which was yards too close for her not to have heard him, sensed him, smelled him. Jésus doux, he still stole her breath away, just by looking at her. She knew every inch of him, had touched and tasted him, taken him in, given herself to him, even as he gave to her. A dark passion, too intense, too urgent and much too fleeting. The fire that blazed, but couldn’t be sustained.
Her dark lover. Dark of hair, dark of soul and mind and heart. Even his green eyes were dark, intense beneath those black winged brows, and unreadable. He might have been chiseled from warm stone by a master of the art, his leanly muscled body perfection itself, and life breathed into that beautiful, sometimes cruel mouth by a goddess bent on mischief once he’d been placed on the earth with all the lesser mortals.
That sensual mouth opened now; Tess was mesmerized by his lips as they curled into a brief, almost amused smile. “Fetching outfit, Tess. I doubt those buckskins flattered their original owner half so well.”
Tess snapped back to the moment, and took advantage of Jack’s remark to throw out a barb of her own. “I wouldn’t have noticed. They belonged to René.”
At the mention of her brother’s name, the winglike brows lowered, the stare became unnervingly intense. “So now you’ve made yourself over into the son? You’d do anything to please him, wouldn’t you? Have you ever succeeded?”
“Not as well as you did, no.” Another barb that hit home. Those that didn’t know him, hadn’t all but been inside his skin, wouldn’t notice. But she did. She’d hurt him. Good. They could both hurt.
Jack took a step forward. “I’m here to help, Tess, not go back over covered ground. Your brother’s dead. You and I never were what we thought we were, nor had what we thought we had. That’s the past. You don’t know where Sinjon is, do you? He’s left you here alone, to face me.”
“He couldn’t have known that you’d be the one to—” But then she stopped, shook her head. “No, he would have known that. I’m the fool who didn’t realize you’d be the one. Nobody knows him better.”
“But not well enough, apparently. I’d ask if you really don’t know where he’s gone, what he’s up to, but it’s obvious you don’t. What were you looking for?”
Tess shoved her splayed fingers through her hair, curling her hands into fists at the back of her head, not caring that she was probably only making a tangled mess worse. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “How could he have done this to me, Jack? To… to leave me with nothing?”
“I’m here,” he said, putting out his hand, but it was only to motion her aside so that he could approach the cabinet built into the wall. “He knew I’d come. He knew I’d be the one. That makes him either a genius or a fool, doesn’t it? Let’s see what he’s up to, shall we?”
He reached into the cabinet, running a hand beneath the second shelf, lifting the left end of it slightly. She heard a slight click, and then Jack stood clear, closed the cabinet doors.
As they watched, the cabinet seemed to come toward them and then began to pivot until it stood sideways, allowing them access to whatever lay beyond the opening.
Jack lit a brace of candles as Tess could only stand there, staring.
“I never… He never told me about this. He told you, but not me. Not his daughter.”
“We’re keeping score now?” Jack asked as he stepped through the opening and then turned to extend his hand, this time clearly intending that she take it.
She shook her head. “I’m fine on my own.”
Jack ran his gaze up and down her breeches-clad body. “Yes. Any fool could see that. Hug yourself close to you, Tess. Don’t let anybody in.”
“How dare you! It wasn’t me who—”
But he was gone, seemingly disappearing below her line of sight, taking the candlelight with him. Stairs. There was a flight of stairs behind the cabinet. Tess looked toward the opened door to the hallway, knowing if she left the study, Jack would want to know why she hadn’t followed him. She’d have to trust Emilie. Emilie would have learned by now that Jack had come to the manor house. She’d know what had to be done. Please, God, just this one time, toss the dice in my favor.
Tess quickly lit a candle and followed Jack down, into the depths.
WHEN HE’D GONE away, she’d still been more girl than woman.
No more.
Jack hadn’t known what to expect when he saw her again, either from her, or from himself. Seeing her had turned out to be both better and worse than he’d imagined.
The hurt was still in her eyes, undoubtedly made more raw by her father’s disappearance and his refusal to include her in his plans. This was an old pain for Tess. She’d told Jack she understood: Sinjon Fonteneau was not a demonstrative man, making him uncomfortable with any displays of emotion. He loved his daughter, yes, he did, but praise did not flow easily from his mouth. She understood, but understanding and acceptance are often strangers to each other, and Tess clearly was still trying to please her father, make him admit out loud that he was proud of her.
She was wearing René’s breeches. Because she felt less constricted dressed that way while destroying rooms in her search? Or just because that’s what she now wore? What the hell had gone on here these past four years?
With the familiarity of his former acquaintance with the underground room easing his way, Jack dipped the brace of candles again and again, lighting a dozen squat candles, illuminating the cool, dank-smelling room.
“Damn,” he bit out as he turned in a full circle, seeing what was there, taking note of what was gone.
He heard the click of Tess’s boots on the stone steps and quickly rid his face of all expression as she joined him in the center of the room.
“I’d often wondered where he kept…” she said, but then her voice trailed off. “Did René know?”
Jack nodded, not wanting to discuss the fact that Tess’s twin had been privy to this sanctum of sanctums, but she was not. Not then, not since René’s death. “He kept everything,” he said, still taking his mental inventory. “The disguises, the pots of paint and powder, the wigs.” He walked over to pick up the crude wooden crutch leaning against one of the tables. “I remember when he used this. He’d even tied up his leg beneath his greatcoat to lend more credence to his role of crippled veteran. The French lieutenant actually pushed a sou into his hand before Sinjon slashed his throat. And all of it accomplished while balanced on one leg. I’d argued against the disguise, pointed out that a one-legged man was vulnerable. I should have known better.”
“He only killed when necessary,” Tess said firmly, her belief in her father’s motives unshaken. “He only does what is necessary. Ever.”
Jack replaced the crutch and turned to her. “Yes, of course, the sainted Marquis de Fontaine. And what is so necessary for him now, Tess? The war’s over, he’s been rewarded for his service to the Crown, cut loose, left to live out his life in peace and security. That’s all he wanted, wasn’t it, all he ever said he wanted for all of you?”
“Both of us,” she corrected, wandering over to the large desk and opening the center drawer. “He never really wanted René to be like him.”
“All right, Tess, let’s do this now, get it over with,” Jack said, walking over to slam the drawer shut. “Your brother was young, foolish. And wrong. Sinjon never favored me over his own son. René had nothing to prove that night. Nothing.”
Her eyes flashed in the candlelight. “He had everything to prove. To our father—to you. He worshipped you. He wanted nothing more than to be like you. The so-brave and clever Jack. See, René, how Jack does it. Observe and learn, René, Jack will show you how it is done. Jack, so fearless as he enters the wasp’s nest. Jack, who is steel to the core, with the mind of a devil and the skills of an army. Watch him, even if you