Dominic's brows drew together. "Manning?" he asked, already knowing the answer. When Jacques nodded, Dominic pressed his lips together in irritation, but he turned and whistled to his stallion. The black horse came trotting up to him immediately.
Brie watched in amazement as Dominic gathered the stallion's reins and swung into the saddle. She could hardly believe that he would allow their confrontation to end like that. She was right. Dominic urged his horse nearer and looked down at her. "Forgive me, chérie, for leaving you so abruptly. But we will meet again. You can depend on it."
Even if she hadn't heard the soft threat in his tone, Brie could read the determination in his eyes and knew he wouldn't forget what had happened between them. But then neither would she forget.
She stood there, completely motionless, as Dominic turned his mount and spurred him to a gallop. The two horsemen were long out of sight before Brie relaxed her clenched fists and threw her riding whip to the ground. Giving an angry, frustrated cry, she sank to her knees in the cold snow and pressed her hands tightly over her ears.
In her mind, she could still hear the echo of Dominic's promise. He was an arrogant, insufferable devil! Yet she could still see his aristocratic face, still feel the strength in his hard body, the sensuous touch of his lips on hers. No, she wouldn't forget him. If she lived a hundred years, she would never forget him.
Chapter Four
Dominic shifted his weight slowly so as not to disturb the peacefully slumbering woman at his side. Reaching up, he drew aside the velvet hangings of the enormous four-poster bed, preferring the acrid aroma of smoke wafting from the chimney to the more overpowering scent of Denise's perfume. Her heavy scent brought to mind other nights, in wild tropical places far removed from this elegant London residence where outside a winter storm spent its fury.
Generally Dominic welcomed such diversions. Tonight, however, he found the musky scent of Denise's body sweet and cloying and oppressive. Mentally he underlined the word oppressive.
He lay back against the satin pillows and crossed his hands behind his head, a ghost of a smile curling his lip. What had he expected when he had sought Denise out this evening? A shy young maiden blooming with the innocence of spring? Denise had certainly never been that, in all the years he had known her. And he had once known her quite well. She had been his mistress, in fact, although after that affair had ended, he had rarely thought of her. The widow of the late Baron Grayson had done quite well for herself, Dominic noted with cynical amusement as his gaze wandered around the room with its gilt furnishings, velvet hangings, and thick carpets. Yes, definitely oppressive.
Silently he rose and went to the window, throwing aside the heavy draperies to expose the storm to his view. He could see snowflakes churning in the darkness, buffeted by great gusts of wind. Oddly, they mirrored his frame of mind. The restlessness that had driven him to seek Denise's companionship had not left him. If anything, it was stronger.
He stood at the window, oblivious to the seeping cold on his bare bronzed skin, his gray eyes piercing the darkness. If Manning's sources could be relied upon—and Dominic had no cause to doubt them—his greatest foe had returned to England after an absence of nearly four years. Charles Germain was out there, somewhere in the city.
Germain's reappearance had upset Manning, upset him enough to make him forgo his customary secrecy; he had sent one of his efficient bloodhounds to the country to track Dominic down. An unusual event, certainly. Manning never contacted him directly unless the matter was extremely urgent. Dominic had responded to the summons by setting out for London at once.
Although it had been late when his coach reached the outskirts of the city, he had gone directly to Lord Manning's home in Albermarle Street. He had found his portly superior in the study, busily pouring over a thick set of official-looking documents.
Manning offered him refreshments, then began without further ceremony. "My appreciation for coming so quickly, Dominic. I want your opinion on this business. You have heard, I suppose, that Charles Germain is back in the country?" When Dominic raised an eyebrow, Manning frowned and adjusted his spectacles higher on the bridge of his nose. "You may well look surprised. I was, I can assure you. I had thought him in India."
Dominic settled back in his chair, swirling the brandy in his glass. "You are certain it is Germain?"
"Quite certain. He was spotted in Folkestone last week and again here in London two days ago. But as yet I have no idea as to his purpose."
"And you want me to discover it?"
"I thought perhaps you might already have knowledge of it."
Dominic coolly returned the older man's gaze. "I am sorry to disappoint you, sir, but I would probably be the last person to whom Germain would divulge his plans. The last time we met I ordered him out of the country, you will recall."
With a sigh, Manning turned back to his desk to ruffle through some papers. He picked one up, staring at it for a long moment. "I remember. You threatened Germain with exposure as a double spy, although you had no proof."
Dominic's expression remained emotionless. "No, I had no proof. Charles liked to be sure there were never any witnesses to his dealings."
"A young French lad was involved, I believe. The boy died while in Germain's custody." Manning tapped his forefinger on the desk. "So," he mused, "Charles Germain was one of us and yet he sold information to the French."
"Yes."
"Do you not think he would do so again?"
Dominic shook his head. "It's highly unlikely. The war has been over for four years, and any information Charles might obtain would be of little value—even if he could be believed. You know better than I that once a man becomes suspect, his credibility vanishes."
Manning, in a weary gesture, removed his spectacles and carefully massaged his temples. "I must be getting old, to be jumping at shadows. Very well, Dominic, so he is not spying. Still . . ." He paused, directing a penetrating glance at his guest. "Still, he must have a reason for his return. A man like Germain does not act without purpose. I have a feeling—a feeling, mind you—that you will be involved in this business somehow. And that it will not be pleasant. Had Germain returned in a less furtive manner, we might assume he had grown bored with his exile and merely wanted to return
to his homeland. But . . ." The unspoken words, implying danger, hung suspended between the two men. Dominic, although politely attentive, remained silent.
His reaction was obviously not one Manning felt was warranted. The older man snorted. "Nerves of steel. I had forgotten. Well, perhaps you will be considerate of an old man's ravings and have a care for yourself."
Dominic's lips twisted into a wry grin, his teeth flashing white. "But of course, my lord."
"Bah," Manning said as he waved an impatient hand. "You always were one to go courting danger, as if it were a personal challenge. One of these days, Dominic . . ." He shrugged. "Ah, well. My people are trying to locate Germain. If they find him, I will send you word. Do you stay in London?"