There had to be a way to know for sure. Some record or witness, some piece of clothing with blood that proved Renard had secrets too unforgiveable and awful... Her gaze latched on to the stack of files on the desk, files filled with the darkest desires of men.
There was a way.
Her head popped up and she flew into a flurry of movement, rifling through the desk drawers, checking the undersides for hidden latches. She cursed when she found nothing. “Damn it, where is it?”
Her attention went to the only other piece of furniture in the room. Crossing to the fireplace, she ran her hands along the mantle, the shelf, behind the portrait above. Then a flaw in the tiles—one seated a breath higher than the rest—along the hearth caught her eye.
Crouching, Camille dug her fingers under the tile. It gave. Setting the tile aside, she removed a leatherbound book, no bigger than her palm, from its hiding place. The madam’s ledger, where the biggest and worst secrets of the club’s clients were recorded to keep powerful men from ever crossing the woman who ran it all. The real currency of the club.
Camille stilled, her hand on the cover. Did she really want to know? Whatever the Madam had on Renard, once seen, couldn’t be unseen.
But she had to know.
She opened the book to the most recent page. Her heart stalled at Renard’s name and title scrawled across the top. She swallowed and forced her gaze down to the only other word on the page, a word that damned her and Renard both.
Renard Louis, the Duke of Lux:
Murder.
Camille pressed a fist to her mouth, her broken sob filling the room.
No matter how many times she pinched herself, the words didn’t change. It was a waking nightmare.
When the stiffness in her legs could no longer be ignored, Camille dragged herself to her feet, using the fireplace mantle to steady her balance. She glanced around the room, her eyes unseeing. Her mind a whirling mess.
She knew what she needed to do, but no matter how many times she told herself to find Markus, her feet stayed rooted to the floor. The idea of Renard being taken away, imprisoned, worse... Acid crawled up her throat at the thought.
She couldn’t condemn him to that fate, especially with her knowledge of the remarkable Lady Charlotte and how her brother’s crimes would ruin her life as well.
Revulsion spread through her mind. Not only of the things Renard had done, but her unwillingness to act against him. Because the worst truth was, despite their fights, despite her anger against what he’d accused her of, despite the killings, she loved him.
Her fingers curled into a tight fist and then relaxed. Open. Shut. Open. What Renard had done was unforgiveable, but he’d done it out of a sense of love, hadn’t he? He’d been protecting her. Protected them.
“I would love any baby I had with you.”
Her fingers closed once more into a determined fist. He was a good man at heart. She’d could make him stop. Somehow.
She worried her lip.
Could she keep him from hurting someone else? What if the next person who was found was Hawkins? Someone would eventually connect the murders to her and then to Renard.
She froze, and a darker thought took the last’s place. Would there ever be a time when they’d be safe? There would alwaysbe threats, always be someone who opposed their relationship, some distant heir to object to their child. What if Renard hurt someone more established in society, someone with family who’d seek revenge?
Her hand rested on her abdomen. As long as they stayed together, it wasn’t justherlife she risked.
The answer hit her like a bullet to the gut. Renardwouldstop, because she wouldn’t stay.
Heart wrenching, she forced her body to move, to pack up files and to yank on the boots she’d left discarded near the hidden entrance. She pulled the letter opener from the desk drawer and hid it in the slit of her skirts, preparing to take to the dark streets.
She’d rush home and use precious coin to hire a hack as soon as she could drag her mother out of the house and into a more maintained section of the city and they’d flee... where?
She thought of Lord and Lady Quickner’s offer to house her and dismissed it just as readily. Too many witnesses had watched the older couple’s graciousness as she’d left the garden party. If she disappeared, the Quickner Manor would be the first place Renard would look after scouring the city.
Crossing any kind of border without the proper payment for a coach was out of the question. Traveling across the sea was more so. She and her mother could make a good effort by keeping ears to the ground if they stayed in London, but her face was not one even the smallest urchin would forget. She needed somewhere safe where no one knew her, a place not even the church bells in the slums could gossip and speculate about. A place her baby could be born and looked after.
Camille stilled.
There was a place. A quiet place, and an infuriating gentleman who’d leap at the chance to take her from London, no questions asked. The man would be so elated, he’d probably notbat an eyelash when she demanded her mother go to the country as well.
