Her mind quieted at the monotonous chore: rubbing circles into a glass from bottom to lip and setting it aside before grabbing another, and another, stacking the glasses three high before starting another.
She grabbed the last to be polished when the door opened. Catching a glimpse of fair hair, Camille whirled around to give Renard the tongue lashing he deserved.
But the man who entered was not Renard.
Chapter Thirty
The man enteredthe Cock ’n Hen with a swift but labored walk, a large, bulky bag dragging behind him. His hair was indeed a similar shade to Renard’s, but his clothes and smile were a sad imitation.
Camille squinted at the man’s face, partially obscured by a facial scar on one cheek. “Lord Slasbury?”
He tipped his bowler hat in greeting but said, “Try again.”
Camille frowned. That was right. The real Marquess of Slasbury was older and overindulgent, to hear Charlotte describe the man.
This man was nothing but an imposter. Her stomach dropped.
Camille’s gaze locked on the man before her.Thiswas the man who’d nearly drowned Charlotte. The man who’d meant to skewer Hamish at the ball. The man who’d taken a chunk out of that artless bruiser Hamish called a friend,Ralph. A man she’d since come to know by the name, Percy.
What was he doing at the tavern? He was supposed to be locked in a cell. How had the man known she washere?
Camille’s grasp on the rag slipped, and the cup in her hand fell to the floor in a shower of glass. “Did you follow me?” She reached for the shotgun under the bar. Was he after Hamish again? “The Duke of Camine isn’t here,” she said. Thank God shehadn’t asked for her brother’s assistance with Renard and the law.
A few inches more—
“Please don’t. I’d hate to hurt you.” His words were soft, but his gaze was hard as it flicked to where her hand had disappeared. Something in his expression said she’d never catch him by surprise. Her only chance was to run. And even a child on these streets knew a heavy weapon would make escape harder. When she placed her hand back where it was visible, he continued, that hard look replaced with a friendly smile. “Your confusion is understandable.”
His rapid change in temper had her palms going clammy. She’d known another man whose mood would change on a whim, and how violent the previous Duke of Camine had become when angered. Camille kept her voice low, cordial. “Who are you?”
“My apologies. I know you so well, you see. I forget we haven’t officially been introduced.” The man smiled and tipped his hat in a fine display of genteel manners. “Nicholas Brandt, at your service.”
Had they released him on a lack of evidence? Did he know of her connection with Renard? Was he angling for another way to strike at Charlotte? If she stalled long enough, Scarlet or Renard would show up and—
“No one is coming,” he said, his smiling eyes knowing. “Your friend Scarlet and those obnoxious Merry Men will find their hands rather full in a few short minutes.” He winked as if they were co-conspirators. “Lovely surprises I planted along the waterway.” He grinned. “And I wouldn’t concern yourself over the Duke of Lux coming anytime soon, either. He is quite busy with other matters.” He held out a chain ending in a small, familiar key. “I may have borrowed your key. I hope you don’t mind?”
Camille’s hand shot to her neck, where the key to the Pony should’ve been. Had she dropped it after her reunion with Madam? “Where did you—”
“Not to worry,” he said, checking the timepiece from an inner pocket of the dark vest he wore. “The duke should arrive back in the country a few hours from now, long after our time here is over, when he’ll be informed you left, quite suddenly, without a word to anyone where you were going.”
Whatever the man meant by ‘surprises,’ there was little doubt Syd and the Merrys could handle anything short of an incendiary device. The taunt about Renard, however... “He knows I’m here,” she said. “He wrote me a letter and asked me to meet him—”
“Iwrote that letter.”
There was no deception on his face. Camille froze. “No.” It wasn’t possible.
“A neat trick.” Nic shrugged. “Not all that impressive. Something I picked up in the Home Office.” He pulled out a piece of paper from his coat, the exact shade and thickness of the parchment used by the Louis estate’s steward. “His note was nothing special. Two words: I’m sorry.” He tossed the note on the bar between them and snorted. “How dramatic.”
Camille swallowed. “Home Office?” The man worked for the government? She glanced down at the note while panic set in.
It hadn’t been Renard’s handwriting. He wasn’t here. But the letter had been on her nightstand. Icy fingers of disgust and violation left her trembling at what could have happened. “You were in my room.” Then why the theatrics? “If you want revenge on my brother, why didn’t you just kill me while I slept?”
“Kill you?” Nic made a face. “No, no. You don’t understand. I had to get youawayfrom the duke, don’t you see? I’ve been so impatient. Made too many mistakes lately. I won’t make the same one again. We needed time and privacy, away from allthose nosy servants. Now we can finally get to know each other, no rush, no interruptions.”
Nails gouging into her palms to keep her hysteria at bay, Camille backpedaled through his confession. “I don’t understand. What do you want withme? I don’t even know you.”
“Don’t say that!” The vehemence in his words made her step back. He cleared his throat and seemed to collect himself. “You may think you don’t know me, but I’ve been there for you. I’ve always been there.” Anger settled over his features once again. “If only everyone would stopgetting in the way. You’d see. You’dknow. Morons, all of them!” Nic was too far in his rant to notice her flinch at his raised voice. “To think that idiot Quickner thought to keep you from me as well. He’s lucky you were there when he drank the bullet.”
Camille struggled to keep up with his illogical ramblings, but at the mention of Lord Quickner, everything inside her went cold. “Youput the object in his drink?” That was impossible. She’d watched the servants pour. “The footmen, they filled the glasses.”
