“A drizzle,” he replied with a smile. “I’ll be in my study. Please send in tea.”
“Very well, my lord.”
Emerson strode down the wooden floors toward the end of the hall to his study. The brass door was slightly ajar, and he paused.
Jaxsen.
With a silent sigh, he pushed the door open wider and offered a welcoming smile to the nymph who was sitting inhischair, behindhisdesk, and drinkinghisbrandy.
“Make yourself at home.” He waved a hand.
“I knew you’d say that, so I did,” Jaxsen replied, taking a sip of the brandy in the snifter she held. “French?”
He winced slightly. “Perhaps.”
“The French are a pain in the arce, but they know their brandy. Can’t fault them there.”
“Every other way though,” Emerson replied, and strode over to the sideboard and poured himself a snifter as well. “Well, what did you spend your day accomplishing?” he asked, then took a seat before the low-burning fire.
“You changed your locks on the gate,” Jaxsen said as a reply, apparently ignoring his question.
“I did.”
She regarded him with a speculative gaze. “It wasn’t much of an improvement.”
“Ah, but itwasan improvement.” He raised his glass.
She gave him a wry expression. “I spent the day exploring. Did you know that the French modiste,Madame Mersallie,is decidedly not French?” She gave a slight shake to her head as if scolding the woman who wasn’t even present. “However, her sister in law is.”
“Intriguing,” Emerson concurred dryly.
“It is, especially when I tell you that Madame Mersallie’s husband was killed in some battle against the English. Odd that she’d come to England after such a thing.”
“You have my attention.”
Jaxsen continued. “And her sister in law… Her husband was none other than Comte Francois-Amable Ruffin.”
“And he was…” Emerson asked.
Jaxsen gave a slicing motion with her hand under her chin. “Took a bullet through the neck and severed his spine.”
“And he died.” Emerson finished.
Jaxsen leaned forward slightly. “One would think. But the poor bastard was paralyzed and perished in a ship later. As far as long shots go, he made a valiant effort. Pun intended. Or close enough.”
“How poetic.” Emerson smirked at her evaluation.
“I thought so. However, it was an English bullet that took him, so…”
“Are you saying the modiste and her sister in law have a bit of a vendetta?”
“I’m saying they have motive,” she answered. “And an ingenious way of transporting messages from France to England.”
At this, Emerson paused mid-sip and regarded Jaxsen over the top of his snifter. “Oh?”
“What district were we in last night?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but Jaxsen didn’t give him a chance.
