Page 59 of Sir Durham’s Disarming Asset

That bit of news had Zeph admiring her rescuers more than before. Especially how dear, how miraculous, Rafe Durham was. Saving women everywhere. Saving her. Expecting nothing in return.

Giselle twisted a white handkerchief in her hands. “I encountered two devoted spies for France. One of them shot Halsey.”

“Not badly,” he put in with feigned humor.

“Serious enough.” Giselle tried to smile. “But you recovered.”

“Even if I still have a limp.” He snorted.

“We looked for all of them.” Giselle cast a loving glance at her husband. “We searched and never found them. But last year, Inès was working here and saw a certain woman who followed her everywhere in London. That woman,” she said, smiling at Halsey, “whom our sources called La Mère, died in Paris in the Seine as she fell from that same boat, Zephora, that you were in the night Halsey and Rafe rescued you from prison.”

Zeph vaguely recalled Rafe telling her that. But then, she did not care to hear the tale retold and would often block out the words.

“But the other still lives,” Gus said. “He still operates here.”

And he may be interested in me? To get my book? Zeph panicked. She needed to be away from here. Fast. She glanced at Rafe. All she wanted was to go home with him, where he would instruct her to breathe. Breathe. Learn the situation. See what it holds.

She knew. She knew it was not a threat that was imminent, but a discussion of Vaillancourt and what one could do, had to do, to counter him. So, slowing her breathing, she forced herself to listen and learn from the others.

Viv frowned. “He works for Vaillancourt. So anyone who opposes that man is a subject for Faucon.”

“The Falcon?” Zeph did not like the name, nor the image it conjured.

“A bird of prey,” said Gus.

“And what does he look like?” Zeph had to know. The man she had met in Lambeth was tall, agile, as if he were a dancer. He’d spoken refined Parisian French in delicate tones. And he wore wonderful cologne.

“Tall, graceful in gait and style, most often elegantly dressed,” Giselle said. “As Mr. O’Neill confirms.”

O’Neill nodded, grim with satisfaction.

“And he is dangerous,” Scarlett added with a raised red brow.

Gus took Zeph’s hand and squeezed it. “We want you to be aware of him. The Falcon. He also anoints himself with expensive cologne and fine tailoring. He knows much, but we do not understand how he informs himself about us. You must be careful where you go and how you go.”

“Which is why we have guards, Zeph,” Scarlett said with certainty. “Which is why you will not fear for your everyday life. We are each protected.”

“Yes.” Until one day, in one moment, we are not. “I see.”

But she did not. Zeph felt an icy reality shake her. Parisians knew the contents of the betting book she had stolen from Vaillancourt and made public. But no one knew the contents of the other book—not even she did, until she examined it more. But the matter of René Vaillancourt’s pride was of importance. He had the means, didn’t he, of taking his revenge on her? Just for taking the betting book and exposing its contents. She knew he was capable of dastardly things. He could hurt her just to soothe his vanity.

“Now we know,” Carlton said with deadly calm, “that Faucon has changed his name from the Monsieur Chaudry who signed the lease on that house in August, to be known to his next-door neighbors as Monsieur Tauzain.”

Tauzain? Zeph could not breathe again. She was confused. The man she had met was Faucon? “Tauzain is someone else? A man named Chaudry?”

Carlton nodded. “Among other names. Please tell us, Miss Butler, about this man to whom you were introduced, this Monsieur Tauzain.”

Of course. Zeph could tell by Carlton’s tone that Tauzain was not a good man. She did not care for him either, and she would share her poor opinion of him. “I disliked him. He seemed so…intrusive. Cosette does not care for him, either. He began to ask me questions about when I had arrived in England and how I’d managed to leave Paris. I told him little, saying I did not wish to discuss such a horrid event.” She grabbed a breath. “I left as soon as I could.”

“He is clever,” Kane said. “As clever as his master in Paris. Vaillancourt, may the devil take him, has a long reach into our country.”

Vaillancourt had a stranglehold over his agents. The gravity of it hit her like a rock. What she had was a valued possession of Vaillancourt’s. No matter its contents. He would want it, and revenge for stealing it from him.

“We must capture him.” Scarlett surveyed the faces of all before her. “He is dangerous. He helped to abduct Giselle when she worked for us along the coast of England. He works with a large group of Frenchmen and women here to sabotage us and to send secrets back to Vaillancourt.”

“We have a plan,” Kane said. “We need to perfect it. Then Faucon will be ours.”

Chapter Fifteen