There had been, but she had spent the afternoon soaking in a hot bath and attempting to calm herself. She had sworn, for a moment that morning, when she had returned to her hotel, that she had spied her brother. Though the man had been swallowed up by the crowd of the street and she had not seen his face, she was sure by now it had been her imagination. Drummond would not have followed her here, to where he was most in danger.
She hoped.
It was one of the chief reasons she had booked her passage and escaped New York City, bringing along the documents and funds he had requested. She had done so knowing she could be arrested herself should her connection to The Emerald Club and her brother be discovered and should the incriminating evidence be found in her belongings. The risk had been worth the reward, and she had grown daring enough to take the gamble, given the sudden offer from the Crown and Thorn. It had seemed almost too good to be true, the chance to free herself at last.
Still, the realization her brother could have followed her here had filled her with a grim sense of foreboding she had found difficult to shake. But shake it she had, and shake it she would continue to do so, for the duke was awaiting her response.
“The bread and tea were all I managed today, but the fault was not Mr. Saville’s,” she explained. “He is a remarkably forward-thinking theater owner, and it is my privilege to be upon his stage.”
Over the years, she had endured all manner of theaters, managers, owners, fellow actors and actresses…nothing would surprise her any longer.
“You must take time for more,” Winchelsea said, frowning at her. “Fortunately, I am here to feed you.”
Yes, he was. And yesterday, he had been there to rub her aching feet. To worry about her tight slippers.
Warmth she did not want to feel suffused her. No one had worried about her in years. The last man who had claimed to do so was long gone from her life. Nothing but a memory best forgotten.
Her stomach growled again, and she could not stifle her own horrified laugh.
He winked at her, then offered her his arm. “And not a moment too soon.”
By the timedinner reached its conclusion and the dessert course arrived, Felix was faced with a disconcerting and wholly unwanted realization.
Part of himlikedRose Beaumont.
And it wasn’t just his cock, he was ashamed to admit. He was not merely physically attracted to her beauty and undeniable allure. Not only carrying out a duty. Somehow as the dinner had progressed and the wine had begun to flow—enabled by his assiduous servants—he had somehow forgotten the reason he was seated across from her at the table.
But he forced himself to remember now. She was a dangerous woman. Deeply involved with Drummond McKenna. Suspected of colluding with the most violent faction of the American Fenians. She had information he needed. She was the most potent lure he could use against McKenna to bring him to English shores.
One day, in the coming weeks, it was possible he would have to see her arrested.
But despite the endless litany of why he must not allow himself to soften toward her, he did. She was clever and sleek and mysterious. He wanted her for all the wrong reasons.
He wanted her in spite of the villain she had taken to her bed, in spite of the deeds she herself may have committed. As he watched her consume her plum tartlet, he had to wonder how she could bear the touch of such a man. She was an intelligent woman—he had discerned as much with ease from the first moment they had met. Surely she had to abhor the evil McKenna was about. How could she take part in it?
Duty and obligation, those twin bugbears, returned. He reminded himself the reason for this dinner was to attempt to uncover information. To glean more facts. Anything to bring him closer to finding McKenna and bringing the villain to justice. He had to use Rose Beaumont however he must.
She was but a pawn in this deadly game he played.
“How long is your stay in London?” he asked, determined to continue on the course he had agreed upon in the wake of the bombings on the London underground.
Two massive explosions, tearing rail cars into twisted metal and shattered glass, as if they were nothing more than children’s toys. McKenna had been responsible. The puppeteer pulling the strings from afar. Felix needed to clip those strings.
“I will be here for six weeks, and then I am on to Paris,” Rose told him. “From there, Berlin. And from there, wherever I may roam and find my way upon the stage.”
“What of New York City?” he asked, for the itinerary she mentioned was news to him. “When do you plan to return? Surely, the Rose cannot be without her city for too long, or the city without its Rose?”
Something in her expression changed. There was a subtle tensing of her lips, her jaw. Her gaze flitted down to the table. Her smile faded. “I have no plans of returning.”
What the devil?
No plans of returning to New York City? This news, like her itinerary, was unexpected. The Special League double agents stationed in New York had reported seeing her in the company of McKenna the day before she had boarded a passenger ship bound for Liverpool.
But he must not allow his surprise or confusion to show. Mademoiselle Beaumont had a particular manner of studying his expression, as if she were mining beneath the surface for some greater treasure. Undoubtedly, it was down to her undeniable talent as an actress.
“You have no plans of returning ever?” he asked nonchalantly.
“No.” She met his gaze, and for a moment, the haunted expression on her face, the desolation in her eyes, was undeniable. But it was gone in a flash, so quickly he doubted he had ever witnessed it. “I have a number of offers from theaters throughout the Continent. I will travel. See the world.”
