One Touch of Scandal by Liz Carlyle Page A

moment if there mightn’t be something greater than himself and all his power at work here.
    â€œNapier,” he snapped, “ you are the one who’s mad if you think man’s every sin and secret are yours to ferret out. There are some things that are beyond man’s ordinary comprehension. You have learned nothing if you have not learned that. And by God, I do not have time to educate a fool.”
    The assistant commissioner circled from behind his wide desk. His face had gone a little white. He watched Ruthveyn with a new intensity, his eyes burning bright—not with fear, precisely, but with something akin to dread.
    â€œAll right then,” he said. “Answer the question, Ruthveyn. What did you see?”
    Ah, perhaps not so contemptuous after all…
    Ruthveyn forced his fingers to uncurl from his hat brim. “Death, Napier,” he answered. “I saw death.”
    He turned back to the door and was shocked to feelNapier seize his sleeve. Swiftly, he jerked free and wheeled around.
    â€œDamn it, Ruthveyn,” Napier growled, “you cannot just waltz in here with that sort of pronouncement! If you suspect something, by God, say so!”
    Napier could not quite bring himself to say what he meant, thought Ruthveyn, his mouth twisting with the bitterness of it. “Unlike you, I don’t suspect a damned thing,” he replied. “And I know less than that.”
    â€œ Ruthveyn. ” There was a warning in his tone. “Do not leave me in the dark. This is a serious business.”
    â€œAnd you think I don’t know that?” Ruthveyn looked at him incredulously.
    â€œThen help me,” Napier demanded. “You said that was your intent. Was it?”
    Regret, followed by the all-too-familiar sense of impotence, burned through him, leaving Ruthveyn angry. What could he do? What could he say that might change anything?
    But Napier was still glaring at him expectantly.
    Ruthveyn refused, as always, to quite hold his gaze. “I saw blood,” he rasped. “Blood glistening like rubies cast upon snow. And don’t ask me what I mean by that, for I don’t know. Just watch the sister. She might have…Christ, Napier, I don’t know! Perhaps she has stumbled across something?”
    At last Napier dropped his voice. “You mean she might be in danger?”
    Ruthveyn jerked the door open roughly. “Oh, for pity’s sake, Napier!” he snapped. “We are all of us in danger. All of us. All of the time.”
    And the beautiful Mademoiselle Gauthier, it now appeared, was in far more danger than most. For she was Napier’s prime suspect—whether he admitted it or not.

CHAPTER 5
The Accidental Homecoming
    G race Gauthier was squirming—and for any number of reasons. Foremost was the knot of dread forming in the pit of her stomach, but a near second was the fact that she was extraordinarily uncomfortable. The plain oak chair she sat down in had a back built at an angle that seemed designed to pitch her back out again, and the curve of the seat so misshapen, she felt as if she sat upon a wad of petticoat.
    The righteous indignation that had sustained Grace on her march down from Marylebone had faded in the face of these ominous, official offices that smelled of damp soot and desperation. She wriggled again to no good effect and tried not to return the surreptitious glancesof the two office clerks, one of whom had very nearly tipped off his tall stool when Grace entered. No doubt few females ever entered this bastion of masculinity—certainly few of her station, low on society’s ladder though she was.
    She was just settling in at last when the door to Mr. Napier’s office flew wide, as if blown open by some minor explosion. Then the explosion strode out, attired in a pair of glossy black boots, a gray waistcoat, and a coat of formfitting charcoal superfine. Even Lord Ruthveyn’s expression resembled a