more.
“You’ve come to destroy Howells,” he breathed.
The goddess of retribution held his gaze, unflinching. “I’ve come for justice.”
“How?”
She considered him, a faint smile playing about her lips. “I think that might fall into the category of questions you do not need or want an answer to.”
“On the contrary,” King snapped. “Howells destroyed your client’s confidence, her security, her future. He stole what was most valuable to her, and I’m not talking about pretty stones. I would know how you plan to return the favor.”
Her smile faded, and her eyes held his, measuring, assessing, weighing.
King tensed, wanting each and every one of those words back. This was what happened when one lost control and gave in to emotion. Weakness was exposed, secrets betrayed.
Adrestia opened her mouth to speak and then seemed to reconsider. She fingered the black ribbon around her neck from which the locket dangled before dropping her hand. “Howells’s crippling gambling debts have emptied his family coffers, and he’s been reduced to selling what he can.” Her voice was toneless, as if she was trying to counter the intensity of his last words, and for that King was grateful. “Aside from selling baubles, Howells has also been selling military secrets. That bit was harder to unearth than the location of a stolen jewel, but desperate people make predictable mistakes.” She paused. “Did your men not tell you where they lost me?”
King stiffened. “The Dockyard Inn. And those men have since been dismissed for their ineptitude.”
“They were good,” she said. “Better than most. You may wish to reconsider.”
He ignored her suggestion. “Tell me about the inn.”
“Why?”
He twisted the knife in his fingers. “Do I need a reason?”
“I suppose not.” Adrestia shrugged. “But since I’m sure you’ll read all about it in the papers over the coming days, I’ll tell you. The Dockyard is Howells’s favorite lodging house, where he goes to conduct his treasonous business and then stays to obliterate his regrets and woes. Usually with gin, occasionally with women. He’s been there a half dozen times in the last fortnight. Tonight he’s selling information to a Frenchman who is not a Frenchman at all. He will never face justice for what he did in the past, but he can answer for his actions now. If both transgressions were brought before the courts, treason would be considered the more heinous of the two.”
“Clever.”
“There is nothing particularly clever about an anonymous informant informing of the truth,” Adrestia said, and once again King was struck by the sense of weariness that lingered beneath her cool demeanor. “This was by far one of the most artless contracts I’ve executed.”
King understood that weariness, and the exhaustion that came from surviving in a world where honor was scarce and trust scarcer still. A world where the soul standing next to you was more likely to offer a blade in your back than to offer aid. He wanted to tell her that he understood. He had no idea how. Or why he would ever be so foolish as to do so.
Adrestia exhaled. “If you’re done asking questions, I’d like to take what I came for and go.”
“No.” His answer was immediate and unyielding.
“No?”
“No.” It didn’t matter that there seemed to exist a tenuous, terrifying connection between him and this woman that was as dangerously intoxicating as it was dangerously tempting. If every pretty girl who had ever told him a sad story had been allowed to manipulate him, he would have had his throat and his purse strings slit a hundred times over. That lesson had come early in his unforgiving education, and perhaps the best thing he could do now was offer Adrestia a reminder of the same.
King pushed himself away from the desk and closed the distance between them again. He leaned into her, lifting his hand to trace the midnight silk of the ribbon tied around her neck. “You may go,” he said. “Because I understand that you are merely working on behalf of a client and because you seem to have the respect of my colleagues. I’ll defer to…professional courtesy. But you’ll leave the sapphire here.”
Adrestia shifted, yet she didn’t move away. “And if I refuse?”
“You can’t refuse.” It was a ridiculous response, but his ability to think seemed to have deserted him again. Too late, he recognized the foolishness of his arrogance, and that touching her had been a horrible mistake. His fingers slipped from the ribbon to her neck, sliding up and along the graceful column until they found the