A Daring Passion

Philippe straightened with a nod. “It seems the only course of action open to us at the moment.”

In silence they gathered their mounts and carefully set about following the lone hoofprints left in the alley. It could very well be a wild-goose chase, but as Philippe had already noted they did not seem to have a large number of choices. For the moment Seurat had managed to slip back into the shadows.

They followed the northward trail through the back alleys, occasionally forced to halt and clear away rubbish before being able to continue on.

“It appears he spent some time here,” Carlos murmured as they studied the trampled mud. “The question is why.”

Philippe agreed. They were at the corner of a busy crossroad that catered to various hotels and lodging houses, some of which possessed the stables necessary for Seurat to keep his horse. Was he forced to halt here and hide? Was he waiting for someone?

The various notions floated through his mind as Philippe absently kicked aside the nasty rubbish that lined the nearby buildings. He was cold, weary, and plagued with a chafing need to return to Montmartre. Not just because he desired a hot bath and a few hours of rest, but because he wanted to see Raine.

It was ridiculous. He had left her only a few hours ago, but already he needed to assure himself that she was waiting for him at the cottage, where she belonged. And just as important, he needed to know that she was safe.

The nagging urge was as irritating as it was unexpected, but there was no denying it.

On the point of calling an end to the futile search, Philippe hesitated as the toe of his boot pushed aside a broken crate to reveal a black jacket. He bent down to inspect it more closely and saw a priest’s collar hidden beneath it.

“This is intriguing,” he murmured.

“That looks like the jacket Seurat was wearing when I caught sight of him,” Carlos said with a frown. “But why would he leave his clothing here?”

Philippe considered for a long moment. “Perhaps he is well enough known in these streets that he could not risk being seen attired as a priest.”

“Which would mean that he must be close.” Carlos glanced about the surrounding streets before giving a rueful grimace. “Still, it will take days to search all the buildings. If Seurat possesses any wits at all, he will disappear before he can be cornered.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

PHILIPPE COULDN’T ARGUE with Carlos’s logic. There were far too many shabby apartments and hotel rooms to easily narrow their search. With only the two of them it would take forever.

With a sigh, Philippe leaned against a nearby building and absently rubbed his aching arm.

“We have a few acquaintances that can assist us,” he said, his thoughts turning over his numerous contacts within the city. His years of espionage did have its benefits. “With some help we should be able to keep a careful watch on the neighborhood. If Seurat attempts to flee, he will be followed.”

“We have only a vague description that could fit any number of gentlemen that live in this area. How will they possibly know if it is Seurat or not?”

“Do you have a better plan?” Philippe demanded dryly.

Carlos gave a shake of his head. “Not at the moment.”

“Then let us find Belfleur.” Philippe straightened from the wall and headed down the street. “He has an entire network of thugs and pickpockets that work these streets. They will be capable of determining the local citizens from the visitors.”

It took only a few moments to press through the thick traffic toward the small shop tucked between a coffeehouse and a gambling club. Philippe left Carlos to keep an eye on their horses, as well as the passing crowds, as he stepped over the threshold.

The shop was filled with a strange jumble of items from lacy handkerchiefs to silver candlesticks to small pieces of jewelry locked behind glass cases. Belfleur insisted that they were all purchased from honest citizens who had fallen upon hard times, but there were few who did not know that most of his possessions came from his small army of thieves.

What most did not know was that Belfleur had been a guiding force in the rebellion against Napoléon’s rule, and that he had often used his considerable resources to assist Philippe in gathering information on the lingering Bonapartists. Not that the short, pudgy man with a shock of silver hair allowed the least hint of recognition to touch his face as he hurried forward.

“Monsieur, welcome to my humble store,” he purred with a deep bow. “Please tell me how I can be of service.”

Philippe cast a rather contemptuous glance about the shop, noting the two ladies sorting through a basket of handkerchiefs and the younger gentleman who was clearly in Belfleur’s employ.

“I seek a gift for a beautiful lady.”

“Of course.” Belfleur smiled as he rubbed his hands together. “We have many lovely items, as you can see.”

“I am searching for something far more special than these triflings.”

“Ah. A gentleman of discerning taste. I possess several items in the back that might capture your interest. If you will follow me?”