Page 50 of Lord Appleby's Gorgeous Imposter
“Clearly—”
“He intends to do neither,” she finished for him.
“Theydo not,” he corrected her, and a muscle twitched in his jaw.
“They?”
“They are a team. Perhaps four total. They take shifts. Usually six to eight hours and a new man comes on.”
“You did not tell me.” She was without breath.
“I did not want to worry you more.”
She closed her eyes.
He came to sit beside her and took her in his arms. She went. Oh, she went. Chills made her clamp her teeth shut, and she nestled into his embrace.
“I have two of my men following us this morning,” he said so sweetly into her hair. “We are safe.”
“I wish we could learn who they are and where they come from.”
“Indeed. They are very used to this cat-and-mouse business,” he said. “They know how to dodge and weave. They change clothes, too.”
That did not surprise her. “They’re not poorly dressed, either.”
“They have coin which they use to dart into a crowded café or into a private room. Therefore, they must receive money on which to operate, as well as a decent wage.”
She stared up at him. “So they are not base cutthroats hired off the streets. They’re employed gainfully by someone to do this.”
He arched a brow. “The question is, who is that someone?”
She shivered. Whoever masterminded this was crafty and had a goal beyond hers and Tate’s comprehension.
Their fiacre idled to a stop.
She clutched Tate’s cravat. “Post a man to the front door. Can you signal one to do that? And…and another at the corner across the street.”
He cupped her cheek. “My darling, my men are very good at this. They are everywhere.”
“But you cannot be certain.”
“I can.”
“How?”
He brushed tendrils of her hair from the arch of her cheek. “Did you see them when you went to the Place des Vosges?”
She gasped. “You had me followed then?”
“Or when you decided to dress as a pauper and seek out an apothecary in the Marais?”
Her mouth dropped open. Her shadow—correction, shadows—had followed her for weeks now. They did not follow every day. Or rather, because they were a team, she did not spy them every day. Nor could she detect them at night.
She sat back in the squabs and collected her thoughts. The interview ahead with the maid required her wits. She would not be afraid of the shadows, but stand in the light of her own desires. She’d talk with the scullery mind and be done with this. She was not gaining ground elsewhere—meanwhile, the world had caught on fire and headed toward war. In her reticule, she had her smelling salts in her littleétui. Another vial, too, was filled with Charmaine’s usual dose of laudanum. Viv was prepared as much as she could be without a dose of arsenic.
The coachman opened the door and Tate got out.
She looked outside at the crumbling old building before them.
