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“You will,” he murmured. “Stafford might be sitting in his office across town waiting to hear how things go, with the whole British Navy ready to chase me out of the country if he tires of my cooperation. But you’re the one here, dealing with me now, sleeping on the other side of the door from me.” He opened his hands expansively. “Come, my dear. I want only to make this as pleasant as possible.”

“Pleasant?” She gave a little huff of a laugh. “It does not need to be pleasant to be successful.”

“Can’t we at least try to achieve both?”

“Ah, but if we should fail at one, it would be much better to fail at being pleasant.” She stepped closer, tipping up her chin to inspect him closely. “It does not need to be dreadful. But you would do well to remember that we are employed by different people.”

Nate couldn’t stop himself from leaning toward her. “What does Stafford want?” he whispered. “I don’t trust in the goodness of his heart.”

Her mouth turned down. “Nor should you. He has no heart.”

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” He gave her a coaxing smile as he said it.

She sighed, as if she did almost regret refusing him. “You do not wish to know. Believe me. You should concentrate on finding Dixon and getting your money, and do not think of what Stafford might want.”

“So I should trust you—after such a statement—and you won’t do the same for me.” Her eyes narrowed, and Nate shrugged. “That seems terribly unfair.”

She arched one eyebrow. “Oh? You ask me to trust you to improvise. I do not improvise more than absolutely necessary. I prefer a well-thought plan, with all possibilities addressed. Just how do you propose to begin, Mr. Avery?”

“My name is Nate,” he interrupted to say.

“How shall you find this man you have crossed an ocean to seek?” she went on, ignoring it. “You are so certain it will all work out. You are supremely confident you will find him and persuade him to lead you to your money. How, sir? You have met him only twice. You have no idea where to find him. You say you intend to gallivant about London and improvise your way, as if Mr. Dixon will not have made some efforts to conceal himself. Give me one reason to believe you have not come to London with nothing but confidence and a charming smile.”

“Charming?” He smiled widely. “I’m flattered, Madame.” Her expression grew, not thunderous with fury, but stony calm, and Nate dropped his teasing tone at once. “The jewels.”

“Jewels,” she repeated in a flat tone.

Slowly Nate nodded, keeping his eyes on hers. “The jewels Jacob Dixon will need to sell. He hid his stolen funds in diamonds and emeralds before he left New York. Jewels are more compact than coin, universally desired, and easily converted into ready money. Sooner or later he’ll have to sell some pieces, and when he does, I’ll be waiting for him.”

“Well.” Her belligerent posture eased. “I suppose that is somewhere to start.”

“It’s a damned good place to start,” he replied. “A rich American with a spoiled wife will want to buy jewels, and I happen to be very particular. Any jeweler who can acquire certain pieces for me—or direct me to someone selling those pieces—will be handsomely rewarded.”

“I see.” Another arch look. “You are willing to spend freely then, to capture your quarry. Your President has a great deal of confidence in you.”

He had told no one about his connection to Ben Davies, and thus to Dixon. Stafford believed him sent by President Monroe on behalf of the United States, and he was; the fact that he was willing to spend not only his government’s money but his own changed nothing. There was no reason to correct Madame Martand’s assumptions. His personal motives were perfectly in accord with his official mission, after all. What did it matter to her whose money he spent, or why? “I have my instructions.”

Her expression turned faintly mocking. “Very good, sir. I suggest you concentrate on following them.”

Nate kept his weight against the door as she reached for the knob. “I’m also not about to expose our ‘marriage’ for the fraud that it is just because you don’t like me.”

Her luscious mouth curled into a wicked smile. “It doesn’t matter whether I like you or not, Mr. Avery.”

It does to me, he thought, cursed fool that I am. But he certainly wasn’t about to tell her that.

Without a word he stepped out of her way and bowed politely, letting her sweep past him with a rustle of skirts, out the door and away without a backward glance. For a long moment after she had gone he stood there still, illogically aware of the lingering scent of her.

That was no ordinary woman. Like a witless lunatic, Nate was falling into a deep fascination, already in danger of losing some of his focus. As she said, he did prefer to improvise; in his experience, relying too much on plans only left one vulnerable to disaster when some part of the plan failed—as it almost always did. By keeping his goal fixed and letting everything else bend with the circumstances, he kept his options as varied as possible.

And with Madame Martand, he would need to keep every possible option open.

Chapter Eight

The house was settled by midmorning the day after next. The servants who had been hired to clean and set all to rights were dismissed. Lisette would be responsible for stoking the fires and seeing to the laundry. Angelique had found it easier to have her own maid deal with bloodstains and other insults on her clothing than to risk another servant asking questions or spreading rumors. Lisette was well accustomed to doing more when they were working, and Angelique didn’t anticipate staying in Varden Street long enough to care much about any housekeeping Lisette couldn’t handle. She would have food and drink sent in every day, and Avery and his man were welcome to that; otherwise, they were on their own.

She spent some time thinking over his plan to find Dixon. It was a reasonable one, assuming Dixon hadn’t pried the stones from the settings to sell them individually. Distinctive jewelry was easy to trace as long as it remained distinctive. But it was an avenue to pursue, and with far less trouble than trying to guess which kind of society Dixon might move in and have to join it.

Avery had indicated he was ready to begin the search as soon as possible, but when she went looking for him, he was not in his room. She knocked twice on the connecting door, then opened it when there was no answer. The room looked much as it had the first day, clean and empty. There were a few personal effects on top of the bureau, and a pair of boots stood by the door, no doubt waiting to be polished. She lingered a moment, considering searching his things to discover more about him, but decided against it. Unless she knew where he was and when he was expected back, it was unwise. Stafford had not told her to view Mr. Avery with suspicion, so there was no pressing reason to do it anyway.