just as Cressy entered the parlor. Gabrielle stepped through the French doors and all but fell into Cressy’s ample arms.

  “What happened?”

  Gabrielle didn’t answer. She buried her face in Cressy’s dress and inhaled the smell of cinnamon and cloves. She closed her eyes and thought, home.

  When she opened them again, she was lying in bed and Cressy and Diana were standing over her, the looks on their faces anxious. Sunlight pierced the drawn drapes in spears, defying the gloomy ambience.

/>   “I’m fine,” Gabrielle said before the barrage of questions could begin.

  “You most decidedly are not fine!” Cressy countered. “You have a cut on your chin, a bruise on your cheek, a scraped arm, a gash on your leg, and it’s a wonder nothing is broken!”

  “I have a headache as well,” Gabrielle added.

  Diana laughed, but Cressy only frowned. “The doctor was here a few minutes ago. His orders are that you stay in bed for three days and drink this.” She pushed a cup containing a foul-smelling broth toward Gabrielle. She tried to rise, and Diana assisted her, propping pillows up behind her. Gabrielle smelled the broth then eased it away.

  “I’m not drinking that, and I can’t stay in bed.” She tried again to rise, but Cressy pushed her back. Gabrielle suppressed a groan of pain. It seemed every bone and muscle in her body ached.

  “And just where do you think you’re going?” Cressy demanded, hands on hips.

  “Paris.”

  Cressy gaped, and Diana’s brows shot up. “I think you must have hit your head harder than we thought,” Diana observed.

  “I’ll be in no more danger in Paris than I am here,” Gabrielle said, pushing herself off the mountain of pillows.

  “Then one of Lord McCullough’s creditors is responsible for this?” Diana asked.

  “Mr. Pin’s man,” Gabrielle answered. The silence in the room echoed. “I told you Paris wasn’t such a bad idea,” Gabrielle said, swishing the covers aside and dangling her feet over the edge of the bed. A wave of nausea hit her, and she pretended to study her bare toes while it passed.

  “What is this sudden interest in Paris?” Diana asked.

  “And when did you have a run-in with Mr. Pin?” Cressy demanded.

  “First I need to know what happened at Sedgwick’s residence,” Gabrielle said. “Did you find the necklace?”

  Diana shook her head. “His butler is intractable. We couldn’t get in.”

  “Claims Sedgwick doesn’t have a mistress,” Cressy said with a huff. “Shows what he knows.”

  “That decides the matter then,” Gabrielle said, forcing herself to her feet and gripping the mattress to steady herself.