“You owned the ruby pendant, didn’t you? You lost it playing cards at a gambling hell in Paris last winter, to an Englishman named Bellamy.”
The compte’s mouth pursed as he calculated whether to respond. “Lamentably, yes. He played above his skill that evening, and my luck was unusually poor.”
“What I don’t understand is how you gained possession of the pendant in the first place. Do you have more of the de Chagny jewels as well?”
“If so, I only claimed what should have been mine.”
“I think,” she said slowly, “you must have stolen the jewels somehow. Is that true? You grew worried when Traherne began inquiries about the pendant and feared he would trace its origins to you and expose you?”
Montreux took a long gulp of his wine, then leaned forward to refill his glass from a decanter. “That was not my only concern. Your husband sent a man to the south of France to investigate the wreck of Angelique’s yacht.”
“But I thought there was no excavation of the shipwreck.”
A faint smile played on his mouth. “There was no need to excavate. The jewels did not go down with the ship.”
Venetia frowned. “We recently learned that in all likelihood, the yacht was not sunk by a storm but an explosion. Did you have a hand in the explosion?”
Montreux scowled and clamped his lips shut, evidently determined to say no more.
Venetia tried another tack. “Surely you realize you won’t get away with killing Traherne. Too many people know who you are. He already suspects you since you called at our home this morning. That was not wise, monsieur. Indeed, you should not have come to England at all.”
“It could not be helped. Armand failed to do the deed.”
“But not for lack of effort. It was Armand who attempted to run Traherne off the road last month, was it not?”
“Yes, by following his curricle from the mews.”
“And then Armand stole into the Traherne garden, dressed in the earl’s livery colors, in order to shoot him.”
Montreux grimaced. “I am extremely disappointed with Armand. He makes an excellent assassin, but in all three instances, luck was smiling on Traherne. At last, I realized I needed to take charge of the problem myself. I could gain access to your home when Armand no longer could. Since the shooting, Traherne has been too well guarded.” The compte gave a brief chuckle. “In truth, I might have shot him this morning in his very drawing room, but departing afterward would have been difficult, perhaps impossible. A pity. It would have saved me the trouble of abducting you.”
Montreux settled back in his chair, looking as if he had begun to enjoy himself. “It is possible I may not need to shoot Traherne, however. If he drinks the cognac I brought him as a gift, he will discover a rude shock.”
Venetia’s heart lurched. “What do you mean? You poisoned the bottle?”
“Bottles, yes. But I could not rely on that means alone. Success was too uncertain. But no matter. This way is better.”
“And you believe you will escape detection,” she said shakily.
“Certainly I will. Armand will do the actual killing, so I needn’t soil my hands. As you said, my cleverness is to be commended.”
His preening revolted Venetia, but she continued to encourage it. “One more layer of concealment to keep your own identity hidden?”
“Precisely. Armand will be blamed for the murder, but he will easily return to France and disappear. There will be nothing to connect me to Traherne’s death. I took great care on that score.” Montreux turned to stare steadily at Venetia. “You should harbor no doubt, madame. You and Traherne will die on the morrow. I cannot allow witnesses.”
Finally rendered speechless by his boast, Venetia remained silent, her terror and despair rising in equal measures. She had lost her one chance to stop Quinn’s vengeful enemy.
Montreux was no madman, however. He was a cold, calculating, hate-filled man with a great deal to lose, which made him even more dangerous. He was driven not only by revenge but self-preservation—the fear that his entire life would be ruined once his secrets were divulged to the world. And in trying to rescue her, Quinn would be walking directly into his trap.
—
Quinn neared their destination, beset by doubts. They were indeed taking a risk setting out for New Cross without waiting to be contacted by Montreux to learn his demands. If they were wrong about the location, Venetia would likely suffer for the miscalculation.
But if not, the advantage could prove invaluable, and he had to act. He despised feeling so totally helpless, despised having no control over his destiny, despised even more that he might be powerless to rescue Venetia. If she were to die, he would be to blame—for marrying her and putting her life at risk. A part of him would die as well, he knew with bleak certainty. But as long as he had breath left in his body, he would fight to save her.
Jack had willingly accompanied him, as had Skye and Kate. The ladies refused to be relegated to waiting helplessly at home, arguing that Venetia could need a woman’s comforting after what was certain to be a traumatic ordeal. Fully understanding their sentiments, Quinn let them come, as long as they agreed to remain at a nearby inn, out of danger.
His one consolation was knowing of Hawk’s vast experience with just this sort of crisis. Montreux’s calculations hadn’t taken into account Hawk’s presence.