A Lily Among Thorns(83)

It echoed Elijah’s thoughts so closely that for a moment, he panicked. Does he know?

But René simply smiled and murmured, “Elijah.” It was the first time he had used his real name. Elijah liked the way it sounded on his lips. “My little anglais. I would have sworn you were from the quartier Saint-Michel.”

“I am not your anything.”

“That is not what you told me when you first arrived. You told me you could not sleep without me, do you not remember?”

Elijah’s fingers curled into a fist. “You must have misunderstood my English.”

“So now it is my accent?” René said sharply. “I am sorry I am not such a linguist as you. Mon Dieu, I had forgotten how childish you could be.”

“I suppose I might seem so to a man who’ll never see forty again.”

“I do not remember you telling me I was old when you were begging me to make love to you for the fourth time in one night.”

Elijah’s mouth curved ruefully. “Actually, I did. That was what convinced you.” Their gazes caught, and suddenly Elijah could barely breathe. Very, very slowly, René reached out and pulled Elijah to him.

Serena crept up the servants’ stair, her cloak wrapped around her to hide her wig and dress, and the wings and mask bundled under her left arm. René mustn’t see her. She peered out into the hallway. The coast was clear. She moved softly to her door, unlocked it, and slipped inside. Dumping the mask, wings, and cloak on the bed, she knocked on Solomon’s door to find out what had gone wrong with the plan. When were they supposed to get another opportunity this good to catch Pursleigh? Who knew when he would meet with René again?

“Come,” Solomon called. She pushed the door open. He was in stocking feet and shirtsleeves, bent over something at his worktable. The lamp burned beside him. The Y of his braces defined his broad back and shoulders. His Arms livery had been made for someone slightly smaller, so the black breeches clung to his backside in an extremely impressive manner.

“What went wrong at the masquerade?”

He stood up and turned toward her. Serena sighed. “We don’t know,” he said. “Elijah thinks maybe we were wrong again, and Lady Pursleigh is the traitor. She passed Sacreval a note.”

Serena blinked. Henwitted Jenny Warrington, a spy? “I’ll check her banking records, too,” she said. “But I can’t imagine we’ll find anything. More likely she has a tendre for René.”

“Well, in that case Pursleigh decided to use IOUs, or maybe the paper they were written on, to communicate with Sacreval instead of cards. Either Spratt missed him hiding the paper in his costume, or he went and got them sometime in the five minutes we weren’t watching him.” He shook his head. “As if trying to blackmail poor Ravi weren’t bad enough, that blackguard Apollo may be responsible for the escape of a traitor.”

Serena’s heart swelled when she remembered Solomon facing down Lord Teasdale with perfect politeness. She’d seen him hesitate just inside the French doors and thought she’d have to intervene herself; it might have proven difficult to do so unobtrusively. But she should have known Solomon wouldn’t stand by and allow someone else to be bullied. “Do you really think I cut off their ears?” she asked.

Solomon smiled wickedly. “Don’t you?”

She looked down her nose, as well as she could at someone half a head taller than her. “Of course not. I prefer not to leave a mark.”

“So do you have any pointers for me?”

Serena frowned, thinking. “It wasn’t my style at all, but very effective in its own right. I felt as if I were being scolded by my governess.”

Solomon rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

“I lived in fear of my governess!” she protested. “I assure you, her memory invokes an almost primeval terror.”

“My grandfather was a schoolmaster,” Solomon admitted. “And then, of course, my father was a tutor for a while.”

“Well, I’m grateful none of your family has ever shown any interest in a life of crime. The juxtaposition of your calm, almost professorial air with the brutal subject matter and the unspoken physical menace was really quite chilling.”

“Take off the wig,” he commanded suddenly.

She blinked. “I’m going to take it all off in a minute, but—”

“Please,” he said a little desperately, “just take it off.”