…
The note had been waiting for Mary in her rooms when she returned home from the fair. It said “I have an urgent matter to discuss with you alone. Come to the church at midnight.”It had been signed by Geraint.
She’d waited until her family were in bed and with Aggie’s help, prepared to leave. Once she was ready, she sent her maid to bed and left her room. Locking the door, she hung the key around her neck. Walking the hallway outside her room, Mary reached the window. Raising it, she leaned out to drop her things bundled in the cloak onto the grass below. Next, she tucked her skirts into her drawers for ease of movement.
Phillipa had insisted that drawers trimmed with lace were the latest style, so she’d had several pairs made. Mary had stolen one, and now slipping out when summoned by Alexius was a great deal easier as she was not hampered by her skirts.
Stepping over the window ledge, she then stretched out her left foot, feeling for the small ledge.
Mary had been climbing out of the Blake family town house this way since she’d joined Alexius. Which, as it turned out, she thought she knew everything about but clearly didn’t. It vexed her way more than it should that the men only had to knock four and her five times. Plus, there was this business with the rings and the fact that the Deville brothers were likely all part of Alexius.
Geraint should have told her, and it angered her that he hadn’t. Especially after she’d proved her worth to him.
“Men,” Mary muttered, climbing to the next ledge below.
Zach was part of Alexius.
His behavior toward her today had been odd, there was no other word for it. He hadn’t teased her or tried to incite an argument. What did that mean?
“Zach doesn’t know who I am,” she whispered to reassure herself. It didn’t work.
The sound of a door slamming had her stilling. No other sounds followed, so she relaxed, well as much as she could several stories up.
Her family had taken to their beds early after the long day at the fair, and with no engagements tonight, it meant she had to leave by the window and not the door.
Reaching the tree branch, she sat on it and moved slowly toward the trunk. Once there, she shimmied down the tree and then jumped the last few feet to the ground. Retrieving her bundle, she slipped on her cloak, hat, and veil. Pulling up her hood, Mary then made her way down the street.
Monty would not be here tonight, as the note stated she must come alone, so she would need to hail a hackney. It did not happen often that she traveled about in the dark without him, but she had done so once before. The night her father had sent her to deliver a missive to the church. The night everything changed.
Geraint never ordered her to come to the church anymore. Usually, they passed information to each other in Lolly’s bookstore, but clearly tonight something had happened.
Was Monty all right?
Hurrying along the street, she soon reached the corner. Something made her shiver. Looking behind her, she saw no one following or watching her.
“Clearly you are imagining things.”
Pistol in hand, she walked on until she found a hackney. Mary flagged it down and climbed in after giving the address. As the carriage rolled toward its destination, she thought about today.
If Zach knew she was Madame Lucienne, he would have said something, she reminded herself for the tenth time. The man was not known for restraint. He would have challenged her by now.
Wouldn’t he?
And if he hadn’t, what was his game? But then her disguise was excellent, so when would he have seen through it?
Of course, there was that moment in Lady Louise’s house of pleasure that he’d raised her veil enough to kiss her. Had he been aware of who she was since then? She was foolish enough to want that, even as she realized how idiotic it was. Because if he’d kissed Madame Lucienne and her, who else had his lips been touching lately? Did he go around randomly kissing women?
The surge of jealousy was most unwelcome.
Eager for a reprieve from her thoughts, Mary opened the door and stepped down after the hackney stopped. Paying the driver to stay until she was ready to leave, she then walked the worn path to the church door. The first time she’d come here, she’d felt a stirring in the air. Power, history—this church was steeped in it. Knocking five times, she waited.
“We knock four times.”
Spinning on her heel, she pointed the pistol.
Zachariel Deville walked out of the shadows. “Lower that pistol before you hurt yourself.”
“It won’t be me that gets hurt,” she said in French.
