When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,131

the linen from his neck and wrapping it around his hand. He didn’t seem to notice, and that, for a man for whom control seemed paramount, was exceedingly unsettling.

“Are you sure?” she murmured. “You have your own men who—”

“My men can’t do this. I need you.” Those last three words were stark.

Adeline swallowed. It wasn’t the first time someone had said that to her. But each time, they had meant only that they needed what she could do for them. She was a fool if she believed that King was different. He, like everyone else, didn’t need her.

I need you to destroy someone.

The man recently back from the Americas. The man recently made a baron. The man who had made this unflinching man flinch.

“My services will cost you more than a sapphire,” she said deliberately.

That statement, more than a sharp blade or a soft voice, seemed to bring King back from whatever personal hell he’d tumbled into. “Name your price.”

Adeline faltered. She hadn’t expected that answer. She’d expected him to negotiate with the ruthless cunning and callousness he was known for.

“Name your price,” he repeated.

“Falaise d’Argent,” she blurted recklessly.

“What is that?”

“A chateau. Near Lille. In France.”

“Done.”

“Done?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You don’t even know what it would cost to—”

“Money is of no consequence.” King glanced down at his wrapped hand. His complexion was still the color of pale linen, though an unnatural flush had stained the edges of his cheekbones. “I will buy you the entirety of Versailles if that is what you require.”

“That is not funny.”

King looked up at her, his eyes icy. “It wasn’t meant to be.”

Adeline suppressed a troubled frown. “Perhaps this is something that you would prefer to deal with on your own—”

“If I deal with Marstowe on my own, I will simply kill him. And that would be too kind.” His features were a mask of granite. “I want him to suffer.”

Adeline moved away from the door, coming to stand in front of a large canvas depicting a resolute Judith beheading a terror-stricken Holofernes. “I’m not sure what it is that your sources have told you, but I do not possess a dungeon full of racks and thumbscrews and burning stakes. I don’t torture people, nor, may I remind you, am I an assassin. I recover stolen objects, stolen fortunes, and return them to rightful owners. I bring individuals to justice when and if circumstance allows, as I did Howells. But often, I merely extract monetary compensation by whatever means necessary when justice is not possible—”

“Are you refusing to work for me?”

“Not at all. I am merely suggesting that perhaps you would like to consider this matter further? Take the night, at least?”

“I don’t need to consider this matter further.”

Adeline shook her head. “My clients engage my services when all other recourse has been exhausted. I’m hired when no one else can or will help them. Once the job is done, I move on. Disappear, so as not to remain a reminder of what was likely the worst moment of their lives.” She paused. “Perhaps there are other solutions that you might first—”

“I already told you that I don’t need to consider this matter further. Do not make me repeat myself a third time.”

Adeline crossed her arms, still studying the curve of Judith’s blade, trying to pick the order of her questions. “What did Marstowe do?”

“He killed someone I cared for very much.”

“I see.” Not the first time she’d heard that. “Who?”

King didn’t answer. A coal shifted in the grate with a loud pop, the only sound in the heavy silence.

“If you are to engage my services, you are going to need to prepare yourself that I will know things. Things that you may not want me to know.”

“I don’t need you to know things,” he snarled. “I just need you to destroy Marstowe. I don’t care how you do it.”

“I can’t agree to that.”

“Why?” he demanded angrily.

Adeline turned away from the painting to face King again. “Because I don’t chase justice recklessly. In Howells’s case, I listened to my client and her sisters tell the same story, saw how their lives were altered, witnessed the damage done. I collect facts with diligence and care. I am not a bloodthirsty hound that can be unleashed blindly at the whim of a master.”

“I didn’t suggest such.” King had picked up his walking stick and was leaning on it with his uninjured hand, the tip making a pattern of indentations in the