The Prince of Pleasure (Notorious 5)

Slipping her hand into her reticule, she closed her fingers around the handle of the pistol and settled down to wait.

Nearly an hour later, Julienne had begun to grow weary and her nerves felt raw with strain. She had just shrugged her stiff shoulders to ease the tension when she saw a man push through the crowd below. He had brown hair, but his build was too slight for him to be Perrine.

The unkempt, dark blue coat he wore looked wrinkled, as if it had been slept in, and he was stumbling slightly as though drunk.

Julienne frowned, unable to shake the feeling that his actions had a sinister quality to them. Moreover, he carried something in his hand. A pistol?

Her heart leapt when she realized he was heading directly toward Castlereagh.

She tried shouting in order to warn Dare, but she couldn't make herself heard over the babel of the crowd. She waved her hand frantically, trying to catch Dare's eye, but to no avail. So she did the only thing she could think of: she withdrew her pistol and fired in the air.

The shot echoed around the vast chamber, taking a chunk out of the plaster ceiling and raining down a spray of dust and chips. For an instant, silence prevailed. Then, with startled cries, some of the guests began a mad rush toward the doors, while others fell prostrate on the floor, covering their heads.

But at least she had managed to attract Dare's attention, Julienne realized. And he understood when she gestured wildly at the blue-coated man.

The man had his pistol raised and aimed as he charged toward Castlereagh with the grim determination of a general going into battle.

Dare leapt forward, shoving people out of his way, and rushed the assailant, knocking him to the floor just as the pistol discharged. An ice sculpture exploded two feet from Lord Castlereagh's head, while the blast of the gunshot brought more screams and cries of "Assassin!" and "Murder!" as the guests scattered like frightened sheep.

For a dozen heartbeats, Julienne's gaze was riveted on the chaos below. Yet once she realized the foreign secretary was safe, she forced her gaze to sweep the remaining assembly of stunned onlookers, looking for Martin Perrine.

It was only when she leaned over the railing that she saw him. He was almost directly below her, concealed in the shadows.

His fists clenched as he watched Dare haul the assassin to his feet. Then Perrine's gaze lifted, his narrowed eyes searching the galleries.

When his gaze locked with Julienne's, she saw his fury. His seething reaction left her with no real doubt that he'd employed the assassin and was enraged by his failure.

Dare was shaking the blue-coated man, obviously grilling him intensely. Perrine threw one last fulminating glare at Dare, then spun on his heel and disappeared into the crowd of fleeing guests.

He was leaving, Julienne thought, because he feared the blue-coated man would expose him. But if he escaped, the world would never be safe…

Forcing her sluggish brain to think past the frightening possibilities, she turned and raced for the stairs, knowing she would have to move quickly if she had any hope of keeping Perrine in sight. She had almost reached the bottom steps when a figure suddenly broke from the shadows and came to stand directly below her. Julienne stumbled to an abrupt halt.

She raised her pistol defensively, though she knew it was empty and useless. Her futile gesture earned her a scornful look.

Martin Perrine offered her a deadly smile as he aimed his own pistol at her. "Are you perhaps looking for me, Miss Laurent?"

The assassin, Dare quickly discovered, was a minor French noble, a baron. Dare could scarcely make out his confession, though, for he was sobbing in French and broken English.

"Ma fille, ma pauvre fille, forgive me…"

His story spilled out: his daughter had been abducted two days ago, and he had been blackmailed to gain her return. If he hoped to see the girl alive, he was to kill that man-he pointed at Lord Castlereagh. He'd drunk three full carafes of wine before he could summon the nerve to try, but now he had failed and his daughter would likely die.

"Je suis coupable," he moaned, dropping weakly to his knees.

"There may be a chance to save your daughter," Dare said bracingly.

The baron drew a strangled breath and grasped Dare's hands, his pleading look holding desperation. "Monsieur, can you help me? I beg you-"

"Who is the man you say forced you?"

"Ils'appelle Caliban."

"Could you identify him? It is of vital importance."

"Oui."

"Brown hair, brown eyes, average height?"