What a Hero Dares. Kasey Michaels

night guard I would make him a rich man if he let me go, when I had a visitor from a very unexpected corner. Bonaparte has as many enemies inside France as he does without. If I would work for this person, I would be released. I agreed.”

      “Damn, we were right.” Max was suddenly leaning forward, as if he could somehow physically drag the words from her. “Who? An Englishman? Give me his name.”

      “An Englishman? In Paris? Walking freely in and out of that terrible prison? The man introduced himself as Monsieur Périgord, but I believe that was only to test my intelligence.”

      Max straightened, nearly hitting his head on the pitched ceiling. “Charles Talleyrand? No, that’s impossible.”

      “But true, although he was careful to keep his face hidden beneath the hood of his voluminous cloak. Le grand négociateur, who’s turned his loyalties more than a poor man turns his shirt cuffs. Were I Bonaparte, Talleyrand’s head would be stuck on a pike at the city gates. The day will come when the new emperor regrets not ordering the execution.”

      “Men like Talleyrand always land on their feet, one way or another.”

      “I suppose so. In any event, he’d somehow learned of my skill with languages, and entrusted me to carry a verbal message to Austria for him. I didn’t ask how he knew. I was much more intent on his offer to free me. I traveled to Salzburg for him, paid well before I left because I was then to continue straight on to my second mission, which would take me to London.”

      “But with money now in your pocket, you went hunting Anton instead?” Max shook his head as if attempting to shake some bit of knowledge loose. “Not me. Anton. Just as you said.”

      “And so we’ve come full circle, only this time it would seem you believe me. Very good, Max. Now if you’d be so kind as to leave the door unlocked as you leave, by morning I’ll no longer be your problem.”

      “I can’t do that. How long have you been following Anton?”

      That question surprised her. “You’d trust any answer I’d give you?”

      “I’ll measure any answer you give me, let’s settle on that compromise. If your answers prove helpful, I might allow you the freedom of the house, but not the grounds. With any key to your chamber in your own possession so that you don’t feel constrained to climb out on any more roofs.”

      Zoé sat down once more, her mind busy. This was her chance to prove herself, and she knew it. What had mostly amused her at the time could be just what Max might want to know. “A rather one-sided bargain, but I suppose I have no choice. Anton is a creature of habit, as you already know, or you wouldn’t have found him—unless he found you?”

      “No, I found him.”

      “Because you’re so all-powerful, or because he let you?” Zoé asked, only because she couldn’t help herself. There had always been this competition between them, once a friendly sparring, but now she realized the game had lost all its humor. “But no matter,” she added quickly. “I haunted his favorite hotel in Ostend until he showed his face.”

      “You were taking quite a chance, confronting him.”

      “The opportunity never presented itself.” Zoé’s quick mind knew what was important and what was not, so she left any further telling of how she’d found Anton and told Max about the man’s dining companions. “He was seated at a table in the open air outside the hotel, joined by a man and woman. The woman dark-haired and past her first youth, but rather beautiful still. And a man—tall, muscular—ten or fifteen years her senior. Blond, strikingly so, and blue-eyed. He seemed...agitated. The woman had her hand laid on Anton’s forearm, while beneath the table she had slid off her slipper and was running her bare toes up and down his stockinged leg. Quite the coquette.”

      “And you recognized neither of them?”

      Ah, she’d said something important. Zoé shook her head. “I was most concentrated on Anton. He seemed to be in charge of the conversation, at times appearing angry, until the blond man pushed back his chair so that it tumbled to the flagstones and he stomped off, leaving the woman to make amends.”

      She smiled. “After I’d cooled my heels for a good hour outside the hotel while Anton and the woman played upstairs, sipping some rather pleasant Bordeaux beneath my wide-brimmed bonnet and fairly hideous red wig, they reappeared, as did the blond man some moments later. He’d been propping up a lamppost directly across the street—clearly aware of what was transpiring inside the hotel. The woman teased him, kissed him, and then discreetly cupped his genitals as she flicked her tongue across her upper lip. Straight from one man’s bed and already seducing another. You can see why I haven’t forgotten her.”

      “And the blond man?”

      “Imbecilic over the woman. He raised both her hands to his mouth, kissing her overturned palms while, if I heard correctly, apologizing for his behavior. Anton laughed—we both know how indiscriminate he is about who he ruts or where—and within moments the three had entered a coach and been driven off toward the waterfront. I admit to being intrigued. I followed them. Once I was certain Anton was in his hotel for the night, I returned to the small warehouse they’d visited and took a look inside.”

      “A dangerous move.” Max held up a hand. “Wait. The man and woman. Could you overhear anything they’d said? Were they speaking French, or English? Did they look French to you?”

      “The woman spoke French in the way of a proper English schoolgirl, and the man didn’t speak at all until the end, and then spoke English. He had some sort of accent, a country-born accent, I’d say, definitely lacking in formal education. You know how I delight in languages.”

      “Do you remember anything else?”

      She wished to heaven she did, because Max’s interest was with the couple and she longed to know why. “No. Clearly they had business with Anton. That’s all. And, although you may not be interested, it would appear Anton has been dabbling in opium trading. At first glance it seemed to be the usual contraband bound for England, but when I opened one of the brandy kegs it was solidly packed with oilskin-wrapped opium. Our mutual friend is quite the enterprising fellow, doubtless a fervent admirer of my most recent employer, and willing to serve any number of different masters, as long as it’s personally profitable.”

      “I can’t believe this,” Max said, looking pale in the candlelight. “Anton and the Society?”

      Zoé didn’t understand what Max meant, but if she told him what she knew, gained at least a modicum of his trust, eventually he’d tell her the rest.

      “It was time for my visit to Anton. Unfortunately, he’d already slipped away—a drawback to working alone—so that I spent that night watching for him only to realize he’d escaped me. It took nearly another month to track him down again, looking first in Dunkirk, and then in Gravelines, because of the opium, you understand. It would do Anton no good if it remained in France, and Ostend’s harbor has lately come under English scrutiny. Two days later, and here we are, aren’t we? I imagine if your family managed to rescue any of the kegs I saw onboard tonight, they’re not filled with brandy.”

      “And the man and woman?”

      Zoé sighed. Again, the man and woman. He’d already known about the opium, she could see it in his eyes. What in the devil was going on here? Why would Boucher have chosen Redgrave land to be his rendezvous point with his smuggling partners? Why had he brought Max with him on the crossing, and then tried to either knock him unconscious or kill him? And all this obviously of strong interest to the Redgraves. Walk away? She wouldn’t leave Redgrave Manor now unless bound to the back of a cart and dragged.

      Zoé believed she’d just seen the door to at least a conditional acceptance opening a crack in her favor, and she grabbed at it. “Are these questions in aid of something in particular? The trouble it would seem you Redgraves have found yourselves in, if I understood correctly earlier? Perhaps I can help, as it would appear I’m once again without financial prospects. For one, I’d