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He never received an answer, for at that moment Paulette saw her chance to flee. Grabbing up her cloak, she made a dash for the door. Neither of the soldiers tried to stop her, but Sinclair lunged to do so, catching hold of her sleeve.

The movement threw him off guard, left him unprepared for the sudden savage blow the man named Giles dealt his stomach. As pain spiked through him, Sinclair doubled over. Paulette wrenched herself free, making good her escape.

Panting and forcing himself upright, Sinclair’s one thought was to go after her, but the other man, Auguste, was attempting to circle around behind.

Narrowly avoiding the stranglehold of his arms, Sinclair cracked his fist against Auguste’s jaw.

But he was not quick enough to deflect another blow from Giles.

This one sent Sinclair crashing across the bed.

Before he could regain his footing, Giles hefted him up, preparing to pummel him again.

Somehow Sinclair’s hand closed round the shaft of his umbrella, and he cracked it across the bridge of the man’s nose.

Giles staggered back with a howl as the blood flowed, giving Sinclair time to maneuver.

He had no idea who had set these two against him, but he had no time to find out. He had to go after Paulette. Quickly Sinclair jammed his hand into his cloak pocket and pulled the pistol free.

Before he could fire, Auguste jumped him. The weapon discharged into the air, sending the plaster of the ceiling showering down upon them.

Sinclair was dimly aware of the shrieks in the hallway outside.

Madame would be sending for the authorities soon, only adding to the desperation of his situation.

He glanced toward the door, but that way out was blocked by his assailants.

It was impossible that he could fight his way out of here in time.

He fended off Auguste with another hard blow to the man’s ribs, but Giles was struggling to pull out his sword. Backed near to the wall Sinclair sought another avenue of escape.

The window! But he needed to buy himself a few seconds of precious time. Seizing up the oil lamp, Sinclair dashed it down in front of the advancing Giles, who leaped back roaring as the carpet caught fire.

Sinclair yanked at the casement, but it was jammed. He grimaced, recognizing the inevitable. Smoke from the flames was already beginning to sting his eyes. With no more time to think Sinclair snatched up his umbrella, smashing the glass.

The sudden rush of cool air made the flames lick higher, forcing the two soldiers back to the door. Shielding his head as best he could from the remaining shards, Sinclair dived out the window amidst another hail of shattering glass.

Lazare lingered in the parlor of No. 32, his presence unremarked amidst the hysteria of the brothel’s workers and patrons.

From sounds emanating from the back of the house, for once it appeared as if the Marboeuf brothers were earning their hire.

Perhaps he should go to make sure, but he had done enough by titling Sinclair to this place.

When seeking Carrington, he had overheard enough of the conversation in the bedchamber for Lazare to know he had a far greater problem- Paulette Beauvais.

Lazare glimpsed her at last, pulling on her cloak, slipping out the brothel’s front door. Following quickly, he intercepted her before she had taken five steps. When his hand closed over her shoulder, she fairly collapsed from fright.

“Good evening, Paulette.”

She spun about, taking a step sideways as though tempted to dart upon her way, pretending that she did not know him. But then she drew up short, shifting back her hood enough to reveal a nervous smile.

“Why, Lazare. How fortunate that I have run into you. I have quite lost my way and I was trying to find Monsieur Crecy’s establishment?—”

“I don’t think so, chérie ,” Lazare said silkily. “I don’t think you are in the least interested in going there.” He indicated the door to No. 32 from which she had just emerged. “But perhaps that place over there holds more fascination for you.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Paulette said, backing away. Lazare could see she was on the verge of panic, and if he wished this handled subtly, he must proceed in careful fashion.

He leaned forward, whispering, “Do not be alarmed. I have but come to help you. Carrington is a British spy. He would see you arrested.”

“I—I know. He was—” Paulette broke off, turning deathly pale as she realized how she had just betrayed herself. She stared at Lazare with a mixture of suspicion and terror.

“But, how did you know?” She bit down upon her knuckle. “Dear God. What am I going to do? I must get away.”

Lazare slipped his arm about her waist, preventing her retreat. “Be calm, chérie. I understand everything. I would never see one of my own countrywomen handed over to the damned English.

“Come with me now. I have a place to hide you.” Lazare’s teeth flashed in a feral smile. “A place where you will be quite safe.”