Dancing With Danger (Goode Girls #3) - Kerrigan Byrne Page 0,12
shook with mirth.
“It was rather inconsiderate of them,” Felicity rushed to concede. “No doubt they left you because they knew you’d be safe in police custody, whereas they were likely off to do something diabolical and undoubtedly dangerous.”
Mercy didn’t tell them that he’d said as much.
“I imagine they didn’t want you following them.” Felicity brushed aside the curtain of the coach to check on their progress through the city.
“I wouldn’t have had to follow them,” Mercy said mulishly. “I know exactly where they will be.”
“Where’s that?” Felicity asked.
“The loo at the zoo.”
“Pardon?”
“I heard them talking, and while my French isn’t perfect—”
“Your French is atrocious,” Prudence teased.
Mercy ignored her. “They said they were going to meet someone named Marco in front of the loo at the London Zoo.”
“They’re not going to meet at the toilet.” Felicity remained distracted until she realized she’d said something out loud and then snapped her lips shut.
Mercy lunged, seizing her shoulders and shaking them. “What? Felicity, what do you know?”
Her sister gulped. “What will you do if I tell you?”
“What Detective Sharpe would do. Obviously.”
“That’s what I was afraid you’d say.”
Prudence cut in, resting a motherly hand on Mercy’s arm. “This isn’t a storybook caper, Mercy, these men are lethal. You should tell Morley where they’ll be. He’ll find out about them for you.”
“I will,” Mercy vowed. “Tell me what you know, and I’ll tell you where they’ll be.”
Felicity gulped, squinting at her for a different reason than her blindness. This time, it was true suspicion. “In French, the word spelled l-o-u-p is pronounced loo.”
“And?” Mercy pressed.
“It means wolf.”
Mercy’s heart sped. “There you have it. They’ll be at the wolf exhibit at the zoo at three o’clock.”
Prudence reached into her vest and pulled out a dainty watch. “It’s half five. We’ve missed them.”
For once in her life, Mercy kept her mouth shut.
She’d also kept her promise. She’d told them where Raphael Sauvageau could be found.
Just not exactly when.
Chapter 4
A week later
It turned out to be a beautiful day to plan a war.
Raphael Sauvageau loitered by the den of wolves at the London Zoo, idly watching across the way as two delighted children were given rides on the back of a sardonic-looking camel.
The morning had been blustery and grey. Stinging rain blown sideways by errant gusts pelted citizens who were brave or foolish enough to venture out. After luncheon, the rain disappeared as if someone had turned off a spigot in the sky, and celestial pillars of light pierced the late February clouds with the shafts of spring.
By three o’clock, the brick and cobbles of London glittered with gemlike droplets of golden light, and the city came to life, people bustling back into the streets.
The animals kept by the Zoological Society of London were likewise pleased with the changing weather. Zebras frolicked in their pastures and a giraffe licked a treat from out of the hands of a passing boy, who promptly burst into tears.
Adjacent to the zoo, the London elite flooded Regent’s Park, eager to bask in the rare warmth and to hunt for any hint of emerging buds on the winter-bare flora.
Raphael watched the skeletons of the trees with grim detachment.
Knowing he would not live long enough to see them blossom.
What would she look like in the spring, surrounded by blooms shamelessly baring their colors for her? The most vibrant lily couldn’t compete with the shade of her lips once they’d been plumped and pinkened by his kiss. The bluebell would wither in contrast to the hue of her eyes.
She was unlike anything or anyone he’d ever before encountered.
Mercy.
Even her name was a phenomenon he’d never known.
A concept he didn’t understand.
It surprised him how powerfully he longed to explore her. Desired her to show him Mercy. In any form.
Her delectable form.
Indulging in a faint sigh, Raphael turned to see Marco Villeneuve saunter toward him, adjusting the diamond-encrusted cufflinks on his shirtsleeves.
A tittering group of schoolgirls in beribboned hats passed by, accompanied by their chaperone, a middle-aged woman with a sour face and cheeks drawn down by years of disappointment.
The handsome Spaniard touched the rim of his hat, and the ladies giggled.
When Raphael did the same, they sighed.
When he winked, two of them stumbled.
“You are shameless, hermano,” Marco drawled, drawing closer and clasping his hand in fond greeting. Were they in their own countries, they’d greet with a kiss on each cheek.
Raphael scoffed. “Shame is a futile emotion crafted to plague those fragile enough to care what others think of them.”
“Indeed.” Marco leaned his shoulder against