Mistress of Sins (Dredthorne Hall #3) - Hazel Hunter Page 0,45

weapons, Jennet thought as she made her way out to the hall, where she stood listening before she approached the stairs. He had only himself to blame if she shot him—which she would, if she found him before the French agents did.

Am I a simpleton, that I keep repeating the same mistake over and over?

She tucked the dagger in the lacings of her stays—she had no other place to put it—but kept the pistol in her hand as she took the stairs one at a time. She could hear voices now coming from the kitchens, angry voices arguing in French. One belonged to the brute who had ordered the men to put her in the library, but the other sounded strangely high-pitched and shrill, like that of a child having a tantrum.

Jennet peeked into the dining room to make sure it was empty before she approached the closed door to the kitchens.

“Why did you kill Pickering?” the childish voice demanded in French. “Your orders were to keep him alive, you piece of shit.”

Not a child, but a woman, Jennet realized. From the ease with which she cursed she must be a Frenchwoman. But if that were the case, why did her voice make all the hair on Jennet’s nape stand on end?

“He put de documents into de fire,” the brute said sullenly. “Jacques tried to stop him.”

“Those documents are the deeds to the house, imbecile,” the woman snapped. “He was the courier, which is why he wanted you to kill him before I arrived. He knew too much to risk being interrogated. That is how fucking clever he was. Where is Greystone?”

“We lock him and de girl in de cache room,” the man said.

“At least you did that much right.” The woman said something else in a lower voice.

“Here?” the brute asked, as if surprised.

“Here.” Dishes clattered as if dropping to the floor. “I need it. Give it to me, now.”

Realizing they might come out to try and access the hidden library, Jennet hurried back out into the hall. More voices drew near from the opposite direction, and she looked around quickly before she stepped into a coat closet and pulled the door almost shut. Through the crack she watched as the three masked agents came from the reception room and went toward the kitchens. In another moment they would come out and discover the jammed lock. Did she remain hidden, or try to run? She still didn’t know where Greystone was.

Then she saw him, walking straight for the dining room, and wondered if now she would even get a chance to kill him before the French did.

Now who is the child having a tantrum? Her sensibility drawled. You have fallen in love again with the scoundrel. Do something before he walks into that nest of vipers.

As soon as Greystone came within reach of the coat closet Jennet opened the door, seized his arm and dragged him inside with her. He clamped his hand around her throat so severely she could not breathe or move, but just as suddenly he released her, and eased the door shut. Then he pulled her into his arms, and held her for the space of a breath before drawing back.

“I told you to get out of the house,” he muttered, cradling her face between his hands. “You were supposed to escape this madness.”

“The villains are in the kitchens,” she whispered back. “I heard them quarreling. One is a woman, and she seems to have charge of the others. She used very coarse language while admonishing them for killing Mr. Pickering. I do not know what they are doing now, but it involves breaking dishes.”

“A woman.” He sounded as if she had punched him in the face again. “No, you must be mistaken. Ruban is a Frenchman.”

“It does not matter who or what this Ruban is. I will not leave you here to be murdered like Mr. Pickering.” She thought for a moment. “There are two of us, and at least four of them. We must employ a ruse to reduce their numbers. I will go back upstairs and scream, and that should draw out at least two of them. Then you can surprise the others–”

Greystone put his mouth over hers, muffling the rest of what she meant to say. He kissed her with singular absorption, not as he had in the garden or the bed chamber, but in the manner she imagined he would before the altar, when they married.

He broke off the kiss