“Two men, Springer and Garrick, I think he said.”
“Garrison,” Alexis corrected, smiling broadly now. “Mike has fists like brass bookends. If your husband wants Wilson to name his employers, then Mike Garrison is the man who can get those names.”
Kenna took several large swallows of wine, her eyes widening. “And Springer?” she asked carefully. “What does he do?”
“Oh, dear. I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?”
“No. Well, perhaps a little. It sounds rather coldblooded. Tell me about Mr. Springer.”
Alexis laughed as Kenna’s curiosity won out over her disgust of violence. “Springer is there to prevent Mike from using his fists. He’ll pretend to want to save Wilson from experiencing Mike’s wrath and he’ll reason, coax, and cajole. All the while Mike will be growing restless in the background. If you were Wilson in those circumstances, wouldn’t you give Springer what he wanted?”
“Most certainly.”
“It’s a very effective technique. The threat of force is in many cases more persuasive than violence itself.”
“I can understand how it would be.” She hesitated a moment then asked a question that had long been on her mind. “Why do you always call your husband by his surname?”
The warm blush that touched Alexis’s cheeks was at odds with her pirate costume and her eyes became so soft that one could be forgiven for forgetting she was skilled with the rapier resting against her thigh. “I thought Tanner Frederick Cloud too arrogant for my tastes when I first met him. I should have properly addressed him as Captain Cloud then, but I wanted to irritate him.”
“And did you?”
Alexis sighed. “No. He was more amused than annoyed. I think that is when I fell in love with him.”
Hours later when Kenna had removed her wig and was cleansing her face of makeup she told Rhys what Alexis had said. “Don’t you think that’s just like Tanner? Can’t you see him simply smiling to himself and letting Alexis go on and on? Poor Alex. She must have been furious.”
“Did I miss something?” he asked. He flopped back on the bed and attempted to remove his boots, using the toe of one foot against the heel of the other. Given his slightly foxed state it was not the best of strategies. “Why would she have been furious?”
Kenna took off her necklace and armbands and put them in her jewelry case. “Because she wanted to make him angry. Why is that so difficult to understand?” No reply was forthcoming and in the mirror Kenna could see Rhys was losing the battle with his boots. Taking pity on him she went over to him and helped him out.
“I think you overdid the celebration,” she observed as the first boot thudded to the floor.
“Wilson naming Britt, Anders, and Fielding as his compatriots was cause enough for a little indulgence.”
“It was the first time I ever drank a toast because someone was going to go to prison.” She grunted softly as the other boot gave way.
“I believe it was a first for me also.” His legs collapsed and he was motionless, showing no indication that he intended to undress.
Kenna hiked up her gown and crawled onto the bed, straddling Rhys. “Lift your arms. Alex explained the procedure Garrison and Springer used on Wilson to encourage him to talk. Apparently it worked brilliantly.” She sighed deeply, hands on her hips. “You can put your arms down now, Rhys.” Kenna leaned forward and unfastened the studs in his shirt, tossing them randomly until they glittered on the bed. She slid the shirt off his shoulders, down his arms, and pulled it out from under him with a magician’s flair. Next she concentrated her energies on the waistband of his breeches. She loosened them, then yanked them rather roughly down his thighs, following their path by shimmying down his legs.
Rhys rolled over on his stomach and gave a sharp yelp as several of the studs poked him in the chest and arm. He brushed them away and closed his eyes.
“Serves you right,” Kenna laughed. “Are you going to get under the covers or sleep on top?”
His speech was slurred. “Sleep right here.”
“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” She picked up his clothes and laid them over a chair then undressed herself and slipped into one of her most revealing nightgowns. Kenna climbed in bed, pushing aside a few more studs and cuddled close to Rhys, pressing her body seductively against him. The few glasses of wine she had were making her feel decidedly amorous. She whispered in his ear. “I was thinking of something other than sleeping.”
But apparently Rhys was not. His soft snore told her that.
Kenna smiled, drew the coverlet around them, and was asleep herself in a matter of minutes…
* * *
She rubbed her eyes, waking to the sound of frantic, whispering voices. Cautiously she raised her head over the back of the settee and stared narrowly at the couple at the other end of the room. Victorine was engaged in pleading urgently with her red-caped companion. The devil’s hood covered his head and half his face but Kenna thought she recognized the shape of his mouth and the stubborn thrust of the Dunne chin. Nicholas! Nicholas and Victorine! Her hands slid beneath his cape and pulled him close, standing on tiptoe to reach his mouth. Nick’s hands caressed Victorine’s slender back as their kiss deepened.
Kenna left the gallery shortly after Victorine and Nick and stormed out of the house. She walked briskly toward the main gate, paused, then circled around to the summerhouse. There she uncovered more evidence of Victorine and Nick’s perfidy and was promptly sick on the steps leading to the caves. A light flashing over the water caught her attention and when two men came ashore she scrambled down the steps to investigate. Her entire body trembled as she watched the proceedings through a narrow fault in the rock face.
She could clearly see Victorine, then, when the Frenchmen moved, she saw the devil, his leotard and cape more orange than red in the dim lantern light. Nick again! Then her father appeared, drew Victorine to his side, and began berating his son. “Would you have her betray us all so that you might venture into some new scheme?” he said bitterly. “I had not thought you could be capable of this—not betraying your country for some notion of world peace designed by Napoleon. I should kill you, you know. But I can’t. At the very least I should bring you before the courts, but I find my pride too great to allow you to shame my house. I will grant you the opportunity to leave Dunnelly and England. It is better than you deserve.”
