Page 63 of A Figure of Love

“I have another delivery scheduled for next week.”

“What?” She didn’t wait for him to speak. “You must get word to them—they must not come or more people could die.”

“If I don’t get that shipment I will be ruined.”

He was even more loathsome than she’d always suspected. Serena marched to the cheap looking jewel box and dumped it out, its pitiful contents spilling over the dressing table. She took a hat pin and jabbed it into the bottom of the box, prying it up. Underneath was a necklace given to her by the duke’s mother. It was worth thousands, or at least it had been before she’d sold several jewels. She picked it up and hurled it at his head.

He ducked, but the clasp grazed his cheek.

“Are you mad?” he demanded, running a finger over the small bloody scratch and holding it out for inspection. When she didn’t answer, he bent and picked up the necklace, his eyes widening. “You have been holding out on me,” he accused.

“Take it. Tomorrow you will leave, and I will not see your wretched face again. This is the last time I will allow you to squeeze even a pence from me, Etienne. I promise you, if you come to me again, I will have you arrested for blackmail, which is a crime. I will leave the country and go back to France. Unlike you, I can earn my own way in life. Now, tell me how to get word to the men risking their lives to bring you goods.”

He swept her with a look that oozed scorn. “Why do you care about those strangers? Besides, what can you do about it?”

Then and there, Serena decided she would kill him if he did not leave tomorrow. Maybe he saw something in her eyes, because his hand tightened around the glittering jewels.

“Fine, do what you want—do something stupid and get yourself killed for a handful of strangers, for all I care. Get a quill and paper. You will need to write this down.”

Serena wrote down directions to a smuggler shack, names of three men—if you considered Pickaxe, Longfoot, and Derby to be names—and the nonsense phrase which would get their attention: fresh mackerel for a song.

“How can they even think of getting a message through with the channel crawling with excisemen?”

“You don’t understand these men; they are like rats, they need only the tiniest gap to squeeze through.”

“And why would they agree to perform this service?”

“Because they get part of the shipment. Also, if the men coming over are caught it’s possible they might give up their names to the excisemen.”

She nodded. “Very well. How much time do I have?”

“I would not leave it beyond the end of the week.” He caught her wrist and squeezed. “Why are you doing this?”

“Can you really be so stupid?” She wrenched away. “You know why. If they find you it is only one more step to me and Oliver. If the man they have now doesn’t talk, the next ones they get might.” Her voice shook with anger at his stupidity and the danger it had put them all in.

“What will you tell them?”

“I’m going to tell them you’re dead.”

He flinched away from her. “That’s a bit severe, is it not?”

“Do you wish to evade capture or not? If they think you dead, the word will spread. You may be lucky enough to avoid their interest altogether.”

A slow, ugly smile curved his lips. “You would have made a fine criminal, Serena.”

“Thanks to you, I am one.”

He laughed and sauntered toward the door.

“Wait!” she hissed, but he’d already opened it and stepped into the hall. “Etienne!”

He turned and leaned close. “Yes, my dear?”

“Don’t forget. You will be gone in the morning.”

He grinned, and with lightning speed lowered his mouth over hers, giving her a big, wet kiss before she could pull away.

She cursed him in the silence of her mind, watching until he entered his room and closed the door before closing hers and then collapsing against it.