Page 5 of How to Fall for a Scoundrel
The scoundrel’s lips curved upward at her fury.
“We can’t talk here. Come on.” He caught her elbow and steered her gently through the crowd.
Ellie went willingly, but as soon as they reached a quiet corridor beyond the ballroom, she tugged her arm from his grasp and whirled around to face him.
He shook his head, silently indicating a group of women to their left who were talking and fanning themselves as they took a break from the dancing.
“Still too many people.”
With a growl, she marched along the corridor, opened a door at random, and stepped into a small study. The elegant furniture, pale pink walls, and proliferation of porcelain figurines suggested it was a room favored by the lady of the house.
Ellie turned to face her tormentor as he closed the door behind him with a click.
“Of all the outrageous, presumptuous, dishonest—”
His laugh made her stomach somersault. “You have an excellent vocabulary, Miss Law. Are words with three syllables your favorite?”
Ellie glared at him. “Not at all. In fact, here are some shorter ones: Explain, you fraud.”
He sank gracefully into a comfy-looking armchair on one side of the fire, and with a sweep of his hand indicated its pair, opposite. “Please, sit down.”
She complied with a huff, arranging her skirts so as not to crease them, then raised her brows in regal indication that she was waiting for him to speak.
“You’re right,” he said, “Henri Bonheur is not my real name. Neither, of course, is Charles King. Because, as we both know, Charles King doesn’t exist.”
Ellie’s heart missed a beat, but she schooled her expression to hide her alarm. “Why on earth would you think that?”
“Because I’ve been trying to make his acquaintance for some time. And while plenty of people know him by reputation, I’ve failed to find a single one who’s actually met him in person. Every one of his previous clients have been dealt with by his able ‘assistants’: yourself, the Duchess of Wansford, and Dorothea Hamilton.”
“He’s a very busy man,” Ellie lied.
“He’s a veryfictionalman,” he countered with a chuckle.
Ellie pressed her lips together, stubbornly refusing to either confirm or deny his theory. Who was he? And why had he been trying to find Charles King? Was his plan to blackmail them with the threat of revealing the truth about their female-led agency—and thereby ruin the business? Why would he do such a thing? Was he a competitor? Or was it purely for money? He seemed rich enough. Then again, appearances could be deceiving.
“Whatisyour real name?” she demanded.
His shoulders lifted in an elegant shrug. “I wish I could tell you. I was orphaned at a young age, and whatever records were made at the time were lost.”
“That sounds just as much of a fairy tale as ‘Puss in Boots,’ my Lord Carabas,” she said acidly.
“Ah, you caught that reference, did you?” His dimples flashed. “I thought you might. Nevertheless, it’s true. I’ve had many names because—and I trust I haveyourcomplete discretion on this, Eleanor—for the past ten years I’ve had an extremely successful career as a criminal.”
Ellie blinked. “That’s a risky thing to confess to the daughter of England’s Lord Chief Justice.”
“Perhaps. My best work has been on the Continent, in Italy and France, although I can’t say I haven’t broken a few laws here in England too.”
“What sort of crimes?” Ellie’s heart pounded against her breastbone. She was usually a fair judge of character. Had she made a terrible mistake and allowed herself to be lured into a private room with a murderer? A rapist?
His lips curved as if he knew precisely the direction of her thoughts.
“Nothing too dreadful, I promise you. A little burglary, some light pickpocketing. A heist or two. I can crack a safe, pick a lock, cheat at cards, and forge a variety of documents. Perhaps you read about the disappearance of Raphael’sMadonna and Childfrom the archbishop’s palace in Rome?”
“That was you?”
He gave a pleased nod. “I held it for ransom until the archbishop paid for its safe return. And in my defense, he was a thoroughly unpleasant individual who’d bribed and blackmailed his way to the top and very much deserved the aggravation. I donated all but a small percentage of the proceeds to a foundling hospital in Venice.”
“Why are you telling me this? And why are you here, in London? Are you planning another crime?”