She glanced at Lani before carefully edging across the bed and from beneath the covers.
Lani did not stir.
Silently, Cassie dressed in her riding trousers, shirt, and jacket, but Lani was in such a deep sleep, she doubted if she would have heard her anyway. She started toward the window, then stopped and retraced her steps to the portmanteau.
The dagger Josette had given them.
Cassie slowly drew the dagger from the sheath. The blade gleamed cold as death in the moonlight.
Cassie stood looking at it in dread and fascination for a moment before returning it to its sheath and thrusting it into the waistband of her trousers. She moved toward the casement window overlooking the alley. Their lack of money had dictated they take this undesirable pension on the second floor overlooking the alley, where the garbage was thrown and the slop jars emptied. The location might now serve her well.
Guillaume would be watching the street entrance of the pension. No one would likely be astir in that stinking hole below.
She stepped onto the windowsill, then lowered herself to the sloping slate-tile roof overhanging the alley. Her boots scraped on the slate, and she froze, her gaze flying to the window above her.
Had the sound woke Lani?
She breathed a sigh of relief when no face appeared at the window.
Slowly, carefully, she turned on her stomach and crawled backward down the roof, clinging with fingers and toes to the tiles. It took her nearly a quarter of an hour to reach the edge.
She paused to get her breath before looking down at the alley.
It was fully ten feet to the ground.
And the alley was not deserted as she had thought.
The ground seemed to be heaving with movement. Bright-red eyes gleaming in the darkness.
Rats.
She shuddered as she watched the dozens of rodents scurrying below her. Would they attack her as they ravaged the garbage on the ground?
Well, she could not stay here all night. She braced herself, then, clinging to the roofs edge, slowly lowered her body until she hung full length.
Fear iced through her as she heard increased commotion below.
She dropped to the ground.
Her knees buckled, and she fell.
Mud. Filth. A rat ran over her hand as she frantically tried to lever herself to her feet. They were all around her!
She ran blindly toward the end of the alley.
Scurrying tiny feet ran over her boots, glittering eyes glared at her. The dark corridor seemed miles long, the journey as far as their trip across the Channel. Her heart pounded painfully as she slid, half fell, and then righted herself.
Suddenly there were cobblestones instead of filth and mud beneath her feet. Thank God. She had reached the side street.
She stopped beneath a lamppost, her chest rising and falling with her labored breathing. Dear heaven, that alley had stunk, and now she was nearly as odorous. She had a sudden memory of her island, where everything was washed clean by wind and sea, where people did not live on top of each other. How could her father have ever stood living with this filth?
But her father was not living at all now.
She smothered the dart of pain the remembrance brought. She was wasting precious time; in a few hours it would be dawn. Cambre's residence was across the city, and she must get there before Jared stirred.
Fifteen
Dawn had not yet broken when Cassie reached Cambre's imposing mansion. The house was dark, and evidently no servant was stirring. Both circumstances were to her advantage… if she could gain entrance.
She tried the front door. Locked.
Well, what had she expected? None of this would be easy. When she did get inside, she would have to find Cambre's bedchamber without being discovered herself.
If she broke a window, she would be heard. The garden? It was enclosed by a high stone fence, perhaps that barrier had caused someone to be careless and leave a back door or window unlocked.
It seemed to be her night for climbing, she thought grimly. It was just as well she and Lihua had spent so many hours scaling coconut trees as children. But straight, high walls were not as easily mastered as those bent, ridged trees. It took her three tries to reach the top of the wall.
She paused, her gaze traveling over the shadowy bushes and graceful rectangular pool. No sound. No sign of anyone. The path leading to the back of the house was to her left, winding through a sparse thicket of trees.
As usual, it was easier descending than climbing. She jumped the last few feet and started toward the thicket.
A blur to her left.
She stopped, tensing. Perhaps it had not been a movement at all. She had caught only a glimpse of… of something from the corner of her eye.
"I wouldn't move if I were you. There's a pistol in your back." Something hard and round pressed into her spine.
Cambre. She had not heard that smooth, deep voice since childhood, but she would never forget it.
"I've been waiting for you, Monsieur Guillaume. I was hoping for His Grace, but he evidently prefers to send his minions." Cambre sniffed. "I wish he'd chosen an emissary less odorous."
Guillaume? Her masculine attire had evidently caused her to be mistaken, but how had he known about Guillaume?
"Light the lantern," Cambre said to someone over his shoulder. "Let's have a look at him. Though I understand he's not particularly pleasant to view."
Dear God, why had she been so careless? She should have waited after she'd scaled the wall, watched for some sign of Cambre's presence.
Because she had not expected a trap. She had thought she was the aggressor.
Light flared behind her, sending a flickering glow on the bushes in front of her.
"Well, what have we here?" Cambre murmured. He quickly searched her and withdrew the dagger. "What an exquisite weapon, much more subtle than this crude pistol of mine." His hand touched the long queue of hair that reached to the middle of her back. "I don't remember being told Guillaume had such silky tresses. Turn around."
She didn't move.
The pistol pressed harder. "You'd be advised to obey me. I had a reason to keep Guillaume alive, but you're nothing to me…"
She turned to face him.
"A woman? I thought as much. Now who could you be?" He pretended to think. "There have been only two women hindering my path of late. Mademoiselle Deville?"
She ignored his mockery and said bluntly, "I want to talk to you."
"And I want to talk to you." He sniffed again. "From a distance. I remember you as a comely little girl, and I must see if the fulfillment is as satisfying as the promise." He called to the man in the shadows, "Bring the lantern closer."
The light temporarily blinded her, but that was not what caused her to go rigid. The garden seemed to whirl around her as she stared in horror at the man carrying the lantern.
"Dear God, no," she whispered.
"You're Guillaume?" Lani demanded as she halted in front of the small man leaning against the window of the café. "Take me to the Duke of Morland." He straightened. "I have no such instructions."
"You have instructions. I'm giving them to you."
"I don't obey women. I'm to watch the pension and keep the two of you safe."
"Then you've already failed your duty. Cassie is gone."
"Impossible. I have eyes like a hawk. No one came into that building."
"But someone came out. Take me to His Grace."
He shook his head. "You're trying to fool me."
Lani drew an exasperated breath. She wanted to shake him. "Then go see for yourself. She's gone!"
He stared at her, frowning, then slowly started across the street.
"Hurry!"
His pace quickened a trifle, and he disappeared into the pension.
Lani wished she had a spear to prick the stubborn idiot to greater speed. She had been filled with panic and foreboding ever since she woke to find Cassie gone, and she was in no mood to deal with arguments.
"Papa?" Cassie whispered.
"Do you think me a ghost?" Charles Deville smiled at Cassie as he thrust the lantern at Raoul, then stepped forward and embraced her. "Do I feel like a spirit?"