The Devil in Her Bed (Devil You Know #3) - Kerrigan Byrne Page 0,85
to say he lied to ye, Countess. He was never delivered an invitation to the ritual tonight, but ye were. This morning. My man witnessed it happen, and if ye doona have it, then I suspect Chandler does, and that he’s keeping it from ye.”
“That rat bastard.” Francesca swiped at a vase on the table next to her, sending peonies and other select flora flying as the crystal shattered on the floor. “He means to keep me from my revenge, does he? The high-handed cretin. I’ll fucking teach him a thing or two about—”
“About trying to keep those ye care about away from a dangerous situation by being dishonest?” Ramsay cut in, a note of amusement gentling his censure.
Guiltily, she traced the grain of wood on the table top in front of her with a fingertip. “That was different. I don’t want Cecelia and Alexandra caught up in this. Francesca is my lie. It’s my fight.”
“We doona want any of ye Rogues caught up in this,” Ramsay grumped.
“Is this the royal we?”
“Redmayne and I, the duchess, and Cecelia. We’d have ye let Chandler … whoever he is … deal with this. He obviously wants to keep ye safe, and the man has more than enough expertise. Sending him into the lair of the Crimson Council is akin to dropping an explosive into a room and shutting the door.”
“If I’m not there tonight, I think Kenway will suspect why. He has as many eyes in this city as you do, and I’m not naive enough to think I haven’t been watched by him, as well.” Though she’d been careful not to be tailed through the city that morning. “I think Chandler will be in danger if I do not attend this.” Anger and concern warred inside her stomach with such force, Francesca wondered if she might chuck up her lunch. “Do you know where they’re holding the ritual?”
The silence on the other end of the line stretched a moment too long.
“Goddammit, Ramsay. If you know something tell me.”
“Do ye have anything to tell me, Countess?”
Francesca worried at an escaped tendril of hair at the nape of her neck. “Chandler might be the most dangerous spy in the realm, but Kenway has an army of devotees that would throw themselves in front of a bullet for him. Kenway is deranged, Ramsay. He’s more sordid than you could have ever even suspected.” She spilled all the information about the night prior. About her father, the Cavendishes, the Lord Chancellor, and the rituals. She told him what she knew of their creed and what the council might be planning to do with it.
Once she finished, he said nothing for a moment, and then, “I wish we had more evidence. The kind to put this treacherous—nay, traitorous—council away for good. But as it stands, even if I set up a raid, I’ll have little more than several dozen charges of gross public indecency, and no peer of the realm has remained imprisoned for long for an orgy. Not in this day and age.”
“Even a seditious orgy?” she wished aloud.
“There’d have to be proof. Testament. And I’m afraid hearsay from ye and Chandler just wouldna be enough. We need something to tie them to the massacre, to the kidnapping of those girls, to the murder of the Lord Chancellor. And, most important, specific plans for an overthrow of the monarchy. Can ye provide me any of that?”
She shook her head, forgetting for a moment that he was unable to see her. “The Lord Chancellor’s bones are fodder for the dogs by now, I’m afraid, and Kenway is much too clever to keep documents.”
“And he obviously has agents in the government.” Ramsay expelled another of his long, hissing breaths, and Francesca could all but see him pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is even bigger than we all thought.”
“I know,” she said, worrying at her lip with her teeth. “Tell me where Chandler is. Tell me what you know about tonight.”
“I doona think I should.” He hesitated again, and Francesca surged to her feet. “I have a sense of duty to protect ye.”
“Don’t let the fact that I’m a woman fool you, Ramsay, I am just as passionate and possessive as you are. Chandler is mine. I’ve loved him for decades, and my love is no less fierce than yours. You desire to see a monster? You want to see an agent of death? Look no further than me, you sanctimonious son of a bitch. I’d